#DRAWING THIS FELT LIKE COMMITTING A CRIME

[otiksimr]

will u please teach him about the horrors.

Ok.

[coco-loco-nut]

007

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: meeting your soulmate in the paddock isn’t unusual for F1 drivers, but oscar’s certainly leans on the unusual side

a/n: sorry if it’s a bit of the mess! i’ve been trying to write my way out of writers block

masterlist part two requests open

_____________

You are crazy, you have to be. At least, that’s what Oscar thought when he watched the mark on his arm change for the third time that day. You put yourself in more danger than he does, and that says a lot. It wasn’t always that way, not until five years ago when it became more and more frequent. The shared talent he gets from you is no help. Analytical and multilingual, you could be anyone. Based on how often you are in danger for long stretches, he is a little sure that you are a mobster. Being able to speak Russian and Italian fluently doesn’t help with the whole mobster thing.

You didn’t know what to think of your soulmate. At first you assumed he was a criminal, the meter on your arm only shifting to danger for a relatively short period of time for a few weeks. However, it has become regular, throwing you off. Maybe a weekend adrenaline junkie? No, probably organized crime. Besides, you are skilled at driving fast, and what adrenaline junkie has a talent for fast driving.

“We have intel that there will be a deal made at the Belgian Grand Prix. Both parties are guests of Sauber as to not draw suspicion. Everything you will need is in this file, a car will pick you up tonight, good luck,” you anxiously sit through your briefing.

You have been tracking a crime ring for the past year and a half, putting yourself in all kinds of compromising positions just to get information. Formula One though, that’s new to you. You have seen some things from former partners who followed it, but you weren’t interested.

It isn’t uncommon for crime groups to use large events for “networking.” It is under the guise of their shell companies. You studied your character ruthlessly, knowing your cover inside and out.

The race approached much quicker than you’d like. The situation isn’t helped by a weird feeling in your stomach. Not nerves, but something else. You shake it off, the mission is what is important. The paddock awaits, and you have a limited striking time.

Oscar was on edge. Something felt off, even though he went through his race routine like always. He did have a questionable pastry, but there wasn’t any mold, so it was okay. He slides his sleeve up, looking at the meter on his arm. Lando doesn’t miss how his teammate’s face paled.

“You okay?” Lando asks, trying to catch a glimpse of the meter on Oscar’s arm.

“Yeah, just realized I forgot to call my sister,” Oscar lies. He’s a little scared for the day he meets you. What kind of mobster commits crime on a Sunday? Maybe you got taken by an enemy, got caught sneaking around. Logan always told him that he was crazy for assuming his soulmate is a criminal, but all signs point to it. Some fresh air is what he needs.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” your target says as you flash a charming smile, anything to get information. It helps that the conversation is in Russian, adding to confidentiality of everything.

You feel a deep pull, like a yearning, as you agree to the walk. You brush it off, the mission is top priority.

“Can you provide some more benefits of the… investment,” you are a little unsure of what to call it. You are keenly aware of the weapons strapped to the side of your target. You weren’t expecting to be meeting with an enforcer, making the job trickier.

“Perhaps. I will if you can answer this question,” you feel your anxiety spike as you keep a calm and cool demeanor. The pull increases and it takes every ounce of will to keep yourself focused. You got most of the information you need, but you need to fish for more. You don’t really notice the target turning you into a quieter part of the paddock.

Oscar lets his feet lead the way, a little out of it. He doesn’t really notice you ahead, tucked in a relatively secluded alley of the paddock. He’s always been able to sneak around, a blessing in times like this.

“Who invited you to the meeting,” he asks, and you internally breathe a sigh of relief. Your team scanned through the information to make sure there was nothing included to trip you up, and this is something that was deemed clear.

“Peter,” you say a little too confidently, and that’s when you notice him reach for the knife on his side. You also notice the civilian looking at his soulmate meter rather than where he is walking, and at that moment it spikes further into the danger. The brief distraction is enough to put you at a disadvantage. You shove the stranger behind you, getting him out of the way as you. Sparks fly as you touch him, but you don’t pay any mind to it. Eyes trained on the target, you do everything you can to avoid being stabbed as you pull out your own knife.

Oscar feels a twinge on his arm and slides up the sleeve, looking at his mark. He feels himself get yanked, and he turns his attention to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He takes a few steps back into safety and watches. Every alarm bell in his mind tells him to run away, but he can’t seem to walk away.

You kick the knife away, quickly working to disarm the target and press him against a wall, your own knife to his throat. You subtly activate your tracker, getting discreet backup.

“Tell me who runs the operation. Now.” you snarl in Russian, slightly putting pressure on his neck with the knife. The target spits beside you, you press further. “I recommend you don’t mess with me if you want to be alive.”

The information you want comes flowing out as you take a little pleasure at the fear in his eyes.

“There, happy? Let me go,” the target says and you smile wickedly. Dropping your act now would only hurt you, so you let him think you are part of a rival crime ring.

“Not quite,” you flip him around so he is facing the wall. You sheathe the knife, using your weight to brace him to the wall. “It’s a shame I couldn’t spill some blood, oh well,” you play your role, speaking in a bored yet maniacal tone. Your backup arrives and takes over for you, arresting the target.

As the adrenaline fades, you remember the guy lurking behind you. You feel the heat of anger flare up. Couldn’t he see you were dealing with something dangerous? Why wouldn’t he turn around and walk away.

Oscar can’t help but feel happy that he finally has your attention, and if the pull he feels and the danger levels that his arm displays is any indication, he just met his soulmate. Plus, you speak multiple languages, who else would he get that from that’s in the immediate vicinity. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“Are you stupid! What are you doing walking in on that? And sticking around? That was a very dangerous situation, you know,” you fume, not looking at him, too busy firing off angry texts to your commander.

“I was right, my soulmate is a criminal,” Oscar says, a little shocked.

“That guy was your soulmate? Tough luck,” you can’t help but laugh a little. You look at him for the first time and feel your heart beat quicken as every instinct is drawn to him.

“No, you are,” Oscar says as your eyebrow quirks, as if you don’t believe him. And you don’t believe him, it isn’t in your nature.

“Well, I’m not a criminal. Sorry to break it to you. Besides, I know that my soulmate is a criminal, so unless you have a dark side, you aren’t him,” you brush it off, still ignoring the intense pull towards the brunette who is creeping closer to you.

“But-“

“Look, I gotta go,” you quickly take a once over of him, ready to look him up when you are back to safety. You disappear almost into thin air, leaving Oscar confused.

“Oscar? What are you doing here? Is that blood?” Logan stares at his friend.

“I think I just met my soulmate,” Oscar says, a little flabbergasted. Now he knows where his talent for being stealthy comes from. He wonders if you got his driving ability.

“Right. That doesn’t explain blood. You know what, you need to get ready for the drivers parade,” Logan shakes his head, helping his friend get back on track.

Oscar Piastri. That’s who Google tells you that you encountered. He’s handsome, you will admit that. A quick research tells you everything you need. Your soulmate, in fact, was not a criminal. A minor win in your mind.

After your paperwork and evidence submission, you know you can’t return to Sauber, so you choose to walk around instead. A change of clothes and hairstyles helps to hide your identity.

You easily slip into the McLaren motorhome, it is a little sad how easily you have gotten past Formula One’s security. You wait in Oscar’s drivers room for him, feeling uncomfortable and nervous. You don’t like the feeling.

Your job is too dangerous for a soulmate, you’ve seen how devastating it is for those whose soulmate never returns from a mission. You couldn’t do that to someone, so why do you find yourself needing to see Oscar again.

Oscar feels the now familiar tug as he gets out of his car, and he’s never been happier to get P4. He makes his way to his room as quickly as possible, rush in through his post-race procedures.

“You’re here. How are you here?” Oscar sees you leaning against the wall of his drivers room.

“It is embarrassing how easily I can get past the security here,” you have a hint of a smile on your face.

“So, if you aren’t a criminal, who are you?” Oscar swallows, a little nervous. His only knowledge of you is that you are highly dangerous and semifrequently in danger.

“I can’t tell you that. Brilliant race today, maybe I will actually watch one for once,” you walk towards him, and he feels his heart leap in his chest. You slip a card into his hand as you head to the door. “Oh, and thanks for the driving skills. It’s gotten me out of quite a few situations,” you smirk, disappearing once again. Oscar looks down at the card in his hand.

Y/n L/n. Special Services.

In neat penmanship you wrote down a series of numbers, and a note to burn the card after saving the number. Oscar races to the window that overlooks the only exit of the building, but you had already disappeared into the crowd.

[phantasmicfish]

Just some more Dune Part 2 things that I thought were interesting with a specific focus on Feyd-Rautha:

- just… the way that he’s so very accurately portrayed as a psychopath adds a level of grit I didn’t get reading when the book

- the scenes with him and Lady Fenring got me good. The book mentions that he finds her attractive, definitely echoed in the movie. There weren’t explicitly written scenes in the book of how Lady Fenring slept with him (but this was confirmed through dialogue), so I liked the movie’s interpretation of her luring him using her Bene Gesserit abilities

- I would have liked to see Feyd-Rautha tested by the Gom Jabbar the same way Paul was. In the book (and I think part 1 of the movie?) it’s specified that Paul has endured the most amount of pain anyone can handle from the test, but given that movie Feyd-Rautha seems canonically a sadist + masochist, I wonder how long he would have lasted?

- overall the vibe and aesthetic of the Harkonnen’s was terrifying and great. The black and white visuals, dimly lit rooms, flashing lights… There are a lot of different villains in Dune, especially in Part 2 — The Emperor, Jessica, but the most clear-cut ones by far are the Harkonnens. I think the visuals definitely amplify that. I find it rather interesting that the Harkonnens are portrayed to be evil as an entire house. The fact that they all had bald heads gave them a mass identity, served to make them seem perhaps more alien and less human, all capable of committing heinous crimes. Even Feyd-Raytha’s servants or whoever eat human organs

- I think it was an interesting choice to have Feyd-Rautha actually stab Paul during their final fight, we see the blade actually hurt Paul, penetrate his skin, we see Paul gasping for breath, we see Paul struggling for survival. I believe the book made the fight seem more cut-and-dry, that Feyd was a formidable opponent but he didn’t actually stab Paul (though he does draw blood). So I sorta felt the fight was a good contrast between showing Paul as still human while he maintains this cult status. I could see how his ability to survive this fight, despite his injuries, also elevate his messiah status among the Fremen

[gay-dorito-dust]

Have you ever think about Boothill, Sunday and Dan Heng with Foxian reader?

Poke ears and brush tail, they will do it with a smile while watching you squirm and face burn in embarrassed.

One of them will bury his face into your tail and sniff it gently, your tail is his pillow and teddy bear to hug.

Boothill:

This man would take one look at your ears and tail and automatically his mind is filled with ways he could -lovingly- get on your nerves. He’s just fascinated by the way they twitched and perk up at even the slightest of sounds, it was as cute as it was entertaining.

He’d even softly blow hot air against your ears and watches as they would twitch/ flinch at the sensation and how you’d try to hide your fluster expression behind your tail.

He loves getting you riled up and will not give it up for the life of him as it was just too much fun!

Boothill was shameless in his teasing and that was enough to make you flustered and he’s barely even touched you! He’d probably even used his shark like teeth to playfully chomp on your ears, drowning out your protests with his boisterous laughter.

Your tail is his personal pillow and his head is always buried deep within it 24/7. He’s nuzzling it, smelling it, kissing it and so much more that the crimes he committed against your tail and ears were astronomical.

Dan heng:

Had accidentally fell asleep on your tail once. Cuddling against it even and muttering under his breath about how ‘soft’ and ‘warm’ your tail was as he nuzzled his face into it with a small smile upon his face.

The moment you told him this the next morning, the poor man was embarrassed and flustered to the highest of heavens. He was about to profusely apologise for his actions when you waved him off and saying that it was pretty cute of him, before then telling Dan Heng that he was more then welcomed to do it again should he ever get tired.

He tries to reframe from doing so now but even he had to admit that at times it was just too tempting to pass up. And yet he still managed to find the will power within to not give in, he’s already made a fool out of himself once in front of you, he was not doing it again.

…until he does it again and cuddles up against your tail, purring as he once again smiles while doing so. You’ve decided not to mention any of this to him later on, and kept it as your little secret.

Sunday:

He’s the type to poke and prod at your ears and tail just to see you get flustered and squirm beneath his insightful gaze.

He finds you easy to tease but that never stops him from taking through enjoyment every time you fail to swat him away, or conceal your expression behind your bushy tail. After all His wings were pretty sensitive too but yet you still touched them with a mischievous smirk, so of course he’s going to want to get back at you for it.

It’s a game to him to see just how many expressions he could coax out of you within a certain time frame before leaving abruptly.

‘H-hey! Where are you going?’ You’d cry as you felt Sunday pull away from toying with your ears, watching on in confusion as he stood up from his seat, adjusted his clothes and began to walk towards the door.

‘I have a meeting soon and I do not wish to be late because I was indulging in…other things.’ He says as he looked over his shoulder with a wry smile at your expression, but you couldn’t help it! The way he spoke was only meant as a means to make everything that happened come off more intimate than it actually was!

You hated him sometimes for drawing reactions for you so easily but that was also something you admired too, and besides you did kinda start it but messing with his wings.

[just-a-ghost00]

Crush series : what is their current love status ?

This is for those of you that are puzzled right now about their crush and don’t know much about them yet. We are asking spirit to help us clarify what their situation is so that you can act accordingly. To pick your group, you can choose one of these emojis.

✍🏼 🧛🏻‍♀️ 🎓

Group 1 ✍🏼

Cards : Emperor, 4 of pentacles, Queen of cups, 5 of swords, Queen of pentacles, 8 of cups, 8 of wands as the overall energy

This person is single. They are focused on their own accomplishments and well being, mainly when it comes to their career. They are very busy and taking part in many projects. Their heart space is closed. They are friendly with a lot of people but they don’t connect with them on a deeper level. They may flirt here and there but that never goes too far because they don’t want to be involved in drama. This person draws a lot of attention and they are wary of connections because of past experiences. Also, dating could impact their societal status and their personal life drastically if it went wrong so they try to avoid dating as much as possible. This person could have been used for their wealth and power in the past or dealt with people that were not genuine. They could struggle with trusting people and/or being vulnerable. However, they are starting to feel lonely and a part of them wants to find somewhere they belong and a person that can match their vibe and support them during hard times. A part of them may doubt that they are ever going to find such a person. They tend to feel pessimistic when it comes to love and romance. I asked for a card to clarify the 5 of swords and got the knight of cups. This person feels confused when people express feelings towards them. They may have recently come across someone that showed them affection and they felt conflicted about it. If that person is you, the expression of your emotions sets them off balance. This is something they did not expect and that they are not used to.

Confirmation signs : Aries, Taurus, Scorpio, Sagittarius, numbers 4, 5 and 8

Group 2 🧛🏻‍♀️

Cards : The Empress, The World, The Fool, 3 of pentacles reversed, Hierophant, Justice, overall energy is the White Numen

Your crush is looking for committed and deep love. They are in a phase of their life where they are finally where they wanted to be, they are embodying the version of themselves they always dreamed of. They are finally loving themselves and feeling empowered. They’ve come to terms with their self confidence issues and they are now taking control over their life. Their energy feels very feminine and very confident. Very sensual also. This person wants to create, to gather with other people, not just a romantic partner but all kinds of people to express their true potential. But they are also looking for their ride or die. Their partner in crime. The person that will love and support them no matter what, that will match their crazy and follow them anywhere they may go. This person is starting anew and moving forward with a positive mind and receptive energy. They may enjoy traveling alone or indulging in creative endeavors. They also spend a lot of time taking care of their body, dressing themselves up, working on their body image. Though the Hierophant represents commitment I think that this person is mainly committed to themselves and their own well being. They’ve been through a lot and the wheel has just recently turned in their favor. Justice is being served by blessing this person with everything they ever wanted. I feel like this person is entrusting the divine with their love life and hoping for the best. They are just existing and shining at the maximum of their capacity, hoping that their light will reach someone worth their time and love.

Confirmation signs : Taurus, Leo, Aquarius, Scorpio, Pisces, numbers 3, 5 and 21

Group 3 🎓

Cards : Black Numen, Tower reversed, Moon, Ace of pentacles rx, knight of pentacles reversed, 4 of wands, overall energy 2 of pentacles

This person is either single or in a situation ship. They have gone through a major transformation in their life and/or a rough period of time where they were isolated, possibly struggling with depression or anxiety. They felt like things were not going in their favor and faced a lot of fears. This person is now dreaming of a time of peace where their life isn’t as chaotic and messy. Especially when it comes to romance. They are hoping for a serious relationship that doesn’t seem to want to manifest in their life. They feel like things are moving too slow in that area of their life. One one hand they want that connection so bad but on the other hand they are scared to let anyone in right now considering how their life is all over the place. This person feels conflicted. They may try to interact with people and then retreat back to their bubble because they don’t trust themselves and/or others. A part of them doubts that they’ll ever find someone to be with. They may think they’re not worthy of love or that they don’t have enough time and room for someone to be in their life. However they feel lonely and out of luck and a part of them may believe that having someone in their life would help them get back on track and be more successful. This person may daydream a lot about being in a relationship. They may have a lot of crushes but never act upon them. They may be very shy, introverted, scared of being left out or rejected. They possibly tried to be in a relationship in the past which ended terribly. Their plans to be with this person were not fruitful. Maybe because their family did not accept their partner or because of their work taking too much of their time.

Confirmation signs : Scorpio, Pisces, Taurus, Virgo, numbers 18, 16, 1, 2 and 4.

[zph]

mornings with scara. gn!reader | fluff

notes: so much kissing, very indulgent, pouty nd’ grumpy is my fav flavor of scara (bites him), not proofread so mind ur eyes

waking up to a sleepy messy disheveled scara . slow blinking, half awake, and snuggling comfortably in an oversized t-shirt. the fabric carelessly drapes off his shoulder, just enough where the sight of his bare skin peeks through his loose clothing.

there was a comfortable vulnerability in the way he lightly exhaled from his chest. or rather in the way the soft curve of his shoulder blades meets the beauty marks that adorned his collarbones.

…it was unfair how cute he looked right now. you hummed at the tiny marks, decorated as if they were constellations.

and with your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, brushing against his skin, your lips dipped down to trace light kisses from his collarbone to the bare skin of his shoulders.

“they’re sort of like connecting the small dipper to the big dipper,” you remember telling him.

one by one, for every little birthmark you could reach, you could feel his body shiver with each fine peck; no doubt rousing him from his peaceful slumber. you trail slowly and deliberately, coaxing a subtle groan from the male before he tightens his hold on your back.

“awake yet?” you chuckled, the cold wash of your breath fanning his skin just enough where he mumbled a quiet curse.

with the way he is blinking blearily awake right now, his eyes scrutinize yours as if you’ve committed some sort of crime; you could almost laugh at his displeasure.

so, you halted your fingers at his midriff but his patience seemed to grow thinner. “why did you stop?” he grumbled, his frown only deepening once he spotted how your grin widened. as if he could sense your amusement, he shot you an unimpressed look before turning around with a firm huff, absolutely done with your nonsense this early in the morning.

laughing at his feigned annoyance, you scoot closer and nose further into the crook of his neck, starting once again with your administrations.

with your finger gently tracing the faded marks across his back, you catch the way he regards you with an almost fond-almost exasperated expression. groggy and half-lidded, he was quick to mumble a small ‘good morning’ while his thumb idly traced patterns into your hand, occasionally squeezing it as if daring you to try that again.

to others, it may seem he was ready to fling you off the bed. to you though, he was just being cute, pouting as he urges you to carry on with your affection. and so you continue: descending from his shoulder, and eventually grazing up his neck…

until you hear a barely covered hitch once you finally land near his nape: the electro symbol etched into his skin. it was still sensitive, you realized, in the symbolic and literal sense. a reminder of his birth and purpose, hidden away and pushed aside to protect his vulnerability. it felt almost wrong to gaze at it — as if you were intruding on something he didn’t mean for you to see.

yet his hands gently squeeze yours. don’t worry, it’s fine.

hesitately, you press a slow but sweet kiss on the mark, feeling goosebumps as scara draws out one last sigh. the finality of the sound bringing shivers down your back.

though the sun greets the morning dews, you were counting the stars that decorated your drowsy boyfriend.

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

The Witness and Why It (and its demise) Means Everything to Me (A POC Perspective)

Hey everyone!! The Final Shape has ruined me and has brought me to levels of not only grief, but hope, that I did not think possible, so I decided to give my thoughts on the different aspects of it that moved me to a place where I can be at peace with many things in my life and look forward to paving a better future!!! I think I’ll be making many posts pertaining to the Final Shape as a way to help me express my thoughts on how important this DLC was to me, but we will see!

Please note that these are just my loose, not fully structured thoughts and I’m yapping. My opinions are subject to change and I’d love to hear the input of others! We will be talking about subjects such as slavery, religion, black experiences, and personal experiences of mine!!! It’s very long too, so I’m sorry about that and any writing errors!!

Though I do not believe what I speak of was fully Bungie’s intentions when making the character, the implications and views you can take on the Witness do relate to what I will discuss.

I wanted to start off my return to tumblr with one of the many, many reasons why I have such a deep attachment to the Witness (Precursors and Dissenters will get a different post bc they mean the world to me too!!) , because truly, this entity owns my whole life. I think of it all the time, it lingers in my thoughts, my art, my writing, all of it. It has been so deeply intertwined with my enjoyment of Destiny since it appeared and has offered so much to my perception of the world. I do not think I will truly get over it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t draw it every chance I get. It appears in every single thought of mine, it’s bad you guys.

I love the Witness so deeply because I have never harbored such a personal level of DISGUST for a character before. As much as I joke about it being silly and the love of my life, the very existence of the Witness revolts me to the core and the tragedies it has directly or indirectly caused squeeze my heart empty. This festering rot of an egregore SICKENS me as it is the beliefs that has robbed me and many others of family, culture, and livelihoods given form. My love for the Witness comes from how it instills in me such HATRED, and truly, we were far too kind to it in game.

For context, I am Caribbean American and have a tumultuous relationship with my heritage for many reasons, but it wasn’t until the Witness and its many victims that I felt like the religious imperialism that has affected my heritage was represented in a way that crept into my spirit.

My Caribbean mother always said to me that we are of this world, not in it. That the hearts of men are wicked and sin (cruelty) was embedded in existence itself. It is only when we give ourselves to a higher purpose that we will be free in the end from all suffering. To her, this life and everything in it did not truly matter for it was a temporary challenge to overcome in order to earn an eternity of salvation. A perfect paradise was awaiting us all if we just gave into the way and left everything else behind.

These were all convictions she held to her very core as she tried to shed away all other aspects of herself to give into this “truth”, especially her Caribbean culture.

She did not always believe this way, but to her, the island she came from did not truly matter at all. Those “wayward people” she grew up with were not worth anything and would die as nobodies on that nowhere island for their lives were not saved, even if they knew of the “truth”. In her adopted views, those people believed in false gods and practices (such as Vodou and beliefs that belonged to those taken from Africa and indigenous populations), they invited in frivolous wants of the flesh such as lust (with „improper“ attire and certain dances), and committed crimes that proved to her that they could never be anything more than what they already were (though she would be blinded to the fact that these behaviors are a result of hostile environments created by the systems established for slavery and racial subjugation). If she wanted to be fit for “walking the right path”, those people had to be left behind for they were lost causes who could not be saved unless they were delivered by the “respectable” ways of life. She had to discard her black mannerisms, hair, speech, and more to have a place amongst the truly chosen.

Religious imperialism has a long history of being heavily tied to discussions of race and colonialism as those who participated in subjugation believed themselves to be more enlightened than the people they brought devastation to, giving them an entitlement that drove them to force their way of viewing religion onto populations. After all, in their minds, they were doing the greatest good for they were setting the people they subjugated on a path for eternal paradise. There was no cost too high in this finite life for infinite salvation to colonizers and all efforts to convert populations who did not see this truth would be “necessary”. People would die or be forced into servitude in mass to support the ambitions of the “enlightened” ones, whole cultures and populations being scrubbed from the face of this Earth in an attempt to “heal what is sick”, to “break broken bones again to heal them right”. I think of all the generations lost to war, slavery, colonialism, and every other act done to deliver “purpose” onto others, all the people whose names will never be known because others used the breath needed to utter it on preaching of their own virtue, and I am left in ruin.

I think of how my mother speaks of those lost to destitute lives because of the social pillaging of the island as an unfortunate side effect of guiding them to the truth and I look at how her world view has been ruined.

My mother thought she was saving me by keeping me from my culture, my people, my family. I did not get to know the language, the customs, the land, but I did get to know how much my mother thought those were distractions. She spent my whole life trying to cement the truths given to her by the same people who left her island in such as state that she felt like she had to run from it, to ensure I would not grow into a person, but a vessel of the righteous message. After all, to be a person is to be complex, nuanced, and flawed and there was no room for that in the visions given to her. The complexities and human flaws that came with our culture would only distract us from giving our whole lives to freeing ourselves from the curse of existence.

The cruelty the Witness delivers with such gentleness as it razes civilizations, its unwavering belief that it is the objective truth and other perspectives are blind to this truth, the means it will use to get that “justified” end, its gut wrenching to me and all that has been lost throughout human history to ideologies that bear the same qualities. Its zealous, static nature that relies on circular reasoning keeps me up at night and makes me mourn what could have been if the unfamiliar and hard to understand parts of human expression were allowed to flourish instead of being eradicated for diverging from someone’s vision of what makes a life worth living. I see this big eyed vessel, incapable of growth and convinced of its own righteousness and my chest feels like it is going to cave in. I see its disciples and pawns in the faces of too many people I know and recall their stories in moments that remind me how poisonous what the Witness represents is.

The Witness is an evil that has hollowed out lives, homes, land, and futures, especially for those who come from heritages that have persevered against attempts to “rectify” them. I still grieve the empty life my mother lives and the people left to suffer the consequences of daring to create their own meaning. I look at the face of the Witness and think of the “burdens lifted off my mother’s shoulders” by those who thought themselves as witnesses of a truth that could not be contested with interpretations that could not be questioned. She prides herself on being a weapon wielded to correct the sinful hearts of men, but I just wish she prided herself on being a person because those who “delivered” her robbed people of color of personhood entirely.

The Witness is not a person, but the embodiment of these deeply rooted ideologies and concepts that affect so many. It’s horror, both in game and the parallels it has in reality, is far too grand and unfathomable for me to bear its weight on my soul and not agonize. Its very existence is monstrous, despite the understandable intentions that went into its making, and my stomach churns at the mere thought of it.

How many species in the Destiny universe will we never know about because their whole galaxy was used to get closer to the Final Shape? How many star systems were left barren because of the Witness’ ambitions? How many children, spouses, artists, philosophers, siblings, neighbors, and more, people who were something, became nothing because of eons of the Witness‘ justifications? Bile boils just thinking of it.

What the Witness represents has hung over my head my whole life and its perverse touch lingers on the whole Destiny universe, tracing many of the depraved atrocities in the game back to itself. It’s death in the Final Shape, at the hands of those it had turned into victims and left to deal with the repercussions of its influence united together, moved me in ways I do not think I could ever properly articulate. To see beloved characters I had given a decade of my life to come together from different backgrounds with different reasons to defeat such a heinous entity, I felt like I could do my part to bring others together, despite our struggles and differences, to rebuild what had been taken from us.

As a person of color from a group of people many still think are undeserving of life, seeing so many characters I have related to over the years say “I matter because I decided to and you can’t take that away from me” to an entity who thought itself so refined that it got to determine everyone’s worth strengthened my entire being. Existing as a person of color is bold in and of itself, but the defeat of the Witness at the hands of people who wanted to exist so bad they risked everything for it ignited in me a flame to be audacious. My existence and culture as a poc is unsightly and heretical, but TFS encouraged me to take on the prejudices of others by saying “Here, despite generations being molded into a “perfect” image and so many lives lost in the struggle to live personal truths, ergo sum. Ergo sum and there is nothing wrong with that”.

To me, the Witness’ death showed me that the stains left behind by social structures such as religious imperialism and colonialism can be overcome by people banding together to make the future different from the past. When we embrace the subjectivity of existence, we can create spaces for different views on life to flourish and reconnect with the nuances of this world. We can better the lives of our people, no matter who they are, not by abandoning all cultural practices and ways of life that were deemed meaningless, but by rebuilding our societies to allow for fulfilling lives and self efficacy for all.

My people no longer have to let imperial powers decide our fate for us or decide that we can be nothing other than the „nature of our race“ that they believe is inferior. Instead of looking up at others who asserted themselves as more enlightened for salvation, we can look at each other and realize there is no one truth to life, especially one worth all the devastation and cruelty placed against those who lived differently. The intricacies of life often lead people to belief systems that allow for comfort and understanding, alleviating the anxiety of possibly living an improper life that will forfeit a desirable afterlife. It is up to individuals to decide what makes their life fulfilling and what beliefs will guide their actions, for no one can make your fate but you.

My mother still likes to wear the patterns of the island and keeps paintings of island scenery in her room. She talks on the phone in patois when she doesn’t feel the pressure to be “proper”. She misses her mother because she used to make dishes from home. To relate it to Destiny, she still has the coordinates to her Lubrae in her pyramid despite convincing herself abandoning it all was for the best and there was nothing there worth keeping. I once thought reconnecting with our heritage alongside her would be a frivolous endeavor, but I hope that with time and understanding, the Witness may not have power over her anymore and she won’t look back on her disassociation with relief. Time and understanding will make our island grow and flourish, free to decide what it wants to be, not held back by preconceived notions of the worth of its existence.

Despite all the Witnesses in the world, I will persist on and try to acquaint myself with my culture without shame. The Witness is everything to me because I hope one day it desecrates nothing ever again. I hope the Witness becomes nothing at all and the cultures it has corrupted make themselves something audacious.

Thank you guys so much for reading!! I hope you guys don’t mind the vague language, I chose to spare some details for my own sake and to make the message more applicable!! I’d love to hear the takes of other people about this bc I love hearing people’s perspectives!! And always remember, no one makes your fate but you!!! Go be audacious!!!!

[inv3ga]

Okay, so drabbles are one thing, but this is my first time writing smut, so be easy on me.

+18 MDNI

ii × female reader

P in V, unprotected (please only do this if you're trying), degradation, use of one singular BDSM apparatus, possessive sex, marking, a hint of praise kink if you really, really squint.

Big thanks to @365granitegirlx for proofreading this catastrophe <3

It was already November, the tour was starting, and ii was adamant that he leave with a memory to jerk it to. You always did like doggy style, so how could you deny your throbbing cunt and the smoldering Dom look in ii's eyes? ii didn't even wait to lead you up to your plush bed. He whined that he couldn't wait any longer and that he needed you now. He dragged you to the first room without windows and instructed you to strip. Your cheek pressed against the tiling, while your pussy was presented in the chilly kitchen air. As he gently placed ankle and ankle, wrist and wrist in the restraints connected to the spreader bar he brought home that he said he'd bought specifically for your pleasure, his coos and soft caresses turned into a harsh smack on your bottom. With a strong grip and twist of your hair, and with a force he had never used on you, he smashed your face into the kitchen tile as he yanked his joggers down. “You're gonna be a good slut, yeah? Just my little slut this time? I heard you were making eyes at the crew.” Before you could protest your innocence, you felt his cockhead glide ever so slowly between your folds as he breathlessly chuckled. Your juices were already running down your inner thighs and there was no way of hiding it. “So desperate to be fucked, love? I bet anyone would do.” ii stilled as a horrifying thought crossed his mind. “Don't bother visiting me while I'm on tour. Don't you dare, you fucking whore. You'll just end up fucking one of my bandmates. You'd fucking love that, wouldn't you, you fucking community cocksleeve!” Without further warning, ii thrust into your unprepared pussy. You shrieked as he laughed. “As long as I have you first, they can have my sloppy seconds,” he murmured darkly as he kept a pace of slowly drawing himself out of your already abused cunt, then gripping your hips hard enough to draw blood in crescent moons as he slammed himself back in. You mewled, you whined, and you panted every time he took a moment to bring himself back from the brink of filling up your pussy, once he found a steady rhythm of barely rubbing up against your G-spot to tease you; to make you pay for crimes you hadn't committed, it mostly just made you moan his name mixed with, “Don't stop, please don't fucking stop. Fuck, ii. Please.” 

No matter what mood ii was ever in, he was a sucker for your pleas. “Whatever my slut desires,” he whispered as he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to the small of your back. ii didn't even need to leave that position to have you screaming his name as he rut into you like a wild animal. 

“Say it. Say it, kitten. Who do you belong to? Hmm?” Your head was pulled back this time by the same grip and twist of ii's hand while the other was wrapped around your throat, making you lightheaded and euphoric. A triumphant smirk plastered his face and he felt your cunt clench around his twitching cock. He slowed his thrusts. Even though he had slowed, looking at you in your fucked out state had him ready to blow. Your eyes glazed over with tears streaming down, how red and swollen your cheek was after being smashed against the marble and grout, and how throughout all of it, your hands had done nothing but reach for him, had his cock throbbing. It wouldn't be much longer. 

“Yours, Daddy. All yours.” Came a shaky voice barely above a whisper. ii shuddered and let out an involuntary groan. He didn't know how much longer he could stave off his orgasm, but he was certain he was giving his good girl one with him.

“Say it again, love.” He resumed his relentless pace, keeping one hand clutching your hip while the other snaked under you to rub messy circles on your sensitive nub. ii was no longer looking to punish, he just needed two things: he needed to hear those words from you again, and fuck, was he going to do his best to have you writhing on the floor; making a mess with him. 

“Say it!” ii jammed himself against your G-spot mercilessly, and you felt like all you could do was scream and cry in bliss.

“You, ii. Jus’ you. Always. Jus’ love you.”

ii sighed in relief. “Good girl.” 

White heat struck your core at the sound of his words of endearment as you chanted his name along with ramblings of I love you's as you fell apart. ii had withdrawn his cock and was pumping himself slowly, unwilling to cum until he watched you break before him, but when he knew he could no longer hold back he lunged forward. 

Mimicking your position above you except with his one hand planted on the ground with a fistful of your hair, yanking your head to the side, and the other stroking his cock. “Mine.” You had one second to feel him spasm above you and something hot and sticky being spurt on your back before you felt his teeth sink into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. The sounds you both released were nothing short of guttural. ii wanted nothing more than to continue to bite, suck, lick, and nibble his claim on you, but his body said otherwise and he had two seconds before he collapsed upon you instead of the floor beside you. Pants and sighs of satisfaction were all that filled the air. When he finally had the guts to look you in the eye, there was nothing but love. Both of you wore soft, worn out smiles. “I love you, and I'm sor-” 

“How about you unlock me and make it up to me by running me a lavender and calendula bath and then cuddles until we fall asleep, yeah?” 

ii chuckled, “Do I get to kiss you?” 

“Depends on how well you cuddle.”

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Rafayel: Pouty Portraits | Drabble

So @la-spooky ended up inspiring me to make this little drabble of the fish on accident. You know, when inspiration hits, you go with it. Now personally I can't draw at all, my artistic talents ends at being able to string words into pretty stories, but I hope you artists out there enjoy this. Even if you don't consider yourself an artist and just doodle, this is for you.

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader Warning: N/A Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Rafayel

Art was something of a guilty pleasure. You wouldn’t say you were an expert at it, especially not when compared to your boyfriend, Rafayel, but you certainly weren’t bad at it by any means. It was just something you couldn’t do often; you had your career to think about, which would always come first. It was something you had to sacrifice in order to stay focused on your mission, even if it was painful.

Still, as you relaxed in the studio, bored out of your mind, you couldn’t help but want to go back to those days where you’d laze about your room with a sketchpad and some music to keep you company. You looked over at your boyfriend who was promptly passed out on the couch after having pulled another all nighter. He had invited you over for a date, but by the time you arrived exhaustion had already taken him.

You hadn’t the heart to wake him up, so you did your best to entertain yourself until he woke up. Originally you had taken to playing on your phone, a few mobile apps and social media was enough to catch your attention for a while. The longer you sat around though, the more tempted you had gotten.

Rafayel had his studio littered with sketchbooks in every corner so he’d never have to worry about looking for one when inspiration hit. You were certain he wouldn’t notice a few pages going missing after you ripped them out.

With that in mind, you grabbed hold of one of the sketchbooks that had been teasing you, and some pencils to sketch with. You flipped open the pages, your heart blooming with affection at the gorgeous sketches that were in the book. You finally found a blank page and sighed. It almost felt like you were committing a crime, drawing in a sketchbook like this. His artwork was flawless, and you…well you could draw at least.

You sighed and grabbed your phone, popping in some headphones and listening to music. You took one more glance at your sleeping boyfriend before deciding to just draw him. So you did, mainly just several headshots to help you get into the groove of making art.

You didn’t even know how much time had passed as you moved to the third page, ready to draw your sleeping boyfriend since he was right there. Your eyes went upwards to where he was…or had been. You blinked in confusion, noticing Rafayel was noticeably not on the couch anymore.

Your head swiveled for a moment before suddenly you were staring directly into those sunset eyes. Your own widened in surprise and your brain buffered before you let out a shrill scream. You clutched the book close to your chest as you backed up. You could hear Rafayel's jovial laughing through your headphones, which you promptly ripped out to scold him.

“Raf, what the fuck, when did you wake up?” You said, glaring at him. Amusement swam in those beautiful eyes of his as he reached over and took the sketchbook out of your hands.

“Were you drawing me?” He said, looking at the pages of headshot sketches you had done. You felt a small blush creeping up your cheeks as you tried to be stern with him.

“Answering my question with a totally off topic question isn’t what I wanted, you know.” You huffed, going to take the book back, but he pulled it closer to him.

“These are really good, you captured my essence perfectly…why didn’t you ever tell me you could draw?” Rafayel said, never looking up from the sketches. You groaned and looked away, feeling bashful as a true, recognized artist looked at your crude warm up pieces.

“It’s just an old pastime of mine, nothing more.” You said, “Sorry I used your stuff, I should’ve asked.” You admitted.

“What’s mine is yours.” He said offhandedly, “Still, can I keep these? I really like them.” He said and you looked confused for a moment before nodding.

“If you really want to, I guess you can. They’re in your sketchbook after all.” You shrugged, “Why would you want them anyway? You could do a way better self portrait.”

“I don’t want a self portrait made by me…although I have to ask why did you draw this expression on me?” He said, pointing at all of your sketches having a similar theme.

“Your pouting face was…inspiring.” You settled on; Rafayel didn’t look amused by this, in turn showing you that adorable pout. He looked away for a moment before getting an idea. A smile gracing his pretty face.

“Well how about you do a proper drawing of me.” He started, leaning close with a sly grin, “You can draw me from reference. I’ll sit however you want, just make sure to get my good angle…wait never mind, that would be all my angles.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you fought your inner emotional turmoil, “Okay, but it won’t look good, you know?” You pointed out. Rafayel's eyes furrowed in a confused expression, his hand cupping your chin to make you look at him.

“Anything you make is breathtaking.” He said, “I wouldn’t ask anyone to draw me. I’m very selective. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Cocky bastard.” You said, but didn’t bother to slap his hand away, “But fine…I’ll sketch you but on one condition.”

Rafayel smirked, “And what would that be?”

“Later you…need to give me a drawing lesson or two.” You said and his eyes widened in surprise before taking a soft turn.

“Sure, but why are you suddenly so interested in drawing when you said it was just a pastime…unless you deceived me earlier.” He said, trying to lighten the mood. He could see the unsure expression on your face as you stared off to the side.

“Because drawing like this again reminded me how much I enjoyed it.” Even though you knew you needed to focus on being a good hunter and a steller bodyguard…perhaps you can give yourself some enjoyment in your life again. Art was freeing and you had dearly missed it.

Rafayel's hand was still on your chin as he forced your eyes back on him. He pressed his forehead against your own and stared into your eyes, “Anytime you want to relax and draw, just let me know.” He said, clearly realizing just how stressed you had been.

You smiled, relaxing into his touch, “Fine…shall we get started? Things are getting a bit too depressing in here.” You joked. Rafayel's grin seemed to spread once more.

“Sure…so did you want to do a nude sketch ooooor?”

“Oh my god Raf, just lay on the damn couch…clothes on.”

Hope y'all enjoyed this one! It was fun to write, and honestly I think formatting this took longer than the actual writing lol.

[harlothane]

Theon and Fear - And at the end of fear...

George R R Martin’s ASOIAF focuses on the "human heart at war with itself". In doing so, it provides a compelling, complex and deeply touching exploration of human emotions. One of the dominant emotions the characters are faced with is fear.

I especially love how fear is shown in Theon's storyline. His backstory and the events unfolding in his six Clash of Kings chapters and seven Dance with Dragons chapters, taken alone, constitute a raw, emotional and unsettling account on the many faces of fear. What it does to people. How it changes them, motivates them, corrupts them and may regenerates them.

“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”

“That is the only time a man can be brave.”

There is no need for a long look at Theon’s storyline to see in which ways Eddard Stark’s infamous moral lesson applies to his struggles. Here is a character that commits crimes in the beginning of his storyline, goes through hell because of his misguided choices (led by his fear), finds his courage as he faces true terror and accomplishes one of the most selfless and brave acts in the series to save a girl.

I do feel like I’m missing pieces of the puzzle writing that, aren’t I?

The misstep, I think, is to draw too hastily a parallel between Theon and the other Winterfell boys around his age – Robb and Jon (it's a common issue in fandom and actually had a negative impact on the reading of Theon's storyline, I think. Read : x).

Unlike them, at the beginning of the story, Theon already knows fear. Both Jon and Robb had a decent, secure childhood. While Jon surely has grounds to feel dissatisfied with what life has to offer a bastard like him, he did not grow up in fear. At the age of nine, he probably had faced rejection, loneliness and disdain. But not true, traumatizing fear like nine-year old Theon had to.

19 year-old Theon in Winterfell has already been scarred by fear. He is not a knight of summer in that regard, as his entire personality is a product of fear, to the point where it becomes hard to pinpoint what his true self consists of exactly (that becomes evident as we are invited to his internal monologue in Clash, which is full of inconsistencies, rewrites and contradictions related to the way he sees himself).

We know for certain that, as the story begins, Theon is already familiar with the fear of rejection and humiliation (inflicted by his brothers and felt as an outsider in the North), the fear of losing his loved ones and his home (inflicted by war and the soldiers fighting that war) and some repressed kind of fear related to Euron and possibly his magic. He’s been abused and is still suffering from the lingering fear of death, cultural isolation/exclusion and loneliness.

What fascinates me with this storyline especially is that there is never an easy answer. It is a feature of ASOIAF as a whole, to be frank. I suppose that as a horror genre lover, I am especially drawn to the way Theon's story deals with fear. How it corrupts, how it paralyzes, how it regenerates.

Fear as corruption.

Theon, a “shy” child, “in awe” of his brothers, has crafted a personality to guard himself against the threats most frightful to him (humiliation, being unloved and unwanted, abandonment).

A personality that existed to guard himself against the world and more precisely, the men in power who could use him. A personality tailored to please his captors and his father, the ones his life depended on. His clothes, in this regard, are another part of the armor. Their purpose is to please, seduce or appease the ones whose approval Theon needs at the moment (though I truly do believe he likes his velvelt and silks, he still immediately suggests his father that he would change it if it would please him).

Living with those fears of being unloved and unwanted changed him profoundly as harrowing experiences always do. Fear is the one constant in his early life. His personality developed around it.

Theon mimics Dagmer Cleftjaw’s smiles because the warrior was one of the bravest men he knew in his early days and a hostage far from home needs to channel that tough, invulnerable spirit.

Theon was a child who lived in awe of his violent brothers, so as a young man he acts accordingly, as if spilling blood makes you worthy, as if life were a game to win no matter the cost for the weak and innocent (no matter the price children and mothers pay, no matter the price he himself paid for his father’s ambition!).

I know the Theon we meet in Clash isn’t the most agreeable person ever. It’s the point.

In truth, he is a hardly a person. As in, a human entity with consistent memories to ground him (even before Dance, he represses memories, seems to have forgotten a great deal about the Iron Islands and I believe we may learn more about this in Winds), and autonomous desires and hopes (in spite of himself, he is constantly trying to fit the expectations of the men he fears/wants to emulate – Eddard and Balon).

Even the way he expresses his sexual/sensual desires feels at times as a performance meant to impress or prove a point… read : x or x).

He doesn’t even have a future, and he knows that deep down. As Robb is crowned though and devise a plan with him to ally himself with the Islands, Theon’s hopes rose up and that is how suddenly there was in the sky a comet that heralded his bright future.

He seems like a “closed book” to the world around him, but he was more of a blank page, really.

A mess of fears stitched together with a smile. Fear really is the constant.

What would you do, if you were constantly afraid? Cut from the rare people and places that gave you a sense of security?

What would you do, if – that’s the greatest irony – you were surrounded by people who thought of you as a thing to be feared, an animal to be tamed.

Interestingly, Theon is known to be brave in battle, perhaps even reckless. Robb states it plainly: “Theon has fought bravely for us.” Dagmer Cleftjaw knows Theon “is no craven”. In Winterfell, he is ready to die with the few men who stayed with him.

Being shaped by fear did not make him a coward. It made him desperate and unreasonable. For one, Theon knows fear intimately and there is no greater terror than the unknown, after all. He knows war. He knows death. He is still haunted by the battle of Pyke.

Still, he is eager to march with Robb’s army. Still, he wishes he could have faced Jaime Lannister on the battlefield. And still, he would have died for Robb, he would have died for his father.

He shouldn’t be so eager to march with an army led by the people who hurt his own family so deeply. War traumatized him already. It separated him from his family. It obliterated his future, destroyed his prospects. But his fear of humiliation, rejection, loneliness – it overtakes all. Then again, I understand that Theon in Clash can be difficult to empathize with to some, but if you read his reaction with the knowledge that this is a person who is constantly in a state of true, agonizing fear, I think it changes your perspective a little.

The horrible outcome of all this is that by trying so desperately not to be seen as a weak thing people can use for their political gain, Theon becomes it. For Ramsay and Roose. That is not karma. That is the definition of a tragedy.

It has been said before: Ramsay is a secondary-(tertiary) character, he exists to embody Theon’s worst sins and fears. That is his nightmare, breathing and living and flaying every piece of a carefully crafted personality Theon made in the North to stop being afraid, to reclaim power and control over his fate.

Fear didn’t allow him to be brave. It made him desperate, easy to manipulate. He takes Winterfell in a foolish attempt to be the person he thinks he must become. The self-made Prince. The heir who returned in glory. A worthy son of Balon Greyjoy.

That is the story he tells himself and others. In truth, it becomes apparent he took Winterfell in a desperate attempt to make his “almost-home” his at last.

In a desperate attempt to belong somewhere he could have everything – power and recognition and love. It is the type of extreme decision you make when you let fear overtake your reason. Any other choice would have been more reasonable. It wouldn’t have saved him from fear, though.

Most of Theon’s bad choices are a result of fear. It made him crave power with the same intensity as he secretly wanted love and recognition. In Clash, Winterfell itself, the castle, its people, embody his fear of rejection, of being unloved and unwanted. He represses it. Until he can't escape it even in his dreams.

The two desires, to have agency/power and love, clash violently in Winterfell, an arc in which Theon’s starts to completely unravel as he does everything in his power to be a hard man like his father, like Eddard (no matter how contradictory), while spying the tiniest hint of affection or gratefulness in his captives’ eyes.

After all, in his own experience, it is possible for a captive to admire and crave his captor’s love.

To want to help them. To be part of their family. And he seemed to expect the same from the people of Winterfell. Even in Dance (because torture doesn’t erase your past trauma!), he still believes he could have reasonably expected them to help him

His constant fear has twisted his view on loyalty (you cannot be loyal to someone who imprisons you), love and desire (he links lust and violence), power and justice (“hard men rule the world”).

It corrupts his desires, even. Of all the sexual encounters, or thoughts, he has, none seems genuine with the exception of Esgred, who is not a real person but the embodiment of the nonchalant, confidant attitude he wishes he could adopt as easily. She is everything he cannot be. She belongs. She commands respect. She has a family. And as she divulges her real identity to him, Asha becomes someone to fear. She is in his place. She is him, the heir, the son, while he is nothing and nobody.

Fear as a paralyzer

It is not surprising that Theon would smother from early on the parts of his personality that made him sensitive to fear.

His need to belong brings only fear (he will never be part of the Stark family, but he still dreams of it until he buries that dream as well).

His empathy brings only fear (he demonstrates in Dance his ability to connect with broken people used by the ones in power he could have shared experiences with but couldn’t because of his fear of humiliation).

It shows one limit to Eddard’s reasoning. Fear, sometimes, changes you in such a way that it hinders your ability to be brave (as in, to make the most moral choice against your own immediate interest).

Growing up with constant fear drove Theon to stifle his empathy, making it hard for him to protect other people, as you would expect from a prisoner whose life is a bargaining chip that hinges on his father’s and his captor’s will, from a man who cannot even help himself.

Growing up in constant fear jeopardized Theon’s ability to make long-term, realistic plans for his future, as he barely has any stable support to hold onto. His entire existence does not belong to him. NB: In this regard, it is logical that most characters he is paralleled with throughout his story (Jeyne P, Barbrey, the dead lady Hornwood, Holly who has the same cocky smile and arrogance as his old self, Alannys with her white hair and even Dany…) are women, who are more likely to be stripped of agency, must fight to claim autonomy and struggle to regain a semblance of control over their destiny.

He has many faults, though it cannot be said in my opinion that he did have a good choice to make and that he simply chose wrong by trying to please his father. There were only bad roads that led to imprisonment, death or ruin for him. Theon realizes this in Dance: he cannot bring himself to imagine a bright future. No, he regrets not to have died with Robb. He knows his path was filled with fear either way.

Fear is a paralyzer. It does, in a sense, alter Theon’s capacity to grow and evolve.

Fear makes him an apt survivor (he’d survive a horror movie in messy “final girl” fashion), with a great potential for adaptation. But it corrupted him in the process. Led him to embrace a (faux) cynical attitude, to be over-zealous with his own captors to the point of risking his life for them and most of all, to opt for cruelty over mercy contrary to his own (sometimes contradictory) values – in Winterfell, he hurt others, and it haunts him, but he stands by his choices.

His fear of being mocked, used and humiliated drowns every other motivator.

He is so afraid to be seen as he thinks the men of the world want to paint him: a weak creature to be used. Someone who needs to bargain and submit to keep his life. It is rather in line with his way of thinking that he would consider himself a whore after Ramsay subjected him to his power and abuse in Dance.

“Only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him.”

That’s it, that’s the philosophy. Theon has his moments of incredible self-awareness, and this is one, hidden beneath some moral lesson as a pretext.

It shows that:

He has a bleak, but rather realistic view relating to most men in power. They will abuse it. They will humiliate the weakest. They will do so eagerly.

He hasn’t met Ramsay at that point. He may instead be thinking of his brothers, of the lords who humiliated his defeated father, of his own father maybe, or perhaps (in my opinion) Euron.

His arrogance is a deliberate strategy designed to avoid the fate reserved to the most fragile people.

He doesn’t judge the men who abuse their power but doesn’t seem to view them in a positive light. Still, consciously or not, Theon sometimes acts like those men. Since he is mostly deprived of real political or military power, he does it in the context of his sexual relationships (that deserves an analysis, especially regarding how sexuality in his chapters is so often if not always depicted in a negative, degrading manner.). It’s a “eat or be eaten” kind of mentality he is struggling with during his Clash arc.

Fear instructs him to repress the slightest sign of weakness. There cannot be true loyalty, love or desire in such a state. You survive. You are barely living. You just survive.

The rare sincere relationships he forms are short-lived – Patrek Mallister is the son of an enemy family; Robb Stark cannot ever be his equal; his bond with Asha is poisoned by envy and fear, again, of his place being stolen by her.

Theon’s mind favors denial/dissociation and repression as a defense mechanism. It doesn't exactly help him to form sincere relationships with people. It’s a motif throughout his storyline that echoes the stakes relating to Ironborn culture in the story (they must remember their history or they’re condemned to repeat it – that’s the symbolic role of Rodrik the Reader in Asha’s storyline).

Most times, he tends to rewrite reality - consciously or not. Of course, he will be welcomed by Balon Greyjoy! Of course, his traditionalist father will agree to submit to Robb Stark! Of course, he, the hostage, will be given Asha's place that she (of course!) stole from him! Of course, he is destined to be one of those hard men who rule the world, not an eternal victim! Of course, he is not afraid, and even if he is, even brave men feel agonizing fear about other men seeing their weaknesses!

We soon discover how fragile this mechanism really is. The façade cracks more often than Theon would like. There are many instances of this, especially in his conversation with Dagmer ("I know you are no craven" "Does my father?") and Rodrik Cassel ("The noose I wore was not made of hempen rope but it chafed, it chafed me raw"). Worst of all, he allows Reek/Ramsay to amplify his fear. When I write "allow", I do not mean he did it on purpose naturally. But he is the one who freed Reek/Ramsay. He opened the door to a living nightmare. Reek/Ramsay quite literally haunts him in his Clash chapters.

What he cannot rewrite, Theon represses. It does not seem like it at first glance because he is prone to reckless decisions. It can lead one to categorize him as a vain egomaniac, not as a repressed person. His promiscuity doesn’t help, since we are wired to associate repression and modesty.

It is true terror that he is obligated to repress - and it is what comes flowing unbridled as he loses his armor in Dance. This kind of dread is mostly associated with Ramsay (there are so many instances I won't even go into it) and, well, Euron (the slight unease Theon felt about his uncle during ACOK can - and must - certainly be revisited with our current knowledge about him, the fact that in ASOS it is established that Theon revealed awful details about his uncle to Robb, and the now evident parallels between Aeron and Theon).

Fear as a regenerative force

In Dance, the "dread" Theon feels in the crypt of Winterfell is "familiar". And I think you can see it as his fear of being unwanted. Of belonging nowhere.

It makes sense: Theon fears what he truly is. A prisoner, a scared child and a pawn for men to use in their plans. It is the truth he can never escape, no matter how perfectly he plays the Hard Powerful Masculine Man.

Fear pursues him all his life. It is only when he has no fear left to feel (it was all spent in a cell of the Dreadfort; all his fear is caught by Ramsay, who is the embodiment of Theon’s insecurities) that he shows his more empathetic and gentle nature – although he still feels anger, bitterness and the occasional dread, of course.

Still, it is not a bed of roses. Theon is certainly more sincere. He is not putting on a performance for himself. When he lies, he is terribly conscious of it. He doesn’t manage to repress his traumatic memories anymore. It all comes back, flooding. Even such buried memories as the ones related to Euron.

In a way, Winterfell acts in his story as the theatre scene, the place where you can finally be yourself. I wrote a bit about this here. It serves as a catharsis for Theon. In Winterfell, he is able to find pieces of himself. Pieces he had forgotten. He starts to remember the childhood he had buried ("A son of the Islands" / the Euron related reaction in Winds).

Fear had been eating away at him. Fear had been controlling him, at times. Not that he wasn't responsible, but he certainly let himself be overcome by his crippling fear of humiliation (which, sidenote, I don't believe stems only from his status as a hostage but that is another story).

Fear had been breaking him piece by piece since childhood. Just like the rat he eats at the start of Dance - it had been eating him first! He had to defend himself against the threats even if it meant hurting and killing in the process.

It is in Winterfell that he finally confront his fears - that he meets the one essential fear he had been trying to escape: himself.

The lies become a motif, even. “False is all you were.” Theon never lied as a manipulator would, though. Most times, he does not seem to understand the coherence (or lack thereof) of his own actions – which is also a side effect of fear (or to be precise, the fear caused by childhood mistreatment). It causes confusion, alters your awareness and hinders such abilities as analysis and planning.

However flawed Theon was, he was a prince, he was a warrior and a friend, he was handsome, he took care of his clothes and weapons, he saw a comet and decided it shone for him. He wasn’t much of a real, sincere, coherent person, but it was the most functional version of himself he managed to be in his situation.

The man he pretended to be could never have survived the Dreadfort, though. He had to disappear. Was he even real? The façade barely made it through his Prince of Winterfell era. Chances are, had he escaped Ramsay, Theon would still have been forced to confront his true self one way or another.

He is stripped from all his usual defense mechanisms in a horrific torture labyrinth. He becomes the weak thing he always feared he’d be seen as. He cannot hide. He cannot lie. He cannot even smile.

Every single fear he ever had becomes his new reality.

Humiliation: check.

Being controlled and used as a thing: check.

Mockery and disregard: check.

Friendless and abandoned: check.

To escape from fear, he can only repeat the partition he learnt as a child hostage: apply the rules of the people who can cut off your head at any time, and be the well-behaved prisoner so you can rise again later and impress every the ones in power who can share their power with you (a very Ironborn strategy, actually).

Except, there is no escape this time. The flaying knife has cut through the armor Theon had crafted for himself. He has no way out (another motif throughout his storyline). He has no secrets left and no smile to hide behind. He cannot forget his status as Ramsay’s pet by exerting power onto others. He is the very last creature on the food chain this time.

And so, there is nothing to fear anymore.

The Dance chapters are filled with terror and dread, until Theon pieces himself together. Then he regains some composure, purpose and faith, even. He finds his courage within himself, where it always existed, in truth. And, in Jeyne, he finds a motivation. Saving her, a child prisoner, abused and terrorized, he also saves what little of himself he can.

The only time he can truly be brave is when he doesn’t have to fear becoming fully himself at last. Whatever that means, in the end. At the end of fear, something must remain. Something must be rebuilt. Piece by piece.

[miguel-ohara-lover]

Kinktober day 10 - Ghost!Miguel

Prompt list

CW: nsfw, ghost, ftm!reader, kinda creepy, “pussy”/“cunt” used, squirting, eating out

Note: Tonight is gonna be a bit short because uh yeah depression fucking sucks ass… anyway- I like ghosts :] (🎶if you have ghoosssttt you have everythiiing-🎶)

Ps don’t question it it’s fictiooooonnnn…

Creepy stuff never bothered you before, and hey creepy generally meant cheaper. So when you heard of this really nice house that was half price do you a murder that took place, fuck yeah you wanna buy that shit. A little murder didn’t hurt especially when it meant you get cheap shit and it’s not like you committed the crime sooo…

The random noises and random moving objects was all easy to explain away. You probably forgot you moved it or it was probably the wind. Easy shit to explain. Though… seeing a figure of a man in the hallway was weird… You thought someone had broken in but as you got closer he disappeared.

This started happening more often, you’d see him, try to approach, and he’d vanish. He didn’t run and hide, he just went poof. Eventually you learned to not approach him, and instead would wave. After a few times he waved back, and that surprised you. Before it didn’t seem like he knew you were there, and know he’s acknowledged your existence.

He started sticking around more, started to acknowledge your presence more. He was very handsome for whatever the fuck he was. You figured he was a ghost, a spirit trapped in the mortal realm after his untimely death.

You noticed he would hang around more often, watching what you did or what you had on the tv. It didn’t bother you, and it was kind of nice knowing you had friendly eyes on you. At least you thought he was friendly, considering he hasn’t tried to possess and or murder you by now.

Some quick research told you what you were curious about. His name was Miguel O’Hara, his murder was unsolved. Perhaps that’s why he hung around, unfinished business and all. You tried to get him to open up to you, but he never spoke a word to you. He would just watch you and vanish before any progress is made.

One day, you were getting dressed in the morning when you noticed out of the corner of your eye he was standing in the doorway. He was watching you, but you didn’t feel unsafe.

“You have scars. Did someone hurt you?” He spoke for the first time since you met him. His voice surprised you. It sounded soft and distant, almost an echo to it.

It took you a moment to realize what he was referring to. “Oh.” You looked down at yourself, then back at him. “No, they’re just from surgery.”

“Ah. Okay then.” He nods and looks around your room.

“Do you have to stand there while I get dressed?” You chuckled a little. You didn’t entirely mind, what could he do he’s dead. He didn’t respond, and instead stood there like he had been.

You shrugged and continued changing, removing your pants and underwear. You bent over looking at your dresser for some panties. He looked over and would have blushed if he had blood. Your pussy looked so perfect to him, so wet and just asking for his attention.

“I can feel you staring.” You spoke up, still bend over. Suddenly, cold hands grabs your bare hips. You let out a small gasp as the freezing touch. He moves a hand from your hip to your pussy, dragging a cold finger through your slick folds and sending shivers through your body.

He stayed silent as a finger slipped inside you, making you shudder and moan. Part of you wondered how this was possible, how was he able to touch you if he’s dead. You weren’t complaining, but the wonder was still there. The thoughts were immediately forgotten, however, when you felt another finger circle your clit, drawing louder moans from you.

Miguel seemed pleased with, and pulled his hand away. It was silent and still for a moment, and you started to wonder if he had walked away. That was until you felt something else against your cunt, something hard.

You bit your lip as you felt his cock push into you, stretching your already tight pussy. Fuck he was big. How could anyone wanna murder a guy with THAT in his pants. He held onto your hips, guiding you down his shaft until your pelvis was against his. Miguel’s hands moved upward, under your shirt as he felt your body, his fingers eventually finding your scars and touching the flesh.

He turned his attention to your nipples, lightly tugging and teasing, earning little grunts of pleasure from you. He enjoyed that sound, it made his dick twitch. Your pussy contracted around him and he groaned slightly, starting to thrust his hips slow at first.

Miguel steadily picked up the pace until he was slamming into you at an inhuman speed. You cried out and moaned into the palm of your hand as this spirit ravaged your cunt. You were dripping wet just from the initial touches to your pussy. A hand went back down and played with your clit, gently tugging and rubbing circles as you whined.

It was so overstimulating, everything was pulling you closer and closer to the edge. The warm knot in your gut formed quickly, with all this pleasure it wasn’t hard. He was eager and ready to please, ready to pleasure you in any way he could, you were gorgeous to him.

You let out a loud moan as you came from his fingers and cock. His pelvis and lower torso were drenched from you squirting on him. The sight made him unravel immediately. He groaned and grunted as he spilled inside you, ice cold cum filling your pussy as his fingers moved faster, drawing more squirt juices from you and making you cry out.

He pulled out and released your clit from the torment. You panted and leaned against your dresser to stay upright, clit twitching from so much stimulation. He couldn’t help but admire you even more, so soaking wet from cumming, it drove him made

Miguel moved onto his knees and licked your pussy, making you moan and whimper slightly. He loved those sounds so much. His mouth wrapped around your clit and he sucked gently, making you cry out once more. He was so eager, happily pleasuring your clit all over again. He pushed his cold fingers into your pussy and finger fucked you roughly as he licked and sucked your clit, hoping for another shower.

You whined and rocked your hips a little, rubbing your pussy on his face as the pleasure overtook you. You saw stars in the air as reality melted away, and all you could think of was Miguel’s mouth, pleasing your cunt so perfectly. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you against his face, eating you out as if it were his last meal.

His grip tightened and you could feel another orgasm building up inside you. It wasn’t long before you came a second time, squirting once more and giving Miguel that shower he wanted. He didn’t stop going to town on your cunt, however. He just couldn’t get enough, holding your trembling legs as he feasted.

Eventually he did stop, after making you cum a third… fourth… and fifth time. By then you were gone, thoughts incoherent and words just a mumbling mess, unable to keep yourself up anymore. He helped you into bed, wiping up any mess left on you and tucking you in.

“That was fun.” He spoke up. In your sleepy mindless state all you could manage was “mhm”. He didn’t mind, smiling down at you as you drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

He’d watch over you of course. Always.

———

Tag list(feel free to ask to be on it):

@6thhokageswife @zaunsin @famouscattale @m4dyy @thedevax @migueloharastruelove @queerponcho @lynnxnnyl

[moon-lit-petal]

From Chaos to Comfort Pt3

George Weasley x Fem!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summery: George becomes acutely awear that sometimes, people aren't the biggest fans of his and Freds pranks.

Warning: enemies to lovers(?) Angst, George fell hard and fast. I tried to do a slow burn but you can tell I gave up lol. Also, Y/N is a little mean to George Ngl

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: this is a bit of a rougher chapter, I'm aware, this was so hard to write for some reason

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

----------

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with laughter, loud conversations, and the aftermath of another successful Quidditch match. At the center of it all was Fred, standing on a chair, reliving the moment of Y/N's humiliation as if it were the highlight of the day. His boisterous voice echoed, the exaggerated retelling drawing cheers and more laughter from their friends.

But George sat in the corner, every word hitting him like a punch. His jaw clenched, muscles tense, his eyes fixed on his twin brother. The laughter that usually felt like home now grated on his nerves, an ugly reminder of what Fred had done. George couldn’t take it anymore.

Slamming his hands on the arms of the chair, George shot up, his heart pounding in his chest. Without thinking, he stormed across the room, each step fueled by his growing anger.

“Fred!” George barked, cutting through the noise. The common room fell into a sudden, uncomfortable silence.

Fred, still standing on the chair, looked down at George, eyebrows raised. “What? You finally wanna join in? It was legendary, wasn’t it? Y/N’s face was—"

“Legendary?” George cut him off, his voice sharp, full of venom. “You think that was legendary? Humiliating her in front of the whole school?” His fists balled at his sides, the anger spilling out before he could stop himself.

Fred’s grin faltered, confusion spreading across his face. “Come on, George. It was just a prank—what’s gotten into you?”

George let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “What’s gotten into me? Fred, you’ve gone too far this time! Y/N’s not just some target for your stupid pranks!” His voice rose, filling the room. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Fred hopped off the chair, his own frustration bubbling up. “George, it’s just for a laugh! Everyone here thinks it’s funny—why are you so bent out of shape over this?”

“Because it’s not funny to humiliate someone, Fred!” George snapped, stepping closer, his voice shaking with intensity. “It’s cruel! And you don’t even see it! You keep going on like everything’s a joke, but it’s not! Not to me, and definitely not to her.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed, defensive now. “Mate, we’ve always done this! You’re acting like I committed some crime! Y/N can handle it, she’s tough.”

“She shouldn’t have to handle it!” George nearly shouted, his patience fraying. “Do you know how much she hates us now? How much she hates me because she thinks I’m just like you?”

Fred blinked, thrown by the sudden intensity. “Wait, hates you? I don’t understand—why are you so worked up over this?”

George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from exploding. His next words were thick with emotion. “Because, Fred… I care about her. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. And you… you’re ruining everything.”

For a moment, Fred stood frozen, the weight of George’s confession hitting him like a hex. “You care about her?” he repeated, slowly, like the words didn’t make sense.

George took a step back, hands trembling with the force of what he’d just admitted. “Yeah. I do. And every time you pull these pranks, you push her further away. She thinks I’m just another part of your game.”

Fred shook his head, still not fully grasping the situation. “But… it’s just us having a laugh. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“A big deal?” George’s voice cracked. “Fred, I’m not you. I don’t want to spend my life making jokes at other people’s expense. I want her to see me for who I am, not who she thinks I am because of you.”

Fred stared at George, his smile long gone, replaced with something closer to guilt. “I didn’t know…” he muttered, finally starting to understand. “I didn’t mean to mess things up for you, George. I thought she… well, you know, I thought she could take it.”

“Well, she can’t!” George snapped. “And even if she could, it doesn’t make it right.”

Fred stood there, his shoulders slumping slightly, the reality of what George was saying settling in. “I didn’t realize you felt that way,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, or you.”

George shook his head, the anger simmering down but not fully gone. “Just… stop, Fred. Stop with the pranks. Give her some space. I need to figure out how to fix this, and I can’t do that if you keep pulling this crap.”

Fred nodded, finally backing down, his usual humor replaced by a rare moment of sincerity. “Alright. I’ll back off. I didn’t mean to make things worse for you, George. I swear.”

George took a deep breath, the tension slowly easing from his shoulders. “I know,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “But this isn’t just about me. It’s about her. And I’m not going to stand by and watch you hurt her anymore.”

As Fred nodded again, George turned away, the weight of their conversation pressing down on him. He knew this was only the beginning—now came the harder part. Finding a way to show Y/N that he was different.

But for the first time in days, George felt like he could finally breathe.

----------

The Black Lake shimmered in the moonlight, its surface calm and quiet, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that had been swirling inside Y/N for hours. She sat on the edge of the dock, her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared out at the water, hoping for a moment of peace.

But peace had been elusive. The whispers and stares that followed her around the castle since the Quidditch match had made sure of that. Everywhere she went, people were talking about Fred’s prank, about her humiliation, and the confrontation between the twins that had somehow made things even worse. No matter where she turned, she couldn’t escape the gossip.

And then there was George.

The entire rest of the day, he had tried to approach her, to explain himself, but each time, she’d walked away. She didn’t want to hear any more excuses. The anger, the embarrassment, and the sting of betrayal still burned too deeply. She had avoided him at every opportunity, until now.

Footsteps crunched on the grass behind her, and she didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Her heart quickened, and she immediately moved to stand, ready to walk away like she had every other time.

“Y/N, wait,” George’s voice called out, firm but pleading.

“I don’t want to hear it, George,” she snapped, not turning around. She stood up, preparing to leave, but then she realized the dock led to nowhere. Her escape route was cut off by the lake, and the only way back was through him.

She hesitated, torn between the urge to flee and the exhaustion of avoiding him for days. She took a step forward, determined to leave, but George reached out, his hand gently grasping her arm.

“Please,” he said softly, his grip firm but not forceful, just enough to stop her in her tracks. “Just hear me out.”

Y/N tensed, her body rigid as she kept her back to him. “Why should I? I’ve heard enough from everyone else. You, Fred—this whole school can’t stop talking about it. I don’t need to hear anything more.”

“Y/N…” George’s voice was low, pained, and for the first time, she heard something in it that made her pause—something raw, something that didn’t sound like the George she thought she knew. “This isn’t about what everyone else is saying. It’s about you and me.”

She clenched her jaw, trying to keep her walls up, but the gentle touch of his hand on her arm grounded her. Reluctantly, she turned to face him, though she kept her distance. His face was cast in the soft glow of the moon, and there was none of the usual mischief in his eyes. They were serious, filled with a vulnerability that caught her off guard.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all day,” George began, his voice steady but laced with regret. “I know what Fred did was awful. I know you hate us both for it. But I need you to understand that I didn’t want this to happen. I never wanted to see you hurt like that.”

Y/N folded her arms over her chest, her expression guarded. “Then why didn’t you stop him? You’re his brother. You knew what he was planning, didn’t you?”

George shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “I didn’t know it would be that bad. Fred… he doesn’t always think about the consequences. And I should have stopped him. I should’ve done something sooner. But by the time I realized how much it was hurting you, it was too late.”

She looked away, her throat tightening with the memory of the laughter, the banner, the humiliation that had swallowed her whole. “Everyone’s talking about your little confrontation,” she muttered bitterly. “Like it’s some big story, as if it makes a difference.”

“It wasn’t about making a scene,” George said quietly, taking a cautious step closer. “I told Fred off because I couldn’t stand what he did to you. I care about you, Y/N. I’ve been a fool for letting things get this far. But I’m not him. I’m not part of those pranks anymore.”

Y/N’s heart raced, torn between the lingering hurt and the sincerity she saw in his eyes. She hated that she wanted to believe him, hated the way his words tugged at something deep inside her. “Why should I trust you now?” she asked, her voice shaking with the effort of holding back her emotions.

“Because I’m here,” George replied softly, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not running away or hiding behind jokes. I’m here, asking you to give me a chance to make things right. No more pranks, no more tricks—just me. The real me.”

Y/N stared at him, her defenses crumbling, but fear still clung to her. She didn’t know if she could let herself trust him, not after everything. But there was something in his eyes, something honest and vulnerable, that made her want to believe him.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the water.

George’s hand slid from her arm, and he took a step back, giving her space. “I understand,” he said softly. “But I’ll wait. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

With that, he turned and began to walk away, leaving Y/N standing by the lake, her heart a tangled mess of emotions. As he disappeared into the night, she realized that for the first time in days, she didn’t feel the urge to run. Instead, she stood there, watching him go, her heart caught between the lingering pain and the faint flicker of hope.

---------

Y/N lay awake in her Hufflepuff dormitory, staring up at the ceiling as thoughts swirled around her like leaves caught in a gust of wind. The warmth and coziness of the room, usually a comfort, felt stifling tonight. Her roommates were asleep, but even surrounded by peers, she felt isolated, trapped in her own thoughts.

Her mind kept drifting back to the conversation by the Black Lake. George’s face, the raw sincerity in his eyes, and his words replayed on a loop, tangled with feelings she’d been trying to bury. she had been avoiding him, letting her anger and hurt take charge, and it had been exhausting. She was tired of running, but more than that, she was tired of feeling betrayed.

The prank had shattered her trust, and the embarrassment had made her want to hide. It wasn’t just the laughter that echoed in her mind; it was the betrayal, the way she had thought they were ‘kinda friends’ who would never cross that line. The realization that Fred had humiliated her while George had stood by made her question everything.

Y/N turned over in bed, clutching her pillow to her chest, her thoughts spiraling. Could she really trust George again?

He had seemed so sincere by the lake, different from the prankster she’d always known. The way he had looked at her—like she mattered, like he truly regretted what had happened—had stirred something in her, but the hurt still lingered. She hated that she wanted to believe him, but fear kept her from letting go of the past.

George had said he wasn’t part of the pranks anymore, that he was done with tricks, but how could she be sure? How could she let herself trust someone who had watched her hurt without stepping in?

“I care about you, Y/N.”

His words echoed in her mind, tugging at her heart. He had said he would wait, and that felt like a small comfort. But how long would she keep him waiting? She needed time to figure out if she could let go of the hurt, if she could open her heart again and let him prove he wasn’t just another prankster looking for laughs.

Deep down, she wanted to believe in second chances. But trust, once broken, wasn’t easy to rebuild. As she finally closed her eyes, the soft light from the enchanted lamps flickering like her uncertain thoughts, Y/N knew that this decision wouldn’t come easily. She would see where her heart led her, and tomorrow, she would take the first step toward deciding whether to confront George again or keep her distance. For now, she would let herself rest, knowing that the path forward was still unclear.

----------

Days have passed since the Quidditch match, and the atmosphere in the library is thick with unspoken words. Y/N sits at a table near the window, surrounded by stacks of books, but her focus drifts as sunlight dances across the pages. She tries to lose herself in her studies, but her mind is a tangled web of confusion and hurt.

George walks in, his usual confidence tempered by uncertainty. He scans the room until his eyes land on Y/N. Taking a deep breath, he approaches her table.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

Y/N glances up, surprised to see him so close. She hesitates, her heart pounding. Instead of speaking, she quietly nods, her throat too tight to form words.

George takes the seat beside her instead of across from her like usual, and Y/N feels a flutter of nerves at the sudden closeness. He’s never been this near before, and it throws her off balance. The space between them feels charged, filled with the weight of their unspoken feelings.

The silence stretches on, heavy and thick. George tries to look at the book in front of him, but his attention keeps drifting to Y/N. She avoids eye contact, staring intently at the pages, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

Suddenly, the calm is shattered when a group of first-years nearby accidentally knocks over a stack of books. The loud clatter echoes through the library, causing both George and Y/N to jump in surprise.

“Sorry!” one of the first-years squeaks, scrambling to pick up the fallen books.

Y/N steals a glance at George, and for a brief moment, their eyes connect, holding each other’s gaze longer than either of them intended. The world around them fades, the chaos of the library becoming a distant hum. It’s as if they are the only two people left, suspended in a trance that begs for connection.

George’s heart races as he sees something shift in her expression, a flicker of vulnerability. In that moment of connection, he leans in slightly, and Y/N mirrors his movement, as if pulled by an invisible force.

Before they know it, they share a soft kiss, tentative and filled with unspoken emotions, a culmination of all the tension between them.

When they pull apart, Y/N’s cheeks flush crimson, and she hastily lifts the book in front of her, hiding her face behind it like a shield. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammers, ”Icant-” the words barely escaping her lips before she bolts from the table, her heart racing in a mix of exhilaration and panic.

George watches her go, bewildered and exhilarated, the kiss lingering on his lips. The rush of emotions fills him with hope, but as she disappears down the corridor, he feels a surge of worry.

As Y/N rushes away, clutching the book to her chest, her mind spins. She realizes how much she truly felt for George in that brief moment, and she knows she must confront her feelings. The questions swirl around her like leaves in the wind: How much does she care for him? And is she ready to take the leap of faith that love requires?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

[prettyboykatsuki]

CIRCLE HAUNTS | TAKAMI KEIGO (HAWKS)

✮ tags ; dead dove: do not eat, gender neutral reader, no quirk au, horror + suspense, themes of cannibalism, implied / depicted cannibalism, noncon kissing + biting/drawing blood and flesh, intentionally open-ended, institutionalized cannibalism, white collar crime, yandere!hawks, 18+

✮ wc ; 9.9k (??)

✮ a/n ; another comm for the beloved @bitchkiss, thank you for your patience and also for letting me post.

✮ synopsis ; you move into a suspiciously nice house in the shizuoka prefecture, and meet your good-looking and unnerving neighbor. nothing is how it seems.

An abandoned house. Mostly functional in the outskirts of the Shizuoka prefectures in a lived-in district. 

On auction for a little less than 7 million-yen. Located in a  not quite suburb. Too much land between acres and backyards to qualify that way. All the other houses are within walking distance though, and there’s no shortage of places to go with a fair bit of time and energy. 

By all measures, a perfectly good house in a perfectly good prefecture. Even now you’re not sure why it went on sale. You stare at it, outside cream colored with a gate and a cat bowl left on the porch from the previous owner - food gone to dust. Something looms on at the doorsteps, the sun-cast shadows almost as dark as oblivion night. In the front yard are wild strawberries and bushes of ivy. 

It’s a home, no matter which way you look at it. 

But you can’t bring yourself to walk inside. 

You placed your bets on this house completely on a whim months ago.

You’d been looking for a house. No that’s not it - it was more that you’d started to look at houses. An important distinction in this instance, because you weren’t looking to move when you began. You wonder if it’s a rite of passage in your adulthood to peruse listings for places you can’t afford. Dreaming habitually of your landlord's body on a cross or of in unit washer/dryers. You weren’t unhappy with your living arrangements when you started doing it, but the longing for autonomy sunk its teeth into you and showed no plans of letting go. So browsing through houses idly, wine-drunk and exhausted, became something of a regular practice. 

It was three months ago, during that practice (and after an especially scathing argument with your roommates) you’d gotten drunk and committed your usual routine. Cracked open a wine cooler, took off your clothes until you were down to your underwear, and cracked open your laptop to look at more property listings. That time, with a little more weary bitterness in your heart than all times before. 

The search process for Japanese property could range  anywhere from uneventful to laughably cruel at any given time. Whether it be listings for upend mansions in Tokyo or worn down one-bedrooms in Osaka. For every house that seemed livable, there were ten or fifteen completely out of reach or in complete shambles. 

When you came up on thee listing initially, it felt too good to be true. A house in Shizuoka with lots of yard space. A house with decent upkeep and an even larger kitchen - and nice tatami in one of the siderooms. A beautiful house in a beautiful area, on auction instead of the normal sale. Some people had bid on it - but the pool was still low. Seven million yen was your final bet - the mortgage would only be a little more than your rent. You’d put your name down on a whim. With a laugh. 

Laughed yourself unconscious and forgot about it until a month passed. A call from an unknown number to your personal cell. 

A call from a realtor. Your name, miraculously, got chosen with the highest bid. The house was yours if you wanted it. You could move in as early as May.

You were convinced it was a scam at first - like any normal person with common sense would be. Immediately rejected. But the realtors assured you over the line that it wasn’t a scam, that the previous owners just didn’t want it anymore. Some kind of emergency. Of course - you didn’t believe them at face value either. So you did some research, went to tour the house, tried to gather information proving the whole thing was a hoax. 

But there was nothing you could find even after plenty of internet sleuthing and asking everyone in your life to help you vet. When you mentioned to everyone, not a single person advocated for you staying in the city. Your job even offered to move you to the Shizuoka branch. 

It was a good opportunity. There’s a coastal path not too far from where the house is. The previous family didn’t take the cat or any of his papers with him - but he’s friendly from what they say. There’s lots of space indoors and out. 

It’s a cheap price, for a good house and you’d probably never get an opportunity like it again. 

Something is wrong with it. You can tell that just looking at it now, despite how picture-esque it is on the surface. It’s a beautiful house. There’s even a second story and a balcony. You could plant a garden in the yard and still have space for grilling outside. 

It’s a beautiful house. 

And something is wrong with it - but you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. 

Maybe you’re more of a conspiratorial person than you thought. 

You look at the truck you’ve hauled all your things in. Your loved ones have been helping you in moving in the rest of your belongings over the last few months - so what's left is mostly lightweight knick-knacks and essentials. Clothes too. The car is parked along the side of the road with the back popped open for easy access. You shake yourself off your thoughts like you’re trying to banish them. 

It’s a beautiful day outside. Early June heat that’s enough to warm but not enough to burn or swelter. The sun beats down on your skin, the sounds of gnats buzzing and the breeze rustling the overgrown fields makes your heart swell. You take a breath and remind yourself it’s a good opportunity. Stretching your arms over your head, your spine cracks. Putting your hands on your hips, you nod enthusiastically, encouraging yourself to try harder. 

“Let’s just rip the bandaid off,” You mutter. You pull your keys from your front pocket, planning on opening the door first before hauling the rest in. 

The sound of an engine makes you turn your head towards the road. A silver car, something compact - drives along the edge of the pavement. Your expression changes as the car starts to slow in front of the house. Your house. You’re never going to be used to that. Are the realtors coming for a visit? Your move-in date was set months ago, so they should know you’re here. 

The car halts to a stop a few feet from your own truck, the tinted windows rolling down to reveal a good looking blonde man. He can’t be much older than you. He lets his arm hang out from one side of the window. 

His hair is pushed back and shiny, and he’s wearing a button up shirt and brown pants. There’s sunglasses resting on top of his head. He kind of looks like a douche, but you try not to let first impressions sour your views. You give him a confused look, instinctively backing away as he smiles at you. 

“You must be the new neighbor. Heard someone was moving into this place after the Nakamura’s left, but there’s always rumors like that floating around here,” He says, talking so much at once. You kind of have a hard time getting used to him.”But I’m glad to see that it’s true. Gets a little lonely out here if all the houses don’t have people in it. In my opinion, at least.” 

You give him a blank stare. He holds out his arm to you through the car window. You have no reason not to take it, and it seems rude for you to decline - so you shake his hand. His grip is firm and assured, golden eyes narrowing into something pleased. You feel a shiver run through you. 

There’s something about him. 

“Uh, do I know you?” You say instinctually. This catches him off guard. He pauses before breaking out into a laugh. 

“I’m Takami Keigo! You’ll hear people call me Hawks too though. I’m your neighbor. My house is..” He points north, “..the one ‘bout two minutes that way. I’m very involved with the community here. It’s pretty tight knit.” He explains to you. It doesn’t reassure you for some reason. You think it’s supposed to. “Is there anything I can help you with? Looks like you’re still moving in.” 

You make an expression of distrust towards him but his smile remains unfaltering.

“I’m alright,” You supplement, trying to keep the peace. “I wouldn’t wanna keep you but I appreciate you coming to meet me.” 

He looks like he’s considering the words, enough to turn himself around and leave. After a few seconds though, he pulls away and parks his car on the side of the road in front of your house. When he emerges from the front door - his expression doesn’t change at all. His smile is disarming. He’s not a terrible guy to look at  - but you wonder what he’s doing so far from the city. 

The way he dresses is metropolitan. His shirt is loose but his pants are fitted like their tailored - expensive fabrics that the big suits from your job wear. He’s wearing slacks when he’s not working, and loafer shoes that don’t seem suited for the outdoors. You’re not far enough in the country to be expecting country folk, but the area is relegated to families. Something suburban and simple about the people you’ve met so far, yourself included in some ways. No one like him. 

You go with your gut about him and keep a distance. 

It might be too early to completely shut him out - and you do want to get along with the people here if you’re going to take permanent residence. Not friendly, but comfortable. You figure it might be less precarious to go with whatever he’s interested in. He’s not going to harm you in broad daylight, not when he’s dressed like that. And you’ve already had so much apprehension since you’ve moved - you’re almost hoping there’s something you’ve overlooked about him. Something to assure you’re just engaging in some self-sabotage about everything. 

You soften your posture and put on a business smile. There’s a ghost of something - intrigue maybe, but it’s gone before you catch wind of it. You wonder if you imagined it. 

“Well if you insist, but I don’t want to leave you with nothing,” You offer to him, as charismatic and naive as you can spin yourself. Neither of you seem to believe it, and the whole conversation feels like a sham. But he hasn’t turned to leave in offense, so you keep going “I do have some drinks inside and I’m curious about the neighborhood.”

His grin widens. 

“June heat like this is the perfect weather for a cold beer. Would be great with some meat,” He hums noncommittally. You try your best not to let your face crack into distrust. “What do you need? Just some boxes carried inside?” 

You nod. 

“Yeah. It’d be nice to only make a few trips here and there.” 

“Easy peasy. You didn’t give me your name though. Little impersonal, don’t you think?” 

You’d prefer he didn’t know it - but perhaps that’s asking too much since you’re letting him move things into your house. You give it to him neutrally, picking up a tote that you can carry along with your keys. Takami picks up your things swiftly. The boxes he chooses are heavy - you know that because of the way they’re labeled. The gesture is effortless though, and you’re not sure if it’s good or bad that you’ve noticed. 

“Pretty name.” He tells you, and you do your best to not make a face. When he notices your staring, he tilts his head to one side. His teeth gleam an unnerving white. You can’t get over the yellow-gold of his eyes. “Surprising, right? But I’m stronger than I look.” 

He waits for you to walk in front of him. Maybe it’s the paranoia, but it strikes you somehow. How he’s trying to appear. He’s perceptive. You walk in front of him, starting down the concrete path to the front of the house. 

“Any reason or are you just a gym buff?” 

He thinks about how he’s going to reply, but doesn’t meet your eyes to look at you when he does. 

“Got into a lot of fights as a kid so I had to get strong. Something like that.” 

When your eyes meet the second time, you can tell he’s seeing what you’ll probe out of him. Wanting to know what questions you’ll ask. 

“Rough childhood, then?” 

Bullseye, if his reaction is anything to go by. He hums and chuckles, still carrying the boxes. You fidget with your keys, the door sounding with a faint click as you push it open with the weight. 

The lights are all turned off. It’s not your first time seeing the house - but the first time seeing it furnished in full. For weeks you’d been putting your furniture in it, and putting food in the fridge to make moving in smooth. All the other times you’ve been inside, you’ve never felt one way or another about it. Living there wasn’t actualized for all those months - but looking at your things, new and old, makes it all feel real. 

It’s a moment too intimate for a stranger to bear witness to and you think he’s probably well-aware. He doesn’t say a word, just observes you from the corner of his eye. When you come out of whatever trance you were just under, he whistles. 

“Nice decor,” He compliments - a fair attempt at lightening the mood. “Where should I put these?”

“Those can just go behind the couch for now, thanks.” 

He listens to you wordlessly, dropping the boxes off. You watch the light of the sun reflect onto him. He’s yellow gold. You think your mother might find him good looking. He stands back up and meets your eyes. Piercing, underneath everything.  He has marks on the corners of his eyes that give you the impression of a bird. A hawk scoping for something to peck at. 

“Two down, about how many more to go do you think?” 

“I think 6, give or take. And then some luggage with my clothes.” 

“Let’s get to work then, shall we?” 

You give him a tight lipped smile. 

“Of course,” 

__ 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to bring all of your belongings into the house. It’s a short few trips and there isn’t really much small talk for the two of you to engage in during it. 

Once it’s over you, you thank Takami for his hard work and reward him with a beer as promised. You’re sure he knows that it’s only formality - but he’s completely  comfortable in overstaying his welcome. 

The two of you sit on the steps leading up to the front of your house - a cold beer in hand. The sun is starting to hide behind the clouds, and that deep shadow seems to cast once again. Over the both of you this time, and not just on your front steps. You let your nail push the tab of the can open, a soft carbonated hiss sounding as you depressurize it. Takami follows suit. He holds the can up to yours and looks at you before you can drink. 

“Cheers to our hard work,” 

You try not to balk at him, indulging his odd behavior per your own sanity. He’s aware of your apprehension, but his persistence is almost impressive. Another tight lipped smile. “Cheers, Takami-san.” 

You take your first sips in complete silence and don’t look his way for any reason. You need the brief respite of peace to deal with the terrible weight of the pit in your stomach, still lingering. You wonder if his presence is worsening it, or if this is another thing your imagination decides to supplement. The cool liquid and faint sourness of Sapporo ease your mind, if barely. You observe the can in your hand momentarily, pretending to read the label. 

He takes a similarly long sip of his drink and then lets out a semi-obnoxious aah. You peer over at him. 

“Thanks again for helping with the move.” You say, mostly trying to fill the space with conversation so you don’t have to talk to him more than necessary. “I appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” He says, waving his hand around in front of him. “Like I said, it’s a pretty tight knit community around here. I’ll introduce you to everyone whenever you’re free. They’re good folk.” 

There’s something in his voice when he adds the last words. You wonder if you’re overthinking it again. 

“Is that so?” 

He looks at you, but you don’t meet his gaze. “Mm. A lot of people move out here to get a break from the hustle and bustle of the city. Hard-working folks. Families. It’s good to know them,” 

You wonder if you’re being too honest about yourself - but decide that there isn’t anything he could do with the information you’re about to tell him. 

“Interesting. I always grew up in the heart of the industrial district, so that’s lost on me. I even lived in Shinjuku for a while.” You offer mindlessly. “A good change of pace I guess.”

“Oh, we’re the same then,” He offers. You want to ask him to elaborate on what that means, but he brushes over it just as quickly “You’ll like it here then. Just knock on my door if you need something.” 

He looks at you again that time, some knowing in his gaze. You try not to react in either direction, just nodding your head silently as you drink more of your beer. 

“Yeah,” You offer, not looking towards him, “I’ll do that.” 

__ 

For all the evading you down when you speak to Keigo, it was no lie that you spent most of your life living in the heart of the city. 

The hustle and bustle of Musutafu, in the industrial districts of various prefectures - all of that was what you were accustomed too. When you were in your late teens and moved out for the first time - you lived in Shinjuku for two years and worked in the nightlife trying to pay for your tuition. 

You would’ve never predicted a suburb for your future. It’s not the environment you know well. You can’t help but wonder if it’s always so… quiet. 

In the time you’ve started living in your new home, not much has changed in your daily life. 

Your initial paranoia has faded out enough to go about your responsibilities in peace. The previous family’s cat occasionally returns back to the porch, and you’ve started to buy it food just in case it decides it wants to stay permanently. A brown tortoiseshell who is always a little worried. You eat breakfast at the same time, but sleep in later since the Shizuoka branch you’ve moved to is a shorter commute. You still take your daily walks, and sometimes you’ll take some time to visit the coastal path and lay your eyes on the open water. 

(The ocean doesn’t feel as comforting as it once did. Maybe it’s symptomatic of your own grievances, but looking at the endless expanse - your throat closes with the fear of it swallowing you along with it. 

If it did, who would come find you? So far from everything you know?) 

You’re entering into mid June, brushing along the edges of July. The heat is starting to be too much. You can’t stay outdoors for too long without feeling like your whole body is going to melt into the concrete and evaporate you from the inside. The nights get chilly, but the days are long. Humidity makes your skin sticky with sweat, and you’re running up your water bill with just how often you bathe. 

Everything here is by all means much more uneventful. Some parts of it unsettle you. The nights are eerily quiet and before dawn breaks, there’s always a thick head of something perspiring in the horizon like fog.

Most days, the only people you talk to in person are your co-workers. Your friends live back in your hometown, so you only see them on weekends. Same with your family. It’s just you, and some after work dinners. 

But mostly you.

And Hawks. You call him Hawks, in your head and Takami when he speaks. But Hawks feels more apt. 

Hawks, seemingly, does not care what face you show him. Nothing stops him from showing up at your door at one time or another - always before you’re going on your walks.

(You want to ask how he even knows your schedule, but you doubt he’d give you any straight answers.) 

And he doesn’t leave. You don’t think he would, no matter how rough you were about telling to fuck off. How demanding. You don’t want to confront him out of self preservation. It’s not easy to tell him to fuck off for some reason you have trouble placing. When you normally would, when it’d normally be so easy. You do it at your job all the time, to men much more important than him. 

When he comes by, he hangs at your gate and never crosses the threshold to enter. He won’t move unless he’s invited in. You give up on being nice. If you offer him a glass of water, he’ll always agree just to see your expression change. He’s polite to make you uncomfortable. Says please and thank you, and makes conversation with you like he’s interested. An amalgam of reasons that you don’t like his company. Inescapable kindness that lends itself to plausible deniability. 

What do you do for work? Oh, what’d you study for? Where are you from? Where are your parents from?

You never want to answer his questions. But he stays, lingers longer if you don’t. He archives the information, you’re sure - but you don’t know what for. 

He knows what he needs to know. You live by yourself and your family is farther away. But he always wants to know more, always lingers at the gates - waiting to be let in despite how tight you’ve got your fingers on the lock. 

You try not to involve yourself with him more than necessary. You avoid him if you’re walking around the neighborhood for any reason, and you never ask him about himself. He never tells you about himself either - but you can’t be sure why that is. If it’s for your sake or for his. 

You try not to get used to him, but it doesn’t surprise you to see him just outside of your door. Sun pours over him in white rays like melted iron, but he’s the same as always. Same smile, same golden eyes, same unnerving expression. 

He waves at you politely as you let your bodycon bag hang off of one side - a single headphone in as you look at him. You don’t bother smiling. 

If it bothers him, it doesn’t show on his face. 

“Hi neighbor,” 

“Hey,” You reply, walking closer to the gate. It’s almost routine, but you try your best not to get used to it. No point in getting comfortable. “You’re here again,” 

He laughs good-naturedly. “I am. Good to check in, no? Don’t want you getting lonely out here by yourself.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” 

He laughs again, but he sounds more sincere. 

“Going on another walk? You should be careful in this heat, you know. Take care of your body and everything.” 

“I’ll be fine,” You offer, standing in limbo and waiting for him to leave. “Thanks for your concern.” 

“So cold to me,” He quips. So he does know. “Hope it’s a nice little workout for you.” 

You sigh as you make more small talk, mostly tuned out of whatever he’s saying. 

“Got any plans for today, Takami-san?” 

He pauses before smiling to himself. He lets his arms cross over the metal of your gate, but doesn’t flinch when the heated edge touches his bare skin. You wonder about it, go to ask - but he’s talking again before you can. 

“I do, actually.  Gonna go into the shop today and get a new fridge,” He tells you, his grin bright and unusual. You’re surprised. He never tells you anything about what he’s doing, no matter how casual. Nothing more than whether he’s working or not. “I’m out of room in my old fridge, so I’m upsizing.” 

“Out of room?”

You ask before you can calculate the correct move. It’s a slip up, you both know it. His smile widens just barely, nodding his head and closing his eyes. 

“Mm. Ran out of space. A lot of mouths to feed.” He says, and opens one eye playful. “A lot of people live with me. Too big of a house to leave everything all empty.” 

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.” 

“Oh my roommates?” Hawks says, and you nod. His smile gets bigger. “They’re kind of  a rag-tag bunch. Not sociable like me. I can always bring them to meet you - if you’d like.” 

“No need to trouble them.” 

“But you should get to know the people who live here a little better,” He insists, finally backing away from your gate. “It’s good to be familiar with your neighbors. I’ll try and direct people to you. Word’ll get out faster that way,” 

You go again to protest, but he cuts you off a second time - seeming faux apologetic about your upset. 

“You should come over for dinner next week, too. Meet my roommates. At 7 ish, we should all be together. They’d love to meet you,” 

You meet his eyes and wonder if his invitation is as deliberate as you assume. When you peer into them, you confirm that it is. He’s not forcing you. You’re sure that if you rejected him now, he’d return to the way he was. He might fake being hurt, but he’d still visit you at your door. He’d still linger, still be there. He’s inviting you in on purpose. Dinner with his roommates is a less than casual affair - and nonsense for your relationship. 

It’s a bad idea, and maybe a trap. You’re almost positive of that. 

But if you did go - it’d confirm things. You’re positive of that too. You’d know for sure if you were being paranoid, if you went into that house that looks just two minutes away and saw the inside of it. You feel your heart pump through your body as the sun moves away from the clouds. There’s no longer a shadow cast on your face. Just pure, blinding heat. 

You shield your eyes with your hand, all too conscious of the heat crawling up your back and the tightness forming in your stomach. 

“Sure,” You reply, noncommittally - trying not to show too much of any one feeling. No advantages. But you feel like you’ve already lost. “I’ll see if I can make it,” 

“See you then, neighbor,” He waves, finally turning to leave. “Looking forward to it.” 

__ 

He’s true to his word on multiple fronts. Which. Doesn’t comfort you.

 An official dinner invitation, and more importantly - sending out the other neighbors to come and meet you. He’s made a point of making good on both vaguely threatening promises. 

Like your old living arrangements, you don’t go out of your way to talk to anyone here. You’re busier in the Shizuoka branch (though you like it there) and you find that there’s more daily upkeep with the new and improved space. Plus it’s mostly family folks and retired couples - no one you have any business speaking with for more than five minutes. So you’re not really going out of your way to socialize. 

You never planned on being buddy-buddy with any of the people who live in the area, anyway. Acquainted and friendly at best. 

But  in these last few weeks, folks from all up and down the streets have arrived at your doorstep bearing all sorts of gifts. Fruits and desserts and other housewarming things they think you'd find helpful. They come so often even you have a hard time refusing them, though you’ve wormed your way out of any of them coming inside of your home or crossing far-past the threshold of the gate. 

On the surface, they’re good folks like he described them to be. There’s no distrust to the conversation, nothing they want to wield against you. 

But something's off. And isn’t that always the case here? You’re starting to feel like you’re repeating yourself. Stuck in a loop, some kind of odd deja vu. 

It’s two things you notice. They’re both minor, but they bother you. 

The first is the way they describe Hawks. 

Nothing but good things. Which makes you sound like a bitch, even to yourself. But it’s weird. The kind of kindness that doesn’t feel real. Empty praises like a helium balloon. Last week one of your neighbors described him as benevolent and his wife agreed whole-heartedly. Each time you wonder if you’re thinking too much about it. Benevolent isn’t a word you’d use to describe anyone you like, no matter how well acquainted. 

You know people as charismatic as him so you know that it’s something people do. He’s a good guy, but you don’t know him so you say empty, kind things. Still, it bothers you. And it’s like they say. A friend to everyone is a friend to no one. 

It’s uncomfortable that no one shows any sign of disagreement about how kind he is. That there’s no hesitant glances or country gossip. That not one old lady has pulled you in for gossip and wine. There’s no character. No humanity. 

It’s backwards but there’s too much harmony. In the people, in the weather, in the road - paved perfectly with no cracks. Everyday of June since moving in has been nothing but blue, cloudless skies. A bright vivid sun concentrated into one shape, heat casting the illusion of waves. No June rain to water the gardens or wash off the dusty roads. No lightning storms that send all the animals howling, no winds strong enough to dust a city into the sea. 

It’s not nothingness. There’s something to that at least. If it felt abandoned, it might feel less unsettling. An abandoned place is a familiar one, a memory from your hometown. An abandoned place usually means that someone lived there before you. At least ghosts are the promises of people, even deceased. 

Is there something more nonexistent than a ghost, while still being material? You don’t know what that would be. 

Hollow but not empty - the skeleton of a suburb. Like something has been carved out of it and replaced. Unnatural, man-made. It never fails to make all the hair on your neck stand. 

Then there is the other thing. 

Well it’s a stretch. Even you can acknowledge that it might just be coincidence. But nothing here feels like sole coincidence except for the fact you’ve been unfortunate enough to end up here. 

A lot of people in town have… injuries. Particular ones. The elderly couple up the street has a lost leg and missing pinky between the two of them. Of the few other people living alone here - all three of them have some type of it - a part of them completely gone. A lost eye or arm, or visible scars along their sides like something’s been … cut out of them. 

You know how it sounds. Even to yourself, you’ll reprimand your imagination. It’s not something you can discern meaning from, not something to draw conclusions from. This is Japan, a Japanese suburb with little kids playing in fucking mud and wild strawberries and bushes of ivy. 

Maybe the people who retire here are veterans, or maybe Hawks has some kind of charity. 

Maybe it’s something not sinister, because what else could it really be?

You keep trying to convince yourself that this time it really is your paranoia. Because even if you examine that, try to unravel - what does it leave you with but more questions? 

You want answers. Need them so you stop tossing and turning. But even if you’re to get answers, you aren’t sure if you could trust them. You trust your gut - yourself and only yourself. 

You know something is wrong, but just how wrong do things get before the point of no return?

But you can’t help living here if something is wrong. As wrong as you think. If it doesn't go away, what then? What happens to you? Neighbors keep meeting you and people keep being injured and tight-lipped and hollow eyed. Something is always waiting for you in the dark. 

You want to get ahead of it, no matter how fucking sick it makes you.  You have to know or it'll swallow you up. 

You just want to put the whole thing to rest, and get answers. You’d take fake ones to placate you if they were believable, you’d take anything to get your fucking mind off of it. 

But the longer you stay, the longer you live at the edge of the road, the longer Hawks  waves to you as he passes by your place - makes you feel like you can’t rest until you know. 

You need to know for sure. 

_

It rains. 

The day he invites you over for dinner, just two minutes down the street - it rains. Harsh, July rain that sounds like it’s running against the ground. Thudding as it floods the streets and turns the Earth to mush. You couldn’t have expected it. It’d been sunny in the morning, but it’d all gone gray outside while in the office. And then it got darker and heavier, like nightfall early. 

You were soaked on public transport on the way home, tracking mud into your front door as you walked along the grass back to your own home. You had enough time, at least - between getting home and going over to shower and sit down. 

In the two hours of your arrival from the office and your invitation - you pretend for a while that none of it is happening. You read on your couch and pet the cat you didn’t adopt. You listen to music and pleasantly paint your nails up until you have to get ready, because you don’t really want to get ready. 

You’re being dramatic. Or you’re not. But you don’t want to go. You don’t want to know what happens when you get there. You think about canceling. Taking a raincheck because of the weather. Feigning an illness for your not-cat. 

Something is wrong with this place, and it’s bothering you. But you don’t know if you’re prepared to find out what.

You decide to go, because the other option is remaining in the dark. You could tell him that you want to reschedule, but just like you trust your gut on most things - you get a feeling this is the only window you’ll get to find out anything important. Like if you do it another day, you’ll get the same hollow facade as always. 

So you dress yourself slowly. You take an umbrella, and lock your door shut. You even say goodbye to that cat that isn’t yours. You’ll make it back in one piece but something will change once you go.  Both of these you believe with full conviction. 

But you go. You go. 

When you get outside, you open your umbrella up and put it over your head - walking out past your front gate and onto the sidewalk. 

It’s not a lie that Hawks is the neighbor closest to you. He lives within walking distance, less than ten minutes from you. The neighborhood is more compact closer to his place, your own house being more isolated - the first house when cars turn the corner.

You don't know what the house looks properly, only what it's like vaguely in shape and color. On the walk there, it’s the only thing your eyes can focus on. You stare at it aimlessly as it comes into your vision line. 

It’s obscenely big. You don’t know how many people are living inside for that to be the case, but it sticks out. Even in your time in the city, you’ve never seen a house that size just out in the open, so protruding. It feels invasive. 

You feel something forming in your gut as you start to approach the gate. It doesn’t look so different to yours. 

Clearing your throat, you approach.

In the clear distance is Hawks, in front of the open door like he’s waiting for you. It’s still light outside, but the weather makes everything dark. The warm light pouring out of the open door casting shadow onto the concrete above it. Hawks runs to meet you at the gate to open it, not bothering to grab something to cover himself with. The rain soaks his head, makes his hair fall a little flat. 

There’s a girl waiting by the door with him, younger than you both - who’s looking at you with a wide smile. Her teeth are sharp like fangs. You can see them from afar, and better as you get closer. 

Hawks is quick as he unlocks the latch for you. He pulls the gate back and ushers you with his hands on your waist. Instinctually - you hold out the umbrella to cover his head. He gives you a smile as he leads you through to the front of the house. The rain feels like it gets heavier as he does. 

When you’re underneath cover, you’re rushed into the foyer of their place before you can think twice.

The door shuts behind you, the noise of the rain muffled. You miss it and you want to go outside again. You look at the door as it shuts, and the girl with him closes it and looks at you. 

She’s cute. She has to be a student, but she looks nothing like Hawks. He walks over to her and pats her head. 

“This is Toga. She’s the youngest of us. She won’t be joining us for dinner ‘cause she’s going to see her girlfriend, but she wanted to see the new neighbor.” 

You give her a passive glance. She smiles at you. 

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” She drawls the end of the word, then looks you up and down. “Hawks keeps talking about you all the time,” 

“Aw, c’mon now Himiko-chan, don’t embarrass me in front of our guest,” Is what he says, but he doesn’t look embarrassed at all. “Take your raincoat and umbrella. Say hi Uraraka-san for me,” 

“Uh-huh, I will. Bye-bye,” 

You watch her get dressed for the rain and turn to leave. The brief sound of the rain returns and you’re all but too aware of how much you want to turn back from whence you came. 

Hawks takes your jacket for you. His voice guides you to putting your shoes in the rack, telling you where the house slippers are for guests. 

You’re not particularly trying to listen, but you’re out of your own body. The muffled rain thunders, cries out - makes you jump in your own skin. Lightning flashes through the whole house. 

He looks at you bemused. “Just a little rain,” 

“Right,” You reply, itching to get control of yourself “Been such a clear summer, so it spooked me,” 

“Are you off put easily?” Hawks asks. You close up your umbrella and hang it against a wall “You seem like it,”

You shake the water off your face and neck and shake your head. “Not particularly. Just not used to living here yet.” 

He nods sagely. “You’ll get used to it. But enough out of me, I’m here to introduce you to my roommates. You’ll have to forgive their curiosity, especially Touya.” 

Curiously, Hawks doesn’t proceed with his usual testimony and fair. He doesn’t tell you that they’re good people, like he normally does. Just smiles, coyly, and gestures you to the corner of the hall. 

From the kitchen on the other end of the foyer, you can hear sizzling and cutting - something being hacked away with a butcher's knife. Hawks waves your thoughts away as you turn your head towards it. “That’s Kurogiri. He learned we were having guests so he took up cooking. He’s the best at it, and I’m pretty decent. Himiko too.” 

“Oh, that’s kind. What are we having for dinner?” 

He stops to look at you. He holds his stare too long.“Meat. With some sides and rice, of course. I think it’s steak but Kurogiri doesn’t like western sides. You eat meat, right? You mentioned wanting to barbecue,” 

You hesitate. Something slips in his face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. You nod. “I uh do meat. I try not to lately, to save money.” 

He laughs. “Well, we have plenty to go around. Please eat as much as you like,” 

You frown at him. 

“...Thanks for the offer,” 

He doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t make a punchy quip, or have a fresh joke like normal. Just nods aimlessly before giving you another familiar business smile. 

“Lets not keep ‘em waiting,” Hawks offers, as he walks you into the basement. The darkness at the end of the stairwell puts a familiar gnawing in your stomach. “I’m sure they’ll want to meet you sooner, rather than later.” 

__ 

They’re not what you expect. 

His roommates. You’re expecting people like him. Metropolitan, overly friendly types. You’re expecting people he gets along with well, and some of them do. 

But they’re nothing like Hawks at all, not even close.

Most of his roommates remind you of the kids living on the street during your life in the industrial districts. Rag-tag bunches who got in trouble with the law frequently, always in and out of the penal system. 

Of his roommates, Shigaraki is the most antisocial. He doesn’t say anything when Hawks drags you to his room. Hawks doesn’t seem to be expecting anything either, but he does ask if the former will join you for dinner. Shigaraki looks you up and down, then laughs for the first time, and says not tonight. Hawks shrugs and moves on.  

There’s Twice too, and he’s kind. Of them, you think he’s the nicest. He’s the closest with Toga. A bad past, he’s fond of Hawks (though you can’t be sure Hawk’s is fond of him.) Apparently he has some kind of condition and disorder, he tells you candidly - but he’s not unpleasant all the same. At the very least, he doesn’t offset some baser instinct to run far in the other direction. 

You meet Magne, an older girl and another man who doesn’t tell you his full name. Hawks calls him Compress, but he introduces himself to you as Sako. He tells you he won’t join you all for dinner - holds your hand, places a kiss on the back of your palm as an apology. The gesture weirds you out, but you try to keep the peace.

Hawks tells you he’s a performer and you believe him. 

The last person you meet is Touya. 

Touya is interesting. He has thick scars along his face and neck, burn marks - but he’s got a handsome face. Hawks seems most hesitant to introduce you two, but they room together. You want to ask if that’s necessary, given that there’s so much space in the house but refrain.

When Touya greets you, his grip is casual and firm. He mostly seems disinterested, except when you’re in closer proximity to him.

 Enough for him to flash you something pitiful. Something knowing, something… like he’s condescending you and pitying you all at once. 

He’s the one, of all of them, that leers at you the most openly. He assesses you, polite in his introduction before turning to Hawks. They communicate something to each other wordlessly and you don’t like any of it. After whatever that had been, Touya simply turned to examine you, shrugging as he agrees to dinner and slinking back down into his room.

After a while, you go back downstairs. Hawks doesn’t tell you anything about his living space. Just sits you in a living room and chats with you until dinner is ready. Chats hollowly about the same pointless dialogue fodder he always does. He stares at you with each word, and you try your best to ignore the shivering it incites. 

He’s relaxed with the charade here, but he keeps it up exceptionally well irregardless. 

Nothing is strange in a way that makes all of it strange. The rain pounds against every window like it’s begging to be inside and the doors sometimes shake when thunder claps. But nothing is wrong in a way you can prove. His roommates are nothing like you thought they’d be, and only serve to prove that you know even less about him than you might’ve assumed. 

He’s quick, on all fronts, to brush over any questions. 

Whatever you want to know about, Hawks won’t let you. But it’s not out of secrecy. If he could tell you to be patient without spoiling your little game, you’re sure he would. 

The pit of your stomach only grows heavier as the evening continues. Even though he hasn’t done anything to warrant your increasing distrust. Nothing feels as it seems. 

It’s nearly eight o’clock when Kurogiri calls you all to have dinner.

Hawks send you into the dining room alone. 

The walk into the dining room feels like it goes on forever. The hallway remains dark. At the end of the tunnel is a kitchen. A brightly lit dining room with warm lights and a table that seats many people. On the table, there's a bottle of sake and glasses. A pitcher of water with lemons cut into it, and plenty of sides. 

On display though is meat. A lot of meat. Meat you can’t identify any one way, and that doesn’t smell like any other meat you’ve ever had. Hawks mentioned steak, and you can’t be sure it’s not that. It just doesn’t look like it from this distance.

 The tables are all set-out, and there’s a steak on each plate. 

Kurogiri is polite when he greets you. 

“Oh,” He says, thinking to himself. “You must be the guest. Sit here. Keigo insisted I sit you next to him,” 

You’re startled, but nod your head. “Nice to meet you, Kurogiri-san,” 

He shakes his head. “The pleasure is all mine,”

You sit at the far end of the table, and let Kurogiri pour you a glass of water. The rest of the housemates start coming into the kitchen. Magne, and Twice, and Touya mostly - along with Hawks at the tail end. He comes around the redwood table to join you. He sits at the very head while everyone sits in what seems to be their own assigned seats. Touya sits directly to your right. Kurogiri sits at the opposite end of the table, glancing at Hawks. 

“Master Shigaraki won’t be joining us?” 

Hawks shakes his head. “Said he wasn’t. You can always bring  him something to eat.I can take care of your guest.” 

Kurogiri pauses, then looks at you. He shakes his head. “Just be careful, Hawks.”

“Have some faith in my hosting skills, Kurogiri,” 

You watch on in silence as Kurogiri fixes things in a tupperware. Master Shigaraki?

“Sorry about the delay!” Hawks offers, all of a sudden. You look at the plate in front of you, and all the bowls alongside it before looking back towards Hawks. “Thanks for joining us for dinner. Please eat as much as you like and consider this our formal welcome to the neighborhood,” 

Touya laughs hard beside you. “Laying it on thick aren’t you, Keigo?” 

He replies in his unflinchingly calm voice. Touya must really get under his skin though, because you can hear his demeanor crack just barely. “Just being welcoming. Wouldn’t kill you to take a page out of my book, I don’t think,” 

“Enough bickering,” He supplements, throwing his hands up. “Let’s eat,” 

There’s a resounding itadakimasu around the table before the sound of cutlery begins to scrape against the ceramic plates alike. 

For the first time all night, you check into your body and stare down at the plate in front of you. It feels like all your blood is rushing to your ears. Your heart pounds, blood thrumming through your nerves as you examine the plate. There’s a cut of meat on it, tender with herbs - and a side of rice and pickled vegetables. The ceramic plate it’s on is red, a deep sort of maroon. Painted birds decorate the sides along with thin leaves and branches. The other cutlery is nice. Heavy stuff, nothing cheap. Even the chopsticks have good weight. 

You feel out of body as your hand reaches for them, swallowing thickly and not looking up at anyone for any reason. From the corner of your eye, you see Touya who seems to be watching your every move. Hawks doesn’t pay you any mind. You wonder why he’s doing so deliberately. 

You use a spoon to help pick up rice. You eat the vegetables plain. It hurts to chew and swallow even though none of it’s dry. The lemon water you drink from the cold glass cup doesn’t soothe your throat. 

The blonde glances at you. He reaches towards the sake bottle and cups circling the centerpiece of the decor and hands you a glass. “This’ll warm you you,” 

You look at him, and briefly at his plate. He hasn’t touched the meat yet. You take the glass from him and sip in long drinks until you reach the bottom. 

But the feeling doesn’t leave you. You wonder if you’re imagining it. 

It’s meat. Beef, from what they tell you. You look up to see Twice across the table, tearing into the flesh with his teeth - and something inside your gut churns hard. Your focus is unbreaking as you see it. Teeth sinking into flesh. The outside a golden brown but the inside raw and red, fatty and bleeding. Twice’s plate pools with what looks like blood. Steaks bleed, you know that. 

And everyone is eating comfortably, like nothing is wrong. Except Hawks. He has yet to cut into anything. He mimics you. He’s waiting for you to eat first.

“You should eat first,” He goes as far as telling you. His smile gleams. Pearlescent white teeth, golden yellow eyes, blackness in his pupils like oblivion. “Feels a little rude as the host.”

Fuck. Something is wrong. It’s screaming at you. The sound of scraping and chewing and swallowing becomes a cacophony as it grates on your mind. You try your best to be unaffected and drink more sake. You keep your voice calm. 

You won’t panic. You can’t panic. You steel yourself. 

“No no, please - go ahead. I’m a little tired so I don’t feel like chewing, is all. It’s fine, I promise.” You offer, then stare at him. “Eat.” 

He looks at you surprised, and Touya laughs besides you. 

He shrugs though, and eats. Unconcerned with you, with refined manners and well practiced etiquette. Hawks is polite when he eats. 

He cuts through the thick hunk of meat with a sharpened knife in precise, even squares. He’s an expert at it. You watch as the outside cuts open. Underneath the brown is tender red. Bleeding red. It’s practically raw on the inside, blood spilling out from the open slices. It has that soft texture of raw meat. Hawks uses his chopsticks to grab the piece, and it yields underneath the pressure - squished between the ends.

You watch as he chews it. You watch carefully. 

There’s delight in the act of eating. He savors when he chews, slow and deliberate and when he swallows - he seems especially pleased. His expression changes after the first few bites, repeating it over and over. You feel bile rise in your throat. 

“It’s good you know,” Hawks hums, looking at you so deeply you feel suffocated. Flying close to the ground to pin you right when you’re least expecting, how typical. It’s so like him it makes you sick. “You should give it a try,” 

You clear your throat. 

“I will. I uh, I do need to use the restroom though.” You say quickly, trying not to heave. “Where would that be?” 

Touya snorts. “Down the hall on your left.” 

Before he can get a word in edgewise - you bolt. You nearly knock the dining chair over with how swift you carry yourself on your legs. You run, speeding off towards the bathroom. Grabbing the handle you nearly slam the door as you hurry yourself inside.

Your chest feels tight as a sense of nausea overwhelms you, mixed with some morbid sense of relief. You were right. You were right about everything. 

They’re taking body parts - this much you’re sure of. You can think of what they do with them. Selling them is a lucrative business. But eating them? It’s a level of depravity so far beyond your scope - you can’t help but feel nauseated. 

Your hands grip the linoleum sink as the fluorescent lights of the bathroom flicker overhead. Your complexion has gone pale with disgust. Your stomach feels especially tight, soured. It’s almost painful how sick you are. Sweat drips along your back and into your shirt - all down the crown of your head. White knuckling the edge of the sink, you stare into the linoleum and take deep breaths trying not to fucking puke. 

You’re in too deep. You were weeks ago. Maybe the minute you clocked that something was wrong about him, like you’ve seen past a carefully set-up illusion. 

By rights of the illusionist, it’s only inevitable that he comes after you. You either die with his secret or become part of his magic act. 

You don’t know which things he wants more. 

By the time you steady your breathing at all, you hear the bathroom door click open behind you. 

You nearly scream. 

Hawks closes the door behind him. The enclosed space of the bathroom makes your chest ache, as you back into the sink. He looks calm. You ready yourself to run. 

His eyes no longer shine. They’re almost dull, copper in color as he stares at you with a lazed smile. It’s like the mask has all but shattered. Leaving you two in this cramped, airless, stale room. Your stomach clenches, muscles tight with adrenaline. You think of all the ways out, but Hawks leans his weight on the door to keep you from running. 

“Relax,” He offers, no longer pretending. “I won’t hurt you. And you’d rather not get the attention of my housemates, I’m guessing,” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You fucking—you eat people?” 

He smiles. “You know, it’s pretty clever of you to figure it out. Most folks here are too stupid to see through it, but you noticed right away. I was really interested in that when we first met,” 

He stands up straight, readying himself to approach you. 

“Stay the fuck away from me,”

He leans against the door and puts his hands up, but not because he’s trying to appear unthreatening. 

“It’s a good gig. Cheap property, more people move in, more business. When someone proves loyalty, they get a cheap mortgage and live for a small price. Up until now, no one just moving has been able to get out of it. Except for the family before yours. Still feel sorry about that one.” 

The dread that washes over nearly has you throwing up. You dry heave. Hawks smile only grows. 

“But you noticed right away, which was interesting. So I started getting intrigued by you. I wondered how far you’d go to find things out, and it was farther than I expected. It’s good to be clever,” Hawks offers. He steps closer to you this time and you go to defend yourself, grabbing something from the counter to hit him with. You find nothing. “Not so good to be nosy. But you couldn’t help yourself, huh? I like the spunk, at least.” 

“You’re a monster,” You say and you mean it. 

“It’s a house full of them. I’m just the spokesperson. And this is a lucrative business practice. My colleagues aren’t the social type, so I handle all the HR. I can’t have some newbie who just moved in fucking the protocol,” Hawks hums, tilting his head at you. “In a way I’m helping you,”

“Helping me? How in the fuck are you helping me?” 

It’s a swift movement where Hawks pins you. You go to move, to hit him - to scream. But Hawks is fast. He’s strong, and completely swift - and when he grabs you to pin you to the sink, you’ve never felt more completely helpless in your life. You bite his hand, but he looks at you steadily. Cold.

“No one will help you even if you scream, so don’t scream,” Hawks reprimands, almost bored. “Cops don’t come here anyways. I would know.” 

He pulls his hand away from you. 

“What do you want from me?” 

Hawks looks surprised then laughs. 

Before you can protest any further, you feel the grip on your arms and body tighten painfully. Hawks ducks his head down against your throat, and in one motion bites. He bites hard. You can feel it break the skin, and that time you scream. You pull away, but his teeth scrape and scrape and scrape till you’re bleeding. 

He sucks the blood and licks the flesh, like someone might eat bone marrow from a carcass. You can feel it then. He’d devour you into nothing if he could - while you’re still all pieced together. You look at his mouth when he pulls away, covered in your blood. Some of the skin he’s taken off, just barely. Your whole body feels feeble as he goes again to lick up and clean the sensitive wound. 

Your knees feel weak as he pulls away. Your blood is on his mouth. There’s surely more on his hands. You feel sick all over again. You’re gonna throw up. 

“It’s simple what I want,” Hawk’s says, and then narrows his eyes at you “I like to play with my food before I eat it,” 

Your eyes narrow. 

“There’s no way  I’d let myself wait around here to be killed.” 

“Who said anything about killing, stranger? Just eating. It’s good practice to eat. We’ll eat together. We’ll eat each other. It’s romantic, don’t you think?” Hawks hums, hugging you to him. And it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, for exactly what he really is.  “Eating together is a basic facet of a healthy connection.” 

“A healthy connection? You’re insane.” 

He shakes his head. 

“I’m in like. Different things.”

You try again to pull away, but remain stone still in his arms. For now, there’s no escaping. But you thrash and thrash and thrash. It comforts you.

“I’ll never take it lying down.” You tell him, as seriously as you can. 

He gives you a smile. It’s pearly white. It’s unnerving. It’s genuine. Your heart feels heavy as the weight and implications all sink in. Oh, he’ll chase you - if it means getting to eat you alive. 

Thunder strikes the house. The walls shake. July is unwelcoming and gloomy. 

But Hawks’ eyes shine yellow gold like a false sin as he looks down at you in awe. 

“I’m looking forward to it, neighbor.” 

[yustardino]

Hello Yosugay nation, its been 3000 years. Anyways, as I have been doing some autism things like commiting crimes, being depressed and being a swagass transman. I have neglected to draw some Yosugay and Narukami. Idea to draw them as UC Gundam characters came from when I saw catnatch draw our bois as Code Geass and I went 'Gundam is a mecha I really like and Gundam is gay' so I was like yeah lets draw em. Also I felt like it wouldn't be right to not credit them when they inspired this piece.

[prinzrupprecht]

How would okita be with a lover who’s female kunochi reader?

The Former Assassin

Great idea! Imma make this correlate to Izo Okada who was a very famous assassin during this time period.

Pairing: Okita x fem!reader

Synopsis: As a former assassin of Chousou that hid your past from everyone, you had joined Kondo’s faction during the war with the anti-shogunate forces. You were incredibly close to everyone over the years, especially to Souji.

WC: 1044

No warnings

Your past was a mystery, but you continued your journey as a warrior like them and went as far as to join Kondo’s faction. You had met the warriors of the Tennin rishin-ryu before they were formed as the Roshigumi in 1863. Even when others disapproved of you, Souji didn’t care whether you were a woman or a man. He tried to beat you numerous of times but each time you evaded his attacks.

You weren’t stronger than him but you always managed to escape from his sight before he could land any fatal blow. This was all in the past.

You were still easing up on everyone and helping them in their battles. The Bakumatsu period was a survival of time. You all fought for your beliefs and to survive. Souji admired you since you were able to react to his move set and your iai drawing techniques were so fast that he almost got struck a few times.

You weren’t a phenomenal samurai but considered yourself on par with the most infamous man Izo Okada who used to be like a brother to you. Used to…

Izo Okada had taught you the basics of assassinations and sword art, knife throwing, and martial arts techniques at close range. However… as you were now considered a traitor to Choushou, you were dead to them. They were very anti-shogunate and were considered to be the enemy of the Tokugawa shogunate including their allies, the Roshigumi, and Aizu domain.

As you remembered a part of your past, would they kill you if they knew who you were? “What are you doing out here sharpening your weapons this late?” Souji yawned as he stepped outside of the Maekawa residence to see you in the courtyard.

You had already proven to them that you were useful for the last 2 years and one in particular member who you grew close to was Souji. The others also treated you with respect as well minus Hijikata who was mostly an ass but you tolerated him.

“No reason, you should go to sleep.” You didn’t make eye contact with him. You and him were considered too close by the other members. It all started when you got severely injured by an ambush attack… Okita stuck by your bedside most of the entire time.

Your head wasn’t in the right mindset and you begged him to stay with you. When you gained your senses back after a few weeks, you felt embarrassed for asking for his comfort. Yet, he was completely fine with staying with you and still occasionally would be there when you wanted him with you.

“If you can’t sleep, do you want me to stay with you?” Souji sat next to you. He was too kind for someone like you with a dark past. You hated how you felt that you didn’t deserve him. His offer warmed your heart and you leaned your head against his shoulder. He could tell you were tired.

“Would you kill me if I told you about my past?” You felt Souji’s cheek lean against your head so that both your bodies were practically pressed up against the other.

“Your past?”

“Ya…” you were afraid of what he’d think of you. Maybe he won’t kill you, but he could distance himself around you. Everyone already thinks you were his girl.

You didn’t want to live in a lie.

“I… I don’t understand?” He was worried where this was going.

You grabbed his hand. “Remember when you attacked me not once but three times in the streets? You had no idea who I was, and thought I was some peerless criminal committing crimes.” You tried to lighten the mood while Souji loosened himself while nodding.

“Ya, I remember.”

“I was actively involved with the enemy Choushou…but not anymore, at least since I joined you guys.” You could feel him shift uncomfortably and didn’t say a word. Kusaka Genzui was a ruthless man that threatened you numerous of times if you didn’t comply with orders. Eventually, you broke away and left for good but it took a lot of years to leave.

You moved away a bit from him in case he was going to grab your sword and kill you with it. “So? If you’re not with them anymore… it shouldn’t matter. Let’s go to sleep, okay?” You could see him give you a soft smile as he grabbed your hand to pull you up to your feet.

“You don’t hate me for it? I– I hid this for years. I don’t understand.” You had a sense of relief wash over you.

“I’m not mad at all. I'm kind of happy you left them. People can change, right? I don’t think I have it in me to kill you...” Hearing this from him made your heart swell with happiness.

He was too soft deep down and has been incredibly kind to you since you joined them. “Thank you,” you whispered next to him as you laid down on the Tatami mat curled next to him.

You were afraid and didn’t want to admit it. Of losing him? You never had such connections with anyone before. You were just used as a tool for assassinations and Okada most likely try to finish you off himself when the time comes.

Souji enjoyed every moment he could get like this. You had plagued his mind since you two had met. He watched you slowly fall asleep feeling snuggled into his side grabbing him like your life was dependent on him. He wondered what you were afraid of the most. What did you live for? Why did you betray your former faction? Were you loyal to them now? To him? Souji still trusts you since you trusted him.

The most vulnerable situation a person can put themselves in is when they’re asleep. So you obviously trusted him.

Does he call you his now? Was this normal as friends? He couldn’t remember for how long had he felt this way. He smiled before putting one arm over your waist and decided to sleep this time.

He was for sure going to keep nights like this on a regular basis. With you there with him already puts his mind at ease.

Note: finally hit the sleeping next to them base with my fanfics. No idea how I feel about this one. I tried my best. I’ll put you more quality ideas in my 3 part sorcerer one shot in the future.

[longing-for-rain]

Out of curiosity, what makes you feel drawn to Zutara as a lesbian. Is it still relatable to you?

It does feel relatable to me. Obviously it’s a heterosexual relationship, but given the lack of good and complete representation of lesbian relationships in the media, I still gravitate towards certain aspects of romances like this.

There are many reasons why, but before I get into it, I want to preface this by saying that the point of this is not to say that Zutara is “lesbian coded” or anything like that so please don’t construe it that way. It’s a heterosexual relationship, period. All I’m saying here is what I, personally, enjoy about it as a lesbian.

The biggest reason I like it is because it represents female desire to me. I know the BoyMom and Pick-Me brigade hates that I’ve described Zutara that way in the past—but it’s true and I stand by it. That is the reason why Zutara became so popular and why its fanon narrative is almost entirely driven by female fans. It directly reflects their desire in a romance and what Katara’s canon one was lacking.

I honestly didn’t have strong feelings about Zutara until I saw the backlash it received. The narrative and the fans both treat Katara as if getting with anyone besides Aang makes her selfish, or that she’s neglecting some kind of duty by doing so. Katara’s voice and desire is fundamentally unimportant to the writers, because they always focused on Aang’s feelings over hers, and even though fans try to pretend otherwise, the dominant narrative surrounding this relationship has always been about Aang. How he needs airbending children, how his heart would be broken if she left, how he needs her to rebuild, etc.

And from Katara’s side, even though she never shows that she shares Aang’s level of interest, fans insist on reading in signs that aren’t really there. They also focus on logical reasons why they’d work. Aang is nice, he’s fun, he’s a prodigy like Katara, both have suffered in the war, etc. At first glance, it seems like a good match…but we never actually see the writing demonstrate how they actually connect over any of these things.

Good in theory, but bland and passionless in reality.

That narrative resonated with me in a bad way, because it’s exactly how I’ve felt as a lesbian. It reflects the pressures I’ve felt to put aside my desire for love to date a man instead. I’ve been told to my face that it’s selfish for me to “choose” another woman—a person I actually desire—over a man.

“What about children?”

“This is going to make your life so much more difficult!”

“Think of your family!”

“Jakey is such a nice guy, can’t you just give him a chance?”

“You have so many interests in common with Jakey and he has a good job! Why won’t you go out with him? It makes so much sense!”

“You’re so shallow, being fixated on looks. What if your perfect match comes along, but he’s male? Would you really say no?”

“You only want that because you’re a pervert. You need to stop being so obsessed with sex and think about the person instead.”

It’s eerily familiar, that’s all I’m saying. A lot of these ideas are used to attack Zutara and its fans nearly verbatim.

Katara isn’t a lesbian, but like a lesbian, Katara in the context of Zutara commits the crime of marrying for love and desire over duty. Some people see that as an evil act of selfishness, but to me, it’s just love.

We can’t control who we love, and I like to see the narrative of a female character breaking free from the social expectations placed on her to pursue it. No; Zuko isn’t the “safe” option, their relationship would be heavily criticized, and it could even endanger them. But that relationship is one they both feel passion for, and together, they would draw power from one another and use it for good. Their love and connection is powerful, and they would have fought hard for it. Because love is worth fighting for.

That’s deeply admirable to me, and an empowering narrative when I think about how I’m inevitably going to have to fight hard for any love of mine. But it’s worth it to me—it’s always worth it.