#I haven't read it in a while but I fucking LOVED it when I read it as a child

[berryliciouspie]

ᢉ𐭩 nerd! ellie williams sfw hc's

⠀ ୨୧ authors 📝 : hey guys ! first ever headcannons so im sorry if im not good at writing im getting the hang of this app ( PLS READ IT THO DON'T SCROLL AHHHH!!) i was gonna write smut hc's too but thats for another day !! ( maybe at 30 likes ? wink wink )

✦ likes are appreciated i'm new to tumblr!! ( also open to moots in the comments ! ) i also have a req box in my bio if you wanna send me some stuff !! <3

masc women hmu pls dms open .. ahaha who said that ! !

₊ modern au! , shy!nerd!ellie , flirting , bold(ish) ellie , men dni , high-key cringe , not proofread, a little short , probably loser!lovergirl! ellie is a better fit lol , fluff , all that good stuff ! <3

⟢ fluff hc's

ᯓ nerd!ellie is SO down bad for you . and when ur on ur period its no different . she practically kisses the ground you work on , spoiling you in every way .

︎︎⤷ "baabbyy... don't leaave mee.. m' so cold.." you'd say after she gets up from holding you in bed. she was keeping you so so warm , but she wanted to surprise you with something.

"i'll be back silly, stay right there okay? call me if you need me but i'd be home fast." she gives you a kiss on ur forehead while you pout in pain that ur girlfriend is breaking up with you (shes going to the store for 15 minutes max.) while ur in ur death bed (you are in ur shared bed with ellie with 3 blankets , hello kitty plushies , a hot water pouch , heated blanket , and her laptop playing ur favorite movie).

you'd take a small nap and she'd come home to you're sleepy self. she'd slowly open up her bag of ur favorite (insert sweet treat here). you jolted at the noise of a bag and see ur pretty girl with sweats, a tank top and her adorable glasses you loved so much looking at you while shes on her gaming chair around her set up with the bag.

"you can go back to bed, sleepy girl. it wont go away" she says with a soft laugh.

"ellie .. give it to mee .. " ur hands come out the blankets and ur hands start doing a grabbing motion for it.

she'd chuckle, "how can i say no to my precious baby."

ᯓ when nerd!ellie see's random things on tiktok / reels / pintrest / anything she always says "us!" or sends you videos like that.

︎︎⤷ "baby , look its us!" she'd come running to the kitchen while you are getting water for her.

"mhm els, we are those two french fries." you'd say and you give her a cheek kiss that leaves her cheeks in a deep hue of red. she kissed you back on the lips and then smirked.

"are you a french fry? because i want to eat you out from top to bottom !" she'd giggle and almost die of laughter from her own joke, and you follow as well.

"you fucking corn ball!" ellie would catch her breath before picking you up and putting ur legs around her.

" i love you sweetheart ."

"awww els! i love you dork."

a few days later , she showed you kittens cuddled up together forming a heart while you two were cuddling.

"aww! ellie this is so freaking us, how cute is this!!"

"i know how much you like cats and this is us cause we love each other and they are forming a heart which means they love each other and so thats us and they are super cute and ur super cute baby and-"

ellie would be shut up by you crashing ur lips into hers, and she'd let out a small whimper from how sudden it was. you pulled back and she looked like she was ready for more.

"what was that for princess?" she'd adjust her posture to look as calm and collective as she could (as if you guys haven't kissed many times before and are already dating..) and she covered her face slightly with her hands.

"you looked too cute pretty girl - why are you covering ur face?"

she only replied with a small pouting noise. cute.

"els, cmon look at me."

you held her hands gently and pulled them away from her face so you can see ur beautiful girl. she was so flustered, her face was beet red to her ears and her eyes looked like those of a pup.

"hehe.. ur so cute all flustered."

"shut up." she'd adjust her glasses before laying on ur chest. "s'not my fault ur super hot."

"i know . . its hard being this sexy els!" you'd say mockingly.

she'd rolled her eyes with a smirk on her face. "what if we tried making that heart shape?"

"you serious?"

"hey! i'm always serious!" you could only laugh and say " later. "

- nerd!ellie def puts on scary movies (that she is so nerdy abt) just for you to jump on her when shes scared (she also get scared but shhh)

- nerd!ellie geeks out when she yaps to you about dinosaurs, when you just look at her for too long saying "mhm" over and over she literally tweaks in the middle of her sentences and stutters (AUGGHSHHS I LOVE NERDS)

- nerd!ellie is just a girl . in public she'll have a cold face not because she wants to be nonchalant she's just awkward (MY SHAYLAAA💔💔) she just wants to go to her baby (you 😅)

- nerd!ellie sometimes asks to go on late night walks to see the starts and yaps about space and star facts and she'll bring a journal to draw the sky

- nerd!ellie loves to do acts of service , quality time , and physical touch !! she looooves taking care of you , she even leaves the game when you call for her (even when she cant pause💔). when ur doing anything she'll have to be all over you so she'll shut up. whether it be her laying on ur lap or her head is on your shoulder, her hands pulling ur waist so ur closer and random kisses every now and then.

- nerd!ellie loves giving you princess treatment.. need i say more. shes such a cutie aughfhshs

- this is random but my girl def got some corny ass dino boxers HELP

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

heyoo guys !! thanks for reading my first real post lol , i got a very interesting (nerd ellie smut LMAO) fic idea for my next post hehehehe stay tunnneeddd!!!

- berry pie ! <3

[selfloverrrrrr]

AMAZING!! hey lil ma😍😍I have a REQUEST..SMT LIKE yn has been working as a manager/secretary to her childhood bully gojo while he desperately tries get her attention for months and finally losses it one night when yn was working overtime in his office/place noncon ofcourse THATS ALL I'm really curious how you'll do it❤️❤️nd I really love the way to write I read all your oneshots😭😭🙏🙏OMG SO GOOD ND HAVE A NICE DAYY

I'm sorry if I'm too late 😭

Overtime~

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, torture, size difference....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/n's POV

"this is the company? This office is really so huge" I asked. "Yes.... and best of luck" Shoko said. "You think they'll take me for the job? I'm so nervous" I replied. "Chill, girl.... don't be so nervous! I know you're capable of this. Thik about the money they'll pay then you won't be dealing with any problem" she replied placing a hand on my shoulder.

She's right. I really need money that's why I'm searching for a job. I've paid for my rent for almost three months. Shoko is making me food every day so I can save some money. But how many days can I go like this? Shoko is the one who told me about this company who is currently taking interviews for the secretary position. If I pass this my all problems will be solved.

I looked at her and smiled. "Okay...see you after the interview" I said and went out of the car. "Ok bye... I'll be waiting in the parking lot" she said and turned the. I took a deep breath and went inside the building. Some people were coming out of that building. "Gosh that CEO is so rude. Why is he so rude?!" They were talking with each other. What does they mean rude??? I'm sure I won't get this job.After waiting for almost 30 minutes they called me inside. I went inside the room. That room was as luxurious as the whole office.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN YOU STILL COULDN'T FIND HER???? IT'S LITERALLY 3 FUCKING YEARS YOU ALL ARE WORKING TO FIND HER.... AND YOU STILL COULDN'T?! YOU ALL ARE GETTING ON MY NERVES!!!! MEET ME TODAY" I saw a tall guy yelling at his phone. He seems like the CEO. There were few workers in that room but I can tell by his dressing that he's the CEO. I couldn't see his face since he's facing the window. And why is he yelling at someone like that. Gosh I'm dead...he is literally so rude. He ended the call. "Who's next?" He asked annoyingly and then turned around. And we both froze.

Gojo's POV

Those damn dumbs.... can't even stalk properly?! Can't find a girl in the whole japan?! Y/n was in my college. She left the city just because I bullied her? How dare she? After graduation I haven't seen her. I tried to ignore the feelings I felt but I couldn't. I controlled myself for 2 years. But after that I hired some people to find where she lives and those idiots still couldn't find?! And on the other hand the annoying interview is going on. I ended the call then turned around.

And my eyes widened and I almost froze there. Is that y/n? Am I seeing right? She came to give interview?! Fuck.... I'm not dreaming right??? So it was in both of our fates? So I wasn't doing anything wrong? If our fate made this that really means she is mine...or maybe I've to make her mine? firstly I've been sure that she's y/n and not her lookalike. From her expressions I'm 99% sure she's y/n.

I sat on my chair. "So what's your name?" I asked. I can tell she's nervous. "I'm.... I'm y/n....y/n l/n" she replied. I couldn't hold back my smirk. After all those years I finally found her? And like this? Never imagined. And..... she's feeling uncomfortable. "So why do you want this job?" I asked. "I really need money.... I can't pay for my rent for months" she replied.

"okay give me your qualifications" I said. She handed me a file. My eyes scanned over the documents. "Hmm... okay. Gotta boyfriend?" I asked. "Huh?" She was shocked. "I mean I don't want destruction for my secretary" I said. "Oh...no. I don't have a boyfriend" she replied. RELIEF. "Okay... join from tomorrow and yuta? Tell the other interviews to go back" I said.

Y/n's POV

I left the room. My heart felt like it's gonna burst. Wtf did just happened?! The CEO is Gojo?! The guy who made me cry my whole childhood till the college? And now he just hired me as his secretary?! Fuckkkkkkk too much happened today. I don't have any other choice I have to do this job. I really need money. I sighed loudly and went to the parking lot.

"what happened?" Shoko asked as I entered the car. "I'm selected" I replied with a smile. My head was hurting so much so I thought not to tell her everything now. "That's great!!! I'm so happy! Today we're gonna order so many foods" she said and started the car. "Yes yes sure" I replied and we both went to her house.

After a month

After joining the company nothing really happened. Which I thought was surely gonna happen but it didn't. And I'm glad that it didn't happen. Work was going well. Gojo didn't spoke about any of those old days. It's almost one month passed. I was checking the files in Gojo's office when my phone rang. I checked my phone it was Shoko.

I picked up the call and put it on speaker while checking the files. "Hello?" I said. "What are you doing madam?" She asked. "What else other than doing these boring shits?" I said and we both laughed. "But I'm happy that you got this job....or else I was almost ready to find a sugar daddy" she said. "Yes a hot sugar daddy" I said and we both laughed.

I suddenly heard a scoff. I turned around and saw Gojo standing there. "Shoko I'll call you later" I said and hung up the call. "When did you come back, sir?" I asked. "When you said to your friend that you're doing some shitty work here" he replied. I cursed myself under my breath. I should look at my surroundings before saying things. "I.... It wasn't like that... I wasn't talking about your works-" before I could complete my sentence he cut off my sentence.

"yeah I know what you meant" he said and smirked. Fuck! I think my work is gone now. "Anyways I was saying we have a meeting tomorrow with the other company ceos you remember that?" He asked. Oh he's not throwing me out? Thank God! "Yes... yes sir I do remember" I replied. "Okay so make sure the files are ready and you have to do overtime after the meeting tomorrow okay?" He asked. "Yeah it's fine" I replied.

Gojo's POV

The next day

The CEO of other companies arrived. The meeting was about to start. We sat on our seats. I noticed that Sukuna was looking at y/n. I rolled my eyes. The meeting started. And he's still staring at her?! Tf does he want?! He has a secretary as well...why is he looking at mine?! WAIT! DID HE JUST LOOKED AT HER THIGHS?! those are mine to stare at. I can't blame that short skirt will make anyone stare but he shouldn't!!!

The meeting ended. Suguru Geto aka my best friend and CEO of another company came to me. We shook hands and we were talking. I looked away for a bit and I saw Sukuna approaching y/n. He went to her and called her. She turned around and gave him a smile. he offered a hand to shake. She took his hand. And suddenly HE HUGGED HER?! She doesn't look like she was expecting that. I went to them and called Sukuna.

"yo... Sukuna" I said. He looked at me and let go of her. "Yeah" he replied and came towards me. I offered a hand and he took it. I pressed his hand tightly. "Don't even look at her" I said with grinded teeth then let go of his hand. He looked at his now red hand then at me. Then smirked. "Well that's was a new way to say hello but okay.... gonna see you later and her as well" he said and they all went out. I clenched my jaw.

In the evening

We both reached my house. She has overtime today. My private office is just beside my bedroom. I told her to go there and I went to the bathroom to wash my face. My mind was replying Sukuna hugging y/n. I just can't stand it... she's fucking mine can't he just understand?!. I went out and went to the office and sat on the couch. She was standing beside the table and was checking some files on the table. And I was behind her.

She slightly bend over to see the files. Fuck....bend a little more lemme see what is mine. "Three products came for collaboration. One of them is beer. So I already declined that. You said you don't want to collaborate with any alcoholic product that's why" she said. "Hmmm..." I replied and my concentration was still on her ass.

"and then a Condom company. They said they made stretchable condoms which will fit everyone. And then a perfume company claiming that their perfume lasts more than 14 hours" she said. "Hmm" I replied. "If you agree I'll send it to the test then we can collaborate with them" she said. I stood up and walked towards her whose back was still facing me.

Y/n's POV

I was putting down the file from my hand when I almost tripped over the table from a force from my back. I turned around my head and saw Gojo standing there. His front pressed against my back. "What were you talking with Sukuna?" He asked. "What?" I asked. "I SAID WHAT WERE YOU TAKING WITH SUKUNA?!" He screamed. I got nervous. "N-Nothing.... h-he was saying h-he liked my outfit then hugged me all of a sudden " I replied.

"you're not lying?" Gojo asked. "N-No sir...i-I'm not" I replied. My heart pumping loudly. He smirked and made me turn around. "You know y/n... I miss those days..." He said and pressed his crotch against my thigh. "I really really reallyyyyyy miss your screams" he said. Then I felt his hand reaching underside of my breast. I stopped his. "G-gojo P-Please" I said. I felt like I'm going to cry.

"one touch and sir became Gojo?" He asked with a smirk. "G-gojo P-Please don't" I said. "You know what...." He said and picked up the sample condom from the table "why should I send it on test when I can test it myself" he said and chuckled. "No no no please" I cried out. He picked me up on his shoulder and took me to his bedroom. Then threw me on the bed.

He started undoing his shirt flexing his toned body. "Gojo please.... you're out of your mind" I said. He crawled towards me then pinned me underneath him. "Now you gonna tell me what to do?" He asked grabbing my chin roughly. His nails digging into my skin. I started crying. "ANSWER ME!" He ordered. I shook my head left and right. "N-No" I replied. "Then you should shut the fuck up" he said and I sobbed.

He pressed his lips on mine. Kissed me roughly. Forcing me to open my mouth and then pushing his tongue inside. Exploring my mouth. He bit on my lower lip. The giving open mouthed kisses from jaw to collarbone. Leaving hickeys all over. And the thing haunting me was his laugh. The evil laugh he's laughing. He sat up then grabbed his shirt and tore it off.

"g-gojo P-Please please don't" I cried and Tried to cover me. But he grabbed my hands and pushed them apart. "Do you remember the day you came for the interview and I was screaming on my phone? That I hired some people to find someone but they couldn't?" He asked. "I was talking about you....I hired them to find you and you know why?" He asked and brought his face close to mine.

"because I'm soooo fucking obsessed with you" he said then smirked again. I was scared instead of shocked because I know that's gonna make my life a nightmare.He took off my bra. I tried to protest but nothing happened. He looked at my boobs with lust in his eyes and didn't waste any time, crashed his mouth on my breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with his hand. I moaned in the sensation.

Then he took off my pantie."you look better without it" he whispered and then looked at my pussy. He rubbed his finger on my clit and whispered " so wet. You naughty little slut, I'm sure you were imagining your boss doing dirty things with you ~". Then he licked my pussy. I couldn't help but moan loudly. He smirked at my reaction and undo his pants.

His dick sprang out. It was too big and too thick. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " G-gojo no no no... P-please no... s-stop" I begged but didn't even listen to me and slammed his whole dick inside me in one slide. I screamed. Why was this happening with me?! I shouldn't have accepted to work in his office in the first place! He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thrusting in and out roughly. I was through my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he liked it so much. His thrust became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself.

With a few more thrusts I came. He looked at me and smirked. "You liked it huh?" He asked and laughed. He was still thrusting roughly. "Gojo please" I sobbed. I was through my legs trying to stop him. But he seemed like he was liking it so much. His thrust became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and "look you saying you don't want this and already going to cum again before me"he whispered. He started rubbing my clit with his thumb again and my fell back moaning loudly his name. And that's what he was waiting for.

I came again. Shame grabbed me all over. I looked away and couldn't even look at him. "Awww is someone ashamed?" He asked. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh...no please no....ahhhhhh..... n-not ahhhh.....not inside..." I moaned. He looked down at me. " Call me daddy.... say that it feels so good... and maybe I won't cum inside" He said while thrusting. I sobbed looking at him. He spanked me"come on...you can do better " he said. "I-It feels so good... daddy" I whispered to him. He kissed me and whispered"good girl". But he didn't pull out. His thrust became harder. "W-wait...you said you'll pull out" I said. "I said maybe" he whispered with a smirk. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out.

"huhhhh... fuck I always knew you would feel so good. Those porn videos weren't working. Of course those weren't you.... I don't know how those stupids jerk off using those.... but who cares? I got you permanently " he said with a smirk look at my teary face.

Give me your requests guys...

I love when you give me your requests 💕

[ihueka]

do you do requests? if you do, may I request choi soobin x fem!reader where it's dubcon with Soobin being a stalker/serial killer with some knife play? maybe ending with fluffy kisses as reader is a stalker for him and Soobin is like "omg finally someone who gets me" pFFT-

omfggg i love this, as my first request i made this long, hope u enjoy girl!

STALKER SOOBIN — choi soobin x reader

— w/c:1.5k

— choi soobin who has enough of just staring from afar

warning!, knife play, obviously soobin being a stalker.. also lots of slut shaming DO NOT READ IF YOUR UNCOMFORTABLE! BLOCK OR IGNORE!

soobin who has been following you for months, walking behind you after class or after you leave from work.

soobin who went as far as to rent an apartment near you, soobin who watches you from your bedroom window, you must love having an audience as you unclothes. hes watching as you strip out of your clothes, palming his hard dick as you bend your ass over. soobin cant help but imagine how he'll slap that ass till its red. fuck you drive him crazy.

soobin who sees you get ready, applying heavy makeup that makes you look ten times sexy, mini skirt and a revealing top. just where the fuck were you going?!

soobin grits his teeth, mad. chewing on his bottom lip furious that he's been obsessing over a fucking slut this whole time! this is the first time he's seen you like this, hiding your body with baggy clothes.

its okay.. he takes a deep breath and starts getting ready.

soobin will just follow you.

your two best friends came to pick you up, of course he knows their names too, dressed just as slutty as you. soobin who sees you hop into your friends car and hes quick to follow behind.

it doesn't take too long till you all were inside a club. it doesn't take long till he spots you, hanging out with your two girlfriends as random men surrounding you three. and like a bitch, you're talking to one of those thirsty men.

it doesn't take much till you take this mans hand and go dance with him in the crowd of bodies. soobin who gets close, maybe too close.. he's never been this close and hes getting so fucking pissed when he sees you wrapping your arms around this man as you grind on him.

he's holding onto that blade tight that he's been hiding on his back pocket. you little fucking slut. he was just standing there, while you were totally unaware.

after a few minutes, your toy leaves you, whispering something in you ear before you nod your head and he leaves. leaving you alone. as soon as your toy leaves, soobin makes a move.

soobin who gets behind you, pressing himself and his blade to your body while wrapping the other arm over your waist. you jump at the touch, "if you try to scream, ill cut you up bitch." he lowers his body and whispers in your ear.

you nod your head, body shaking and he could feel it. "move." he gives you a push, the arm that was on your waist going to your shoulder and the blade still to your back. you two are soon at the exit, feeling the cool air touch your skin, you begin to shake more.

not too far, soobin pulls you to an ally, going further till he's sure no one will hear you, you still haven't turned around yet. thats when out of nowhere, hes not pressing the blade to your back, and as soon as he did. you open your mouth ready to yell, "hel-" when he slams your head to the brick wall making you let out a scream in pain.

"scream one more fucking time! i dare you!" he yells at your face, shoving your face further as you sobb. "please! let me go, please!" you pleaded with the man. he ignores you, taking his blade and dragging it up your thigh, letting out shrieks every time you feel it cut you.

"think you can dance like a little fucking slut and i wouldn't be mad?!" he drops the hand on your face and brings both his hands under your skirt, dragging those pink undies down while you cry to him. "mister, let me go please!" you cry to him wiggling your ass.

pulling your underwear down, he sees a wet line connecting from your pussy. "you like this, huh? this slutty cunt is dripping." you just shake your head no as he continues to drag your panties all the way down, the blood that was trailing down your thigh getting caught by the cotton of your undies.

"i wont tell anybody please!" you turn your head, finally able to get a good look at your abuser. "shut the fuck up" he groans pulling the blade to your neck and you cant help but whine feeling the cold metal pressed against your neck.

with skills he manages to pull his pants and boxers down and turns your body till your facing him finally. the tears running down your cheeks and mascara staining your bottom lashes. "please let me go" you sobb.

pressing the blade harder to your throat, you shut up instantly, feeling it make a small cut. "i told you to shut the fuck up!" he groans, flipping your skirt up and pressing his body closer to you, his hand guiding his hard long dick to your cunt.

you whine and lead further against the wall as soobin dragged his tip up and down your folds, occasionally brushing against your clit. "you love this?" still you shake your head no. he scoffs, pulling the blade away from you, and shoving it in his back pocket.

like a puppy thats been kicked, you look up at him confused. he places his hand on your throat and gives it a good squeeze making you squeak. "youre going to take this like a good bitch, right" "y-yes!" a bit of frightnes and trill showing in your eyes.

soobin grabs onto one of your legs, and whispers to you to jump. holding onto your waist, he has your back against the wall and lets wrapped around his waist, and arms around his neck.

his hard dick pressing right outside your tight hole, and with no warning he shoves himself all the way in. because of this, he has you screaming out against his ear, clearly unprepared to have a giant dick shoved in that tight pussy of yours.

your body tense and soobin lets out a howl as your tight warmth snugs him. "too big! pull out!" you yelp moving around. "i told you, youre going to take this like a good fucking bitch" he groans before pulling out and shoving himself back in, making you scream one more time.

not even caring if you were okay, he starts bouncing you up and down his long thick dick and you yelp and moan throwing your head back. you dont care if his dick was splitting you open, you were awaiting this day for too long.

"you fucking slut, squeezing me real tight" he moans in your ear as you have your head leaning on your shoulder. his hand on your waist were for sure going to leave bruises on you. "dont ever let me catch you with another man." he growls like a wolf, and just the thought of it makes hims squeeze your neck a little harder.

your cunt squeezes him a bit tighter and he groans-and continues to abuse your hole. jumping you up and down as your pussy kept making wet noises, plap plap plap.

"i-i wont soobin!" hes too busy digging into your pussy to notice the slip up from your lips, his tip kissing your cervix repeatedly, by the way you were moaning and legs squeezing his torso tight, it was clear you were close to cumming.

"youre fucking mine." he ruts into you, hammering his hips inside, going full on animalistic as he was close too. "all yours.." you whine as you release on him, soobin following close behind coating the inside of your pussy white.

taking a breath to catch up you two stare at each other and it wasnt long till you two connect lips and have a long passionate kiss. this was sick. but fuck, was it hot.

soobin always dreamed of this, going inside your home. hes always seen your room, knows every little thing about it and occasionally your hallway. and here you were, pulling on his hand as you lead him thru the apartment complex.

opening your door, he noticed how cozy your place was. just as he imagined it. he smiled to himself looking at the amount of plants that you have and your fat lazy cat he's had staring contest with thru your window when you weren't around.

"nice place." you turn around to smile at him and let go of his hand "let me go change, ill be back." he nods his head and sees you disappear inside your room. he decided to explore more than just your living room.

twisting the knob of another room, he opens it and turns the lights on to see his face plastered all over the wall. have you been stalking him.. are you obsessed with him just as he is with you?!

"hey, where did you go-" your smile vanishes when he sees you inside your secret room. "whats this..?" he asks curiously. you give him the cutest puppy eyes as you look up at him, "im sorta.. crazy.." you admit.

"good, cause im unhinge too."

[embracing-the-ineffable]

Breaking the Silence, posted by Neil Gaiman at 10:20 AM (1/14/25)

I haven't had a chance to process this yet, but NG has posted on his website:

Text below the cut if you don't want to follow the link (And a reminder to everyone, please be radically fucking kind to everyone as they process this in their own ways):

"Over the past many months, I have watched the stories circulating the internet about me with horror and dismay. I’ve stayed quiet until now, both out of respect for the people who were sharing their stories and out of a desire not to draw even more attention to a lot of misinformation. I've always tried to be a private person, and felt increasingly that social media was the wrong place to talk about important personal matters. I've now reached the point where I feel that I should say something.

As I read through this latest collection of accounts, there are moments I half-recognise and moments I don’t, descriptions of things that happened sitting beside things that emphatically did not happen. I’m far from a perfect person, but I have never engaged in non-consensual sexual activity with anyone. Ever. 

I went back to read the messages I exchanged with the women around and following the occasions that have subsequently been reported as being abusive. These messages read now as they did when I received them – of two people enjoying entirely consensual sexual relationships and wanting to see one another again. At the time I was in those relationships, they seemed positive and happy on both sides.

And I also realise, looking through them, years later, that I could have and should have done so much better. I was emotionally unavailable while being sexually available, self-focused and not as thoughtful as I could or should have been. I was obviously careless with people's hearts and feelings, and that's something that I really, deeply regret. It was selfish of me. I was caught up in my own story and I ignored other people's.

I’ve spent some months now taking a long, hard look at who I have been and how I have made people feel. 

Like most of us, I’m learning, and I'm trying to do the work needed, and I know that that's not an overnight process. I hope that with the help of good people, I'll continue to grow. I understand that not everyone will believe me or even care what I say but I’ll be doing the work anyway, for myself, my family and the people I love. I will be doing my very best to deserve their trust, as well as the trust of my readers.

At the same time, as I reflect on my past – and as I re-review everything that actually happened as opposed to what is being alleged – I don't accept there was any abuse. To repeat, I have never engaged in non-consensual sexual activity with anyone.

Some of the horrible stories now being told simply never happened, while others have been so distorted from what actually took place that they bear no relationship to reality. I am prepared to take responsibility for any missteps I made. I’m not willing to turn my back on the truth, and I can't accept being described as someone I am not, and cannot and will not admit to doing things I didn't do."

Here's information about yesterday's article, which he's responding to:

And another reminder to everyone, please be radically fucking kind to everyone as they process this in their own ways.

[for-a-longlongtime]

Erin 😭😭😭 THANK YOU!! 💜💜💜 I'm super late with responding to all of the comments/rbs on this for reasons I can't quite explain - idk, I think it's because writing this took a lot out of me and wasn't like anything I'd written before. But most of all because Little Beast grew to be so precious to me and I'm still so overwhelmed that you and a whole bunch of other people liked it so much, I can't tell you how much that makes my heart and soul sing.

Thank you for answering all the questions I threw at you about the gods (idk I did a crazy amount of research for this, and I'd do it all over again), and just also for being an awesome person, as well as for having organized this writing challenge in the first place -- I just know I'm gonna be thinking of this now every Aug/Sept.

BTW - I watched Oscar's part in the Body Of Lies movie this past week for the very first time, and it struck me so much how his character Bassam reminded me of Santi in Little Beast (thanks for these gifs @arcanechariot!), so I had to share these 💜 (He's a little older in this movie than my Santi is in this fic, but still)

Also I realized that when I posted this fic as ass o clock in the morning, I had forgotten to give a couple of shout outs to the other people who also joined the Frith challenge. I still have to catch up with all the fics that have been written for this (it felt unfair to only rb a few, that's why I haven't done so yet), but several of them were a huge inspiration for me.

First of all there is @wolvieispunk's Ezra/Tyr fic "Two roads diverge in a forest..." - Io, it was absolutely magnificent and I re-read it so many times while writing Little Beast, particularly because of the Tyr and Fenrir connection (and I even used some dialogue verbatim from your fic because it did such perfect justice to Ezra as Tyr). I never thought I would've been so drawn to that 'eerily calm' part of him but I think that suits him so well as Tyr.

@almostfoxglove your Javi/Fryr on the horse from "An End to Drought" was a visual that got so embedded into my brain that I also had to implement it - everything about your fic was such a visceral experience! Incredible. Seriously. You too really tapped into the quiet calm part of him, but then brought out so many different aspects of him, it was gorgeous.

My love @qveerthe0ry with Max P/Loki in "What Means to You, What Means to Me", you know I was super excited about him/her/them from the moment you mentioned the concept, and I'm still fucking obsessed with that entire fic. I don't even think it was a concious decision I made to include him, he just pushed his way into Little Beast and it's only better for that!! <3

@morallyinept your Pero/Thor fic "The Lightning Shepherd" was so so beautiful, and frankly every time I referenced Pero/Thor in my fic I felt bad about it because he was not at all the man and god you wrote so so beautifully, but still your fic was so inspiring!

@beefrobeefcal your Joel/Freya fic "Purpose" was so goddamn striking and made really emotional (and when I say emotional, I mean devastated and wrecked). You wrote Freya telling him 'My beloved child - you are returned. You are needed. Tragedy and renewal bind you to me. (...) Decay gives way to rebirth.' and that just brought me to tears and also shaped the way that I wrote Joel in my fic, as a half terrifying brotherly anchor for Santi/Fenrir who also protects him and leads him through tragedy to renewal.

Last but not least @missredherring your Maxwell/Odin fic "An Escape Rope Tied Around My Neck" was short but so striking, and while it was really difficult for me to figure out how to bring him into Little Beast in relation to Santi/Fenrir, because him killing Odin is part of the prophecy, the way you portrayed Maxwell as being in charge, being up high and removed from most others except for Loki, just really stayed with me and eventually led me to write El Gran Senor Lorenzano.

You are all so incredibly talented, and I need to properly re-read all your fics and the Frith ones I haven't read yet so that I can reblog them!!

Go read all of the Frith writing challenge fics right here!

ps: @agentmarcuspike I don't know if you ever ended up writing your Frankie/Skadi fic? I kept checking your page at the time because I couldn't wait to read it, and because I couldn't help but connect him with Santi/Fenrir ofc!

Little Beast

Written for @perotovar 's writing challenge 'An Offering of Frith'. The P Boys they had planned were already taken, so I asked for Santiago Garcia and got Fenrir assigned! Pairing: Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x Francisco 'Catfish' Morales Word count: 18.5K Warnings: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI. 🏳️‍🌈 (DDDNE) DARK fic, AU. Extreme angst from A to Z. Lots of violence (guns, knives, beating, kicking), swearing, hate crime, homophobia (repeated use of a slur), abuse, repeated assault and murder, kidnapping, many mentions of blood and injuries, raiding, (body) horror, nightmares, substance use/abuse (alcohol, cocaine), smoking, arms trafficking, sex work, mental health struggles, trauma. M/M pairing, frotting, masturbation. Norse mythology meets Santi + P Boys meets magic realism in Colombia in the early nineties (so: Narcos related references like Escobar, the Castaño brothers and the Cali cartel).

A/N's: Written in Second Person - not reader insert, but Santiago's POV (aka you are Santi). Not gonna lie, this one is A LOT; writing it turned into some out-of-body experience. More about the gods & characters (and thank you’s) in foot notes.

main masterlist | read on AO3

Bogota, Colombia. 

You’re five years old and your name is Santiago. The house you share with your brothers and parents is small, deep in the comunas, and most people know where to find it. Lots of them will stop by, because of papi’s work, sometimes very early in the morning or really late at night. When you ask what kind of work he does, mama hushes you, and your brother Jay looks away. Your brother Joel however will quietly stare at your dad - too calm, while his eyes are so angry.

You’re seven years old and you still don’t know what your father’s job is. Not a teacher, or someone at the market. Not one of the guys who cleans up the trash on your corner. For a while you thought that maybe he was a butcher, because mami was often cleaning the blood from his clothes. “It stains so bad.” But you’d never seen him in the market, selling his wares.

Every few weeks he is gone for a long time, and often the police will visit the house, which always makes your mom cry.

Every now and then a new face will show at the house, asking to speak to your mother. The girls are always very pretty, dressed in bright colors. The guys often have shiny guns; some of them will let you hold it when mami isn’t in the room.

You see your father all the time when you’re waiting with her at the store. Often he’ll wear a funny looking hat, and sometimes his face looks different. But you know it’s him, always, by the smile and wink he gives you. When you tell mami, she never sees him and starts crying again, so you stop telling her about it.

Jay doesn’t come home often anymore. When you ask Joel if that is your fault, if you made him cry too, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’re okay.”

You’re not sure if you are.

When it’s your eighth birthday, your father suddenly shows up with presents that make you the envy of your friends. Boxing gloves, a large pocket knife - that your mom right away tries to take away from you -, and you all eat so much dulce de leche cake.

You wake up in the middle of the night because you hear your father arguing. The loud bangs that follow are unmistakingly gun shots, and you find one of the casings the next morning near the front door. When you ask your mami about it, she gets so angry that you run away from home for the afternoon to hide, until it gets dark and she’s had the drinks that make her happier.

When you got the boxing gloves, you didn’t know that they would also give you more time with your father - but they do. He teaches you how to throw a punch, how to avoid an attack, read someone’s body language. When to attack someone if you need to defend yourself. Which parts of the body are most vulnerable, and where to stab somebody to make them bleed out quickly.

He’s proud, always, as he tells people about how good of a fighter you’re becoming. “Takes after me.” You don’t - not really, but you do your best to make him continue to believe that. Until you start to believe it too and knock out a guy who is twice your age.

When you’re ten, they try to burn down your house. You don’t know exactly who ‘they’ are, but you’ve heard the name El Gran Señor Lorenzano often enough to know that you should fear him.

The first time it happens, your dad is just in time to stop the fire from escalating. The second time, he’s not home, so you do put out the flames together with Joel.

The third time starts with a flaming bottle being thrown through a window, and as you all stare at the sight, the door gets knocked down and men with masks on their faces storm into the house

Your father runs away, seems to escape the men somehow. Your mom is hysterical and won’t listen to anyone, not even when the tall guy hits her in the face, and you want to beg her to not cry because you know it makes men more angry at her. Not even with your fight training do you stand any chance, and all you hear when somebody shoves a bag over your head and drags you outside and into a van, is your brother’s voice - Joel yelling at you to not fight the men and just protect yourself.

You’ve been away from home for almost a year when you turn eleven, to the point that you don’t think of it anymore as an actual place you can go to. You think you’re still in Bogota but you’re not sure. Sometimes they make you get in a truck again, or a car. Almost always you have to hide; you know that they don’t want people to see you. Sometimes there are other people, or even kids, and you’re pretty sure that you’ve seen at least a dozen dead bodies over the past months.

It’s when they send you to training camp that you realize there’s no way they’re ever going to let you go. The training unit is not the army, but it feels like a military group somehow. Maybe this is like the guerilla fighters you’ve heard about, defending your country.

This time you fight without the boxing gloves, using only your hands or sticks, just like the other kids your age are also being trained.

There are five of you, and Ramiro explains to each of you how to get to the location. The white powder isn’t heavy, tightly packaged in plastic, and every step of the way to your contact person you’re terrified of losing it somehow. You know the consequences - have seen the boys who were shot in the head, and the ones who weren’t lucky enough to die so quickly.

The man who is waiting for you is tall, fat and smells like grease and blood. You don’t remember much of what he says, your heart thumps so loud that it feels like it’s inside of your ears as you accept the package he hands you in return.

You’re one of the four boys who make it back.

Gustavo, the fifth boy, shows up two days later. His lifeless body is covered in bruises and blood, and when someone dares to ask what happened, the answer is that rats will be dealt with accordingly. “Exterminated.”

After three nights of solid nightmares and another mutilated body that’s found outside as a warning, you stop trying to think of ways to escape.

You’re almost twelve when you meet Francisco.

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He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but he’s not shy. When some of the older boys mistake that for fear, deciding to taunt him, he doesn’t respond initially. Only once the biggest bully steps right up to him, a sneer on his face, does Francisco lift his eyes to him and stares him down - and you can feel the tension.

You see the twitch of Francisco’s jaw, and even before the other guy takes a swing you know this is not going to end well for the bully.

It’s impressive how fast the new kid tackles his attacker to the ground, blood streaming from the boy’s noise as he scrambles to get away. But Francisco’s hand closes around his throat, keeping him pinned down. In a flash you see a piece of glass held against the boy’s neck, and that’s when you know for sure Francisco learned to fight the way you did. Your father’s voice echoes in your head, “If you stab someone there, it’s all over.”

You want to be his friend.

Not because he’s a good fighter; he’s far from the only one around here. It’s because he seems to be one of the few kids who doesn’t want to fight, just like you.

By the time you’re twelve, you and Francisco - Frankie - have become inseparable. You know that he’s never known who his mother is and that his father was recently killed by Pero Tovar, one of Lorenzano’s most feared men.

While the other kids try to get their hands on cigarettes, or booze, Frankie is just interested in books.

You like watching him read. On the very rare occasion that nobody else is around, he’ll often read something out loud for you. Mark Twain. Something about going to heaven for the climate, and hell for the company.

The first time Frankie reads that aloud, you have your eyes closed while listening to his voice. It makes you think of the ‘business’ your dad would do, or the way Lorenzano’s men would refer to ‘the company’ and ‘the big boss’. Bullet casings and dried up blood, the smell of your mami cooking beans with pork, and how some nights you fell asleep listening to her cry when your father still hadn’t returned home.

The second time Frankie read those words to you, about a year or so later, you realize it isn’t about going to hell for the work you do. It’s about not being alone in hell since you’ve got someone by your side.

The runs you’re sent on to drop off the product are not that bad at first. It’s a relief to be able to walk the streets, not be holed up inside or be in training.

Most of the kids that work for the cartels still live with their families in the comunas. You, Frankie and the others don’t have that freedom.

There are curfews to follow, gun practice, different kinds of training. It’s not the army, but it might as well be.

There often is discussion about the ACCU, Autodefensas Campesinas de Córdoba y Urabá run by the Castaño brothers. But when one of the other boys mentions FARC, he’s immediately silenced with a hard slap to his face by the instructor. “Those fucking communists. They’re the problem, you understand me?”

Pablo Escobar, however, turns out to be one of the few topics that’s welcomed for discussion by your instructors. Sometimes you have to think of the prayer candle your grandmother would light at the small altar in her living room, the framed picture of Escobar on the wall almost as large as the one of your late grandfather.

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Frankie is the only person you confide in, and you listen to the stories he tells you about his father. In return, you tell him about your brothers, Joel in particular - but the nightmares you have that night are enough to stop you from bringing them up again. It’s better not to think of your family; keep them locked away in small boxes in the back of your mind, where you can pretend they’re okay.

You’re both still not sure how you ended up here. When Frankie points out Tovar one time in passing, you recognize the man with the scar on his face as one of your dad’s frequent visitors. And the person who tried to kill him that night they took you away.

You’ve been getting some attention from the girls, but it’s nothing to the amount that is directed at Francisco - not just the girls in your group, but even during a drop-off in the brothels at times.  That’s how you’re both urged to ‘take some time with a girl you like’ when you join Juan for a drop-off. While you’re fucking a brunette who is a few years older than you are, Frankie is getting busy with a pretty red head on the other side of the room. You try to sneak a peek every now and then, but you know you have to be careful. If anyone catches you looking, you’ll get your ass beaten up - but you still can’t keep your eyes off him. 

The girl - Rosa? - under you moans, calls you ‘papi’ as she asks you to fuck her harder, and you do so. She’s tight and wet around your cock, and pretty, and you like her small tits, but your head is too focused on not openly looking at Frankie, making it hard to come. Once you do, Rosa kisses your cheek as she gets up, gives you a towel and she tells you she’s gonna clean up. Frankie finishes up not long after that.

When you’re both waiting in the dark alley out back for Juan to wrap up business inside, sharing a cigarette with Frankie, you can’t help but ask him. “Was it good?” You’re hoping he says no - that you’re not the only one who barely got off. Because maybe you’re not the weirdo if there’s at least one other person who feels the same, who isn’t thrilled like you know the other boys would be. “The girl.”

Frankie shrugs as he inhales the smoke, closing his eyes. “She was friendly. Nice.”

You wait for more words, but they don’t come from Frankie. So you try to force your own words out. “Yeah. Friendly.”

When Frankie opens his eyes again, he looks tired and conflicted. Unsure perhaps. He lifts the cigarette to his lips again, and your guard is down too much to stop your eyes from following that movement. 

His mouth.

Fuck, now you’re really hard. 

“We’re friends, right?” Frankie’s voice is hoarse, and somehow that sound makes your dick throb even more. 

You nod, then clear your own throat when you realize it’s not really all that clear in this dark street. “Yeah, of course,” you manage, trying to remember how long it’s been since you two met. Four, five years?

More of Frankie’s lips around the cigarette, and more tiredness in his eyes. Perhaps the uncertainty in his expression is more like the fear you’ve had beating in your chest now for half an hour already.

“Good.” Frankie nods, and before you can ask him why, he pushes you back against the brick wall, covering your mouth with his. You groan softly, your breathing suddenly so fast as he kisses you in a way you’ve never experienced before - in a way that, until now, you’ve never wanted to kiss anyone.

The sigh that escapes from Frankie’s mouth into yours is quiet, but you can feel the relief in his body when you kiss him back, feel how he grabs your hips and presses closer against you. You’re so hard that for a moment you can’t think straight, not until you feel him grind his cock against you, and then everything just goes electric in your head, because he’s just as hard as you are, and there is no time, because anyone can walk in on you two right now. It’s such a fucking dumb thing to do here - or anywhere.

He whispers your name, making it sound like a question, and when you nod and suck on his tongue, his hands slip from your waist to your ass, grabbing you tight and oh - fuck. Fuuuck. 

It’s not even a minute of desperate kissing, panting, the uncomfortable but so fucking good rub of his cock against yours through your clothes, and before you know it you’re whispering his name too, the word turning into a plea, because please, Francisco, please - and then it’s no longer just rubbing against each other, it’s Frankie actually fucking you against that wall, right through your clothes, neither of you breaking the kiss until you both come just like this. Right in your pants, not even having put a hand on each other’s dick, just pressed so closely together while you’re drowning in the taste of his mouth.

“Hey, assholes. You ready to go?” 

Juan’s loud voice booms through the alley, and Frankie immediately lets go of you like he’s been burned by fire. He moves several steps away, nearly tripping over his own feet, and the fear in his eyes is as loud as the fear beating inside of your rib cage. 

You drop down to one knee and tug at the laces of your sneakers, pretending you’re tying them, giving you just a few more seconds to catch your breath before you need to look Juan in the face, who seems completely oblivious about what he almost walked in on.

“Shithead. Took you long enough to keep us waiting.”

You’re both eighteen when someone catches the two of you. Your hands and mouth on Francisco in places they shouldn’t be, and his hands and mouth all over you. The fact that you’re both still fully clothed is probably the only thing that saves you from a much worse treatment. 

You beg them not to hurt him, tell them to give you the beating twice, even swearing that you were the one forcing yourself on Francisco. 

Somehow you manage to convince them, and it’s the comfort of knowing Frankie isn’t hurt that helps just a little against the abuse. Against the ringing in your ear which lasts for almost a week, the bruises on your ribs where they kicked you. You let it happen, know that it would be better if you didn’t fight back even though you could probably take out at least three of them. It would be one thing if it were just some guys bothering you - but a few of them are part of the leadership, and there’s no going around that. 

You see the anger and helplessness in Frankie’s eyes, the way he balls his fists and looks like he’s ready any moment to tackle the guys. But you know there’s no point in letting him get in between them and you, because you know better than to show any sign of weakness.

It is only once the tallest and older guy grabs you by your jaw, his other hand undoing his dirty pants, that you fight back. In less time than it takes him to growl “let’s see how good you suck my dick”, you kick out another guy’s legs from under him and swipe his knife, knocking your assailant down in the same move. 

“You want me on your dick?”, you yell as you grab him by his balls, jerking his pants down roughly so his dick and balls flop out. Your knife is against the base of his cock before he can even blink, and you stare him down, pressing the razor sharp blade against his skin and not caring if it draws blood. “Dare me,” you hiss at him as you spit into his face. “I’ll fuckin’ cut it off you right now.”

The other men jump you before you can slice into the man’s sweaty pale skin, just a hair away from cutting off his pathetic excuse for a dick and shoving it into his mouth to choke on. Frankie meanwhile has had enough, now launching himself at the biggest men who are holding you back - and if these were any normal circumstances, you’d welcome the help. Instead you just shake your head, begging for him to see that you’re dead serious about not wanting him to interfere.

“No,” you mouth wordlessly, then gasp out loud as you bite your lip until you taste blood, working hard to swallow your cries as someone pulls your arm behind you and breaks at least two of your fingers. There’s no way you’ll give them the satisfaction of hearing you cry, so you just stare at Frankie until you trust your voice to not crack. “Fish, get out. Go back. I’ll be-...”

“Fuckin’ fag.”  

Someone’s steel toe boot lands in your stomach, startling you with the hit of pain, and this time you yell at Frankie as they drag you away - that it will be okay, that he has to lay low and look after himself. The same way Joel had yelled at you when they had ripped you from your home and thrown you in the back of a van.

“You need to be smarter.”

The voice is suddenly so close that it makes you wince. Especially after having been locked up in silence and darkness for two days, without anyone coming to let you out or even say a word to you. “Please, just stop, okay?”, you manage as you get up to your feet, leaning against the cement wall as your head won’t stop spinning. “I haven’t done anything since. Can you…”

“They feed you?”

You stare at the man who interrupted you, trying to focus on the vague outline of his body as you can see - no, feel - him move closer through the darkened cell. “What? Who are…”

“Esdras-... Ezra. I asked you something, boy.”

“No. They didn’t.” You raise your chin up in defiance, even if he can probably not even see it. “I’m fine.”

The stranger hums, pushing some food into your hand. “You need to stay strong. Get stronger, and smarter.”

You can’t help but shove it right into your mouth, and by the time you’ve swallowed all of it your stomach is already hurting. It was a stupid move, and you usually know better; small, slow bites are the best way to eat after having gone without for a while. But the hunger and loneliness had gnawed at you these past two days, making it hard to think straight.

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You’re locked up for a week, but Ezra keeps showing up daily with food. With conversation, too, even if it’s mostly him talking. It remains unclear how he fits into the organization you’ve been with for years now. When he mentions ‘El Gran Señor’, you suddenly remember Lorenzano, the fires at the house, your father as a fading face in the crowd. 

After they took you away, your father never showed up anywhere again for you. Not in your dreams either. You wonder if it’s because you failed him, because you didn’t fight well enough - even though Joel told you not to fight, keep yourself safe. Maybe if you’d been more like Jay, this wouldn’t have happened. 

You only get a decent look at Esdras’ face once. 

His eyes remind you of Francisco.

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Once you’re finally released and sent back to the barracks, it takes just a few hours for you and Frankie to sneak off somewhere. When he kisses you, both of you pretend to not notice the tears that are flooding your eyes. 

Out of that cell, his warm body under yours, it really sinks in what you’ve known deep inside already for months, despite knowing the risks and consequences. 

There’s no way you can ever give this up. Give him up. Not even if they try to beat it out of you.

When Ezra shows up one night, standing at the back of the communal dining area, Frankie tenses up in the seat next to you. He nudges your leg with his foot as he continues eating, then draws your attention to the other side of the room with a barely noticeable flick of his index finger. 

Even when you tell him this is the guy who gave you food when you were locked up, he won’t take his eyes off Ezra. Frankie has always been taller than you, broader, and when Ezra passes your table you can tell by the way he sizes him up that Frankie has already considered at least three ways to take him out.

“Santiago. Tell your guard dog to stand down.”

Slowly you close your fist around the fork you’re holding, your anger right under the surface, but the smirk tugging at Ezra’s lips makes it clear that his words were a test rather than a challenge.

“I can train you. An hour every night. You’re good - but I can make you great.” Ezra nods at Frankie without taking his eyes off you. “If anyone besides him finds out, we’re done and they’ll probably take you away.” 

“And do what?” Francisco is still staring at Ezra, and you’re sure he’s figured out at least one more way by now to take him out. 

“Kill me,” you say, with zero doubt about that outcome, at the exact moment Ezra also says, “Kill him”.

Frankie’s eyes narrow immediately, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he tries to control himself. “What if he says no?”

“He won’t,” Ezra replies simply, at the same moment that you nod and tell him you’re in.

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Ezra is a study in contrasts. He speaks like someone from Francisco’s books, with a slight accent that makes him stand out as much as his blond patch does, and often more candidly than most people are expecting. It’s only much later, when you hear him speak to an American guy, that you realize he’s likely not from Colombia.

“The origin of my story is fairly irrelevant, Santiago.” He waves off your question when you ask him about himself. “Besides, people are never quite so hard pressed to go find Parson on a map.”

He’s worked for Lorenzano for many years now, initially a mercenary who became one of the people highest up in the system. The nickname most people use for him is The Judge, or, if you are to believe the most wild stories about it, La Venganza - The One Who Brings Retribution. 

Lorenzano and Tovar primarily run the organization, neither of them shy about the opulence and violence around them. But Ezra is a third pillar whose sober green-brown clothing often makes him blend in anywhere. Anything but quiet, but focused on other things than his two partners. He’s not keen on having a public face as he prefers to move quietly, getting both the impossible and the unspeakable done.

Most people fear him and it doesn’t take you long to figure out why. The man moves and fights like a killer, striking without hesitation, and you can’t help but wonder if he has had military training. He was right about what he had told you at the start - he did make you better and stronger, in physical combat as well as verbal expressiveness.

Frankie notices it too, even only a few weeks in. “When you get back here, you always look like you’ve been fed,” he remarks one night as you sit on the rooftop with him, gazing out over the thousands of city lights sparkling in the dark sky. “He said yet what he wants in return for all the teachings?”

You shake your head. “I’m sure that’ll come later.” And see, that’s something you still haven’t learned in all those years. It’s hard to look ahead when you don’t know what to expect and don’t have something specific to look forward to.

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You’re still eighteen - or so you think, because it has become impossible to keep track of the days - when you realize that you actually love Francisco. 

As you slice the throat of the guy who tries to attack him, you know that you would do anything for him. It doesn’t matter that it takes you hours that night to wash your blood soaked clothes.

Your mother was right all those years ago. Blood stains are hard to get out of fabric.

Once killing becomes a regular thing of your work for the syndicate, so do the nightmares. It’s not like you didn’t have them before; they’ve always been there, ever since Lorenzano’s men took you away from home. But this time you keep seeing the faces of the men you’ve killed; sometimes one by one, other times all of them together in a room. 

They keep coming back, unwilling to let you rest. 

Sometimes they try to speak to you, other times they can’t. Occasionally you need to kill them again, but their screams get drowned out by Frankie yelling for him - but you can never find him, see him.

You see your brother Joel every night that you dream of the people who died by your hand. 

Half of him looks normal, even though he’s older now: a man instead of a boy, still several years ahead of you in age, and you wonder if this is really what he looks like now. The other half of his body he keeps out of your sight if he can help it, turned towards corpses or soon to be dead bodies that are bleeding out. 

You know he tries to not show you that side of him because it scared you the first time; it was still Joel, but mostly just bones and muscles and tendons, someone who stands half in the world around you and half in the underworld. Worse than a ghost. But still Joel.  

Every time you see him, he tells you to keep yourself safe. “It’s not your fault.” But unlike when you were little, he doesn’t try to tell you that you’re fine. You both know that you aren’t.

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Others also notice how good you’ve become over the past year. How training exercises are a breeze for you, how much faster you are at tactical planning than most others. Now you’re eighteen, both you and Frankie are being watched carefully to see if you have potential to move up in the ranks - something Ezra had already mentioned and prepared you for. 

“Beat them at their own game, little beast. You’re smarter than almost any of them.”

At first you hate the nickname, because it feels like he is mocking you. But that was not Ezra’s style; he is always upfront and open, at times to a fault. Too many years in this place have made you hyper vigilant and protective, quick to attack with bared teeth and intention to take the other person down. But around him that’s not necessary. So you reluctantly accept the nickname, work to do justice to it.  

Once they start sending you off on serious engagements, you find that Ezra tends to be in charge of many of them - the raids, the more undercover missions, occasionally dealing with conflict among stakeholders rather than just being there to clean up a mess. It’s not surprising that you and Frankie work well together in the field whenever you’re teamed up; you both know each other so well, including limits and strength, to the point that you can easily anticipate each other’s moves, and that puts you front and center for effectiveness. 

On the rare occasion the two of you are split up in different teams, Ezra is always assigned to Frankie’s group - something none of you comments on. They’re not exactly on friendly terms with each other, particularly to Frankie always being cautious, but then again they don’t need to be. The mutual respect is reassuring, especially because you’re sure Ezra knows there’s more going on between you and Frankie than the syndicate allows for.

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The next time you dream of Joel, there’s a black wolf cub playing at his feet, gentle and even tempered, playfully nipping at Joel’s fingers. When he sees you, he immediately bounces over to smell you, then happily paws at your legs - just like he’s just any other stray puppy, excited to get your attention and become familiar with your scent. His joy is contagious, and it’s not long until you’re sitting down on the ground to play with him, where eventually he falls asleep in your lap.

When something in the darkness catches your eye, the pup stirs almost immediately from his sleep, picking up on your body language. In the blink of an eye he’s put himself in front of you and Joel, suspiciously eyeing the wisps of smoke that curl from the darkness. He growls low, baring his small fangs as he tries to make himself bigger than he is to face the unknown.

Joel hushes it gently, assuringly. “Little Beast, you’re okay.” When both you and the cub simultaneously look at him, you wonder which one of you two he is talking to. 

Even if the days have become more bearable and lighter since you met Francisco, you still don’t think you’re the one who is okay - and sometimes you wonder if you ever will be again.

Ezra fights dirty. 

Knives, guns, hand-to-hand combat; he always has an extra card up his sleeve somehow. But it’s not the moves or weapon mastery you learn from him that make you better and faster. 

It’s the resilience he teaches you. Clearing your mind, striking without hesitation. Thinking ten steps ahead and not giving away what your next move is. You’ve seen him out on the streets or during raids, and unlike Lorenzano and Tovar he tends to hang back, take a moment to take in the scene. While they go in guns blazing, often blasting an actual path through people to get what they want, Ezra is more deliberate. If he can take out just a single target to get the job done, he’ll opt for that - he knows that other syndicate members will deal with the rest of a DEA team, guerilla fighters or a competing cartel. 

He’s also one of the few in leadership who makes calculated decisions regarding the location that he will take out a target. You’ve seen Gilberto kill more than a few sicarios by simply showing up at their houses - no regard for any wives, children or elderly people who either get into the crossfire or are witness to it. But Ezra will always opt for a much cleaner kill; out in the street, in a bar or at a roadstop when it’s least expected. If it didn’t all come down to the same thing - killing people and moving coke or arms -, you would almost call it more ethical.

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One night, you hear the pup whining before you see it - a low, unhappy sound that chills your blood. It takes too long to find him in the darkness, and you’re tripping over things in front of you, something telling you it’s probably for the best that you can’t quite see what or who they are.

You finally find the pup when his eyes open and look right at you, the golden pupils and white of his eyes a stark contrast to the darkness around you. As you kneel down to examine him, you see the golden cords wrapped around his fur, and a wave of terror washes over you. He didn’t just get tangled up in them; somebody deliberately put those bindings on him. 

You hush him softly as your fingers slide over the cords, trying to find any knots or weak spots where you can start prying them off him. “I’ll help you, okay? We’ll get you out of this.” But as you do so, the wolf starts wriggling around, his sharp teeth snapping at the cords around until they all break and disappear into the darkness, along with the rest of your dream.

“I’m moving to Cali in a few weeks.” 

Ezra offers you a cigarette, and you take it from him, your head working overtime as you digest the news dropped on you. “Shit. Alone?”

He shakes his head, sharing his lighter with you as he brings his own cigarette to his lips. “There are some relocations happening in the structure of - well. You’ve seen it out here,” he gestures at the city you’re overlooking from the hill you’re standing on. “The Army is withdrawing support from ACCU. Some new government people are acting surprised about the Field Workers Self-Defenders ties with the Castaños, which is bullshit. But dynamics are changing in Córdoba and Urabá, which also affects Cali.”

“Does that mean-...”

“Do you want to come along, Santiago?” Ezra blows out the smoke before he looks at you. “You can stay here, of course. Nothing much should change aside from my… influence.” You both know that means Lorenzano will make the decisions, and that without Ezra’s influence, life becomes a lot more unpredictable in the syndicate. “But Cali will give both of you the opportunity to move up. Be in charge of operations, eventually.”

You don’t miss the casual reference of ‘both’ that he uses, and you feel relieved that you don’t have to ask the question out loud - if Frankie would be able to join you, too. Part of you wants to say no, because leaving Bogota would also mean leaving behind the scraps of life you remember before the syndicate kidnapped you that night and roped you into their organization.

“Think about it,” Ezra interrupts your thoughts before you can respond. “Your choice to make, your consequences to bear. I know you never asked for all of this - neither of you did, of course. But owning your choices and what results from them makes all the difference.” 

When you ask Frankie later that night, he doesn’t hesitate for a second. “I’m in.”

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The move to Cali is uneventful in a good way, and the new living space is both brighter and larger than Bogota. Some things don’t change though: there are still about ten of you per sleeping quarters, but at least the beds are better and the facilities aren’t as old. 

It surprises you how it feels a little easier to breathe. You hadn’t expected it, but there’s a relief in just seeing the city as it is - not thinking about who had died on that corner, which house is a drop off spot or a brothel, or where you’d gotten beaten up. Even when you know it won’t last long.

The warmer weather means longer evenings outside, too. New spots that you and Frankie discover, where there’s just enough privacy to be together for a few minutes. You kiss him in new alleyways, let him press you against the wall behind a quiet church. Let your hands roam and grab when you’re on the rooftop and you’re sure that nobody is around. 

It’s never enough, and the waiting in between opportunities is torturous. Sometimes it takes weeks until you can take him in your mouth again, have him slide inside of you, or when you can fuck him - rushed and hard and frantic -, leaving marks that were made within minutes but that last for days as dark bruises on your hips and shoulders and thighs.

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Your nightmares remain the same in Cali as they were in Bogota. A constant every single night, at times in different settings than before, matching the buildings and streets of this new city. 

You dread all of them, but Joel’s presence in those dreams makes it manageable. Even when he’s not around, the wolf cub is always there with you. Protective and affectionate, at times bigger than you - but never intimidating.

Part of you wants to tell Frankie about your dreams. Not just about the cub, but Joel too. You just don’t know where you’d even begin to explain it without sounding insane.

Ezra gives you more space those first couple of weeks in Cali, training only every other day with you, then informs you that you and Frankie will be joining him on an assignment out of town. You’ve done this before and know that lodging is always together with leadership in the same room. Except this time that seems to be different.

“It appears there has been a miscommunication. They didn’t have any rooms with two beds, only singles,” he informs you, his face uncharacteristically neutral as he hands you a room key. “You two are across the hallway from me and will have to share a bed.” 

Your jaw nearly drops as you stare at him, and you can feel the disbelief radiating from Frankie, too. But Ezra pretends to not notice it as he turns away. “I trust there will be no disappearing, Little Beast. You know the fatal consequences of that.”

The room is shitty, there are only three channels that work on the tv, and there’s a concerning smell coming from the toilet if you don’t close the lid completely. The bed is a full size though instead of a twin, creaks every time you move, and has some threadbare sheets and two thin pillows.

It’s perfect.

It has never happened before that you and Francisco had more than half an hour of privacy to yourself in a locked room - let alone nine hours in one that also has a bed.

You fuck so, so very much that night. 

It’s deliriously intoxicating, having each other in every possible way you can imagine - and a few more ways you hadn’t even considered before. By the time it’s 5:30 am, neither of you can move anymore. Sore, exhausted and beyond spent you fall asleep, curled up against each other.

For the first time in eight years you don’t have any dreams, let alone nightmares.

The newness of Cali lasts about three months. By then, the city has gained the same marks and blood all over it that you had left behind in Bogota; the drugs, fights, but this time there are also bombs. 

It’s a lot more damage than you’re used to, the number of victims making your stomach turn when the news reports on it later those nights. Some of the other guys are thrilled when they see the result of their work on tv, bragging about it, but it sickens you every single time.

It’s bad for you, but it hits Frankie even harder. He has lost family and friends in the past because of bomb attacks, and you know that when he wakes up at night screaming, it often tends to be exactly that which replays in his mind.

You’re both used to helping each other through hard times, but you see his eyes become more distant as the weeks pass. You do what you can, from stupid jokes to trying to find him new books, but you can’t help but feel it’s your fault.

Maybe he wouldn’t be in such bad shape if you two had stayed in Bogota.

Maybe you did this all wrong.

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Frankie is fast. Really fucking fast.

Not when it comes to running, although he does well if needed. But it’s when you see him behind the wheel of a truck, with Ezra, you and a handful of other guys, that you realize just how good he is. Driving a getaway car, chasing down another truck through the city, diversion techniques. You don’t know where he even learned them, because it’s not that often that any of you get to drive. 

It’s Ezra who decides that this is going to be a regular thing for Frankie. “I want you as our transportation guy next time we venture out on an endeavor,” he says, eyes sharp as he observes Frankie switch gears, avoid a child who runs out into the road, then rev the engine to catch up with the other vehicle in your party. “Are you interested in cars?”

Frankie just nods affirmatively, his eyes locked on the terrain in front of him. You can’t help but chime in, also realizing this could mean that the two of you won’t be assigned to different teams anymore. “His uncle had a garage, so he grew up in it. Learned how to work on cars before he was eight,” you offer. 

It earns you a warning look by Frankie, who is clearly not thrilled about you offering that information - but you know it only helps his case. Ezra only asks things for a reason, and you know it would not be to fuck Frankie over. “He really knows his shit.”

“Good. That will get you far.” Ezra pulls out two guns, checking the ammo, then suddenly looks at Frankie like he just got a bright idea. “Francisco. Did you ever fly a helicopter before?”

This time Frankie actually takes his eyes off the road, and you can tell by the twitch in his jaw that he’s very hard trying to not show his enthusiasm. You know him well though, and his eyes suddenly look more radiant than you’ve seen in a long time.

“Not yet. But I bet I can with some training.”

The first time they put you in charge of a raid, you end up puking behind a bush once everything is over. More than just a few bodies are scattered across the property that’s about to be set on fire, and that’s not new - but being the leader of a raid hits so much harder than any time you had to merely participate. The only relief you have is that you don’t need to deal directly with the losses, or gather the money and drugs. 

When one of your men calls you over, he points his rifle at the three kids huddled against each other on the back porch, and you can only get yourself to look right at them once you feel Francisco’s hand on your back.

“Not worth the trouble,” you inform the guy who called you over, ignoring the way your stomach turns, and you turn back to the children once he has left. A six year old girl is the oldest of the kids, her eyes blank as she holds a baby in her lap and a four year old boy pressed against her side. Something about that look in her eyes reminds you of Joel - not the brother you grew up with, but the one in your dreams with that side he tries to show you as little as possible. 

“Are they dead?”, she asks you, still not showing any emotion despite the crying boys clinging onto her, and you nod. Whether it’s her parents or someone else she’s referring to, none of the adults in the raided house are still alive. 

She nods back at you, no sign of surprise on her face. “Please don’t hurt the boys,” she then says, sounding so much older than her age. “They didn’t–...”

“We won’t.” 

You breathe in deeply when Francisco speaks for you, then reach for the wad of money that you had put into your pocket a few minutes earlier. Stealing from El Gran Senor always ended badly, but these raids were the only options you had to get your hands on anything of value. 

The girl flinches when you reach for her, and once again it’s Frankie who reassures her. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Do you know how to get to the village?”, you ask her as you put the money in her hand. She nods, and for a moment you could swear that you see a wolf cub staring at you from the trees. “Find someone to help you. Don’t show them the money.” You bite back the words of apology that are on your tongue, knowing that they won’t help or would even be believed. “You can do it. Be brave.”

“We have to go.” Francisco’s voice is tight but decisive, and you nod as you let him tug you along, back to the men who have loaded up their cars with all the valuables they could gather. Drugs, money, guns. 

Like the next raid will be. And the next. And the next.

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“You exceeded expectations, little beast. A mission well planned and executed. Congratulations are in order.” The look on Ezra’s face is one of pride as you debrief him. As he scribbles down some more notes to wrap up his report, you hesitate for a moment, considering one last thing.

“There were three kids.”

Ezra’s eyes flick up at you much faster than you expect, but then he shakes his head. “It appears that you are mistaken about this,” he says as he resolutely puts away his paper and pen. 

“I saw them. I…”

“You’re exhausted.” Ezra’s voice cut you off sharply, the tension in his jaw suddenly clear and reminding you of Frankie. “I appreciate you doing the debrief at this late hour, but you should probably rest. There’s nothing more I need for the final report.”

You know when to take a hint; know that the walls have ears, too, so you take the dismissal in stride. The walk back to the barracks is short, and most of the other guys are already fast asleep as you get in.

Francisco’s bed is only a few feet away from yours, one of about a dozen in the room. The moonlight offers just a small stream of light into the room, and as you start to take your clothes off, you can feel Frankie’s eyes on you. You’re both showered and cleaned up hours earlier, but somehow you still feel the smoke in your lungs and ashes on your skin, like some kind of phantom feeling.

Frankie watches you quietly as you strip down to your underwear. He knows that you’re aware of him looking at you, and you swallow hard when you see him shift under the blanket - see his hand move down to touch himself.

There’s no privacy here - there never is, maybe even less so than there was in Bogota. But at least there’s this, knowing your bed is just a few feet away from his. Being able to see glimpses of him in the moonlight. His hand moving further down, still under that blanket, and when his eyes close momentarily you know he’s got his hand on his cock. 

You get into bed and pull the sheets up over yourself, laying on your side so you can still see Frankie. When his eyes flutter open again, you slip your hand into your underwear to touch yourself too, and you see his eyes flick over your body as he realizes you’re joining him. 

It’s hard to control your breathing, especially when it’s so quiet at night, but you’re both experts at this by now. Hungry eyes focused on eachother in the mostly dark sleeping quarters. You pretending your fingers are his - him pretending his fingers are yours. It’s not much, but it’s something; anything to make you feel alive during nights like these. 

Frankie is in your dream.

And Joel is looking at him. 

Right at him - both Joel’s living half as well as the one that is in decay. It chills you in a way that’s so startling that the fear grabs you by your throat out of nowhere.

This isn’t supposed to happen. Frankie isn’t supposed to be in any of your dreams that are also occupied by Joel. It happens all the time that you hear Frankie scream in your dreams, but it is always separate from where you are - like he’s in a different space and the sound just happens to carry.

Not now. At least he’s not screaming, but he and Joel are looking at each other from a distance, before Frankie’s glance meets yours. Full of questions. 

You try to keep your voice calm, but you hear the trembling when you speak. “Don’t take him from me.” 

You don’t know how you would do it; prevent Joel from taking Frankie with him the way he does with the other people, the other bodies. All you know is that it can’t happen.

“I never would.” Joel shakes his head. “Besides, he’s a warrior. And she wouldn’t allow me to. She’s the one who owns his head.”

“What does that even mean?”, you ask, suddenly noticing the woman behind Frankie. She’s taller than he is, dressed in a style that seems very out of place, not in the least because of the brown fur that’s a prominent part of the outfit. But something is familiar about her.

When she puts her hand on Frankie’s shoulder, he glances at it for a second before he brings his eyes back to you.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Joel says, and you shiver from the cold wind that blows past you.

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By the third raid you lead, you understand why Ezra assigns you to these missions. You’re good at planning, leading your team, getting the work done, taking down the people that need to be eliminated - but you’re pretty sure that it’s really about the children. 

There never is any mention of them in the information you get beforehand; those reports are only about the adults, the snitches, dealers who don’t hold up their end of the deal, or the sicarios who have taken wrong steps. And you’ve seen what happens at other raids. Many of the others won’t hesitate to shoot a child, use them as collateral, and you don’t doubt that there are situations that end even worse than those two options.

You quickly develop the habit to let the others chase the targets while you - and most often Frankie too - will explore the premises to find any children. In some cases, they’re barely teenagers, the fear in their eyes clear enough to indicate that they are in the wrong place at the wrong time. Other times, they’re infants, toddlers, held close by siblings who are barely older than them.

Getting them out becomes a priority for you, particularly when after every mission you see Ezra’s relief when you make a subtle remark about any kids. There’s a lot he can’t say out loud, not just because of his position in the syndicate, but also because wiretaps have become frequent these days. So you keep it very brief, often will only mention it when the two of you are alone - a quick update on what happened to the kids.

“She was brought to her older sister.” 

“They ended up at the neighbor's house.”

“Someone knows where her other relatives live.”

You always swipe money from raids when given the chance, stashing it away in an air vent in your sleeping quarters that only you and Frankie know about. But as the raids occur more often, each leaving behind an even bigger impact than the one prior, you start to put most of the money in the children’s pockets before whisking them off to safety.

It never stops feeling like you’re trying to fix a broken dam with a band-aid, but it feels like the best possible option. Especially when you think back of how you landed in this position, and how you’d been taken away from your home. In an ideal world, you could decide to defect – find a way out for you and Frankie, take the money and run. But throughout the years you’ve seen that almost every single person who attempts to get out of this world will end up dead; not just murdered, but tortured first, before it’s all inflicted on the people closest to them, too. 

So you run the raids. Find a way to get the kids out. Have nightmares - then repeat. And repeat. And repeat some more.

The problem is that you’ve gotten really good at this.

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The next time you see the tall woman covered in furs, you’re not dreaming. 

It’s the middle of a raid, and you and Frankie are chasing down a guy who is trying to escape from the rooftop. He jumps over to the next building, and Frankie is about to leap the same distance between the roofs, when you suddenly see that woman right next to him. 

Calmly she puts her hand on his shoulder and Frankie stops abruptly, turning around to look behind him with a bewildered expression. “Santi, we-...”

A terrible scream sounds from the other roof, and when you look over, you see your target scrambling to hold onto something, while the roof shingles under his feet are slipping away. With a loud noise, the foundation of the roof falls apart, yanking the man’s body down with brute violence and you hear him scream more until a loud bang silences him.

“Fuck,” Frankie croaks, staring at the destruction, and you grab his untouched shoulder tightly, needing to feel him under your hands, that he’s really still here by the grace of not having made that same jump as the man did. “I think he’s impaled.”

The tall woman on his other side looks right at you, then nods as she steps away, disappearing into thin air in that same move. 

These days, when Tovar and Lorenzano make a stop in Cali, it happens more often than not that one or both of them will talk to you; an extremely rare occurrence for somebody in your position. 

Sometimes they’re there for a debriefing with Ezra, other times one of them will remark that bigger things are waiting for you in the near future. Trying to find a balance between doing the work that’s expected from you and keeping your head straight has become increasingly difficult, and you’re not the only one struggling with it.

Francisco oscillates between extremes most of the time. As a co-pilot, he’s mastered skills that very few in the syndicate actually have to offer, not to mention his skills when it comes to engineering and fixing up vehicles. Flying clears his head, grounds him in his body in the best possible way it seems. But once he’s back on the ground, especially when they need to go on raids and he’s dealing with anything but transportation, you often see him shut down and try to dissociate, something that’s hard to bring him back from. It gets even worse during moments when he decides to partake in the cocaine that’s always easily available.

A year later, you still haven’t figured out a way to get the two of you away from all of this. The money in your stash isn’t enough, and you know Lorenzano has men everywhere across the country - there was no way to make it anywhere without being shot in the head sooner or later. So you work. You learn from Ezra. You take the praise. And the nightmares - during the nights and during the days - keep getting worse.

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Leaving Cali happens in a rush, with none of you expecting it - including Ezra. ‘Reassignment to a rural area’ is the official message, which in practice means a camp right in the middle of the jungle. 

“We’re here to take out those fuckin’ communist guerillas,” was the more extended explanation that everybody who relocated from Cali to officially join ACCU. Also known as ‘Peasant Self-Defenders of Córdoba and Urabá’, the group had been founded by the Castaño brothers after their father was kidnapped and killed, in retaliation to the left-wing Marxist guerillas. ACCU was knee deep into the drug trade, and, as you had discovered years earlier, a lot of people fighting for them got here the same way you and Frankie had.

FARC, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia known as the guerillas, stood out because they did employ tactics like kidnapping, but weren’t involved in the drug trade. Instead they fought for ‘social justice and the rights of the poor’, which in practice meant a whole lot of enemies.

“These aren’t the usual raids,” Ezra told you in the first couple of days on the ground, as he’d been filling you, Frankie and the others in on the different stations, people in charge, and what to expect. “This is a lot of combat, sometimes involving hostages.”

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‘A lot of combat’ is an understatement, as you and Frankie find out right from the start. The amount of assault rifles was overwhelming, as were the number of casualties per week. No more flights for Frankie for the time being, now mostly driving trucks of various sizes. What perhaps is the worst of it all is the complete and utter lack of privacy, even by the low expectations you already had.

With all the communal areas even more exposed than in Cali, there barely was any opportunity to sneak off. Here, finding a good hiding spot meant doing so in the jungle, risking death, because the odds were too high that you’d run into FARC members.

At times there were reports coming in from the major cities. Whispers about a pact between the DEA and some narcos, competing cartels. American reports on what was happening in Colombia, which often had barely anything to do with what was really going on. Rumors about the commies having grown massively in numbers. Everything is urgent, all the time, but now with a constant threat of being hit severely worse than would be the case in the city. 

Sometimes you wonder if you and Frankie should’ve stayed in Bogota all along.

The second time you dream of the wolf cub in bindings, you immediately notice something is wrong - even before it cries out for you. This time they look like proper chains, the metal scraping against the cub’s fur and skin, and your first thought is that these are going to be much harder to remove than the first ones.

They’re also not merely restraining the wolf; this time it has properly been captured, the chains secured to a palm tree like the ones you see every single day around you. The pup howls, clearly more agitated this time, and you hush it gently, petting his fur while examining the restraints. “What keeps happening here, buddy?”

“Trusting the wrong people has consequences.”

You look up when you think you hear Joel’s voice from nearby, except it’s not him - but your father leaning against another palm tree, his face solemn as he looks back at you.

Your FATHER?

The wolf cub growls, and this time it’s not the usual angry growl of caution that he tends to make — it’s more like a snarl, layers of rage and destruction underneath. It yanks hard at the chain that has him tethered to the tree, sharp teeth biting at it until the chain breaks, and before you can do anything, it bolts over to where your father is standing, leaping up to attack him viciously.

You wake up screaming so loudly that you wake up all the others in the sleeping quarters, only calming down somewhat once Frankie physically shakes you out of it.

Going back to sleep turns out to be impossible, and it’s only after you try to skip sleep for the next two nights that your body finally caves in, knocking you out into a deep sleep, while you’re exhausted and scared of the dreams that might come back to you.

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Choices have never been an option with the syndicate. Either you do what you’re being told, or chances are that someone puts a bullet into you. That’s how you find yourself leading a team that is much bigger than you’re used to, not to mention with more challenging missions than you’ve done before.

Running drugs or arms in a city is pretty easy - even collecting it by force, or dealing with money. When raiding a building, there’s always a clear plan beforehand: assign people to specific spots, have a backup plan, keep the escape routes in mind, and make sure there’s enough ammunition.

Taking over a small FARC outpost is an entirely different thing. The unpredictability of the jungle, poorer communication methods, and with sightlines often being blocked, it’s not all that straightforward to take out a group of guerillas.

If it hadn’t been for Ezra’s training over the past years, you wouldn’t know where to start. But as always, you adjust - particularly with Frankie by your sight. The outpost gets conquered, another group of armed fighters elsewhere is taken down. But the guilt you were sort of able to remedy in Bogota and Cali, by helping to get some of the kids out, gnaws at you constantly here in the jungle. When twelve year olds are as heavily armed as you are, and even more eager to put a bullet in between your eyes, there’s not much of a chance to find some redemption.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Just because Ezra is a good killer doesn’t mean he’s comfortable with it, you’ve noticed. You can see it eating away at him, just as it does with you. He still talks plenty to you about everything, but you can tell the isolation out here in the jungle is getting to him as well.

“I did a lot of work as a freelancer, Little Beast,” he replies when you ask him one day while you’re training with him. “I’m a floater, and some might say a merch, but I’m not merely a hit man. To be completely candid, this situation out here has… proven to disappoint.”

You want to ask him if he’s ever thought about getting out, but you don’t dare to - not with the lack of privacy around you. It’s not like you expect him to just offer you a way out; you know it’s not that simple, but throughout the years you’ve considered every possible option. Being here in the jungle has led you to consider defecting and joining FARC’s side, but you’re not naive enough to believe that will be a solution in the long run.

The one thing you’ve been able to keep secret out here is the money you’ve saved throughout the years. You carry it on you most days, as there is no proper hiding spot out here, carefully folded into a small pocket bible as that’s the one thing that won’t get searched during inspection.

Sometimes you try to remember the prayers your mother would say as she’d ask for help and protection. Even when you’re pretty sure none of her saints would listen to you, after everything you’ve done.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Something snaps inside of you when you find Frankie doing coke.

He swears it’s not a common thing, that it has only happened ‘two or three times’, that one of the guys - that bastard David - just offered it to him to be able to make it through a mission he was dreading. You know Frankie has been struggling, has just as many nightmares as you do, and the complete lack of privacy here is making it so much harder to find moments to sneak away and find a moment of peace together. But you also know it always ends very badly when anyone starts doing coke to be able to make it through the days.

The next day it’s hard to control your anger - not at Francisco, but at everything regarding ACCU. You make him stay back in the camp, despite his protesting, leading your team on an afternoon attack, and the blind rage that takes hold of you in the heat of the battle is all consuming. It takes less time than expected to carry out the siege with your team, with more casualties due to wrongly estimating how many rebels you were attacking, and just when you shoot their leader you suddenly realize David is on your left, fighting someone else.

Fucking David who gave Francisco that coke.

You aim your gun without even thinking twice and shoot him straight through the head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tovar is not amused when he finds out David didn’t make it. “He was one of our best. What the fuck happened?”

“I’m not sure. Didn’t have eyes on him.” You calmly look at him, giving him an opportunity to respond, and you know that you’re too good of a liar to give anything away. When he doesn’t say anything, you continue with the rest of your briefing. News spreads fast through the camp, and by the time you catch up with Frankie that evening, you can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows. Of course he does. He’s the only one you’ve never been able to lie to.

Ezra also doesn’t ask you what happened.

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When you were younger, running around with Joel and Jay in the neighborhood, your grandmother would always be the one to tell you boys to get home before dark. “It’s not that I don’t trust you - I don’t trust others to not get you into trouble,” she’d say.

You trust Frankie when he told you he wouldn’t take coke again. But now, you understand what your grandmother meant.

David’s buddy Arturo is the next person who offers some coke to Francisco, clearly hoping to make a deal. When Frankie turns it down, he keeps pushing, then eventually tries to persuade you.

You give it six days. Then, when you’re out in the field, you send him into a situation that you know is going to get him killed. He gets ambushed by two kids who take him out with their knives. Even though you could’ve taken down both of them with your rifle, you don’t shoot, and you see the relief in their eyes as they run away.

Arturo is still breathing when you check on him, but your own knife quickly deals with that before anyone else finds him.

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This time when you dream, you don’t see the wolf cub in chains. It’s you who is tied up, and after struggling in disoriented panic, you realize that you are the wolf. Thick dark fur where there should be your arms and legs, claws instead of your fingers, but the overwhelming feeling are the bindings wrapped around all of your limbs and the rest of your body - so thin that you can barely see the golden shimmer, but so sharp that it feels like it’s made from razors, pressing into your skin. 

You can’t scream - or howl -, you can’t even move. And all you see in front of you are Lorenzano and Tovar, each heavily armed, dragging your human body along with them up a mountain, leaving a trail of blood on the rocks.

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“I want them all DEAD.” Tovar nearly spits the words out at the group of you, banging his hand on the table with the map that has several FARC camps drawn onto it. “All of them. I don’t know how the fuck they got their hands on the product, but if it doesn’t all come back here…”

He’s terrifying like this, especially because you know he won’t hesitate to act on his threats. Somehow FARC had gotten a hold of internal intel, it seemed, not only being able to avoid being attacked for almost a week now but also having confiscated a massive amount of Lorenzano’s cocaine that was being packed and processed at a nearby facility.

The first two missions that week are done from the sky, and unsurprisingly Frankie is the co-pilot. You have a select team that goes up in the air with you and Ezra, two of your crew each armed with a M60E4 machine gun and one person with a Mk 153 SMAW launcher. It’s not your first time running an attack with this kind of artillery from the sky, but it still makes your stomach turn to see the damage that’s inflicted, the only small relief being that at least it’s not happening up close like would be the case with a ground attack.

On the third day, it’s back to the ground with your team, and you manage to overtake a building that holds at least half of the missing cocaine. At least half of the FARC fighters that are assassinated are still practically kids, who had been repackaging the drugs in the building. You and Frankie, as always, try to focus on the adults rather than the young teens, and at the end of the day you see Ezra’s expression is similar to how you feel: not just empty, but hollowed out.

Whether it’s the exhaustion setting in or bad strategizing, you’re not sure, but on day four the mission goes awry, and your team barely manages to pull through. Tovar is with the group though and aggressively moves in on the remaining cocaine that someone finds, but seeing how a large amount of it got shot up during the attack makes him absolutely furious. Eventually, he splits the team, sending half of your crew back to your camp with the repossessed drugs, while you have to do another sweep of the premises to make sure everything got covered.

It’s when Frankie pulls open a side door that seems to have been overlooked, and you step in with your gun ready, that you stumble into her. She’s young, younger than you, bruised and bloodied, but what stands out the most is that she’s pregnant - and very far along, it seems. It’s extremely unusual to come across someone in her position, here out in the jungle, because you all know that FARC does not exactly allow any of their fighters to start a family.

You see the hysteria on her face as she realizes that she’s been discovered, know she’s about to scream and fight, so you move on instinct, putting your gun behind you as you hush her and urge her to not yell. “You’re okay, you’re okay- I’m not gonna hurt you, alright? We’re not…”

She stares at the both of you with wide eyes as she nods, and you hear Frankie curse behind you. “Fuck, Santi, no – they’re gonna fucking see her, man. This place is going to get torched in five minutes from now.”

“Please, don’t hurt my baby, I’ll do anything.” She’s sobbing, on her knees now, and you turn to face Frankie as your head is working overtime.

“But we can’t– she’s pregnant,” you say to him, and he nods sadly, his jaw clenching as you can see him think. You curse, peering outside to check if anybody is watching, then close your eyes as you say a quick prayer. Please let this work. Not for me, but for her. “You need to get to the others and tell them it’s clear,” you tell Frankie as you nod to the front of the building. “I’ll get her out of here and to the back of the premises. Just tell them… something, okay? I’ll join you soon.”

“I don’t fucking like this.” But Frankie nods and disappears back outside, while you help the girl to her feet and explain to her how you’re gonna get her out.

“You can’t make a sound. You can’t trip. If they catch us, we’re both dead, okay?”

She nods as tears are rolling down her face, then tries to take a few deep breaths to calm herself. Meanwhile you listen closely to what’s happening outside, hear Frankie’s voice louder than usual - but not exaggerated - as he’s calling out to some of the team members. There’s no time to overthink matters, so you grab the young woman’s hand as you tug her outside, making sure to keep her covered with your own body as you rush her towards the trees that are at a small distance from the building.

Your heart is thumping so loudly that you feel like everybody in the vicinity must be able to hear it - but finally you get her there, pushing her behind a palm tree as you press the handle of a small knife in her hand. “Stay out of sight until we’re gone. Not a fucking sound,” you hiss at her, and she nods again at you, tears brimming in her eyes. She mouths a silent thank you before you turn around, and you don’t look back as you rush back to the property.

Somehow you manage to make it back to the front without raising any questions. Tovar is directing some people around, distributing gasoline, and mere minutes later the whole place is on fire. You’re exhausted, and not fully aware of how you all get back to the base camp, where you do a quick briefing with Ezra, then go find your sleeping spot in the tent to pass out even though it’s still early.

You wake up by Frankie sitting down on your makeshift bed, his hand on your back briefly as he hands you a plate with food. “Told them you got hurt getting back here and needed to rest,” he says, and you’re so grateful that you could almost cry. “Good job.”

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The next two days Ezra puts you, Frankie and the team on rest, giving you the opportunity to catch up on sleep and deal with the bruises and injuries most of you have. Then there is patrol duty, and you’re separated into pairs to guard between your camp and the other ACCU location. It’s hot, as always, but the vegetation mostly offers some shade which makes it more bearable.

Once you’re at least twenty minutes away from your camp, you tug Frankie behind a large tree and kiss him, unable to go on any longer without feeling him against you. You can feel him sigh in relief as he returns your kiss, his tongue eager as he takes over your kiss and presses you against the tree trunk.

“I thought this week was gonna fuckin’ kill us,” he whispers, and you nod as you brush his curls back, twirling a few around your index finger. You want him, in each and every way, but at the same time you feel so utterly drained that you can’t even imagine doing more than kissing and letting your hands roam for now - and you can tell he feels the same way.

You stay like that for a few minutes, just kissing each other, glad to have the slightest bit of time together. The tiredness ebbs away eventually, comforted by the touch of his body against yours, and just when you start to feel his hands drift lower, you realize that you need to stop this now before it gets to the point that neither of you can dial it down anymore.

“We gotta get going,” you make yourself say, and he groans softly, not happy about it, but he lets go after giving you one more deep kiss.

The path to the other camp is mostly easy to follow as you’ve walked it so many times before, a few tree trunks in the way here and there, and eventually the scenery around you changes, going up a hill to higher ground. Francisco talks about the helicopter maintenance that’s scheduled later this week, and you’re glad that they’re keen on keeping him in that aviation position - he really is good at it and still enjoying it, a welcome change from most of the field work.

You halt when you suddenly hear a sound that isn’t common around these parts, and you look around at you try to locate the sound. “Did you hear that?”

Frankie shakes his head. “What?”

“I heard a… Almost like some kind of howling.” You stop abruptly at the edge of the path, grabbing Frankie’s arm as you stare at the sight thirty, forty - maybe fifty - feet away from you, at the bottom of a steep slope. Surrounded by the lush rainforest vegetation stands a large adult wolf, eyes locked on you but not showing any signs of intending to approach you. You blink repeatedly, for a moment wondering if you’re making things up. “You see that?”

You stop abruptly at the edge of the path, grabbing Frankie’s arm as you stare at the sight 30 or maybe 50 feet away from you, at the bottom of a steep slope. Surrounded by the lush rainforest vegetation stands a large adult wolf, eyes locked on you but not showing any signs of intending to approach you. “You see that?”

Francisco gives you a questioning look, then follows your line of sight. “No. Somebody there?”

“The wolf, Frankie.” You have a hard time taking your eyes off the animal; you’ve never before seen one in real life. Meanwhile Frankie is looking at you as if you’ve grown three heads.

“A wo-… Santi, there are no wolves in Colombia.”

“Yes there are, look.”

Frankie smacks the back of his hand against your cheek, the frown on his face growing deeper. “Oye, pendejo. There’s nothing over there. You sure you’re okay?”

“No,” you say absentmindedly as the wolf tilts his head, and for a moment you wonder if it will attack you. Then you hear it; the sound of branches breaking behind the two of you, several pairs of footsteps, and you realize the wolf is not a threat but a warning. And for some reason you can’t explain, you just know that one of the guys behind you will be Tovar.

You take a deep breath as you take one more look at Frankie, drinking in every detail of his face and presence next to you. You wish that you could kiss him one more time, but you don’t dare to risk it.

“Something is very wrong, go back and find Ezra,” you say quietly, and you see his eyes widen as he reaches for his gun, but you stop him immediately as you shake your head. “No. You can’t win this, I’m so sorry - I love you.” Then you shove him, hard, so he trips over the edge and falls down the slope of dirt and vegetation, towards where you saw the wolf moments earlier.

You turn around while you pull out your spare gun, shooting down the guy closest to you without even blinking, then aim at a second and third person. You’re determined to do as much damage as possible to give Frankie a chance to get away.

Tovar’s eyes are dark and furious when they meet yours, and within moments he has overpowered you, dragging you away from the edge of the slope as he bangs the metal of his gun against your fingers. The pain is so sharp and hard that it makes you scream, and you drop your guns involuntarily, blindly reaching for your knife.

“You son of a bitch,” he hisses at you, but your fingers close around the hilt of your knife and you sink it into his leg with all of your strength, before you get hit over the head and lose consciousness.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you regain consciousness again, there’s arguing, loud banging against things, and yelling happening all around you. It takes effort to focus when you open your eyes, but finally you can make out some of the faces around you. Tovar, unsurprisingly, a gun in his hand as he’s leaning against the wall. Lorenzano, also armed. And surprisingly - Ezra. On the floor, half kneeling, and with Lorenzano’s gun pressed against his head.

“You made him this way!” Lorenzano practically spat at him, looking like he’s about to have an aneurism out of rage, but Ezra merely looks at him all calm. “You… you conspired. With those faggot boys. And now you’re trying to take me-…”

Tovar cleared his throat. “Us,” he said sharply.

“Yeah, and now you’re trying to take us down,” Lorenzano continued, moving the gun from Ezra’s temple to his forehead.

“I’m afraid I must interject. I did no such thing, boss. Neither did Sant–” Ezra’s words are cut off as Lorenzano hits him hard across his face, and you wince at the sound of what possibly is a broken nose.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.”

Ezra takes a moment to compose himself, then shakes his head again, wincing as it seems to hurt him. “I am not a greedy man. You of all people should know that after all this time.”

“Then how did those fuckin commies get their hands on that stash?” Tovar speaks up, looking irritated. “They clearly had intel. Not to mention that ambush the other day.” He wanders over to you, and you groan as you try to sit up on the floor, but your hands are cuffed behind your back and your ankles also tied together. “And you. You let that whore escape the other day. Did you really think you could get away with that?”, he sneers. “Did you deliver Esdras’ messages to her or something?”

Your head is spinning as you’re trying to follow the conversation even though the pain is making it hard to listen and speak. “I didn’t do — I never tried anything like that,” you manage, trying to keep your eyes open. “Please. You have to believe me. Ezra never…”

Tovar grabs you by your neck, pressing his gun up against your chin. “We found your money stash,” he hisses. “Do you know how many of your comrades were eager to speak about the shit you pulled in Cali and Bogota? Letting people get away from raids while they should’ve been six feet under?”

You fight the urge to argue that it wasn’t just people, that it was mostly children and some women, because you know that’s not gonna help your case. “I’ve done as I’ve been told to do. All of my missions. Every single one of them was successful and profitable…,” you wince when you hear Tovar take the safety off the gun, and you close your eyes as you speak faster, trying to focus more on convincing him. “Ezra was just training me so I would be better working for the syndicate. That’s all, I swear. He never… we wouldn’t.”

“What about your faggot boyfriend, huh?”

“What about him, gentle man?” Ezra speaks up before you can even begin to think of an answer. “He didn’t do anything. Neither of them did, nor did I. If we had, you’d have concrete evidence, my friend.”

Tovar ignores his words, and you feel the gun barrel press even harder into your chin. “Where is he? That pilot boy.”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. Clearly that’s not a good enough answer, because a moment later you’re kicked in the stomach and collapse, gasping for air. “God, I swear, I don’t…”

“Are you religious, Santiago?” Lorenzano walks over to you with slow, menacing steps. “Because you’d better pray to your god that they won’t carry you out of here in a body bag.”

Nausea rolls around your stomach, and you brace yourself for what you know is going to be another kick or punch. You manage to hang in there at first, but when another blow lands on your head, your dizziness quickly overtakes you while the sound of an electric tool whizzes in the background. You hear Ezra scream as the smell of burnt flesh fills the room, and then everything goes dark again.

It’s so dark.

You’re not sure where you are, but you know you haven’t been here before. It doesn’t feel like a dream either, not with the briny ocean air that you smell all around you.

Painfully slowly the darkness begins to clear eventually, showing that you’re standing somewhere high up on a cliff. There’s a man near the end of the cliff, his back turned to you, dripping wet like he just got out of the ocean. 

It’s your brother Jay.

This is the first time you’ve ever seen him in a dream. You know it’s him, even from the back, and even if that looks nothing like how you remember him. When he turns around to face you, something wells inside of your chest and crowds your throat - tears of fear or relief, it’s hard to tell. You just know you’re exhausted, and in pain, and bleeding profusely.

Jay reaches out to you, seemingly offering something he’s holding, but when you take a step closer to him you see it move and realize it’s an animal. A snake, or - no, a sea serpent, biting its own tail, immersed in water that Jay is able to hold in his hands somehow. 

“Brother. It is time. Come join me.” You hear Jay say the words, even though his lips don’t move, and you notice that his eyes are swirls of blue and white. Like waves in the ocean, or a stormy sky.

You know this is Jay, but none of it feels like when you’ve been seeing Joel in your dreams. Something is seriously wrong. 

All of a sudden the choked up feeling in your throat turns into a sharp, blinding pain. It’s like someone jammed a knife into it, or a sword, that goes all the way up to the roof of your mouth. The taste of blood takes over your senses as an alarming amount of it begins to pool into your mouth.

“Were you not looking for me?” Jay’s voice grows louder while the serpent in his hands grows bigger, wriggling in the water. Again offers it to you, stepping even closer, and the ocean smell grows stronger. “Come. Take its tail out so he can breathe and live.”

The words are a bitter irony since you’re nearly choking on your own blood. You feel delirious, your head spinning as you’re already nauseous from the pain. Right when you’re about to reach out and grab the creature from Jay, you hear someone screaming behind you - loudly. 

It’s Frankie. And it’s not even the screams that you would normally hear in your dreams with Joel. This is much, much worse. It reminds you of raids gone wrong, sicarios going after you, and that time the both of you almost died falling off a roof. It’s the kind of screaming that’s full of despair instead of just fear, only rivaled in intensity by the sudden sound of a helicopter that you can’t see. It’s so foreign in this setting that it shakes you out of your delirium, just long enough to see three men step out from behind Jay’s back. 

Tovar. On the right. Teeth bared, the scar on his face looking an angry red color, a M16 in his hands that’s aimed at Jay’s head.

Lorenzano is standing behind Jay, the expression in his eyes dead and vacant as always, with a barely concealed sneer on his face. There’s a Beretta in his hand that’s aimed at the back of Jay’s head, and for some reason you know that if there’s anyone who wants to kill Jay - it’s gonna be Lorenzano.

“Little Beast.”

Your attention gets pulled to the left of your brother, where the third man stands: tall, a familiar shock of blond in his hair, green brown clothing. Ezra. Unarmed and chillingly calm in contrast to Lorenzano, Tovar and your brother, he extends his left hand to you.

"Every moment of our lives is filled with choices, Little Beast. Your choice and your consequence to bear."

“BROTHER.” Jay’s eyes flash in anger at you, the blue of his pupils turning almost black. “Do not ignore me. Come join me. Kill him as it has been prophesied in word and song.” 

Somehow you know ‘him’ isn’t about the men on either side of him. It’s about Lorenzano, still behind Jay, now staring at you as his finger rests against the trigger of his handgun. But before you can respond to Jay, something soft pushes firmly against your leg, followed by the low warning growl of your wolf cub.

You can feel the bindings around the cub before you even look down. It’s like they’re chaining you too, the pressure thin and sharp around your chest and legs, feeling both impossibly delicate and permanent in how strong they are. For a second it shifts your focus of pain away from the blade that’s still lodged into your throat and mouth, but as the wolf cub looks up at you, you can tell that you’re not going to be able to help him with these bindings - and it feels like the biggest failure.

The cub isn’t deterred though, his eyes locked on Jay as he grows loudly at him, and you wince when you feel the wolf’s claws scrape over your leg - you know it doesn’t intend to hurt you, it just wants to protect and be close to you. 

Jay furiously yells at you, the expression on his face asinine and enraged, and Lorenzano suddenly no longer standing behind him. So you don’t think - you just reach out for the hand Ezra is offering you, clutching on to him for dear life as you also swoop up the wolf pup in your other arm. 

The screams of your brother turn into the roaring sound of the ocean, overtaking all the other sounds around you, and you watch in horror as water starts pouring from his mouth in excessive amounts, in the same way you feel blood pouring from yours.

Jay’s fingers wrap themselves around each side of the serpent, scraping over its scales as he pulls and pulls and pulls with all his might. It doesn’t work initially, nor the second time - but the third time proves to be a charm at last. He forcefully rips the snake’s tail out of its mouth, releasing a loud hissing sound from the creature as it contorts and starts to grow bigger.

Several claps of thunder sound in the air at the same time, and as Ezra’s hand closes around yours and pulls you over to him, you see the assault weapon in Tovar’s hand has turned into a massive hammer.

When the hammer hits Jay, the flash of lightning on impact is almost blinding, cracking his skull, and Jay screams as he throws the serpent at his attacker. The creature immediately wraps itself around his calves, and when its teeth sink deep into Tovar’s leg, it pulls a scream from him that rivals all the other deafening sounds around you. 

Tovar stumbles away from Jay and the snake - four, five, six steps, and when his eyes meet yours, you feel another wave of nausea rolling through you.The rage in his eyes when he sees you with Ezra is terrifying, and his path abruptly changes and he moves towards you, one step followed by another. But as he takes one more step, he suddenly pales, grabbing at his leg where the serpent bit him moments earlier. 

The creature still has its fangs sunk into Tovar’s leg, acidic looking venom now dripping out of the wound, and it seems like all of a sudden Tovar realizes that this is not something he can beat. 

He is a tall, broad man, his right hand still gripping tight onto the large hammer - but when he falls, you can tell there is no way that man is getting up again. The massive hammer hits the ground, making everything shake as a crack forms into the ground, zipping from left to right as more additional cracks happen faster than you can even count.

Then, the tip of the cliff just… breaks off. A moment of complete destruction, happening much faster than seems possible, because within seconds it just plummets all the way down, dragging Tovar and Jay along with it. So fast that you don’t even hear them scream; the only sound you hear is the massive thud as everything crashes down into the ocean, being swallowed up whole by roaring waves that pull it down into its depths to never be seen again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

This time you're not sure that you are even fully conscious when the room around you comes into focus for a moment. The air smells metallic, like blood and burnt things, and the floor around you is red.

"Little Beast," you hear Ezra gasp, and you want to look at him, but the darkness pulls you under again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Everything around you turns red. Dripping with blood, which then turns into bright orange flames, leaping up to the sky like it was their only purpose in life. But the wolf cub is now taller than you, wrapping its tail around you and Ezra as he tosses you onto his back.

You scramble to hold onto his fur as you grab Ezra’s shirt, making sure he won’t slide off. But then you see his right arm is missing, he’s bleeding out all over the three of you - and you don’t know what to do.

“It’s the consequences, Little Beast.” Ezra is calm as ever as he looks at you, the blond streak barely visible in his hair as it’s also covered in blood. “The choice was mine to make. Certain actions ferment the threat of appropriate reactions.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Somewhere there’s the sound of guns. There’s screaming, and then you hear a voice that you’d recognize anywhere. 

Francisco.

“Is that…” Ezra’s voice is shaking, unable to talk without wincing and gasping from pain. “Fuck. Frankie?”

More gunshots sound and just when the door is slammed open, you once again lose consciousness, your head hurting so much that you wonder if this is the end of it all.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’re cold.

Everything is white, but you can still smell the flames.

You know the fire is finally gone when the white begins to weigh heavy on you like snow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you open your eyes, brought back to consciousness by the sound of the wolf cub whimpering against you, there’s a large wolf standing across from you two. Not black, like your cub - brown, like the color of trees, and Frankie’s eyes and hair.

Francisco.

You black out again. 

When you finally come to your senses again and open your eyes, there’s a small arctic fox standing next to the brown wolf in the snow. It raises its head when it sees you move, then looks at something behind it in the distance.

It’s only when you see the bloody knife in the crisp snow in front of you that you realize it’s no longer lodged into your throat, and that there’s no blood pooling in your mouth anymore.

Heaven for the climate, hell for the company. 

“Frankie.” His name slips from your lips as you start to cry, and the wolf cub whines softly, now  curled up against your chest. His paws are bloody, and you’re not sure if it’s his blood or yours, nor where the large piece of bloody meat came from that’s staining the snow between you and the brown wolf who is still standing in front of you.

Brown fur.

Brown curls.

The tall woman in front of you is covered in brown furs, keeping her warm against the snow. She kneels down in front of you as she picks up the piece of bloody meat and puts it in her pocket. Then she reaches out of you, and as you feel the wet brush of her hand on your forehead, pushing back your hair, you feel yourself starting to lose consciousness again.

“Oh.” Her voice is light, tingles like icicles, and she laughs softly, sounding surprised. “Yes. You really are his.”

There’s even more blood than before. Your hands, all the way up your forearms. In your mouth. Hair.

Frankie’s face. His legs. So much blood, and he’s crying.

Someone’s dismembered arm lays on the floor, not too far away from you. You try to figure out if it’s yours, but everything hurts too much - you’re just not sure.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’re not sure how you make it to the truck, delirious from blood loss - you just know that somehow you do, Francisco’s hands on you almost the entire time. Once you’re in the vehicle, you promptly black out, coming to your senses later while Frankie drives the truck like he is possessed, several guns in the passenger seat next to him.

You want to ask him what happened - how he found you, and where Ezra is, but every time you think you’ve found the words to ask him that out loud, you black out again, and again, and again. Sometimes you wake up screaming, other times the pain throughout your entire body and head is almost too much to stand - but each and every time, there’s Frankie’s reassuring hand on you.

Somewhere between reality and dreams, or maybe even a worse place than that, you’re drowning in a river of foaming blood. The current is rough, making it incredibly hard to hold on anything  as you try to hold onto rocks, a tree trunk, and anything else that’s near you. 

The pain in your head is stabbing, overwhelming, and you can’t tell if the blood around you tastes the same as the blood in your mouth - whether it’s both yours, or if some of it is Frankie’s, or maybe even Ezra's.

After what seems like hours it starts to rain, while you’re still trying to stay afloat. At first you’re convinced it’s going to be the final push that’ll make you drown, but somehow as the rain mingles with the bloody river, it starts to dilute the thick red blood little by little, until eventually the blood has disappeared and there’s only water surrounding you, while the sun breaks through the clouds, warming your skin at last. You grit your teeth as you try to make it to the shore once again, and this time you’re successful, finally getting your body out of the water as you lay down into a wheat field, the wolf pup suddenly by your side.

You lurch up when the truck Frankie is driving comes to an abrupt stop, gasping for air as you’re jostled into consciousness for a moment. The wolf cub whines softly, licking your face, and you can’t figure out if you’re actually in the car or in that field next to the river. You hear voices somewhere nearby, and when somebody talks who is clearly not Frankie, the pup bolts up with his teeth bared.

That’s when you see the horse in front of you, just a few steps away, his dark brown coat looking almost black as it shines in the sun. You don’t understand how it’s possible, but you can swear that the horse smells like freshly baked bread and some grain alcohol - maybe it’s whiskey. The horse slowly starts to change shape, and eventually looks like a man wearing yellow aviators and tight jeans, standing there with a cocked hip and an expression somewhere in between annoyance and concern.

“Peña,” you hear Frankie say, but some part of your brain struggles to accept that name for the man. 

“Freyr,” you mutter as you close your eyes again, burying your face against the soft fur of the wolf cub curled up against you. You’ve seen that man before, you just don’t remember where. Bogota? Medellin? Maybe talking to Ezra? Fuck - Ezra. Where is he? Is he still alive? “Esdr-...Tyr.” Your head hurts so much that it feels like it’s going to explode.

“Santiago. You’re going to be okay.” 

Your eyes fly open when you recognize Joel’s voice, so nearby that for a moment it feels like he is right next to you. Until everything goes black again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Every time you dream of Joel, you ask him.

Every time you ask him, he has no answer for you.

“He’s not here, Santiago.”

“Please. You must be able to find out somehow.”

“I don’t know where Esdras is, hermano.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The medication that Javier and Frankie got for you makes it hard to focus on anything, but at least it keeps the pain away. It makes the nightmares worse though, so you find yourself desperately trying to stay awake. 

This is what you understand: 

You’re at the El Dorado airport in Bogota, with Francisco and Javier Peña, who is a DEA agent. The three of you are getting on a small plane that’s headed to the United States, but you’re not quite sure where. At some point, you’ll be testifying anonymously about Lorenzano, Tovar and the rest of the syndicate.

“Ezra set this up a year ago,” Javier tells the two of you as he hands you each a passport and some paperwork. “Residency and work permits. The rest will come.” 

Francisco is staring at him, looking just as confused as you are feeling. “I don’t understand.”

“Ezra is an American citizen. Was.” Javier hesitates, and you can tell by his expression that the man genuinely doesn’t seem to know whether Ezra is still alive as he looks at you. “When Frankie found you two… well. He should tell you about that some time. But Ezra sent him to me, so I got things moving. Most of this was already set up.” 

“Why?”, you manage to ask, and Javier sighs as he takes his yellow aviators off.

“Insurance policy. I know Ezra wanted out, but he didn’t quite seem to think that he would survive that,” he then says. “He figured that if shit hit the fan, at least you two could get out and start over.”

You close your eyes, trying to process the words, but it’s impossible to understand. The idea that Ezra is probably dead is just as unbearable as the thought of what state he might be in if he is still alive. 

“Did he lose his arm?”, you ask, and you don’t recognize your own voice - but you can tell the words sound slightly hysterical. “Frankie, where…”

“You should rest. Both of you,” Javier gently but firmly interrupts you, then gives you some pills and a bottle of water. “These will help. You’re safe for now.”

The woman, Lydia, apologizes for the small apartment, saying that’s all she was able to arrange on such short notice. Javier and Francisco assure her it’s perfectly fine, and you can only nod, your tongue and brain still heavy from the medications.

Once Javier had checked all the entrances and exits, feeling good about how secure it is, he leaves you and Frankie alone, saying something about Lydia picking up groceries and clothes for you soon. Only when he’s gone, you’re able to take in the apartment. Lydia may have apologized for its size, but to you it feels like a palace - and you can tell by the expression on Frankie’s face that he feels the same way.

Somehow it reminds you of your childhood home, and when you two sit down at the small kitchen table, you suddenly don’t feel twenty-two anymore but only ten years old at the most. You’ve never had someone give you a place to call home, even if it would be temporary. Hell, you’re never even been in a place that had locks and was intended for only you and Frankie, with exception of that one motel night a long time ago. 

You watch Frankie get up from the table and grab two glasses, filling them from a bottle of water in the fridge - the only thing that’s in there. As you drink from it, you take in his appearance. He looks as exhausted as you feel, some cuts and bruises on him, but not as many as you have fortunately.

He lets you look at him, the soft smile on his face indicating he understands you’re still loopy from the drugs, then touches your hand softly as he gets up. “This looks nice,” he says, gesturing around him, and you laugh without meaning to - because if there’s one thing Frankie normally doesn’t do, it’s small talk.

“Shut up, pendejo,” he says as he rolls his eyes at you, but you can tell that he doesn’t mean it. “I just mean - well, this is fucking huge.”

You shower together, mostly because you can’t stand up straight without swaying, but you realize that you quite like it. The water is hot and plentiful, neither of you having soap or anything, but just washing the dirt off your skin already feels like a blessing.

“I can walk,” you object when he seems inclined to help you to the bedroom, and you do so, ignoring when you almost fall twice. The sheets seem old but are so soft against your bare skin, and you drift off so fast while you hear Frankie moving around and letting someone inside the apartment. When he returns, it’s with a small pile of clothes and a bag with deliciously smelling food.

You’re both starving and eat mostly in silence, still trying to understand what happened in the past forty eight hours. When your eyes become too heavy, you curl up under the sheets and breathe a sigh of relief when Frankie does so as well. His naked body is so warm against yours as he wraps an arm around you, laying against your back, and you both fall asleep this way.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“America.” A smile tugs at Joel’s lips, and for a moment you’re not sure if you are actually dreaming. Everything indicates that you are, except for the way Joel looks. There is no decaying half to his face, or his body - he’s all in one piece, standing in front of you. Even looking relaxed, which is not exactly a characteristic you associate with him. 

There are no dead bodies anywhere near the two of you. 

Nobody is bleeding out on the ground, or screaming. 

It should be comforting, a relief, but after so many years of always having dreamt of Joel one way, your brain is struggling to understand what’s happening.

“Are you okay?”, you ask Joel, feeling stupid asking the question when he’s clearly looking better than he has before. “I mean…”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Santiago.” The expression on Joel’s face softens further, looking almost wistful, and suddenly you know with alarming clarity that this is the last time you’re going to be dreaming about him like this. “You got out.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The footsteps down the hallway are firm and moving closer to the room where you and Frankie are seated. He gives you a short nod as you both get up from the chairs, standing straight as you wait for the door to swing open.

A tall blond man dressed in uniform enters the room, and you can tell that it takes him just a second to size up the two of you - make a quick judgment about what he sees too, probably. 

He closes the door behind him, then walks over to shake your hands briefly. He gestures at the chairs you were seated earlier as he takes a seat of his own, behind the desk.

“Mr. Garcia, Mr. Morales. My name is Captain William Miller. What can I do for you?”

A/N II: I need to give a nod to @oliveksmoked’s incredible 'Nothing That We Need' (Narcos x Supernatural with Javi x OFC) and @ohforficsake’s The Margay' (Frankie x Audrey, POC OFC) which ended up influencing this fic a lot, and are both absolute must reads. Finally, thank you to @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @qveerthe0ry @mountainsandmayhem and @magpiepills for all the support and feedback (and letting me cry when I needed to for many reasons). Dividers by @saradika!

Here’s a little overview of Santi + the PPCU characters in this fic, plus and the Norse Gods that Erin assigned to them. Click on their names to go read the other Frith stories written by some amazing writers! @perotovar, thank you so much once again for organizing this incredible event, love you so much!

Santiago Garcia → Fenrir. Most famous of all the wolves in Norse Mythology, bringer of Ragnarok a.k.a. the end of the world. Joel Miller/Santi’s brother → Hel. Goddess of death and guide to the underworld.  Jay/Santi’s (oldest) brother -> Jormungand. The serpent banished to the ocean, will rise at the end of the world. 

Francisco Morales → Skadi. Goddess of winter, skiing, bow-hunting, and mountains. Ezra / Esrads → Týr. God of victory, law, and justice.

Maxwell Lord/Lorenzano → Odin. The All-Father. God of wisdom, magic, war, death and trickery. Pero Tovar → Thor. God of thunder, lightning and the protection of humankind. Max Phillips/Santi’s father → Loki. The Trickster God of mischief and chaos. Javier Peña → Freyr. God of fertility, harvests, and peace. Rules over weather.

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[sissylittlefeather]

If You Talk In Your Sleep

Chapter 2

A/N: EEEEEEEEE I'm so excited that you all loved the first chapter of this!!! I have so many big and juicy plans for this series 😈. ICYMI this is the one with 1969 Elvis and you, a casino boss's wife in Vegas. Edited to add: I can't believe I forgot to mention this!! In this universe, Lisa Marie does not exist. He and Priscilla do not have a child yet.

Click HERE for Chapter 1

Huge shout outs to @ccab and @atleastpleasetelephone for reading this one and helping me identify/fix some mistakes. Y'all, if you're writing, you need a good team of editors/proofreaders. They are PRICELESS.

Warnings: 18+ minors absolutely DNI, this is smutty and a little angsty, sex bordering on abuse (not Elvis!), and then lots of good sex, fingering, oral for her, penetrative sex, plus dirty talk, talk of cum/cumming, it's a whole thing; oh also everyone is drinking again and we're talking about the mafia in Vegas

Word count: ~3.3k

“What the…?” He picks your ring up and holds it up to the light, a sly smile spreading across his face. Now he'll have to see you again.

******

You're on your back with Carl on top of you panting and sweating when you realize that you left your ring in Elvis's pocket. You bite your lip to stifle a curse and Carl takes that as a sign that you're enjoying what he's doing. You're absolutely not. You haven't enjoyed sex with him in years, maybe ever really. He's always been selfish and crude, focused on his own pleasure. You're not even sure he knows that women are capable of orgasms, but if he does, he certainly doesn't care.

Your mind drifts back to the day Carl asked you to marry him. He was head over heels and you'd only been together for a couple of months. But he was rich and you were young, craving the security you thought he could offer. So you'd said yes and tried not to think about what you might be giving up. Still, you never dreamed it would be this bad.

“Fuck yes, you little slut. Take it, bitch.” He grunts as he ruts into you ruthlessly. You try not to grimace. It's not the words necessarily, it's the way he says them, like he's trying to make sure you know you don't matter to him, but you still belong to him. He pulls out and pumps himself, shooting cum all over your belly. Then, he rolls over next to you on his back and you sigh, reaching for something to wipe yourself off with. Carl always pulls out. He told you once that he couldn't risk you ruining your body with a kid. You had always imagined yourself with children, but not with Carl, so you're glad he doesn't cum inside you. He stands up out of bed to get ready for work while you lay on your side and try not to cry. How on earth will you get your ring back from Elvis? The thought of seeing him again makes your heart skip, but then your stomach lurches in fear. Carl cannot find out.

******

You stay in bed as Carl leaves for work. He's used to you having days where you don't get up, so he doesn't question it. In reality, this is the only way you could keep him from noticing you didn't have your ring. As soon as the door closes behind him, you walk to the kitchen and pop open a bottle of champagne. You don't really feel like celebrating, but this is the only alcohol in the house, so it'll work.

About an hour later, you're ready to go. Tonight your dress is black, fitted, and short with an ungodly amount of gold jewelry. Your hair is piled on top of your head and your eye makeup would make Twiggy jealous. Somehow, you managed to pull this off while draining the bottle of champagne. Now, you're drunk, but you stumble towards the front door with your purse, prepared to do whatever you have to do to find Elvis and get your ring back.

******

Elvis sits in his room with your ring in his hand. He's not sure how he should handle this. Does he try to go to you at the Flamingo? No, that would not be smart with your husband there. Does he go back to the Tropicana where you met and see if you're there again? That's an option, but what if you're not there? He finally decides that this is his only course of action and makes his way to the elevator.

When he gets off, his entourage in tow, he hears a commotion at the front desk. Just out of curiosity, he moves a little closer. That's when he spots you. You look impossibly sexy in the black minidress, but you seem to be harassing the front desk worker. He chuckles to himself and then walks over to you.

“I'm tellin’ you, I was here last night! I know he's here. Please just call him!” You yell at the hotel man. Your words are a little slurred from the champagne, but you're not going to let anyone stop you from seeing Elvis. “He has something of mine and I need it. I promise. Ask him.”

“She's not lying. I do have something of hers.” His smooth baritone cuts through the conversation and the hotel attendant’s mouth drops. “Hi, honey. You wanna come upstairs?”

You immediately brighten, the champagne in your system preventing you from keeping any kind of cool when you see him.

“Elvis! Yes!” He can tell you're inebriated, but he still wraps his arm around you and guides you to the elevator. His guys seem disappointed that he's not going out, but he assures them they can go without him.

On the elevator, you giggle and lean against him lazily. He looks down at you and can't help but smile at how cute you are.

When you get to his suite, you stumble a little and he scoops you into his arms to carry you to the couch.

“D’you have any champagne?” You ask, your eyes glazed.

“Honey, I think you've had enough.” He chuckles and strokes your cheek gently. “Why did you drink so much, doll?”

“I was sad.” You look down at your hands in your lap and try not to cry. “I missed you.”

He tips your chin up to make you look into his face. You close your eyes as he kisses your forehead, each of your cheeks, and then your mouth gently.

“I missed you too.” You shake your head and pull back, standing up.

“No, Elvis. I can't do this.” He stands up too.

“Do what?”

“Be here with you. I need my ring and then I need to go.” You talk quickly and look around the apartment like your ring will just be sitting somewhere.

“Hey, honey, slow down–”

“No! If I stay here you're gonna die. Carl will kill you and it'll be my fault.” You finally stop talking and the tears begin to stream down your face. He pulls you into his arms as you cry.

“Doll, that's not going to happen.” He strokes your back soothingly and kisses your forehead again. For a few minutes you let yourself melt into him and be comforted. Then, you pull away, makeup all over your face, and look up at him.

“I need my ring back, please.” He sighs and takes it out of his pocket for you. You slip it onto your finger and sniffle. It feels heavier than it did before. “Where's your bathroom?”

He gestures towards it and you go to it, fixing your makeup in the mirror. Your eyes are still puffy, but you get yourself back to some semblance of normal and then walk out to the living area. He's sitting on the couch with his head in his hands when you come out.

“You okay?” You ask tentatively, your words are clearer now that you haven't had a drink in over an hour. He wipes his face and sits up quickly.

“I'm fine.” He flashes you a fake smile and then leans back on the couch.

“You don't seem fine.”

“I was really hoping you would stay. I don't feel so… alone… with you here.” You look at the door, back at him, and then at the watch on your wrist. It's not even 10pm yet. You have plenty of time before Carl gets home.

“I can hang out for a little while.” He immediately brightens, standing up and walking to the bar. You hear a bottle of champagne pop open.

“What're you doing?” He pours a glass, drains it, and then pours another.

“Figured we might as well both be drunk.” You giggle and walk over to him at the bar. He drains a second glass as you take the bottle and drink directly from it. You move to him and stand close, looking up into his face. He smiles and whispers. “Fuck it.”

He takes a swig from the bottle and then leans down, kissing you deeply. His arms snake around your waist and he pulls you in close. When he backs out of the kiss, he presses his forehead to yours and sighs.

“Please stay for a while.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, taking another pull on the champagne bottle.

“Cilla wants me to come home. She and the Colonel have decided it's time for us to have a baby.” You reach for the bottle, but he keeps it and takes another drink.

“You don't wanna be a dad?”

“Not really. Priscilla is not… I just can't imagine she'd be very nurturing.” He thinks to himself that more than that, he doesn't want to tie himself to her for life. Right now, he could still get out, but once there's a kid, everything gets so much more complicated. You nod and wrap your arms around his waist.

“I know what you mean.” You lean your head on his chest and he drapes one arm over your shoulders. “You don't have a whole lot of control over your life, do you?”

“No, I fucking don't.” He chuckles bitterly and takes another long drink from the champagne bottle. You squeeze him a little and then back up, looking into his face.

“Hey. I have an idea. Let's spend tonight just the two of us. We’ll drink champagne and order room service and put on pajamas and just watch tv. You don't have to be Elvis Presley and I don't have to be the casino boss’s wife. We can just be silly drunk people.” He looks down at you as a wide smile spreads across his face.

“Let's do that.” You turn and take off running for the bedroom. He follows close behind you and tackles you on the bed, both of you giggling and out of breath. You kiss him softly a few times before you whisper.

“Jammies. We need jammies.” He stands up and gives you a little fake salute, walking to the chest of drawers to get two pairs. You laugh as he throws you a pair and starts to strip. When you take yours to the bathroom, he hollers.

“You know I've seen it all, right?” You peek your head out of the bathroom and glare at him.

“Let me maintain an illusion of mystery, sir.” He laughs and then lays down on the big bed waiting for you to come out of the bathroom. When you do, he's surprised to see you've washed your makeup off. He stands up and walks to you, a little spellbound, his eyes hazy from the alcohol. Your hair is still up, so he starts pulling pins out of it until it all falls down.

“God, you're beautiful.” He murmurs, touching your cheek gently.

“That's a nice line–”

“Not a line. Just the truth.” You stand there for a minute or two just staring at each other before he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. A flashback of Carl on top of you this afternoon shakes you to your core and you move away from him quickly to sit on the bed. He cocks his head a little. “What was that, honey?”

“Nothing. Let's just watch tv.”

“No. It was not nothing. You literally just ran away from me.” You curl up against the pillows and try not to cry. He lays on the bed behind you carefully. “Honey, talk to me.”

“Carl. He… today… and I wanted to tell him no, but he gets mad when I do.” Even though you can't see him, you feel the anger roll off of him.

“Did that sonofabitch hurt you?”

“No, it's not like that. He didn't force me or anything. I just didn't enjoy it.” He relaxes a bit, but he's still not happy. The champagne makes him bold enough to ask the next question.

“Did you at least cum?” You shake your head.

“No, I never cum. He doesn't care about that.” You sigh deeply, trying not to think about it. He presses himself up behind you and cautiously slips his hand under your pajama top to rest just below your belly button.

“I think you should let me make up for it.” You turn and look up at him over your shoulder.

“And how are you gonna do that?” He presses kisses to the skin under your ear.

“By making you cum as many times as you can.” Then, you moan softly as his hand slips further down, under your pajama bottoms and panties. He finds your clit with the tip of his middle finger and starts to rub circles on you. You whimper a little and he slides down again to your entrance, gathering the wetness and teasing you before moving back to your clit.

“Fuck, Elvis.” You reach back and grab the nape of his neck as he pushes first one and then two fingers inside you.

“Good girl. Tell me what you need.”

“What?” It comes out as a half-moan.

“Fingers? Tongue? Cock? What do you need, honey?” He coos in your ear, his voice smooth and dripping honey, as the champagne flowing in both of you heightens the sensation.

“Umm… tongue?” You're not used to being given choices in bed. It's new and you like it more than you thought you would.

“Give me a direct command. Tell me what you want.” He nibbles on your earlobe. Your eyes flutter open and you turn and look at him again. “Go ahead. Tell me what to do.”

“Lick my pussy. Now.” Your voice comes out stronger than you intend so you add a shaky, “please.”

“No please. You're in charge here. I'll do whatever you want.”

“Then I want you to go down on me until I cum. Twice.” You smirk and he smiles widely.

“Yes ma'am.” You roll onto your back as he unbuttons your pajama top and kisses down your body. Instead of waiting for him to do it, you push your pajama pants and panties down and off and then spread your legs eagerly. He doesn't waste any time settling between them and dragging his tongue up your slit. You grab ahold of his hair and roll your hips into his face as he buries his tongue inside you, his nose pressed to your clit. He eats you with an urgency you've never experienced before and it doesn't take but three thrusts with his fingers for you to fall off a cliff into a wild orgasm, your body writhing as it pulses and throbs. You expect him to stop when you come down fully, but he doesn't.

“Baby, I came…”

“I know. You said twice.” You had been joking about wanting to cum twice, assuming he would know you weren't serious, but he obviously didn't. You're not even sure it's physically possible, but he seems insistent upon making it happen. He continues licking and sucking your clit, his fingers moving against your g-spot relentlessly as the blood begins to gather between your thighs again. You sit up on your elbows and look at him in shock. He doesn't even notice as his face is buried in your pussy, determined to push you into ecstasy again. You fall back on the bed and grab the headboard.

“Oh God, oh God!” You moan loudly as you feel the edges of your second orgasm closing in. He slows his pace, teasing your clit with his tongue lightly. You throw your head back and yell. “No! Don't stop. Lick my clit, baby.”

He giggles into you and goes back to dragging his whole tongue across your sensitive bud and you cum again, a primal scream coming from you as your legs tremble and you see starbursts behind your eyelids. You've never cum more than once before, so you lay there for a bit in a drunken pleasure high, chest heaving and sweat sticking to your skin as he licks you through it. When he pulls back, panting, you grab him and kiss him hard, noticing where his erection strains against the fabric of his pajama pants. Then, to his surprise, you shake off the pajama shirt and roll onto your stomach.

“Fuck me like this.” You spread your legs for him and he strips his pajamas off quickly.

“That's how you want it, honey?”

“Yes.” He lines the tips of his cock up with your entrance from behind.

“You got it, doll.” You groan as he slides into you as slowly as he can, but still all in one smooth motion.

“Oh, fuck yes.” You moan loudly. This is your favorite position, but Carl never does it. “Pull my hair.”

“Yes ma'am.” He chuckles and takes a handful of the back of your hair, pulling it until he can see the side of your face. His cock slides in and out of you rhythmically as he leans forward and kisses your cheek and then your shoulder. You lift your hips a little to change the angle slightly and his dick hits right on your g-spot. Another orgasm gathers and you feel like you might die because it's so good.

“Oh fuck, honey.” The new angle is especially good for him too and he moans, knowing he's not gonna last much longer. “I'm gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“Inside. Fill me up, baby.” Your third climax is threatening to overwhelm you and just as it does, he cums too. He doesn't even consider the consequences as the wave of pleasure crashes into him and he releases deep inside you. You bite the pillow and moan as your pussy squeezes his cock like a throbbing vice grip.

“Fuck… yes…” He groans through gritted teeth. You give a little satisfied noise with the feeling of him pulsing inside you, so subtle that you'd miss it if you didn't know to pay attention to it. Finally, you feel him slide out of you and whimper softly. He collapses beside you on his back and you scoot over to lay on his chest. As he strokes your hair and kisses your forehead, he hums quietly.

“I like being in charge.” You murmur. He smiles against your skin.

“I thought you might. You were feeling so powerless. Sometimes you just need a chance to be the boss.”

“Sounds like you're speaking from experience.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, I like to be in charge sometimes too. But it's also nice to take orders.”

And then it just slips out of you, lubricated by the champagne and three orgasms.

“Next time you can be in charge.” He looks down at you on his chest.

“Next time?” You pop your head up so that your chin is resting on your hand on his chest. As his eyes look so deeply into yours, you know you mean what you said.

“Yes. Next time. And after that we'll flip a coin or something.” He rolls over on top of you and, holding the side of your neck with his hand, kisses you as passionately as you've ever been kissed before. When he backs out of the kiss, he presses his forehead to yours again.

“Good, because I've got to make you cum a lot more than that to undo all those years with Carl.” You giggle shamelessly and snuggle into him and he holds you like he's never going to let you go. The champagne hits you both and your eyes get heavier and heavier until they finally close.

******

When you realize the sun is out, you sit straight up in bed and gasp.

“Fuck! Elvis, we fell asleep! I have to go!” He sits up groggily rubbing his eyes.

“What?”

“It is morning.” His eyes pop open and you look at each other in terror.

“Oh fuck.”

******

Uh oh...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

[joanthangroff]

fic rec - best of 2024

I haven't done one in ages so i thought [mariah carey voice] IT'S TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMEEEEEEEE. These are my fave fics from 2024 + two or three I read in 2025 already but I wanted to include them :)

Arrowverse

Once More, Mr. Queen by mybrotherharry

Olicity but turly mostly a genfic with a character study on Oliver!! The monitor makes Oliver travel to different universes to make sure the Ollies from there also become the Green Arrow. Shows different paths Oliver's life could have gone and how much he's grown. i loved it!!

Sacrifice by MaddyBaby

Genfic with a focus on Barry's and Hartley's friendship!! Set in season two when Barry travels back to the events of Hartley's first appearance. In the new timeline created by this, they're friends only that Barry doesn't know and has some trauma from the time Hartley wanted to kill him <3

Cold Storage by @sproutwings

Iris gets locked in a freezer and hallucinations of Snart help her get out of there. But maybe it's actually been him? Set Post-Oculus.

Partial Disclosure by RetroactiveCon

Hartmon bonding!!! Over queerphobia, too lmao. They're still at each other's throats but realise they have a lot more in common than they thought. Trans!cisco my beloved.

An Honest Thief by @sophiainspace

Coldwest team-up!!!! Polyamory!!!! Aromantic!Iris!!!!!! Coldflash!!!! Iconic Mick behaviour!! What more can I say????

The Memories That Hold Us Back by Cogentranting

Set after the Arrow finale where Oliver brought Tommy back to life. He's Mia's uncle and THEY'RE FAMILY. I love them.

Other DC

Perfect Paradise, Tearing at the Seams by McKat

Payneland fic with a truth spell!! Crystal buys a hexed necklace from Tragic Mick and when Charles accidentally touched it, he has to tell the truth.

heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another by @artemisadore

Catwin with SPOT-ON characterization!!! Edwin stops Thomas when he trashes his ex's car, only to find out that they have the same ex. To make him regret fucking them over (and for other reasons) they start fake-dating :)

myself and this body that they stuck me in by @misspickman

Kon has a few realizations about his gender hehehe

straight on 'til morning by @mamawasatesttube

Big brother Kon realizes that throughout his life he has been treated uhhhhh horribly?? And learns to talk about it

Other fandoms

the fubb cinematic universe by @tkffyrpntsndjckt

The most unhinged chatfic i have ever read I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!! Basically a rewrite of glee starting during ?? season 3 i think?? Blaine doesn't go to McKinley but stayed at Dalton, he and Sebastian are besties. Sebastian used to be Kurt's roommate at Dalton. so many shenanigans. someone dies. someone goes braindead. hilarity and craziness en masse. i had the time of my life reading this

white christmas by @lalalenii

you may think i'm biased but it really!!!! is that good!!!!! leni plays with formatting in the best way. like you FEEL the pauses while you read and it's so awesome. but robert please stop taking drugs

L'Chaim by sebastian2017

Erik's life and how he has been influenced by being a Jew. It's so so good and has so many gutpunches

A Book Half Unread by @jakeluppin

I still don't properly go here because i'm stuck in 911 s1 BUUUUTTTTT we love buddie in this house. and ezra put so much love into this because being a librarian is ezra's passion and you can FEEL it. it's so good. i love how dorky they are. and chris and buck's friendship is just so cute

The Line of Thought by @shotbyafool

Typical House MD episode tbh. The ducklings meddle with House's private life and he decides to play tricks on them. Unfortunately, he enlists Wilson to help him

The Live Forever Job by jessikast

Leverage/The Old Guard crossover!!!! It's so good and placed perfectly tbh.

[scientificwitchry]

My Thoughts on Caleb's Biblical Symbolism

______________________________________________________________

This is going to be long-winded and essentially a rant (so don't expect me to make sense). Also probably not accurate as these are simply MY thoughts based on the little info we know from the events of the game along with Caleb's trailer(s) and the teasers/showcases of his cards posted. As well as his commissioned art. Also, spoilers if you haven't read Chapter 4 of the game yet.

______________________________________________________________

I've seen many people talk about things such as the cultural significance of Caleb's dynamic with MC and trope and character but I haven't seen a lot about his biblical symbolism.

Of course, as anyone who cares can tell, Caleb is an obvious reference to the story of Adam and Eve.

In the story of Adam and Eve, the first humans created by God lived in the Garden of Eden, basically a utopia absence of violence, and most importantly for this analysis; sin. They are allowed to eat from any fruits in the garden save for those from the Tree of Knowledge. Despite knowing this, Eve, having been tempted by the serpent does so after being implored to do so to attain the knowledge of both good and evil. Not only does she eat from the tree she gets her lover, Adam to do so as well.

As a result, Eve is punished to experience the pains of childbirth and to desire her husband but be ruled over by him and Adam to be cursed with the death of labor before both are promptly cast out of the Garden of Eden.

This probably isn't the exact story, but it's the story I grew up knowing of.

One thing I can't help but notice is that in Caleb's first official commission art (art that devs commission from artists) is that in the art Caleb is holding out an apple presumably for the MC to eat as a snake is coiled around his hand while both of them are surrounded by greenery.

Though, the story of Adam and Eve actually never describes the fruits as being an apple, It doesn't describe it all in fact. For all we know it could've been a durian. But the common assumption is that the fruit Eve ate was an apple. That paired with the setting, the snake, MC leaning in as if to take a bite makes it pretty obvious that he's supposed to reference the story of Adam and Eve paired with the apple we see on his dog tag, even his profile picture, then in his trailers and even in the teaser for Farspace Deprivation they mention sin which I'll come back to later.

The first thought I had was that Caleb was the serpent which tempted Eve (us/mc). And it would fit him well considering that in both his trailer and the teasers for his card he feels so manipulative? This is especially the case with his Farspace Bloomfall.

Like there is no way you can look at this and not think he's manipulating the fuck out of us. But even with that, I believe that rather than him representing the serpent which deceives Eve (mc), I am of the opinion he represents Eve who eats from the tree of knowledge.

A part of it also has to do with his second and most recent commission art.

One thing I noticed about this piece was that he and MC seem to be in the sky, supposedly falling. It could (and probably is) a reach but it reminds me of when Adam and Eve are cast out from the Garden of Eden by God. Considering how this is a lot more grim (?) compared to the first commissioned art, the same way Caleb's official appearance as a love interest is a lot darker than his first appearance as a character.

To me, even though there's a high possibility that it is, I don't consider the tone shift in his commissioned art a coincidence at all. This and his re-appearance as a love interest show Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden. Caleb and the MCs life together before the explosion was their eden. an idyllic utopia absent of sin. Whatever it was that led up to that explosion was Caleb eating from the Tree of Knowledge. The serpent in the bible convinces Eve that eating from the Tree of Knowledge would give her knowledge of both good and evil, making her like God. I believe whatever knowledge Caleb now knows is the evil that has completely traumatized him.

Another reason why I believe that Caleb represents Eve requires us to go back to his card; Farspace Deprivation.

MC calls him a sinner and not only does he admit to being a sinner (carrying sin) but asks us to carry it as well. Eve is often interpreted as having beguiled Adam into sinning with her (eating from the Tree of Knowledge). However, there is no mention (to my memory) of it in the bible. But when God confronts Adam he blames Eve and Eve then blames the serpent which is probably where the interpretation comes from.

And while it may seem like a stretch, I wholeheartedly believe that the last sentence is his way of beguiling us. I don't think it's in the sense he's completely faking referenced loneliness. It is my belief that all the emotions we see Caleb express are real but he recognizes the fact that we are weak to them and leans into that to appeal to us and by god does it work.

But putting this aside, my main point in going back to analyze the lines in Farspace Deprivation is that I not only believe that this exchange cements the idea that Caleb is meant to represent Eve and us Adam but like in the story the two of us carry a shared sin and like Adam and Eve we will also carry a punishment (not like the ones in the bible obviously). Or maybe we already have and MC has just been yet to realize. Maybe we had already bitten into the fruit of knowledge without having even realized it and are being punished for it.

Additionally, I'd like to add that Adam and Eve sinning is also what granted (imo at least) humans free will. The same way in which Caleb doing so (according to my longwinded and olympian levels of stretching theory) granted him freedom. in the "Homecoming Wings" video he says he held himself back and endured day after day, then describes it as being suffocating. To me, this is referencing his feelings for us. He held himself back from exposing his true feelings to us to maintain our Garden of Eden, but by abandoning that world he's freed himself from playing the role of our gege.

Now it's a matter of whether the freedom of sinning outweighs the punishment that follows. What if Eve never gave into the serpent? What if she and Adam continued to live idyllicly in that utopia? What if that explosion never happened? What if Caleb continued to be by our side, in our memories as our gege and not Caleb? What if humans never experienced suffering, pain, grief, and death? We will never know for humans will never be sinless and Caleb and MC will never know for they are forever sinners.

Art's Source: https://x.com/chimmyming

[strangersteddiex]

All We Do Is Try

Summary: “I’m bad for you, Eds, I’ve got bad blood.” “What the fuck does that even mean?” “It means that I’m my father’s son and someday I’ll let you down because that’s what Harringtons do… they disappoint the people who love them.” “Baby, you’ve never disappointed me.” - Sometimes Steve gets buried under a lack of self-worth, but Eddie will always be there to tell him that he idolises him.

Read here on AO3 or under the cut :)

Based on the prompt "idol" from @strangerthingswritersguild

Eddie adored the earth Steve Harrington walked on. 

If you had told him a few years ago that someday he would worship every damn hair on that man’s chest he would have laughed in your face, but now he couldn't imagine his life going any other way. He couldn't think of anyone he would have rather walked through hell with or loaned his battle vest to - a loan that had turned into Steve stealing the damned thing and Eddie barely caring because fuck it… he looked hot alright? 

He loved worshipping every inch of pale flesh and nibbling his collarbones in that delicious way that made him shudder and moan. He loved tracing his moles in the early morning light, making his very own constellations - the protector, the nail bat, the hair (that one had made him snort loud enough to wake Steve) and his favourite one of all: the sun. 

He knew those around them hadn't understood it at first. 

Wayne didn't get why of all the damn boys in the world, Eddie had to go and fall for Richard Fucking Harrington’s son. He’d added a few more choice words that Eddie had merely rolled his eyes at before requesting that they have Steve over for one dinner. Just one. And if Wayne still disapproved at the end of it then Eddie would keep their relationship outside the walls of the trailer. 

Meanwhile, Hopper had spent many an hour lamenting to Joyce about how Steve was a good lad who just had to fall for the bad boy cliche. 

“He’s not some damsel in a teen novel, Jim, you can’t put these labels on him,” Eddie had heard her mutter to Hopper as he snuck through the upstairs landing to the bathroom. 

“I’ve arrested that boy at least twelve times. Twelve, Joyce.” 

“I’m proud of you, saving the streets of Hawkins from a terrifying marijuana dealer,” Joyce deadpanned. Eddie couldn't help but grin. He liked Momma Byers. “Give him a chance, Jim. He’s been through a lot as well, he’s not the kid sitting in handcuffs any more.” 

The odds were stacked against them but they never succumbed. 

Because they were in love and they faced their problems head-on, together. So when Steve failed to return Eddie’s calls for over twenty-four hours, he was concerned. His immediate thought was that something had happened, Steve wouldn't just ignore him. Not without a good reason. That concern was raised infinitely when he answered the ringing phone within seconds, desperate to hear Steve’s voice, only to hear the wrong one. 

“Munson residence.” 

“Hey, Eddie, sorry to bother you, is Steve there?” Robin asked. 

“Steve?” Eddie asked, worry turning into a festering pit in his stomach. “No, I haven't actually heard from him in a while.” 

“Did something happen between you two?” 

“No… at least, I don't think so, there wasn't anything that I can remember and when he left the other morning he seemed fine,” Eddie said, wracking his brain to try and remember exactly what Steve’s parting words had been. “Why? Do you think somethings wrong?” 

“I dunno,” she admitted. “I haven't heard from him either and he didn't show up for work this morning.” 

“That’s not like him,” Eddie stated the obvious, the worry that had been festering suddenly turned to lead and he thought he would throw up from the sudden fear. “I’m going over.” 

“Thank you,” Robin said. “Can you call me once you find him? I’m worried but if I leave the store we’ll both lose our jobs.” 

“Course,” he confirmed before hanging up and rushing out of the house - still wearing his pyjamas. 

The drive to Loch Nora was a blur, eddie couldn't even remember if he’d stopped at the red lights or if he’d been lucky enough to sail through a clear run of greens. He didn't care, all he cared about was finding his boyfriend and figuring out what the hell had happened. 

The Harrington house was dark, if it wasn't for the beemer sitting in the driveway, Eddie would have thought no one was home. Eddie raced up to the door, banging on it loudly with the side of his fist. There was no answer, to be fair, it was quite an aggressive knock so he tried again, gentler. 

Still nothing. 

Eventually, he tried the handle which turned easily and let him into the dark foyer. 

“Steve?” 

Nothing. 

“Stevie, Darling?” 

Still nothing. 

He moved from room to room, finding no indications that Steve had been there at all. That was until he looked outside by chance when he was in the kitchen. There, sitting by the pool that he hated, was Steve. 

“Steve?” Eddie spoke softly as he opened the patio doors. 

“Oh, hey, Eddie,” Steve said looking surprised to see him there. “Shouldn't you be at work?” 

“It’s Sunday, Stevie.” 

“Oh,” Steve muttered. “I guess I should be at work then.” 

His voice was listless, it was terrifying.

“What’s going on, Baby?” 

“You could do so much better,” Steve said softly. “Look at you, Eds, you’re gorgeous and talented. Corroded Coffin could really be something one day and you’re being held back by a waste of space like me.” 

“You aren't a waste of space, Darling,” Eddie said softly. 

“I am, I only barely graduated from high school, I have no skills or talents. No passions,” Steve muttered, staring at the pool that was collecting auburn leaves. “I’m going to end up in a dead-end job, living paycheque to paycheque and you’ll be restricted by being with me.” 

“Hey, none of that, Stevie, Baby,” Eddie said quickly, hating how little Steve thought of himself. “I love you, I want to be with you, alright? No one else. I don't care if someone offered me a million dollars, a mansion and a record deal, I would only want you.” 

“I’m bad for you, Eds, I’ve got bad blood.” 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” 

“It means that I’m my father’s son and someday I’ll let you down because that’s what Harringtons do… they disappoint the people who love them.” 

“Baby, you’ve never disappointed me.” 

“But-” 

“No, Darling,” Eddie interrupted. “I know you have a shit opinion of yourself and your self-worth is practically none existent, but I don't, ok? I think the world of you. I idolise you, Steve Harrington. I idolise every last little thing you say and do, the way you smile, the way you hold me, the way you get down on your knees and-” 

“Alright!” 

It worked, Steve cut him off with a surprised laugh as his face flushed a brilliant red. 

“See, there’s my beautiful boy,” Eddie murmured, trailing a finger along Steve’s stubble-covered jaw. “How long have you been out here, Darling?” 

“Uh,” Steve frowned, looking deep in thought before sighing. “I don't know.” 

“Alright,” Eddie said with a nod. “That’s a problem that we're going to have to talk about, but first let’s get you inside.” 

“Inside?” 

“Yeah, Baby, I want you to eat something and take a shower,” Eddie said. 

“Food and a shower?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah, does that sound alright?” 

Steve merely nodded. 

Eddie knew that a hot meal and relaxing shower wouldn't fix everything, he knew there was more going on in Steve’s head than he was letting on, and he knew that there was an uphill battle ahead of them. 

He also knew that they would be alright in the end. 

Because he adored Steve. 

He worshipped him. 

And he would spend every moment of every day trying to convince him of that fact. 

[etrosgate]

the second readthrough of world trigger is where it really kicks in

[thelastspeecher]

here's a fun fact about me that I doubt many people on here know:

one of my favorite genres is Robinsonade

named after the book Robinson Crusoe, it's stories in which the protagonist is "suddenly separated from civilization" (according to Wikipedia), but I tend to think of it primarily as castaway narratives.

related, I also loooooove survivalist stories such as Hatchet and sorta My Side of the Mountain

just a fun fact about me c:

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[yoonstudios]

oh my fucking godddddd i wish i could come out to my parents

[vulpinesaint]

i’m secretly in love with you

wow... beautiful world... that's crazy cause you are ma chèrie mon ange mon cœur ma vie. t'es la plus jolie femme du monde et c'est simplement la verité...

[hexcitrine]

randomly looked at this account to update my age and holy shit it's been a while since i posted here..........i have a small pile of art i have yet to post but hbhbshdbshbd too lazy

[ravencromwell]

Ros Vortalis trans headcanons

There are some remarkable trans Holland fics and headcanons, but can we talk about Ros Vortalis, whom all of his friends simply call Vor? Who, even when he’s _dying Holland calls Vor, to be expected, but also Vortalis which’s so much longer than Ros.

A bit of googling informs me Ros is “protector” in German, which’s chef’s kiss one hundred/ten no notes V.E. But it’s also, more frequently, a diminutive of Rosalind. Disclaimer before I start these that I respect and love! the headcanons of Makt as fairly gender nonrestrictive, with power being more of a defining factor of treatment. My Makt, however, is more complicated, with gender and gender transitions being imperfect but still a site where joy can be created, much like the rest of White London existence. Putting the rest of these beneath a cut with that in mind because as a trans person, I know some days I can’t handle transness as careful complication to be navigated and don’t want to inflict it on anyone unprepared. (Though, I promise! there’re fluffy as fuck nsfw Vor/Holland and Vor/friends headcanons in here to cut the angst.)

Ros retains a shortened form of his given namefor business purposes within the Shal—we know Shal means “market” in Red London, and I tend to think it means the same in White, such that when Holland calls him a “thug from the Shal” he’s referring to Vor being in the merchant/smuggling business. When he transitions, he’s relatively young and honestly to flagrantly demand a name change would be seen by too many as blood in the water. His greatest focus, always, is Makt rather than his personal happiness and he’d rather be burdened with the “nickname” Ros and be capable of rising in the Shal in service of becoming king.

There’re two ways of transitioning: the easiest and least painful is utilizing a spell similar to Astrid’s with Lila and stealing a face and voice. But that spell fades with death and though Vor understands that his body is likely destined for desecration once he’s gone as Makt’s people drain its blood and magic, there’s still this stubborn demand that they destroy a body without the face that made him shudder every time his child self caught a glimpse (he is so grateful for a lack of mirrors in Makt for much of his young adulthood.)

So he chooses the harder, excruciating method: finds a bone magician to permanently reshape his body. Session after session, over months traveling abroad on a ship with only the open sea and crew to hear him scream himself hoarse.

The first time they share a bed, Holland strokes along the broadened shoulders, runs fingers along the scars on his chest—eyes fixed on Vor’s all the while— and murmurs: “If they did not believe you would hold the throne, they were fools.”

“I’m flattered.” He’s bright-eyed, with that deep, rolling-sea laugh.

“After this, very little would stop you.” Fools have marveled at the extent of spells across his body, and inwardly he howls in hysterical laughter because there is very little to dull pain in Makt, and the shipboard pain was so vast it made everything else feel like pinpricks by comparison. He’s never bedded someone who would know that as intimately as the man who had done his damndest to use that same magic in stopping Vor’s fist before it connected with his face, and the admiration uncoils something deep in his chest. “Sometimes I’m certain I can’t keep it. One moment it will be there and then not.” He manages a farse of a smile “Foolish, after all these decades, but such is the weakness of your future king, Holland.”

“Lucky you would have an Antari to put it back, then.”

By the time he returned to London, voice rumbling deep from an expanded chest, people understood quickly to use “Ros” with the proper pronouns or see just how effective the runes on his hands were. But well…Ros is an easier shirt than Rosalind to slip into, but it will never sit comfortably. As he develops allies, he finds that Vor and Vortalis fit easier. And it becomes a good gauge for trust. Those who understand implicitly how painful his given name is and respect that, are people worth keeping. It becomes easier, as fewer and fewer people survive who remember Rosalind.

There are far too many moments to count when former friends or lovers try to use “Ros” as a weapon, with a little smirk that says: “You never said we _couldn’t call you that.” And he’s deeply glad he made a relatively small name fuss and provided only a small chink in his armor. (Those sorts of people tend, inevitably, to cause the use of his knives. As though letting them close and showing kindness is an invitation for open season. But such are the risks in Makt, and he is a man who craves touch and closeness. What good to craft the ideal body only to never have it appreciated. The way Holland simply…withdrew from people after Talya is something almost unfathomable. Whether they’re the closest of friends or both king and night and! king and beloved—which’s pretty much always in my head—there’s a deep, profound ache that he could never touch Holland enough to make up for too many years alone.

It’s the dimmest flicker every time he sees the “knight” and “Antari” masks slip, when Holland leans against his shoulder or puts his head in Vor’s lap, eyes half-closing at fingers in his hair. But, simply because the task is nigh on impossible, doesn’t mean he won’t do his best. Vor touches Holland Vosijk a hundred thousand times in those two years of rule—and so, so many more if they both survive—and is so very, very grateful he could take the touches the best of his lovers and allies offered over the last thirty years. (On a slashy front, can we also just talk about how, as a couple, there’s an incomparable way arousal and awe intertwine for Vor _every time Holland reaches out and shows affection: a kiss against his temple as Vor lets their foreheads rest together; a hand moving slow and easy down his back. To be trusted enough for the most guarded man he’s ever met—it took Vor _months to convince him to kill Gorst and he’s never had to work so hard or wanted so desperately for someone to say yes in his life—to touch him is such a valuable thing that he has immense responsibility not to break.)

Also in couple’s verse: If Vor has a small regret, it’s that the bone magicians are far more skilled with outward, above-the-waist presentation—because the best of them have not only done this for trans people, but for criminals etc. seeking a disguise. Thankfully, they had no trouble cutting him open to ensure he would never be with child—he doesn’t have the vocabulary for dysphoria, but the idea of his stomach rounded and heavy is one of the few things that can make him viciously soul-deep terrified. But the below the waist equipment well, it’s not a magic Makt has the luxury of learning.

By the time he meets Holland, it’s the very faintest of regrets: he has a collection of strap-ons for when he and a lover want to indulge in that particular fantasy—and is comfortable enough in his skin it’s an indulgence and not a requirement. It’s beautiful to watch lovers slide to their knees and take them in their hands or mouths or slide inside and watch them arch with pleasure. But oh, oh he wishes he could _feel it. It’s not a complaint worth voicing, and honestly after he becomes king, there’s very little time to indulge.

But one day, Holland comes back, smelling of flowers holding a box, tells the guards to wait at the end of the hall because he has crucial business from “the other London” for the king’s ears alone, which has Vor intrigued and concerned because he hasn’t come close to asking Holand to send a message. But before the concern can swell to anything beyond a flicker, he sees a flush so faint anyone would miss it who wasn’t watching. (Even before the Danes, Holland held his feelings and desires in an iron grip; Vor learned early in sharing a bed that Holland loathed the idea of being heard by those not his lovers when losing control: not merely a discomfort that could add spice to an evening, but viscerally, the way it would take everything Vor had to turn his back on an armed opponent.) This is pleasure, not business and he flicks his fingers in a silent command before they can even turn to look.

"Go get yourselves some dinner,“ he says for good measure, "If there is a foe Holland cannot protect me from, there’s little more bodies can do.”

When he opens the box…there are the usual straps but the cock. The cock feels like _skin. “The Arnesians-” and oh, there’s still so much contempt in those words “With their infinite supply of magic have learned to transmute. From earth to bone, and then something softer. There is an illusion for the Arnesians who want to forget the straps.” There were layers upon layers beneath that statement: neither of them wished, at least then, to go begging for scraps, but to _take a little of the bounty Arnes had hoarded,

“_Yes!”

Neither of them know how the illusion works: it is as mysterious as the fireworks Holland has seen that fool his eyes into certainty dragons fly across the unbearably vivid Arnesian sky. It does not matter; in those moments when Holland’s mouth is hot on skin, Vor is utterly, entirely certain Holland is swallowing down the cock he has always had.

It’s almost too much, leaves him speechless for the first time in decades, has Holland scrambling up and onto the bed even as his eyes are still glassy from watching the king come undone to wrap himself around Vor’s back until the world comes into focus again. “Is it only good once or-” he asks, finally and Holland’s smirk is wicked.

When he’s upending the Ost table and coughing up blood—, so much, too much kajt I hope Holland can take the throne because whoever these bastards are they can’t rule, the thing he clings to: more than “Stay with me"—though he _tries—, more than the raw panic in Holland _swearing—is the name. _Vortalis, he says when the table overturns—though it would be such a forgivable mistake to use Ros. Vor, he says while chanting stay and one of his blood spells. He will die as who he made himself, not as he was born.

The three threads of coherence for Holland are the blood spell. That Vor _has to stay. And that if he cannot be enough to stop this, he _will not let Vor die hearing him use the wrong name.

In verses where Vor lives, they both know the "thank you” when he wakes is not for the healing, though to be alive is a joy.