#I will never recover from how he let Anya down

[lapinarystar]

Mouthwashing has me thinking a lot about the inherent horror of actively choosing to stay around someone you know hurts other people, and sometimes you but you care for deeply. I mean- obviously Curly and I are different, and none of the horrible people I've chosen to stay around were Jimmy. Or even truly 'evil' but- bystanding is a scary experience sometimes.

Probably scarier if you have no arms, or legs or skin or ability to talk and are stuck in a ship... but sometimes being a teenager who is too worried to loose someone just because they're awful to others...since they're so...good to you? It can kinda feel like...having no arms and legs. Yeah?

[deathbyday]

𖥔not so gen. mouthwashing relations headcanons.𖥔˚

Written By: DeathByDay

TW - death, SA.

Includes: Captain Curly, Daisuke, and Anya

__________

Captain Curly

• This man is 100% a sucker for romance

• I’ve seen some people say that they think that he’s one to be into PDA, but honestly I just don’t see it

• Maybe a few pecks on the cheek or light hand holding, but nothing more

• He just doesn’t seem that type of guy to me

• But in private? That’s a whole different story

• He’s all on you whenever you want him to be or not, especially in the mornings

• I feel like he’d love to hug you from behind while you sleep, his nose pressed against the back of your neck while his arms are wrapped around right underneath your chest

• Would 100% wake up first like c’mon he’s literally a captain, he needs to (much to your dismay)

• But while you’re still asleep he’d plant small kisses on the back of your neck to try to wake you

• If that doesn’t work, then he’d leave the room before coming back soon enough with a cup of your favorite morning drink. Coffee, tea, milk, water, you name it

• If you came to him during a bad day, rest assured he’s gonna take care of you

• He’s running a bath with the exact temperature you wanted, laying out pajamas for you, along with towels. Probably would put bath salt in there too (if you aren’t allergic and like the feeling of it)

• Acts of service and words of affirmation are his love languages, prove me wrong. YOU CANT

• You don’t understand how bad he would feel after the crash

• Like he can’t be there for you and you need to be the one taking care of him. He just feels pathetic

• You sometimes make Jimmy let you give him the painkillers. You wouldn’t be as harsh as him, of course. Just gently slide it on his tongue and help him swallow, not shoving or pushing it down

• Anyways back to pre-crash Curly

• I think he would adore it if you ever planted kisses on his cheek, neck, or forehead (or honestly anywhere else)

• If you’re shorter than him, you’d have to grab his jawline and bring him down to your level to properly kiss. Trust me when I say he would never recover from it

• Loves kissing your neck, especially before you two begin the day together

NSFW

• Y’all cannot tell me this guy isn’t the most gentlest man in bed

• Always asking if you’re comfortable, moving at a reasonable pace until you’re ready, praising you for taking him so well, etc

• He 100% presses down on your stomach to feel how deep he is inside of you

• Gives you neck kisses while he praises you

• #need that

• I think he’d end up being more serious than silly

• Although he would occasionally chuckle at your whimpers and moans, I don’t feel like he’d actually crack a few jokes

Daisuke

• Ten thousand percent blushes at the slightest contact. Even from your hand accidentally rubbing against his he becomes a flustered mess

• Adores PDA, he doesn’t care

• But of course if you don’t, that’s fine

• Just hold his pinky finger and give him a kiss on the cheek from time to time and he’s good to go

• 100% does puppy eyes whenever he wants a kiss

• You guys could just be laying on the lounge area’s couch and he would give you those eyes. Obviously you gave him what he wanted because who wouldn’t

• When you cuddle, I don’t really see him having a favorite position. He could be the big spoon or the little spoon, he’s happy with both

• When he’s the little spoon, he’d have his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. His head would be smushed into your chest, snuggling close

• When he’s the big spoon, he’d almost always have an arm wrapped around your shoulders while being in a starfish position

• Not to mention the snoring. He snores so loud you can’t prove me otherwise. He would sleep with his mouth open, which makes it even worse

• At first, it was tricky getting used to his snoring. But after a month or two of sleeping together, you couldn’t sleep without it

• Definitely not the one to wake up first. Most of the time, you have to drag him out of the bed to get him up and get ready for the day, leading to him whining and groaning

• Physical touch has this man in a chokehold

• Whenever the two of you actually have to work, he’d be so sad to leave you alone

• But after you two finally met up after, he would blabber about what he did, who he talked to, etc. and you would listen to every detail

• 100% the one to say “gyatt” whenever you pass by him. Even if you have a flat ass he still says it

• If you ended up dying before him, this guy would actually become depressed

• We all know he started getting drunk due to the mouthwash, but that is nowhere near how much he drank when you passed away

• If he ended up dying before you, he would promise you a thousand times while he’s bleeding out that he’d wait for you

• But back to fluff

• Whenever you have a bad day, this guy is definitely not leaving you alone

• He’d cuddle you until you literally explode

• If you were to ever kiss him anywhere on his face, he’d be a blushing mess no matter how light it is

• He genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing and just wings it with you, knowing you’d love him no matter what

NSFW

• He’s definitely a whiner

• You’d have to shut him up by either making out or keeping a hand on his mouth to muffle him

• Soft sex soft sex soft sex

• There’s no way he can take it seriously when you two are in bed. Of course he would try if you were into that, but he’d end up giggling at the end of each sentence

• 100% has a praise kink

• Please tell this man how good he’s doing at keeping you satisfied. He’d be way too embarrassed to do anything more with you if you don’t

Anya

• My poor baby

• She isn’t the best at expressing her love for you, but it’s obvious she loves you so much

• Not very big on PDA, but you do sometimes get a hug or a light peck on the cheek whenever you walk into a room she’s already in

• Will rant to you about how dumb it is that Daisuke won the game in Sorry!. She could honestly go on for hours on end

• You have to calm her down and tell her that it’ll be okay. Never tell her “it’s just a game” because then she’ll get even more upset

• When she found out she was pregnant, she felt terrible. Not just for herself but for you

• What would you think? Assume she’s cheating on you with her assaulter?

• You two were in bed when she finally broke the news to you about Jimmy and the baby. And oh my god you actually almost fought that man

• She had to hold you back from getting up from your spot. After that night, you shot daggers at that man every time you passed him. You didn’t speak to him once, no matter the situation

• You held her in your arms that night, whispering praises into her ear before she finally fell asleep

• Speaking of sleep, she adores being the little spoon while cuddling with you

• Her face smushed into your chest? Your arms wrapped around her, fingers twisting around her hair? It sounded like heaven

• I feel like Anya would be the one to wake up first

• She won’t leave you alone until you did, so it doesn’t take long for you both to be up and ready

• She would mutter petnames against your neck, pleading with you to wake up from your slumber

• 100% makes your favorite drink in the morning and makes it perfect every. single. time

• If you can’t cook, she’ll teach you

• She’s a wonderful teacher and chef. She explains everything to you correctly and soon you actually catch on

• You bake cookies by yourself (under her supervision) and if you burn them, she still praises you like you did everything right

• Whenever you get hurt, even if it’s just a scratch that’s barely bleeding, she cares for you as if you’ve broken a bone

• Both of you are each other’s protectors. She watches out for you, and you watch out for her

NSFW

• She wouldn’t be very talkative, but she would occasionally speak if you ever asked

• Ex: “Use your words, baby.” “Y/N-.. Please..”

• I feel like she’d shed a few tears whenever she becomes overstimulated, or if it’s your first time together

• Let her go as slow as she wants. She’ll eventually become comfortable enough with you, but it’ll take a few attempts

• I’m literally begging you, don’t slam your fingers, dildo/strap, or dick into her. She won’t talk to you for ages

• Don’t do anything harsh while having intercourse. I feel like she’d rather you be soft with her

• She’d be a mix of silly and serious. Drop a few occasional jokes to get her to laugh. But only do that when you two are actually moving at a good pace

• At first, I think she would be serious. If not nervous. But when you guys are finally adjusting to each other, it’s always nice to see her giggle

__________

authors note

I sincerely apologize if anyone was hoping for swansea.. I just couldn’t think of anything for him. Still wanna kiss that grumpy old man though!!

but nonetheless, I hope you all liked this<3

[ridingtorohan]

The Tulpar crew's reactions to walking in on you and post-crash Curly

𓇻 content warning. absolutely nothing explicit. can be viewed as dub-con given curly's circumstance, but I promise he consented. anya's reaction mentions sexual assault (jimmy to anya, but mainly she suspects reader did it to curly) and jimmy's mentions abuse (jimmy to curly) and a bit of voyeurism.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

Masterlist

Daisuke handles it like a champ. In the way that means he very much doesn't.

Absolute mess, apologizing profusely as he backs away, shielding his eyes dramatically. Hits the sides of the door on his way out. Both sides. He pin-balled.

Recovers fast but can't look at you in the eyes for a long time without picturing you like that.

"So how does it work when he's, y'know?"

So curious that it's not even funny.

Tries to get Curly to tell him the facts but Curly just does his laugh rattle

Honestly, he doesn't treat either of you differently, but he grins SUPER wide each time you go in to check in on Curly

"Get it, Captain!!!!"

May or may not time you just to tease you about it (gets so red if you tease him back)

Processes then immediately walks out

"Is this what kids do these days?"

Knew about you and curly's relationship/situation so he isn't surprised.

But you'll get his fatherly look of disappointment.

"At least make sure you're not snapping every last bone of his, alright?"

Doesn't tell anybody else because he knew it was consensual from the sounds you both made (he definitely asked Curly afterward just to make sure)

If you take a lot of shift work watching curly, he'll intercept and roll his eyes, "Jesus, let the poor guy rest"

Freezes, processes, then storms right up, eyes wild and voice high. "What are you doing?!"

She all but separates you from curly as fast as she can, tears in her eyes.

Curly sure as hell never protected her from Jimmy but she wouldn't let you abuse one of her patients.

Might be able to be coaxed down.

Shift work with Curly is outright canceled for everyone. At least until Curly conveys that no, he very much wanted that, (head nods go a long way, people).

Anya is still suspicious and weary. It's months before she stops hovering by the door, but a part of her is relieved, too.

The absolute last person you want walking in.

Stands there like a creep, eyes assessing. Memorizing.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He asks layer with a wrinkled nose, as if you're the one with the problem.

Honestly becomes kind of bitchy about the whole ordeal

Watches you a lot more intently that it becomes uncomfortable

Definitely imagines how you looked on that cot with the former captain

Passive aggressive with you afterwards, but fortunately, because nobody is really alone anymore, he can't do anything to you about it. If he had been attracted to you before and the crash never happened, you'd be in hot water.

Curly, however, gets the short end of the stick. Have you heard the audio of what Jimmy does to Curly the second time when giving him pills? Yep, he beats him more routinely

After all, how is it fair that Curly has doomed them all but still gets the glory?

[cherry-pop-elf]

Night terrors

Anya x Reader

Can be read as platonic because we all want to take care of her like we wish someone would for us

AN: As a victim of sexual assault I feel it is important to have a realistic fluff story about the aftermath of it. How it affects the person after it’s been done and how the trauma lingers. How it’s so very important for the person to have a support network. YOU will be her support network. Thank you

Also not to get political but god women in the USA are experiencing a massive increase of assaults so call this projection, or call this training for the inevitable

SUM: Despite surviving that Tulpar adventure, despite all the good karma thrown back at you all, there are just too many many scars to truly recover from

Warnings: Past sexual assault, nightmares, PTSD, whump, abortion, paranoia, it’s gonna be a stressful read, there will be fluff don’t worry, paranoia, inspired/based on my own experiences

“STOP-!”

Anya was screaming in her sleep again.

Woke you up pretty quickly, as you were sharing a bed with her. She was rather scared to sleep alone. Afraid that someone will just break in and take advantage of her. That somehow Jimmy, who long since was dead, will break in again.

“Anya-! Anya wake up! It’s me! Anya-!” You would shake her and try to get her to wake up. To get her out of that terrifying cloud of memories. Her poor face was pale and full of sweat, and she was scared awake by you shaking her. For a fleeting moment she thought it was Jimmy.

As she gave another cry, you reached over and turned on the bedside tables lamp.

She saw your face, and finally took a breathe.

You two weren’t on the Tulpar anymore. Jimmy wasn’t going to hurt either of you ever again. Swansea was home with his wife. Daisuke was home with his mother and father. And she was here with you.

She was alive.

“I….Im sorry-“ Anya sniffled, as you just pulled her into your arms. Gentle with combing your fingers through her hair. Just gentle reminders to not be sorry. To not be sorry for being justified with her fear.

“He won’t ever get you again. I promise.” You would remind her, but she would still tremble.

“Can we check the locks again?” She would ask you, and you would nod. Often times this was the case. No matter how many times she would ask you that question you never got annoyed. It’s good to check the locks anyway. Gotta stay safe after all.

You would both climb out of bed, put on your robes, and go walking around the home. One of your hands was left to be held by Anya’s, as the other would be used to check the locks on everything. From the multiple at front door, from each window, to that of the back door. Each one checked, as Anya would hug at you close.

Was a very nice home, you had to admit. After having rescue finally called, and being saved, the media went nuts. Especially on the fact Curly was still alive. Gave Anya the much needed support to show she was very worthy of a position as a proper doctor. That also meant she got herself quite the hefty salary. Also helps that she now had partial royalties to the book she helped write about the adventure on the ship.

“Every lock is secure.” You explained, as she gave still an anxious look.

“Let’s check each room, and closet. Yeah?” That made her quickly nod.

Now you two were roaming the entire house now. Checking under furniture, in closets, all the nine yards. No stone was left un-turned. You would do it a million times for her. She deserved to have some kind of relief from it all.

“There we go. No Jimmy.” You would give her a hug, and she hugged you back. Still shaken, but at least she was breathing more steady.

The two of you would return to the bedroom, where she did her routine. Checking under her pillow for her sheathed knife, the bedside for her baseball bat, the drawer for her gun, and to take an extra pill to help with the anxiety burst she was having. Her routine.

She would try and lay down, only to dart her head towards the bedroom door. Eyes wide with raw and pure fear.

“I swear I heard him at the door. I swear I did. He said my name he said my name-“ She whimpered, as you would get up. You opened the door, looked around the hallway, and returned.

“Don’t worry Anya. I didn’t hear a single thing.” You reassured, as you would lock the bedroom door for her. Along with putting a chair under the door handle. Even went as far as to double check the bedroom windows, and closed the curtains.

“I’m so sorry-“ She would begin again, as her eyes watered. She felt like such a burden. To have all this fear and paranoia. To the point she couldn’t feel safe when left alone. You couldn’t blame her though. The wounds were still so horribly fresh. Not to mention sometimes PTSD can kick in so many years later. You’ll take the morbid comfort in having it kick in now where you all can handle it now and prepare for the future than suddenly out of nowhere in God knows how long.

It is what it is.

She wasn’t the only one traumatized after all, and she shouldn’t need to apologize for justified fear.

You would pull her back into your arms, and you both laid down. You would turn on the white noise machine for her, to help block the paranoid sounds of voices and scratches from the doors, and would just talk with her. Talk until her medication kicked in to help her sleep.

Didn’t matter what it was. It was just noise to keep her mind distracted.

You wondered how the rest of the crew was doing. How they were dealing with it.

They all had family, so maybe they were doing well. Really should meet up again soon. Can’t be blamed life is so busy.

Curly was back living with his parents and siblings, which they welcomed with open arms. Even his friends before the crew were willing to all share a space to help.

Swansea had his wife and even his kids. Sure he says he’s too old to be traumatized but he keeps checking on his kids way more often now. That’s for sure.

God knows when poor Daisuke’s PTSD will kick in. He may be acting fine now but it’s gonna be a ticking time bomb. It’ll come at him sooner or later. For now his parents were feeling like monsters for pressuring him into that intern ship. He never blamed them, of course. He is even still working under a mentorship with Swansea even. Guess not everything was negative.

Then there was you and Anya. She was the most traumatized of all. There was even the trauma of an abortion. There’s still so many emotions with that as well, but you held her hand through it. Even as far as to move in with her to help. You two had always been very close. Even before joining the crew. You two were always tagged together. Even nicked named her assistant to a point.

You’ll stick with her through the ends of the earth.

“Wanna go visit Curly in the morning? It’ll be Saturday. Maybe we can even invite Swansea and Daisuke.” You offered. Just something positive to look forward to. Something worth waiting for.

“That would be nice.” She muttered, as her own paranoias exhaustion was kicking in. Too tired to even be afraid. Often times how it ends. She gets herself so worked up it ends up being the very same thing that makes her fall back asleep.

“Yeah. We can check out his new prosthetics. Daisuke said he even bought stickers specifically for them.” That had Anya smile. That sweet smile that was hard to come by right now. One that was filled with comfort. Comfort of such an innocent and sweet thought.

“Swansea says he’s also going to attach his own upgrades to it. Not sure how that will work, or what the hell he’s planning, but not gonna lie I need to see if he gives him rocket boosters.”

That got a little laugh from her. The both of you imagining poor Captain Curly flying around in the sky, as Daisuke runs around with some trampoline to try and catch him on.

Just something silly to cut through it all.

Seemed to work, as you could feel her breathing easier now. Her breath not so intense. Was far more steady, and you could tell she fell back asleep. You were thankful for it. Not because she was annoying you. No. Never. But because she needed her rest. She deserves it. She already is working long hours at the hospital, which you bet is because she is trying to avoid being isolated and alone at all cost maybe even reduce sleeping to, so she needed proper sleep more than ever.

And you’ll do your best for her. To help her with it all. You were her little assistant. You’ll do what an assistant does best. Make sure your boss is able to tackle projects easier.

And this project was healing. A project that won’t ever end, will have ups and downs, and be taxing. Over time out the ass and no vacations.

And you know what you say to that?

Bring it.

Thank you so much for reading. This was a more vulnerable piece because Anya really reminded me so much of myself. How I’m suppose to take care of everyone else, while my traumatic abuse is just swept under the rug.

Since you read all the way to the end, maybe take a look at this

National Sexual Assault Hotline:

1-800-656-4673

National Domestic Violence Hotline:

800-799-7233

RAINN (Rape Abuse Incest National Network)

1-800-656-4673

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-800-273-8255

You deserve love and support. What happened wasn’t your fault in the slightest. Not even for a single second. You deserve happiness, hope, and to live a long and healthy life. Everything will be ok again. Doesn’t seem like it now, but it will. I promise

[itsallmouthwashing]

Through Hell, Jimmy's Personal (Band AU Scene- Full)

Songs Used in Context (playlist here): MAYDAY (40), Through Hell (4), Ængus The Prize-Winning Hog (1)

Playlist Expansions (if you want more lore!) One, Two, Three

As results of my recent poll, here is Through Hell, Jimmy's Personal. I didn't realize that I put down a story that was supposed to be for the very end of the story on my poll, so for my own sanity I'm rearranging the timeline so accommodate and have something bigger- so this happened more toward the middle I suppose.

When I do the full-length fic, this scene may be a bit different, but for now this is how Jimmy's return from his bender goes. It's Tulpar's first concert after his return from his (first :)] bender, everyone is on the mend personally but Jimmy is still in his head about what he's done. (fellas, is this taking responsibility?) You'll find out more when we get there in the fic though :)

Please listen to Through Hell (below, or here) so you have a sense of what is going on musically in the story :)

_____P--L--E--A--S--E----E--N--J--O--Y______

It's a tradition in between some songs to showcase everyone and their talents. It gives us time to take a breather, drink water, clear our throats, whatever. Someone takes one for the team so the rest of us can recover, even if it's for exactly sixty seconds. Sometimes 70 if one of us really milks the whammy bar or if Daisuke gets a little too invested in his cymbal finish. Sometimes 75 if I get distracted when Curly wipes his mouth before rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck.

God, his neck.

“Please, give it up for MUSUME!” Curly announces with a flair of his arm.

It’s Anya’s turn. She starts playing a medley of riffs from our warm-ups, trying to keep the crowd juiced as we regroup mentally. Daisuke’s opening a water bottle for her and keeping it in one hand as he sips on the other. 

But she’s tired and sluggish on the stings. He attempts to do jazz hands and water from Anya’s full water bottle spills to the floor. It’s only a little off the top, but it’s enough for Daisuke to attempt shrinking into a moth and living his shortened days on the lightbulb above him.

Thirty seconds is what I give myself to down half the water bottle on the stool behind me. My hand shakes when I put it down, and fifteen seconds is what I give myself to take deep breaths. Five seconds to glance at the setlist in my head. Five seconds to rearrange my thoughts into the key. Another five seconds to breathe. 

Five. Four. Three-

Curly’s hands aren’t supposed to be there. If we just did Mayday, then Decline must be next, and those aren't the starting positions for Decline. I don't have time to double check, not even when Curly mumbles some sort of song introduction that I can't hear because the blood is pounding behind my eyes. Everything is too bright. Everything is too loud. This isn't how it’s supposed to go-

He takes a deep breath and adjusts his stance and it’s a miracle his legs aren't shaking beneath him. I recognize the crease in his brows when he closes his eyes and the hard look of determination to push through when he opens them. 

His hands pick softly at the strings of his guitar where we just finished shredding.

His insides are boiling.

They must be, because mine are too. 

“I’ve been through hell,”

No. 

There's no way. 

This song has been with me the whole time, how could-

“I’ll never be good enough for me.”

Why? 

Where did he find this? 

When could I have let it out of my sight?

“And none of my friends know what goes in my head,”

No, they never could. 

“I’m waiting for the only thing guaranteed.” 

No one but you.

When he points to me as the lights flash it’s enough to remind myself we’re on stage. Thousands of eyes are on me, following Curly’s magic touch as I scramble into place. The key is easy enough to switch gears to, but I feel it all in overdrive. Like someone’s hitting the gas in my mind and its pedal to the metal. Daisuke explodes on his drums, his sound piercing despite the earplugs. I feel the beat through the floor, through my feet, up through my bones and replacing my heart as the hammering in my chest. 

Despite the cheers and wild applause for the debut of a new song, it’s just the two of us. Me and Curly on this stage, in a room of thousands of empty chairs. In a room where the air is so thick it might swallow us whole.

I think I want it to.

“Been a while since I slept right, cause my darkest thoughts keep me up at night-” his eyes are sunken like they’ve always been, if not even more. I don't think he’s gotten much sleep since I've been gone, or since I've been back. 

Curly and his wired lapdog, one roaming the halls, doped out of his mind while his coward of a master was a good boy for teacher. I fought a lot of fights for him- fights that probably shouldn't have turned into fights. But a dog does not know why it bites, except when its purpose is to protect its charge. 

“But I faked a smile even in the end,” 

No one saw us for who we were.

Does he know it’s about us?

I’m staring at him. Most times I need to look down at my hands and find my place. But I see it now. 

It’s standing right in front of me, singing my deepest secrets to the world like they’re a silly joke. A new melody for the public to shape and mold to their own experiences, make love and art to. To be their truest self because it exists.

He shapes them now like clay, his thumbs caked in dried pottery and clothes blotted with water and his efforts. He’s standing from the wheel as he takes away the guards that once belonged to me, wiggle wire carving it from the place it was molded and gentle hands carrying it up and up and up. 

When I see myself through his eyes, that's all my secrets become: pottery.

Shareable. Breakable. Beautiful. 

“I've been through hell-” Just behind us is Daisuke now, smiling as he joins my chorus. When did he have the time to practice this, I realize. When did Anya? 

Anya and Curly join, back-to-back, smiling as they bring the melody up and down in waves that drag me along by knotted hair. I want the image of Curly’s sweat-damp face, smiling as he kills me softly, ingrained in my mind forever.

“Fill me up with a glass of rye until I’m drunk enough to forget,” 

Oh fuck. Dad. God, how could I forget the line about dad? 

A wave of grief hits me, grey and hollow like a ghost coming to haunt me. I watch it move toward me at lightning speed and pass through me just as quickly. And I can't reach back for it. I can't beg for it to brush my skin one more time so I could feel the sting again. 

Remind me that I loved them, I beg despite it.

“Either way I’m fucking screwed-” Curly’s voice snaps me back. He’s doing it now? He’s showing them now? We haven't practiced his screams in so long, I’ve been gone for so long, I’m worried he’ll forget the technique right in the middle. 

I don't know when I took over guitar, or when he took the mic off the stand, but his foot goes to the floor speaker, his silhouette making him an angel descending from the heavens, taking god's fearsome glow with him.

My power move, I realize. The one I taught him at the end of junior year. The one that makes you forget that you’re trying. The one that makes you feel invincible when the heat of the lights hit your skin, the one that makes the girls go crazy.

The one that screams I know what I’m doing. 

“I dont think happiness was meant for me, when all I ever do is seem to fucking complain, so let me be- You’re never gonna change me.”

He has enough time to look at me, smile at me, beam at me, even, before he returns to his blocking. He’s back with Anya for only a second before he’s at Daisuke’s side. He joins on the rise and fall, beaming at me, too, before falling deeper into his drums. 

Oh, fuck. Blocking.

The easiest to fall into is simply letting my hair cover my face and pretend I’m banging my head against the table of air in front of me. I don't know where to move. I don't know what to do with my body except stay frozen and feel everything happen beneath me while my fingers move off muscle-memory alone.

He was always too shy to practice without me and I wonder when he had the time to find a coach. 

But I know a good student studies outside of the classroom. 

I was his coach, I remember. And I abandoned him. 

Did he beg for me when I was gone? Would he scream and stop right in the middle to sob and cry and kick because I wasn't there to give him what he needed? Did he get up in the middle of the night to try again and throw Daisuke’s drumsticks against the wall when he screwed up? Did the garage door rattle with the sheer force of Curly’s pain? 

I think I have to believe he did. Otherwise, I wouldn't believe him if he said he did miss me. 

“I've been through-” Daisuke takes the lead on the chorus this time, letting Curly weave his vocals in like liquid gold on broken shards of a vase. They rise and fall like steady breathing through it all, and I think I need to talk to Daisuke after the show. He’s been holding out. 

I contemplate it, but suddenly don't have the time.

Everything falls silent. Daisuke and Anya and I are still, but Curly is moving his hand just enough to carry the melody. It floats to me in tangible half and quarter and sixteenth notes, all hitting my chest like I’m their staff and they’ve been ripped away from their place in me. 

He’s looking at me. He’s expecting me. 

They all are. Thousands of eyes and then some, stabbing me like I’m standing in a pit and it’s raining needles. 

The mic stands alone in the spotlight. I half expect that if I grab it there's going to be a giant boulder dropping down from behind me. The moment feels too perfectly curated for me; it all feels like a trap. Maybe a bucket of pig’s blood will come raining down instead.

But my hand is already on the stand. My other is grabbing the microphone. 

What am I doing? 

Setting yourself free.

Curly’s hand lifts, holding the pic I gave him when we graduated. Holding my beating heart in his fist. Holding our future in his fingertips. 

A grey pic with a T engraved on one side, the other with the image of a pig’s nose. 

It’s supposed to represent the first song we started and finished together, our finisher for every show, our good friend who struggled from the cranberry bog to bring us hope and life. Ængus, the Prize-Winning Hog.

The image itself is just a long circle with two lines in the middle.

But instead of Ængus, it’s just us again. Two lines in what feels like the vast, infinite space surrounding us. I gave it to him when I was sure it would be just us in Tulpar. Just us carving a name out of ourself in the rock-and-roll obsidian.

I never expected two other lines to rub away at the grooves carved deep into the space I put between me and the world. My only breach was sealed with foam, enough so that if anything punctured it from the inside, everything would come flying out. 

But then Daisuke. And then Anya. 

I’ve used my emergency supply and it wasn't enough. 

And then suddenly I was filled with holes. 

Curly’s hand goes down with Daisuke’s and it rings through me like the morning bell, suddenly reminding me I have somewhere to be. 

On stage. In front of my fans. 

Our fans-

“I've been through- HELL-”

-Screaming to anyone who’ll listen.

“-Faced all my demons,” Curly reminds me at my side. I realize I’ve taken his place on the speaker. My foot is up, guitar clinging to me by its strap and hands clasped around the microphone like a nun begging for forgiveness. In a way, I think I am.

“But I never made it back,” I reply. It's hard to scream when your throat is closing. 

Curly strides towards me as he builds the melody on his guitar. He’s smiling still, warm and loving and inviting. Like he’s welcoming me home. Like I really did make it back. A small leap off the speaker is enough to get me over to the mic stand and secure it in time to get my hands back to the neck of my guitar. 

Daisuke keeps to his own instrument as our voices collide into the chorus, crashing like oceans meeting for the first time since Pangea’s divorce. I want so badly for it to be our lips. I want him here and now on the stage, in front of God. In front of everyone.  

This angel is mine, and his salvation is my own.

When his voice goes just higher than mine, when our voices are the last thing to ring before the applause takes over, I know I don't want to leave again. I never want to leave the stage. I never want to bow-out or step away.

I never want to go through hell again.

He’s panting, we both are, and his chest is gleaming through the open buttons at the top of his button-down. It’s so sheer for a concert, but I guess breathable material is important, even when everyone in the crowd can see your tits from the nosebleeds. 

“Now… who wants to hear about our good friend, Ængus?” Curly asks when he notices we’ve been staring at each other for too long. The crowd cheers and Curly looks back to me, winking. I hope the audience can't tell the difference between sweat and tears.

[marinosno1fan]

In defence of Gleb Vaganov………

Here’s the thing, Gleb is the antagonist of Anastasia the Musical, but can we really say he’s a villain?? Yes, he’s working against Anya’s ideals, yes he is told to retrieve her and kill her if necessary, yes he believes his father ‘did a proud and vital task’ but he never wanted to hurt her. In fact, when we first meet him, Gleb shows kindness to Anya offering her a helping hand and some time to recover from her fear. Then later he is disappointed when he finds out that it is Anya who is claiming that she is the Grand Duchess Anastasia and he invites her to his office to talk it through with her, explaining how dangerous her fantasy is and how it could kill her. He doesn’t want her to get hurt and sings The Neva Flows as a way of trying to convince her not to go along with Dmitry’s schemes. When he is then tasked with hunting her down, he struggles with the conflict of head over heart, even singing ‘my heart and mind at war’ understanding that he has a conflict of interests. It is unknown whether he is in love with Anya or just simply does not want to kill her because she is naive and innocent but his duet part with Dmitry later in Quartet At The Ballet suggests the former, ‘someone holds her safe and warm……’ Finally when face to face with Anya, his earlier question of ‘could I have pulled the trigger, if I’d been told’ in The Neva Flows is answered. In fact he is unable to do what his father did and decides not to shoot Anya, realising that it could do more harm to his cause if he did kill her. His good nature wins out and he lets Anya leave, reporting back to his commander that there never was an Anastasia and that it was simply a rumour.

So to conclude, Gleb is in fact just misunderstood and doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, learning along the way what he should in fact be doing. And we can clearly see that he never once harms anyone in pursuit of Anya as no one else is his target, so he is not a selfish villain intent on causing chaos. He is a misguided soldier following orders and eventually betraying them. In fact it is actually Anya, Dmitry and Vlad that can be blamed as they are breaking the law to begin with. So I suppose what I am trying to say is Gleb is in no way a bad person and that we should all appreciate his character as a loyal and hardworking comrade. And that perhaps the real villain of the show is the girl who tells Gleb about Dmitry’s scheme in the first place.

Thank you for paying attention to my essay!!

[writingamongther0ses]

AITA for "Enabling" My Wife

I (50M) married my childhood sweetheart when we were 20 and soon had our only child Ella(22F). Unfortunately, CS died when Ella was 10, leaving us heartbroken and Ella without a mother. When Ella was 13, I married New Wife. NW isn't as pretty as CS, but she is rich and intelligent and has two daughters: Anya(20F) and Draya(23F). She was a little cold to Ella, who has always been CS's twin, and much prettier than Anya and Draya. I assumed that they would just need time to get to know each other.

Anya and Ella thankfully hit it off fast, thanks to a shared interest in gardening and butterflies. NW and Draya were at least polite to Ella, but she kept telling me that they would say nasty things to her when I wasn't around. When I asked, NW explained that Ella probably just got confused due to their accents and the adjustment period. If this is need to know, Ella and Anya are both extroverts, and NW and Draya are both introverts.

Ella never backed down, however, and it got worse when she was 15. Before her 16th birthday, both NW and I suffered financial losses. It wasn't bad that we lost my childhood home, but we couldn't keep our staff and needed to cut down on certain things. We assured the girls that it wouldn't last and that we would just need to work together to manage things until we could hire staff again.

Things soon recovered, but we never got around to hiring staff. Instead, NW insisted on getting new clothes and beauty routines for Anya and Draya. She said that all three girls were approaching marriage age and that her daughters needed the help. I agreed.

Ella protested, however, claiming that she was doing all the housework and cooking. She didn't even have her room back, since some rooms needed to be closed off for heating. NW said that it was fine and it would be good for character growth. I tried to calm Ella down by pointing out how her spouse would be so impressed that she could do everything.

Ella stopped talking to me until last year. Last year, the prince of our kingdom came with Ella to explain that they were engaged. Apparently, Ella snuck out to a local festival that she couldn't attend because she didn't have anything to wear, and they got to talking. The prince apparently even started hanging around the market so he could meet and talk with her.

I was ecstatic until Ella informed me that she was moving out and that we weren't invited to the wedding. Only Anya was invited as a bridesmaid. I was horrified- I always imagined walking Ella down the aisle, having a father-daughter dance, celebrating with her. When I asked why, she told me that I was an enabler of my wife. That I had turned a blind eye to her abuse of her because I didn't want to "rock the boat". When I tried to protest, her fiance spoke up and said that Ella hadn't even understood she was being abused and it took him gently pointing things out for her to realize. So he didn't expect me to understand either, but I had still done nothing.

He didn't let me speak to Ella while the two of them moved her stuff out, which barely took an hour with the both of them. Ella did give Anya her number and assured her that the palace would be safe for her.

Her wedding is in three days, and Anya has moved out after an argument with NW, where she said the same things about me and detailed how she felt NW failed her: from trying to force her to loose weight even though the doctor said she was fine to purposefully destroying her weed garden. She is now living with Ella as her lady-in-waiting from what I understand.

I know there are ways I failed Ella. I should've given her more attention, tried to talk to her more. But I don't think I "enabled" my wife to such a degree that she feels right to cut me off.

What should I do? How can I reach out?

[mwexodusofficial]

Chapter IV: Solace

Hawkes stared at Swansea and Daisuke as they sat across from him, right outside of the Divinity Chamber. Anya's revivification was being prepared, and the crew was getting exhausted from kneeling for so long so they were taking a short break.

It felt more than a bit awkward staring at the two of them. Swansea had not once taken his eyes off Daisuke, who was eyeing the environment with a budding curiosity and a substantial terror ever-present in his eyes. Hawkes had to suppose that the last thing he saw before today was an axe to the face, so the ever-present terror was kind of a given.

Hawkes cleared his throat, trying to break the ice.

"So-"

"Daisuke, please listen to me." Swansea whispered, almost broken. "There's nothing in the world I can say to make what I did right. There's nothing I can do to make it right. If you don't forgive me, it's okay. But I wanted you to hear me for just a minute."

Daisuke's eyes, while still filled with budding insanity and that gripping terror, focused momentarily on Swansea.

"Y...Yes?"

Swansea broke down in tears as he spoke to Daisuke. He could barely hold it together before, but now he was just letting go of his composure.

"Kid, I don't know how we got here. I'm so fucking scared this is just a wonderful dream. I'm so scared to look away from you, because I can't bear to look back and not see you, right here, next to me. I'm terrified, and I don't know why. I can't make sense of anything, right now, and I don't think I will be able to for a long time."

He placed one shaky hand on Daisuke's shoulder, which seemed to center Daisuke back to the real world a bit more.

"But if there's one thing I can see, it's that you and me... we're alive. We're out of that hellscape. Those feelings, that despair, the clawing of death, the ache of knowing we were gonna die in that piece of shit in the middle of nowhere... It's gone now. And now all I wanna do is spend every waking moment of my life with you, with Curly, with Anya. I wanna take this second chance, if that's what it is, and I wanna experience life with you all. I want to introduce you to my family. I want to bring you over for Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas morning. I want to take you to the aquarium, go for a walk, head to a concert or a baseball game."

Swansea looked him square in the eyes, the light of a flaming, fiery hope ignited within him permanently.

"Just stand by me, kid. I can't lose you again. I'm not losing you again. And we're not taking a fuckin' shitty job at that piece of shit company ever again!" He laughed in between streaming tears. "You hear me, bud? We're going to live again!"

That terror in Daisuke's eyes seemed to die down, bit by bit, as he began to comprehend Swansea's words and gradually depart from the hellish memories of the past.

"Yeah... yeah." Daisuke muttered. It had barely been any time since Daisuke was resurrected, the same for Swansea. Hawkes knew they needed a lot of time to recover, but now was barely the time. They only had one more resurrection left before he could give them recovery time.

Jimmy's resurrection didn't need love. It just needed a lot of yearning for revenge.

"Anya's revififi- ya know what, I'm never saying that fuckin' word ever again. Anya's gonna be revived soon, I'd like for you two to be present so her chances of returning are greater."

Both Swansea and Daisuke snapped their heads towards me as if I'd announce they'd won the lottery. Without saying a word, they scrambled into the Divinity Chamber, re-donning their tunics and kneeling on the floor as if they'd been devout their whole lives.

Again, failing to notice the quivering Curly in the corner. Hawkes had noticed he'd remained unmoving in the corner ever since Swansea's revival. He wasn't sure how to help him deal with the trauma, and so decided to leave him to his own devices for a while. Out of all the crew, Curly had undoubtedly suffered the most. To go from a crippled burnt chicken nugget to a fully restored human being, then to add the revival of his closest friends who he felt he'd betrayed, with the cherry on top being the hellish memories he'd suffered on the Tulpar...

Yeah, Hawkes felt the need to leave him alone until at least Anya was brought back. At this point, Hawkes didn't have any sense of anxiety about these resurrections. He was beginning to see the formula, and it was a deep relief to know that there was a solid rate of resurrection for the dead.

There was still plenty he hadn't told the Tulpar crew, but he was planning to wait until they'd all come back and could celebrate in the terrarium before taking questions about the new age.

"Only one more to go..." Hawkes muttered tiredly. He would certainly be looking forward to the liquor at the terrarium after this exhausting ordeal.

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

4 hours ago...

"So, you called me here?" Hawkes inquired as he approached the surgery table. Head Surgeon Faulkner looked up at him with a face mask and goggles.

"Yes, Captain." He replied, unfurling the cover from Anya, who was stripped of clothing for an autopsy of the body. "We've found an... issue with this corpse."

Captain Hawkes shrugged indifferently.

"Speak it." He said. Faulkner, almost in embarrassment, gestured to Anya's genitalia, where a streak of old, matted blood was stained on her thighs and lower abdomen.

"Even though she overdosed on painkillers, she was leaking blood from her womb. After inspection of the inner passage and outer area of the genitalia, we discovered bruising indicative of..."

He hesitated to speak the next words. Hawkes, who was normally very observant and calculated, lost his sense of intellect regarding females. Frequently. In every area of life.

"Well? Indicative of what?" Hawkes asked, getting irritated with the lack of response.

Faulkner knew about the Captain's vices when it came to sexual offenses. Hawke's mother had been repeatedly raped and abused by his father. His best friend in college was violated by a prominent athlete for their football team. His young love had been captured by pirates and trafficked for months before he located her- dead in a cell.

In short, Hawkes would lose his shit if Faulkner spoke the next words- and Faulkner certainly did not want to be in the crossfire when Hawkes detonated. If there was one singular thing that drove Hawkes into an immediate frenzied rage, it was sexual assault against women. For some curious reason, Faulkner had noted that Hawkes had no reaction to sexual assault against males. Was this the first male misandrist?!

So, instead of owning up to what was gonna happen and accepting the potential backlash from his Captain, Faulkner did the most pragmatic thing he could.

He delegated the responsibility onto his assistant.

"Jeremiah, would you mind delivering the assessment to the Captain? I have to attend to the restroom momentarily."

"Of course, Doctor Faulkner!"

You poor, poor child, Faulkner thought in deep guilt as he scurried out of the autopsy lab.

"So then," Hawkes insisted. "What the hell happened, Jeremiah?"

"Oh, right," Jeremiah began. "She was raped and forcibly impregnated!"

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

"What were you thinking when you said that, Jeremy?"

Jeremiah stared at the grassy floor of the terrarium, wondering where he went wrong. His friend, Roble, a new security officer on the ship, was snickering at Jeremiah's recent tomfoolery. Jeremiah certainly didn't feel this 'shenanigans' vibe that Roble was playing on. His face was welted in multiple areas, and his ribcage was slightly bruised from the repeated punches delivered, courtesy of Captain Hawkes.

"How was I supposed to know about his rape PTSD?!"

"That's a fucked up way of putting it." Roble guffawed. "And he'd give you a second round of beatings if he heard you shout that. But I'm confused. Your boss didn't tell you about it?"

"No!" Jeremiah huffed in frustration. He felt betrayed by his boss, and a bit of resentment toward the Captain. "What the hell was I set up for? What did I do, huh? I just... carry the fuckin' tools and type up the reports! And I get my ASS beat for it!"

Roble sighed in empathy, leaning back against the wall as he contemplated.

"You know I'm your senior, right?"

"You sure you're not the Captain? Captain Obvious?" 

"When I was as new as you, Jeremiah," Roble began. "I was working as a General Intern, delegated to clean and maintain the garrison's weaponry. I learned a lot about rifling, my boss was super chill, and we after a hard day's work, we'd go to the terrarium with the other crewmates and drink until we were dog-sick. It was fun as hell, and every day was a blast compared to the industrial hellscape I'd come from."

Jeremiah, by this point, was listening intently to the story. He wasn't so crass as to ignore his friend when he was talking about something important to him.

"One day, I'm cleaning a Gauss twin-barrel in the hangar bay, and I make a casual joke about a celebrity girl back home who got exposed for getting taken advantage of by an executive to get a top actress role. I didn't think anything of it when I cracked the joke. Next thing I knew, I felt the back of my head smacked by an empty oil canister. Looked up to see Captain Hawkes raging at me like I came after his family."

Roble took a swig out of the beer he'd set aside.

"I'd been spending all my time at the armory my first weeks, smoking dope and chatting it up with the other crewmates assigned there. Even found a girlfriend with benefits -to this day, heh-. But after I got smacked around, I was angry at the Captain and couldn't focus on my work, so I took a break to walk around the ship. And..."

He huffed in disbelief, as if revisiting the memory for the first time.

"In the first hours I walked around, I saw Caz and Wally get in a brawl because Caz spoke condescendingly of child soldiers; Wally was a former child soldier. Two months later, I went to the cafeteria and saw Elise threatening Lon with a fork because Lon had a strong argument against abortion; Elise had been a sex slave under a warlord for 5 years and was forced to conceive children. Three months after that, I passed by the fitness area and saw Ben casually one-handing a 160 pound bench weight over Jazz's neck, after Jazz had tried to persuade Ben that all fates were predetermined; Ben's only child had died from cancer at the age of 8."

Jeremiah contemplated Roble's words, thinking about the implications of what he said. Roble turned to him to speak directly- but not before taking another swig of his beer.

"I've been on this vessel for 2 years. You've been here for half that time. And in the last two months, I've seen more violence between the crew than in the last 2 years combined. And I've come to realize something: People are fragile. They are externally strong, but they can crumple very easily on the inside. Our Captain is an accomplished, decorated, tried-and-true war veteran with decades of experience behind him. At the same time, he is an eccentric, bizarre, short-tempered, socially-volatile maniac who beats on men who even mention sexual assault. Time and time again, he's saved our lives, made calls that saved our lives, and helped us back on our feet when we were down."

Roble scooted in, laying his hand on Jeremiah's shoulder to reassure him.

"We just discovered that resurrection is possible. Maybe to you and me, that's a reality we can cope with easily because we just started out in this world and we have time and normal responsibilities, so adjusting to it isn't as harsh. But to a 40 year old like Hawkes? With all the things he saw? All the terrible shit he had to live with, every day and night? All the responsibilities and duties he has now, to his crew, to the crew he just saved? Do you think he's able to wrap his head around this and not lose his shit sometimes?"

"Wait," Jeremiah interrupted. "Hawkes is 40? What? I thought he was 50."

"Nope," Roble responded- followed by another swig o' the beer. "He's 40 years old."

"How the hell does he have three decades of battle experience if he's 40? That would make him ten years old."

Roble said nothing, just stared at Jeremiah.

"Are you serious?" Jeremiah muttered. Roble nodded his head.

"Ayup. Hawkes was a child prodigy, and 30 years ago that was grounds for immediate conscription. He worked as a junior tactician first, but after he figured out the enemy fleet was planning a retreat followed by ambush, he was promoted to admiral at the age of ten and a half years old. So technically, twenty-nine and a half years of admiralty experience."

"How? Literally how?"

Roble shrugged. "When I say child prodigy, I mean child prodigy. He ended the Siege of Korres at the age of seventeen."

"No, I mean how the hell was this legal, or allowed?! Our military was just cool with having ten year old admirals?"

"Eleven."

"You know what I mean, jackass!"

Roble raised his hands in the air, as if deflecting accountability.

"What do you want me to say, Jeremy? I just told you about child soldiers. Our nation was fighting half a dozen wars less than 30 years ago. They probably were losing admirals left and right and needed to fill those replacements quickly. Ever heard of 'scraping the barrel'?"

Jeremiah sat back and exhaled in disbelief.

"This is a lot to take in."

"Yeah, now try being the Captain and dealing with ten times that stress."

"I get the point, can you shut up?"

The two sat silently for a bit, quietly enjoying the calm atmosphere.

...

...

...

...

...

"You know," Roble said. "I can't imagine what he felt when that first guy came back to life. I could hear him putting on a front with his sarcasm and brashness, but I could tell he was hurting inside."

"Hurting?"

"Yeah. Hurting. It's a double-edged sword, man. You helped bring back someone whose life was snuffed out in a bad way, but it reminds you of all the people you never got the chance to resurrect. It reminds you of the people you killed, the people you couldn't help. It's... maddening, I bet."

"Yeah..." Jeremiah mumbled. This conversation had given him more insight on the crew than he'd expected. "So, what? Do I just take the beatings as I go?"

"Jeremy, if the cost of being on this ship, being able to smoke dope, drink beer, make friends, have a purpose, find love, get freaky, help others, and give the dead a second chance is getting smacked around every so often, that's a cost I'll bear every single time." Roble said firmly. "You can feel free to go back to the indentured servitude on agrarian planets or industrial planets, or maybe you'll get lucky and find a job as a menial servant on a luxury colony. But for me, this is the best it gets. And I'll die on here if I have to."

"You do realize other worlds exist than agrarian, industrial and luxury colonies?"

"I'm making a point, wise guy. This is a great place to be. No doubt dangerous, no doubt risky, but nonetheless a place I feel like I belong."

Jeremiah nodded slightly. He couldn't deny that feeling. Being on this ship, seeing all the vibrant people, experiencing the Divinity Chamber and the connection to God... it was just indescribably marvelous. It was a fact that every human across the galaxy, without exception, had felt the connection on the day of the Second Resurrection.

Yet it was an odd, inextricable feeling. There was a noticeable discomfort to that feeling; as if an imbalance in the universe had caused this event. Jeremiah had his theories; that the Great Terror and its consequences had created a downward regression to humanity's progress, and needed to be corrected; or that the cynicism and grim outlook of humans galaxy-wide was cause for God to provide solace through this event.

Whatever the answer, Jeremiah knew that, ultimately, humanity was entering an era unlike any it had ever encountered before. And if there was one place he wanted to be for that kind of awakening, it was on this massive, powerful, friend-filled military vessel.

As for Anya...

Jeremiah thought back on the events an hour prior...

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

"She was raped and forcibly impregnated!"

The eagerness to which Jeremiah had said that to Hawkes, no matter how unintended it was-

CRACK!

Jeremiah fell over a tray of surgical tubes, left in terror as Hawkes hulked over him, expressing pure abject rage.

"WHO?!"

CRACK!

"I-I don't know, Captain!!"

"W-H-O?!?!"

Hawkes, in a blind rage, slammed his fist into Jeremiah's ribcage, causing him to flip multiple times across the room. After a few seconds, Hawkes returned to coherency. He was lost for words as he gazed at Jeremiah's body slumped over an Ottoman, groaning in pain.

"... I... I... That... that... that motherfucker..."

Hawkes stormed out of the room-

I'M GONNA RIP HIS LIMBS OFF AND BEAT HIM TO DEATH. I'LL GOUGE HIS EYES OUT AND SHOVE HIS TESTICLES IN THEIR PLACE. I'LL HANG HIM OVER A VAT OF BOILING OIL AND DIP HIM SLOWLY-

Calm down.

Hawkes stopped in his tracks, realizing he could hardly breathe. He recentered himself, placing his hands on his knees. He felt nauseous. He felt wrathful. He wanted to kill that scum of the earth as soon as he could.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. Not when he almost had him back to life. He needed to bring him back, so he could take his time with him. So he could delegate the suffering that was most needed for this... this... ill-bred shitheel.

And above everything else, he wanted the Tulpar crew to get their due justice.

He resumed his walking, this time at a brisk and fuming pace. Kill. Kill.

Ki-

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

-ll. Kill. Kill. Kill-

"Hawkes."

"Huh?" Hawkes responded in a haze. Swansea was trying to get his attention.

"It's beginning. Start praying or whatever the fuck."

"Oh... right... right. Don't... curse in here..."

"By the way, who's that guy curled up in the corner back there?"

"Oh, uh... that's Curly."

"....What?"

"That's Curly... We reformed his body."

Swansea was speechless for a moment as Hawkes walked away, looking between Hawkes and Curly in the corner. Moments passed, and still he was left silent and unable to render words. Meanwhile, Jezarit came forward, placing the communion wafer in Anya's mouth and gently pouring the wine down the wafer's surface, allowing it to cascade down her esophagus.

"O Lord Almighty," Jezarit began, gesturing around the room as the hundreds of crewmates fervently prayed in silence. "Anya Musume was an aspiring young medical professional, hailing from a humble family that wanted the best for her. She spent much of her youth studying diligently, and most of her young adulthood working diligently on her licensing!"

"Wha..." Swansea muttered, looking back at Curly as if his eyes deceived him. He rubbed them. Curly was still there, motionless in the corner. "What..."

He stood up in a daze, stumbling over to Curly and towering over his huddled figure for a few minutes. Unbelieving that he was standing here, cured of that awful state Swansea had gotten so used to.

"You're the cause of all this.. you... you... demon. Curly. How could you? Why? Why did you doom us to be stuck under that flailing psychopath?! You fuckin' piece of SHIT!"

Curly was in a perpetual state of shock, simply unable to process his surroundings. Enraged by his lack of response, Swansea grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against the wall.

"WHYYYYYYYYY, CURLLYYYYYYYY?!!!!"

Hawkes tried to separate the two, but was promptly thrown back by Swansea's arm.

"I want the answer outta YOUR fuckin' mouth, CURLY!" Swansea demanded, slamming him against the wall once more. "YOU DOOMED US!! WHAT WAS THE REASON FOR IT?!?!"

"Jimmy."

Swansea turned to glare murderously at Hawkes.

"What did you say?"

"It wasn't Curly that crashed the ship. It was Jimmy. Put some thought into it and you'll figure out that this makes more sense than your long-beloved Captain deciding to take a nosedive for no reason."

Swansea's face was swamped with uncertainty and doubt, eventually clouding over with blind rage. He turned back to Curly, this time gripping his hand around his throat and tightening it.

"So not only did you defend a rapist, you gave that same worthless thug the keys to the ship?"

Swansea leaned in, sneering with a mountain of contempt and loathing behind his every syllable.

"You aren't my Captain any longer."

Swansea tossed him to the ground with disregard, as Curly coughed, choked, and sobbed silently. Hawkes wanted to pity him, but after hearing that he had defended Jimmy...

"Ugh." Hawkes groaned in loathing. What a messy situation. A perfect demonstration of how the world wasn't just black and white. He leaned down and grabbed Curly's hand, pulling him up onto his feet. He was slightly disappointed when Curly's knees buckled and he crashed to the floor, unmoving and drained of energy.

"Well, sh- dang."

Hawkes couldn't help but fall in love with this crew. What beautiful, complicated souls. Not romantically, obviously- but in a familial sense. He had just brought them back to the land of the living. He had given them a second chance to live out their life to its fullest, to renew their relationships with their crew and others, and to have a new outlook on the beauty of life.

He, a shitty, undeserving decorated mass-murderer, had saved these people. Saved them. 

Could anyone find words to describe what that feels like?

What that feels... like?

He couldn't give up. Not on any of them. Only one needed the punishment that was deserving from all of this unnecessary suffering. Of course. A living Rachel. A Rachel he could exact justice upon.

A J-i-m-m-y.

Captain Hawkes silently cackled to himself, enjoying the depths of his own niche humor, much to the disturbance of Caz and Ramirez standing right behind him. They, of course, said nothing- it wasn't their place to request the Captain take a mental evaluation.

Nonetheless, Captain Hawkes was resolved. He still didn't have every part of this story, only the major elements. He needed to unravel the whole story, to understand the motivations and how this catastrophe ever got started. And it all traced back to Jimmy.

"Ceremony's beginning, sir."

"Set reminder for 6 hours."

"...I'm not an AI, sir."

The preacher walked forth to the body of Anya, proclaiming the eulogy further. I noticed, however, that he seemed to be off in his tempo and speech; as if he had just lost the script for his performative ritual.

"Anya was... a friend, a confidant, an advisor and a mentor. She... was bold, strong-willed, a mediator amongst her peers. She did not give ground when challenge met her in the field! When the perilous journey of the Tulpar took place, she was the first to... take charge! Her peers respected and revered her, as the vital medical officer that rose to the occasion. She did not cow to threats, nor lose her nerve when tough times arrived-"

Whoosh.

Hawkes felt Curly's presence storm past him, and sorely wished he had popcorn on hand. 

The preacher, Jezarit, was unaware of Curly up until the moment his eyes perceived a fist-

WHAM!

The preacher stumbled and fell to the floor, holding his nose and wincing in pain. He glared upwards only to be met with shuddering indignance spewing from every pore of Curly's body.

"You will not SIT HERE and desecrate the memory of Anya, you fucking bastard! Don't you dare LIE about her so boldly!"

Curly shuffled up to Anya's lifeless corpse, sobbing without making a sound as he traced his hands along her arms, face and hair.

"Look at her. Look at her, you idiots." He sobbed inconsolably. "I have my eyes back. I have my hands, my feet, my skin and normalcy. But all I can think about is how much I let down the woman I loved most in the world- the crew who looked up to me. All I can think about is how I was so disgusting, so cruel to give even a thought towards protecting that unspeakable monster... And I couldn't even see what was right in front of me, the treasure of my whole world..."

Curly collapsed to his knees, crying over Anya's body. His wails echoed throughout the massive chamber, leaving the air solemn and grim. Nobody wanted to interrupt such grieving; it was inhuman to even consider it.

"She was timid. She was anxious. She didn't like confrontation. She was lively, but nerdy and inquisitive. She failed her medical exams eight times and got a job on my freighter because it was the only place she could practice medicine. She loved reading about psychology. She was an expert on the safety manual. She wanted to visit Terra one day to see her ancestral homeland. And she relied on me. What did I do for her...?"

He cried. And cried. It was all he could do. He knew who was responsible for their torment, but he was the cause of it all. He was the one who brought that psycho onto the freighter; he was the one who ignored Anya's cries for help, the one who handed those fucking keys to Jimmy.

At every point where he had the opportunity to turn away from disaster, he failed completely.

For God's sake... he had to watch Anya commit suicide right in front of him.

"Anya, please. By God, please. Forgive me. Forgive me. I can never apologize enough. There is nothing in the universe I could give to free myself of what I did. There's no punishment worse than this feeling of regret and guilt. I don't want to exist. I can't bear this p-a-a-a-i-n. I can't let it end like this. The universe can't be this cruel..."

His eyes stung; he was utterly exhausted, but nothing except the drowning waves of regret and all-consuming guilt was there to accompany him. He felt alone in the world. He felt rejected by the universe. He felt rejected by... by...

In a sheer act of desperation, Curly lowered his head to the floor, bowing himself so low that he had practically meshed with the floor. His tears pooled around his forehead, dampening his hair and clouding his vision with particles of acute sorrow.

"Please, God. Let her live again. You may have whatever you want of me. You may take whatever you want. If I can see her again, I will never be so foolish and blind for the rest of my life. I will value her. I will love her. I will cherish her. And I will die for her. She will be my everything. My crew, and my Anya.

-------------------!

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(Art below is credited to @rabstergabster on Twitter/X)

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(Daisuke, Post-Revival)

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[rebelrian]

The Chasms We Cross - Spy x Family Twiyor One Shot

Biding my time until Chapter 86 releases on Sunday - we don’t know if Endo will resolve this arc in the next chapter so I’m putting this out here first as my speculation of how Twilight and Yor will reunite!!

Summary:

More than gripes, Twilight fears resentment will grow between him and Yor.

Note:

Picks up from Chapter 85 of the manga. Some characters’ fates are just speculated at and this fic may be completely way off from what Endo has in mind…but we’ll only find out when the chapter drops. More personal notes below the cut, only available to read on Tumblr for now.

Spy x Family manga spoilers ahead. For general audiences. Enjoy reading this fanfic!

The Chasms We Cross

by rebelrian

Between his front porch and the door to his apartment, Twilight felt a chasm had formed. Once he crosses the threshold, he would have no choice but to put on his mask as Loid Forger. To be Loid Forger would be to face Yor and Anya as an upstanding, even-tempered family man; a psychiatrist beloved by his colleagues and patients. After the events of that day, Twilight couldn’t say he deserved to be that man, let alone be welcomed in the space the Forgers called their home.

The bullet wound left by Yuri burned fresh on Twilight’s arm.

Ironically, Twilight had Yuri and Nightfall to thank for his escape from the SSS. Yuri, who would have not hesitated to end him if he was faster, even more resilient; Nightfall, who may never recover from the damage she inflicted on her own body trying to save Twilight.

A flash. A bloodied Yuri. “Yor…I’m so…sorry…”

Nightfall, bones breaking, still standing. “…But I’m not afraid. I believe in that man.”

“It’s what makes me strong.”

Twilight heard it all. Wheeler made sure he knew Nightfall’s words even if he hadn’t. In the eye of his adversary, Twilight tapped on the strengths of Yuri and Nightfall who had fallen before him. People who were unafraid to lean on others and be their support in return. He thought of Bond, leaping into a burning building for a stranger’s dog; Anya saving a drowning boy twice her height; Anya braving a full scale hostage attempt; Anya running into Yor’s arms after. Yor.

Yor chasing after a pickpocket; Yor stroking Anya’s hair, ever generous with her embraces; Yor singing a lullaby to him on a park bench, rustling leaves providing soft accompaniment. An autumn night’s breeze. His mother.

With that, he silenced Wheeler once and for all.

The damage done to WISE and Operation Strix is still unknown. He’ll hear more about it from Handler in time to come, but he’s doubtful the SSS lost all the intel with Wheeler. No matter how he looked at it, WISE is definitely compromised, with more agents down to boot.

So where does that leave him and the Forgers? “Lay low,” said Handler. “Carry on with your daily routines until we can ascertain the damage to our operations in Ostania. We got this far…it would be a pity to retreat at this stage.”

Even in disguise, Handler’s hooded gaze remained the same. Unreadable. “Set your family’s hearts at ease.” Those were her last words to Twilight before dismissing him.

He reached their front door. The man paused, unsure whether to enter. Would anyone be waiting for him at this late hour? Surely Anya would be asleep by now, no doubt dreaming of pandas and penguins. But Yor…would she wait for him like he does for her? Would she have had her dinner yet? Thinking back on how they parted earlier this morning, it’s possible she may not be so considerate of him. Could he blame her? If you can do one thing right today Twilight, it’s to not let Yor down anymore tonight. If she’s behind that door, you owe it to her to finish the morning’s conversation.

The man let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and regained composure.

The white light of their living room flooded his vision as the door creaked open. Sure enough, Loid’s wife was perched on the sofa, twirling her hair. Pensive.

Ruby eyes widened at the sound of footsteps and darted to the tall figure that was her husband. The first thing Yor noticed was the bandage wrapped around his head. Her hands flew to her mouth.

“Loid! What happened?”

Loid Forger gave an apologetic grimace, like it didn’t hurt at all. “Oh, today’s emergency patient was quite the challenge. But it’s nothing that won’t heal.”

In truth, his whole body was screaming to collapse; he was beaten, starving and thirsty. But this was important. This felt larger than him, or even Operation Strix. He owed it to this pure, beautiful woman to set her heart at ease, knowing he will only continue to hurt her once she finds out she almost lost her only living family today. Twilight mustered the last bits of energy and clarity for the day’s last mission.

Yor wasn’t too sure a blow to the head counted as a minor injury and kept a watchful gaze on her husband. Nevertheless, the tangled tension that wrecked her the whole day slowly unravelled and her body relaxed finally seeing Loid home safe and sound.

“O-oh…I suppose that’s why you’re back so late today.” She tugged at the sleeves of her red sweater nervously. Of course Yuri was wrong. Loid wouldn’t be out cheating on me…why do I always let other people doubt my trust in Loid?

Loid hung his hat and coat by the doorway and closed the distance between them in long strides. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call in the day and left you so abruptly this morning…a lot has happened since we…” Argued. If what happened counted as arguing. Twilight still couldn’t make sense of their morning predicament. Yor remained unusually stoic. In that moment, she almost looked…unfeeling.

He suddenly felt self-conscious and ran a hand through the tuft of hair left exposed on his head.

Yor finally responded. “It’s ok Loid, these things happen,” she said quietly.

A beat. A twin ache. Both lonely figures stood in the middle of their living room, appraising each other.

The lady took the first steps; she was now close enough to rest her hand on the man’s shoulder. He inhaled.

“Welcome home, Loid,” she said, standing on the tip of her toes. Ruby eyes met steel eyes, a question forming in the latter pair. But for the first time, Yor did not waver in front of her handsome, perfect husband.

She closed her eyes and kissed him.

Twilight was stunned. The last thing he expected was to be greeted with warmth. He kept his eyes open to see if it was true; that Yor Forger’s plush and soft lips were on his; that her cheeks were not flushed and her breathing was measured. She was not drunk. She was calm and her sincerity was as clear as day. His heart ached at this intimate gesture and he tentatively kissed her back.

When they pulled apart, Yor’s hand still rested on Loid’s shoulder, her other hand held close to her heart. Loid’s steel eyes softened, one hand hovering over her waist.

“Yor…”

And that one syllable did it. The only thing Twilight could do today was falter and falter. His knees gave way and the only thing that stopped him from hitting the ground was Yor’s iron grip. The last thing he saw was a halo shining above her.

———

Twilight woke up to the waft of tomatoes. He was bundled on the sofa and there on the coffee table, was a serving of Yor’s signature southern stew complete with cute chunks of misshapen potatoes. Strips of stubborn potato skin clung sparsely. A first aid box sat waiting in the wings of the accompanying jug of water and plate of warm loaf bread.

Just as Loid sat up, Yor returned to the living room with their tea and took a seat beside him.

“It’s nothing new and not nearly as good as any of your dishes…but you look like you haven’t eaten the whole day, Loid.” Yor’s brow was furrowed.

“I never get tired of your stew, Yor.” It was the truth.

After the first sip, Loid ate the rest of his meal ravenously. He took a bite of the loaf and groaned appreciatively. Yor giggled in spite of herself. She had never seen her husband so unrestrained. So relaxed.

With his appetite satiated, the man’s senses slowly came back to him. Here he was, enjoying food prepared by Loid Forger’s wife even when he abandoned her without a satisfactory explanation. Despite that, Yor Forger took a courageous leap and kissed him for the first time. Welcomed him home. Not knowing Yuri could have died by his hands if he didn’t stop himself. Twilight was starting to feel sick; he didn’t deserve any of it.

“Yor, we need to talk about what happened this morning.”

Yor’s fists were balled and resting on her knees. She seemed a bit stiff, but prepared.

“I-I’m sorry for confusing you earlier, Loid. The truth is…I was finding gripes with you because the girls said it was normal for couples to have them…”

Yor could feel the heat flush up her neck but she forced herself to continue.

“It was foolish of me picking a fight when you’ve been nothing short of perfect, Loid. I’m…actually the happiest I’ve ever been, married to you.”

She didn’t dare meet his eyes as she finished the sentence, so she couldn’t see the tender gaze Loid had for her with each admission. What she did see was his hand closing over one of her fists, his thumb making deep circles, coaxing her fist to unfurl. She flattened her palm on her thigh and let it be blanketed by his warmth. Slowly, she willed herself to meet his gaze.

“Yor, I’m nowhere near perfect.”

Loid looked unrecognizable to her in that moment. He was still…him, but there was a deep melancholy pushing through the surface. Just as sincere as whenever he told her she was already doing her best as his wife. She couldn’t help but tear. Is that really you, Loid? You look like a man who’s lost everything.

He gave a sad smile. “By gripes, do you mean not spending enough time at home with you, Anya and Bond?”

“Well…it could even be…unsweetened omelettes…” She wished a hole would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

Loid gave a soft chuckle and brought his other hand to her hair, pushing away locks of hair from her eyes. “Bland omelettes and family time are things that can easily be resolved as long as we’re a team, Yor.”

“But if you ever resented me…I would definitely lose all of you. You…Anya…Bond…this home.” Again, the man rose to the surface.

“I’m not sure I’m prepared for that, Yor.”

When he willed himself to remember, the man was no stranger to discord in families. It was a reality he witnessed everyday in his childhood home. His parents wasted no breath firing ammunition at each other whenever they were together. Their words mentioned school, mollycoddling, awful dinner, but even as a boy, he knew his parents were stoking at a deeper ember. One that would never burn out. In the end, their resentment for each other manifested in chasms between all three of them; as fate would have it, his father was gone first; his mother followed after; the boy left alone, marooned on this damned Earth.

Until now.

Yor clasped both of Loid’s hands and mimicked the way his thumbs caressed hers. Her eyes were a different kind of ember, ones that beckoned and drew him in. Yet, he was afraid to approach her.

She spoke in hushed tones, but she did not stutter.

“Loid, I don’t regret being a Forger.”

“We were complete strangers when we first met…and yet you let me into your home and entrusted Anya with me. I’m sure I must have befuddled you many times before, but you never stopped trying to understand me. I never knew a place where I belonged before you and Anya. Both of you have always accepted me as I am.”

What Yor said next surprised him. “This resentment you speak of…I’m not afraid of it. I don’t believe in it.”

“For as long as I want to protect this peace we have together, I’ll never stop trying to understand you, Loid. Even if it’s selfish…I don’t want to leave the Forger family.”

Twilight let her words steep.

To protect this peace we have together…

”But what if you misjudged me, Yor? What if…I let you and Anya down?”

Yor considered this and something retreated in her; the empty stare teased at the coals of her ruby eyes once again.

“It’s possible you have misjudged me too, Loid.”

Her next words took all the bravery she could muster. “But would that stop you from being with me?”

Twilight looked at the lovely stranger before him. She, who always doubted how normal she passed off as when it was really her unfailing honesty and trust that dulled everyone else in comparison. She, a transparent soul that also hinted at an infinity of trick mirrors.

Perhaps she was like him too.

Perhaps there was hope for them still.

Perhaps the man could be selfish in indulging in Loid Forger’s cast.

Perhaps this doesn’t change the way Twilight can be, anymore than what has already changed in his last months as a Forger.

Loid pulled Yor closer to him until she almost fell into his lap. His eyes shone as clear as day, the fog cleared.

“No. I want to stay with you, Yor Forger. If you’ll let me.”

Their faces were inches apart, their breaths tickling each other. There was no more tentativeness. In that moment, they both saw each other. Yor’s words were a whisper before they were lost in the pull of their lips.

“I do.”

———

Notes:

I could be very wrong but I think Wheeler could be killed off soon. The man is too formidable a foil to Twilight and him surviving is danger on all fronts to all characters!! We still don’t know what info he stole!!!!

For weeks since this arc started getting stressful, I was so worried Loid would spiral after the whole incident and distance himself from his family, or even riddle himself with guilt over Nightfall. But after Chapter 85…I held onto a glimmer of hope that Twilight will be a bit more honest and more willing to change his views on relying on others as a spy.

Will Twilight and Yor kiss?? This fic says yes but my guess is as good as any. I’m not familiar with Endo’s other narratives or approaches to romance, but I doubt it’s as slow burn/ambiguous as Rumiko Takahashi (a personal observation since I’m more familiar with her romantic comedy dynamics in shonen stories). I have a feeling Endo might let Twiyor progress a bit and that Twilight will be more forgiving of the contradictions of his role earlier than expected.

Is Yor’s speech supposed to mirror Donovan Desmond? Yes. Could she be the answer to world peace? Probably (I kid). Though while we’re on the topic, wouldn’t it be wild if Melinda Desmond hires Garden to assassinate her own husband in later arcs? And instead of Twilight meeting the final boss first in the final showdown…it’s Thorn Princess.

I have so many feelings and I just can’t wait for Twilight and Yor to reunite!!!!

Perhaps I’ll get on AO3 once I receive the invitation email.

[randomfanner]

Again thank you @breegd for doing the art of my character.

Trigger Warning for Devil Contracts, Mentions of Alcoholism and Ace is down a hand. Also just, general BG3 stuff.

Be prepared for more lore on Anya, including the darker stuff for her backstory I have for my Tav talked about in this post!

Meet Ace, one of the many bastard children of Zeus who has found himself under the employment of the Golden Eye Tavern. He is an Archfey bardlock who once had the dream of punching Zeus in the face.

That never came to be, however he did have great adventurers none the less. One of his many quests even cost him one of his hands! Always one to try and entertain, Ace would spins a different tale of how he lost it. One night our brave hero got his hand bitten off by a dragon, another he proclaimed the poor hero's arm was sliced off by the Ashen Blade of an Ashen Rider. He once even proclaimed that it was lost in the depths of the hells! The truth is not as entertaining a tale. Ace works under Otus due to a debt. In the eye of the public a debt of gratitude. Ace went to Otus after the death of his wife, one that despite going to the best clerics he could find, Ace could not find away to reserve. He had lost his mind from the grief and turned to worst ways of coping... notably the bottle. Otus helped him recover and offered him a job, a job Ace still works at to repay what he is owed for the help Otus offered him.

Parts of the truth were in the lie at least. Ace had come to not a man named Otus, rather a devil named Plutus. After the death of his wife after being unable to revive her. However he had not turned to drinking. He had been searching for away to bring her back to life. He left their young daughter in the care of his parents. Eventually, Ace found his way to the Golden Eye Tavern. Plutus approached him to offer the deal. Plutus would give him information on how to revive his wife, not do it for him simply information on how for five years of labor. After all, a charming, well ventured Aasimar working for you is bound to drum up business. And unfortunate for Ace, he has a wisdom of 8. He took the deal only to be trapped in a web of clauses and loopholes that would add year after year to his free labor. Ace, as of now had been working at the Golden Eye for 26 years. Plutus was right about Ace drumming up business, Ace has very little issue working getting clients to drink, stay and makes the Golden Eye simply glow with Hospitality.... Even if it is the last place that should be consider hospital. Ace is luckily not in violation of his contract with Titania due to the circumstances of that one, however she is letting him lie in the bed he made. Anya had been sold to Plutus as a baby, and well he originally had no plans for the child expect perhaps sell it to a hag, Ace convinced the devil to let him raise the child. Saying she could be helpful. Plutus put him under tight limitations on what he could teach the child but did ultimately agree. Otus would be her father as well of course, because no matter what the child was sold to him. Not Ace.

Ace raised Anya as if she was his own, and admittedly she did help him deal with the ache to see his own child again. He taught her much of what he learned. Many greek myths, legends and tales along with the tales of fey, both how to win their favor and how to avoid getting into their debts.

He is a good uncle, trying his best and he really, really misses his wife.

[blog-for-water]

Super epic tulpar adventures!

Chapter 2

god. that fucking straighty.... anya thought to herself as she stared at daisuke from across the table, staring at him as he ate his breakfast. i hope he chokes on a spoon someday.

"why are you looking at me like that?" daisuke suddenly asked.

anya was pulled out of her thoughts. "like what?"

daisuke sighed. "never mind..." he looked around. "where's the others?"

and just as he said that, curly and jimmy walked out of the medical room, with jimmy limping a little.

"oh my god, did the captain give you backshots or smth???" daisuke asked.

"no." curly said. "i bit his ankles cuz he was being a little bitch."

anya's eyes narrowed a little at the sight of jimmy. god, how much she hated him...

why is she looking at me like that...... jimmy thought to himself. she's so fucking weird....

i'm gonna kill you someday, jimbo. anya thought.

stop invading my mind-space you fucking horse. jimmy had to avert his gaze from her after he said (or thought???) that.

don't call me that. anya thought. no one in this ship has seen my full, true power yet... don't make me show them now...

damn she really IS weird... jimmy thought. why does she always act like she's some ancient eldritch god that us homo sapiens have forgotten about for centuries?

anya leaned back in her seat. i already lost everything once due to my inability to control my destructive behaviors, i won't let that happen again.....

everyone here is so weird, glad im the only normal one. curly thought.

"so, uhmmmm...." daisuke started. "has anyone seen swansea? i haven't seen him since the last time we prevented judgement day from happening."

"prolly in his room." curly said.

the crew fought jesus christ, who was about to judge everyone's day on earth and mars until they killed him and decided to use his heavenly powers and essence to make the tulpar go faster to mars without having to use up the gas.

jesus keeps coming back every few months and it's starting to bother them.

"why are we acting like fighting jesus christ to prevent judgement day is a natural occurrence." jimmy asked. "i am extremely perplexed."

"james." curly turned to face his co-pilot. "it's for the plan, remember? i told you, right? you trust me?"

jimmy looked down at the floor. "how can i trust you when you act so distant towards me?" he muttered. "you never tell me anything...."

curly looked away from jimmy. "im sorry for being distant..." he mumbled.

"HOLY SHIT. JIMCURLY MOUTHWASHING REAL??!?!??!?!" daisuke yelled. "MIDDLE AGED MEN YAOI I GOTTA TELL MY PARENTS!"

daisuke then got hit with multiple sweetener pouches.

------

damn these kids are so stupid.... swansea thought. even more stupid than my stupid kids back at home.

swansea was vaping in his room, the flavored smoke from his glamorized metallic cigarette everywhere. the smell could kill a victorian infant.

the crew fought off jesus a week ago and swansea has been trying to recover since.

but i still have a plan to put into action. swansea thought. i will be nobody's defenseless harlot this time. i will save them all, even if they all ail me.

suddenly, the door to swansea's room opened. the man was welcomed with the sound of daisuke's coughing and wheezing.

"JESUS FUCK." the intern yelled. "IT SMELLS LIKE A STONER WEARING BATH AND BODY WORKS PERFUME AND TRAUMA REPRESSION IN HERE."

"DAISUKE." swansea shouted. "OF COURSE IT DOES. I'VE BEEN VAPING EVER SINCE THE THIRD TIME WE FOUGHT CHRIST. this has been going on for months, daisuke. how tf did you not realize earlier."

"i was busy snorting shit. anyways, the crew has been worried abt you and sent me down to check if you're okay since we haven't seen you in a week." daisuke replied.

swansea sighed before putting away his vape and getting out of his bed. "im trying to isolate myself as a response to trauma, but fine. i'll play your little games."

why does everyone here doubt me...... daisuke thought.

------

curly was down in the cockpit, staring out into the void of space.

"my plans of complete domination over mars is almost complete." he muttered to himself. "the only things left to do is to land on port, and then..."

"CURLY! CAPTAIN!" jimmy bursted in through the doors. "look what i found our mechanic carrying around."

jimmy threw a vape in curly's direction. the captain caught it and studied it in his hands. "huh- K-KYYAAAA??!?!" curly exclaimed. "A VAPE?!?!? what the fuck...."

"yeah, apparently, he's been smoking it up in secret ever since we fought off jesus a week ago." jimmy replied. "pretty wild stuff, tbh. you wanna take a hit?"

curly sighed. "fine, i mean, we gotta do SOMETHING."

then the cockpit smelled like fruits and depression for the next five hours.

[withinkandquill-aa]

If anyone knows the best way to go about this, it’s Wolf. How many times had he endured the same thing? How many times had strangers poked needles beneath his skin, filling his veins with drugs that rendered him helpless against his will? How many times had he been pulled too quickly from the stupor, disoriented and confused knowing only that someone had done something to him while he slept. If Wolf did not know, if he could not fathom a way to ease this transition, then there probably wasn’t one.

So, she gives a single nod in response, weaving the fingers of her good hand through his. They would just have to be cautious while doing their best to reassure her - for Anya’s sake as well as their own.

Leading Wolf along, Scarlet follows Jacin as he walks towards the hangar and descends into the hidden basement beneath. It isn’t familiar to Scarlet the way the rest of the farm is. She only came down here once well after the end of Cinder’s revolution, just to prove to herself that it was real, that her grand-mére really had died for a reason and not because of some fairytale her mind had concocted. Then, she all but forgot about it. It wasn’t something she wanted to remember. But from what she can tell, it still looks the same. Well, all but the faint blue-green glow of the now-active suspension tank.

“Scarlet!” Iko squeals. She can’t tell which is more jarring: the way Iko’s voice echoes off the narrow walls, or the force of the hug she’s pulled into. Scarlet returns the gesture with a one-armed hug of her own, effectively hiding a grimace behind the android’s back. “I was so worried! Everyone was sending me updates of course but it’s not the same as being there and I just kept thinking what if and…oh, I’m so glad you’re alright!”

Despite the worry squeezing at her chest and the tension in her muscles as they urged her forwards towards her daughter, Scarlet manages something like an amusing chuckle.

“You were all too worried, really. It’s going to take more than a simple bullet wound to do me in.”

Her good shoulder lifts in a lop-sided shrug, feigning nonchalance to hide the truth: Scarlet had been terrified too. For her own life, yes, but also for Wolf and Anya too. Wolf, who she was sure would never let himself recover from the loss of her. Anya, whose life hung just as precariously in the balance as Scarlet’s and who would never forgive herself if Scarlet didn’t survive. She may not even now that she had.

The conversation doesn’t stretch any longer than it has to. The thought of her daughter brings Scarlet’s eyes back to the suspension tank, its dim blue glow clashing with the bright fluorescents overhead. Pulling herself from Iko’s grasp as sliding past the android, she makes her way to the domed glass window while Jacin studies the information displayed on a nearby netscreen. This sight was more familiar than anything surrounding her now - Anya’s sleeping face, and even the blue of the gel encasing her.

It gives her skin an almost sickly pallor, mutes the fiery color of her hair and the rosy flush of her cheeks, but she looks more like herself now than the last time they saw her. If it wasn’t for the blood smeared across her skin and matted in her hair, the gore staining her clothes a purplish-black, Scarlet could almost believe she was simply sleeping. Almost.

“She looks better,” Scarlet breaths, brown eyes searching Wolf’s expression for the mixed worry and relief she knows she’ll find there. It is the same strange combination filling her now, making her head feel as fuzzy as her body stands tense.

Though…it all has to be worse for him. Their last moments were all hazy in her own mind, marred by pain and blood loss and fatigue, but she is sure every detail is knife-sharp in his memory. She is sure that they are still haunting him even now.

Continued from x; @words-of-tomatoes

[ladyrivia]

Spitfire (Chapter One)

Summary: Anya Donato, a seasoned agent in the DEA transfers from New York to Columbia to take down Escobar. Upon arrival, two particular men catch her eye, Javier Pena and Colonel Carrillo.

No warnings! Except maybe google translate spanish.. Enjoy!

The fierce Columbian sun shined through the windows of the airport, giving Anya a bright welcome as she trudged down the stairs to customs. She dragged her suitcase behind her, duffel thrown over her shoulder carrying the remaining items of her previous life that was not already shipped down to the Embassy.

“Pasaporte, por favor.” passport, please. Digging through the inner pocket of her jacket, she pulled out her passport and required forms, handing them over to the man who was clearly tired of his job. “Gracias señora..Donato.” Thank you Mrs..Donato. He looked over the forms, stamping them and entering something into the system. “Bienvenida a Columbia.” Welcome to Columbia. He gave a tight lipped smile as he gave back her documents.

“Gracias.” Thank you. Anya replied, shoving the forms back into the pocket and continuing what seemed to be the never ending process of transferring to her new station in Columbia.

Anya walked to the ARRIVALS sign, where she was told that an agent would be picking her up. A handsome man walked towards her, his dark brown eyes scanning over your body. Perv. Anya thought, straightening her back and preparing to turn down whatever offer this man had.

“Excuse me señora, did you happen to see an agent on your flight?” Oh. Of course. He wasn’t expecting a woman to be joining. Her eyes narrowed, giving him a glare.

“I am the agent,” Anya dug through your pocket once more, showing him the shiny DEA badge before putting it back. “Señor.” His eyes widened, realizing his mistake, opening his mouth to form an apology, but she quickly cut him off. “Not another word. Can we just go now, I’m tired and ready to get the hell out of this airport.” He nodded, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and walking towards the exit. Normally, she’d argue and snatch her bag back, but she was too tired to care.

He led Anya to his black 4 door SUV, with scuffs and minor dents in it, showing its age. Throwing her bag in the back, she settled in the passenger seat. The car smelt heavily of cigarettes, which wasn’t too different from the car she sold right before heading to Columbia. If you were in the DEA, you either had a drinking problem or a smoking problem, if not both.

“I’m Javier, Javier Pena.” He was still trying to recover from his mistake earlier.

“Anya Donato. Pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes were focused on the city as they drove off, trying to get a sense of the area that she would now be living in. “Got a cigarette?” She looked towards him.

“Yeah,” He took out the pack from his front pocket, opening the carton for her to take one. “Here, lighter is in the console.” He grabbed one for himself and waited for Anya to finish lighting yours before handing the lighter to him. She took a long pull from the cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs for a few seconds before breathing it out, rolling down the window half way to allow fresh air to replace the smoke.

They smoked in silence, letting the nicotine settle her nerves.

“So.. where’d you transfer from?” Javier had never felt more awkward in his life. He normally always knew what to say, but with you he was at a loss.

“New York. Got tired of the snow and the cold.” She felt a smirk form on her face when she looked at him and said, “And I think you boys needed some help down here.” He looked at you, lips twitching into a grin

“Saying we’re incompetent?”

“Perhaps.” The banter eased the awkward vibe in the car, the two continuing to smoke while Javier pointed out places, whether it be a bad neighborhood, a good dive bar, or what she was most interested in, the best food choices.

“And here we are, home sweet home..” The car pulled into the Embassy, the security guards at the gate recognizing Javier’s car and immediately let him through. “I think the ambassador already left for today, I think they said something about a meeting.” He shrugged, clearly having not paid attention. “Let’s get you checked in here then we can get you set up at your new place.” He chucked the cigarette on the ground when he got out of the car, leading to the entrance of the large building. She opted to throw your cigarette butt into the trash can, grumbling something about littering.

“Pena!” A southern drawl called out. “You were supposed to pick up the new agent, not hire a new prostit-” Javi silenced him with a look.

“Agent Anya Donato,” She stuck out her hand.

“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m Steve Murphy.” He shook her hand.

“No harm done, you aren’t the first to assume.” Anya gave a pointed glare at Javier.

“Well, uh, welcome to the team.” Steve gestured to three desks pushed together in the bullpen. “That empty one is yours.” The group meandered to the desks, Anya plopping down in the uncomfortable office chair.

“Tomorrow we’ll have Carrillo get you your gun and fitted for Kevlar. For now you should get acquainted with our favorite narco.” Javier lifted a large box labeled ESCOBAR, putting it on the desk in front of her. Anya sighed, sitting up in her chair and taking the top off the box, finding it filled to the brim with papers.

“Where’s the coffee?” Her northern accent came out with the last words.

“The caw-fee is over there.” Javier mocked her accent, snickering when she flipped him off before retrieving a cup of shitty office coffee.

~

Hours passed, Javier was clicking away on the typewriter, Steve meandering around the office, retrieving information from the different intel groups that were scattered around the building. Anya’s eyes were starting to strain, the words becoming blurry on the paper. She snatched Javier’s cigarette box from where he placed it on the far corner of the desk, he got tired of taking it out every time she wanted to steal a cigarette.

“Don’t you have your own?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

“We’ve been over this Pena, I would’ve brought my own but Uncle Sam would’ve gotten pissy about it and I haven’t exactly had time to go get my own, nor do I have a car to do so.” Anya took a puff, then quickly took a swig of coffee. Not even 24 hours in and she was already returning to her bad habits.

“How many cups have you had?”

“..4..” She mumbled around the cigarette before looking up at Javier, eyebrow raised again. “Maybe 7.”

“Shit, Donato, how long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.”

“You’ve been pouring over those papers for hours, why don’t we head out of here and go grab a drink with some of the guys?”

“You sure they’ll want me interrupting boy-time?” It was Anya’s turn to raise an eyebrow, she normally isn’t one to turn down drinks, but given the reaction she got upon first meeting her new partners, she wasn’t exactly excited to have to repeat that experience so soon.

“Of course, you’ve already interrupted it here,” Javi gestured around. “C’mon, I’m sure the trip down here wasn’t exactly easy. A few drinks could do you good.” He was pretty much begging her to come along at this point, he wanted to spend more time with her, get to know his new partner before they had to go guns-blazing into some drug lord's hideout.

“I guess so.” Anya put the lid back onto the box, downing the rest of her coffee and throwing it into the trash can near their desks. Javier quickly finished what he was typing before slinging his jacket on.

“You ready Donato?” She nodded and followed him back to his car.

~

The drive to the bar was short, the time filled with her asking clarifying questions about Escobar. Arriving at the bar, there were already other police vehicles parked. When she turned to ask him, he said, “We go here pretty much every night, it’s a good way to wind down.”

“Ah.” Anya and the New York DEA department had a place similar, except it was a 24 hour dinner/bar combo. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the past. She can’t afford to get emotional, especially when she’s the only woman on a team full of men. The second she shows emotion it’s over. Everything she’s ever worked for, benched and it being chalked up to being ‘too emotional’.

They exited the car, Javier leading her to the usual spot that him and Carrillo liked to sit. It was a corner booth, allowing them to monitor everyone coming in and coming out.

“Why isn’t Steve here?” Anya furrowed her eyebrows at the realization that Steve wasn’t with the group, but she saw him leave shortly before they did.

“He has a wife, Connie. She’s a sweetheart, I think you two would get along.”

“You barely know me.”

“We’ll that’s why we’re here, aren’t we?” Javier gave her a smile, and she couldn’t help but give him a slight grin in return. Approaching the corner booth, Anya noticed a man already sitting at the table, but he stood up upon seeing the two walking towards him. His stare was intense, she could tell he was trying to get a read on her. He was undeniably handsome, but in a different way than Javier. Javier was charming, definitely an expert in flirting and wooing a woman. The stranger was just… hot. His uniform fit tightly around his biceps, a 5 o’clock shadow sculpting his face, a watch decorating his arms that she wished were—

Get a grip, Anya. She cursed herself out in her own head as she ogled at the man.

“Carrillo, cómo estás?” Carrillo, how are you? Javier greeted the man.

“Quien es tu amiga?” Who’s your friend? Carrillo ignored his question, nodding to Anya.

“¿Recuerdas que mencioné que íbamos a conseguir un nuevo socio?” Remember me mentioning we were getting a new partner?

“Soy Anya, Anya Donato.” I’m Anya. She could tell that the man was surprised that the new partner was a woman, him continuing to analyze her every move.

“Colonel Carrillo.” His hand dwarfed Anya’s when they went to shake hands, they were warm, she could feel the calluses formed by years of hard work. Javier gestured for them to sit, him sliding in next to her and Carrillo sitting opposite of them. There was already a bowl of peanuts at the table, broken and discarded shells in a bowl next to it. Carrillo had obviously been munching on some before they arrived.

The waitress came by, dropping off menus and taking drink orders. The men had ordered whiskey.

“Aqua y…” Anya thought for a moment, deciding what drink she was in the mood for. Glancing over the menu, she decided to go with a classic Columbian cocktail. “Refajo por favor.” Water and a Refajo please. Carrillo and Javier gave her a quizzical look. “What? When in Rome..” She grabbed a peanut and cracked it while looking over the menu. Anya leaned over to Javier. “What’s good here?”

Carrillo was captivated by the woman. He certainly wasn’t expecting her when Javier said him and Steve were getting a new partner. While she was shorter than the two of them, she carried herself with the same confidence, even while having to look up to meet his eyes. He watched as she glanced over the menu with her big brown eyes while ordering her drink, the slight shade of pink that crossed her cheeks when they questioned her drink choice. Carrillo slightly tensed when she leaned over to Javier, a sense of jealousy sparking. Reúnanse, Horacio. Get yourself together, Horacio. He cussed himself out in his head.

“If you’re looking to try something local, you could try the Bandeja Paisa. It’s our National dish.” Carrillo grabbed another peanut as he spoke, cracking the shell with ease. He watched her fidget with the peanut in her hand while she looked for the dish on the menu.

“Yeah, I’ll try that. Thank you Carrillo.” Anya gave him a warm smile as she pulled back from Javier, placing the menu on the edge of the table so it was easier for the waitress to grab when she came back. The waitress quickly returned with their drinks and took their orders, Carrillo got a steak and Javier got a burger.

Anya finally attempted to crack the peanut, finding herself unable to. Carrillo noticed and raised an eyebrow, glancing at the peanut then back at her. She tried playing it off as if she was just fidgeting with it.

“Son of a bitch.” Anya muttered under her breath after a couple more tries. She could throw vicious punches, down a man twice her size in hand to hand combat, but she couldn’t crack a damn peanut.

Javier watched her out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk appearing on his face when he noticed her struggling with the peanut. It was cute watching her try to play it off when Carrillo noticed, but he could see the pink return shortly there after. Javier had snuck off earlier to read her file, the ambassador had given it to him and Murphy days prior, but they didn’t bother reading it, assuming it’d be another guy like them. He read about her work in New York, how she helped take down some Cali Cartel members. Anya would go in undercover, taking down sicarios in club’s bathroom in a dress and heels when she would lead them back there for what they assumed to be sex.

After watching her suffer with the damn peanut for a few more moments, he reached down to grab it, easily cracking it and handing it to her.

“Thanks.” Anya muttered, the blush returning to her cheeks, redder than before. She munched on the peanuts while she grabbed another, yet again failing to crack it on her own. Javier chuckled and helped her crack it again. This repeated until they had a cycle of Anya handing him a peanut and him cracking it for her, dropping the peanuts into her hand and putting the shells in the bowl.

The spark of jealousy returned in Carrillo when he watched Anya finally relinquish the peanut to Javier. Es un puto maní. Para. It’s a fucking peanut. Stop. Carrillo returned to insulting himself in his own head, but he couldn’t help s small twitch of a smirk when Anya’s blush returned to her face.

“So tell me about the Rumpus Room.” Javier asked Anya while he cracked yet another peanut for her.

“That shitty place? Finally decide to read my file, asshole?” Anya snorted and took another sip of her drink.

“Call me an asshole all you want but I’m the one cracking your peanuts, gringa.” Javier waved the peanut in front of her.

“Gringa? Come up with something original, lindo.” Pretty boy. She swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Wonder where you learned that one,” He gave her the unshelled peanuts. “You gonna tell us or what?” He took a sip of his whiskey.

“Nothin’ much to say,” Anya said between crunches. “Awful place, smelled like cat piss.” She scrunched her nose. “Wasn’t anyone high profile, just a trafficker of theirs. Put on a tight red dress, strutted into the club and I had him in an instant. Practically drooled over me.” She shook her head. “We danced a bit and I whispered some..” Anya was worried of the reaction she would get, her plan worked well, but some think she’s promiscuous and a whore for how she took down these men. “Something dirty in his ear and led him to the back. Disarmed him quickly and just beat the shit out of him. Nothing special.” She practically chugged her drink, trying to ignore whatever reaction the two men had.

Well, there certainly was a reaction in their pants.

“In a dress and heels,” Javier whistled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Best not.” Anya let out a sigh of relief, neither of these men seemed to care about her unorthodox methods.

“You went in there without a weapon?” Carrillo’s fists were clenched, how could her superiors put her in such a dangerous position?

“Can’t hide much in a skin tight dress,” She shrugged, finishing off her drink. “Though I did hide a knife in my bra. My boss didn’t know about that.” A smirk came to her face. Carrillo did not find any of this funny. No backup or weapons, what if they had caught onto her? Over his dead body would he send—

Para, para, para. Stop, stop, stop. Carrillo pleaded with his mind once more as the waitress returned with refills and their meals.

The rest of dinner was filled with exchanges of stories, both men finding themselves enamored with the lively stories Anya told, the alcohol and time spent together making her feel more and more comfortable with the two. She was hungrier than expected, digging into her Bandeja Paisa.

“My god Carrillo!” Anya praised Carrillo for his recommendation, which was something he definitely wanted to hear again.

It was about midnight when Javier noticed Anya starting to slump, the lack of sleep starting to catch up with her.

“I’m okay seriously, I feel fine.” She felt the alcohol hitting her.

“You’re clearly tired, c’mon carñira, it’s time to get you home.” He groaned when he realized her apartment was empty, that was something they were meant to do before she arrived.

“Qué es?” What is it? Carrillo noticed the look on Javi’s face.

“Her apartment is empty. We were meant to get the essentials moved in before she arrived but with everything—”

“Bendejo.” Idiot. Carrillo muttered. “Ella puede quedarse en mi casa esta noche, tengo una habitación de invitados preparada.” She can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room set up. Javier eyed him, jealousy blooming in his mind. “Que? Quieres que duerma en la misma cama donde te follaste a las prostitutas?” What? You want her sleeping in the same bed you fucked prostitutes? Javier knew he was right, he wasn’t prepared for someone to stay over.

“My Spanish is good but I think I’m a bit drunk, fill me in?” Anya seemed to sober up a tad after nursing her glass of water.

“I may have forgotten to set up the furniture in your apartment..”

“You can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room.”

“Oh. Yeah that.. that works, just need to grab my bags from his car.”

“Consider it done.”

~

“There you go. Take care of her.” Javier gave a slight glare at Carrillo, warning him if anything happened to her. Stop it Javi. You just met her today. She isn’t yours. “Goodnight, carñira. See you tomorrow.” He shut the back door of Carrillo’s car, where he had brought her bags over.

~

The drive to Carrillo’s house was quiet, Anya looking out the window and gazing at the city’s lights.

Upon arrival, he insisted on opening her door for her, wrapping his hand around her waist to make sure she didn’t trip up the stairs to his house. He knew she wouldn’t trip, she knew she wouldn’t trip, but neither said a word and played along with the excuse.

“Make yourself at home, here’s the guest bedroom,” He opened a door on the left. “Sorry about the boxes in there, work seems to follow me home.”

“Oh no worries, I’m the same.” The evidence boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, all of them combined was definitely taller than her.

“Bathroom is through that door,” Carrillo pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “And that door is my room, so if you need anything don’t be afraid to ask.” She nodded. There was an awkward pause between them, before Anya spoke.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Not a problem, I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here rather than a hotel in the city.” Or Javi’s apartment. Both of them knew the unspoken words. She did pick up a few words from their earlier conversation, something about in the same bed as fucking prostitutes let her everything she needed to know about Javi’s habits. “Goodnight, Anya.”

“Good night, Carrillo.”

[retvenkos]

first blood | g.v.

Anastasia: The Musical - Gleb Vaganov x Reader, angst requested by @musicallisto​

tw: unrequited love, mentions of killing, mentions of blood

word count: 1.6k

prompt: “I don’t trust anyone… but you’re not just anyone.”

A/N: i didn’t know how this was going to turn out but you’re right - writing for Gleb is a concept that i didn’t know i needed. and i changed the prompt a bit - i wasn’t planning on it, but i started writing and my hand slipped.

Summary: Love was cruel when it was not reciprocated, and no one in Paris knew that better than (Y/n) and Gleb, sitting in a ballet, watching the Princess Anastasia from afar.

It was funny how much tension was wound in the body of a dancer. Crowds often marveled at the grace of a ballerina - how they seemingly twirled on air, all of the serenity in the world reflected on their painted faces, all of the dazzling beauty collected in their skirts. There was a perceived effortlessness to their dances, and yet, tension lay underneath. A dancer's every limb was flexed as they performed their routine, all of the gravity of the world bearing down on them. It was through countless hours of strife that they learned to balance on the tips of their toes - bruising and bleeding themselves for the facade of peace.

It was funny how tranquil a ballerina looked when poising all their weight on the weakest of muscles. It was funny, but (Y/n) couldn’t bring themself to laugh.

Being a soldier meant many things for their existence. It had made them more harsh, less kind, more dangerous, and less trusting. (Y/n) couldn’t remember the last time they had trusted someone fully, without the knowledge that they were playing the part of betrayed or that of the betrayer. (Y/n) couldn’t remember a time before they had been forged into something ruthless - a weapon that knew no bounds and exercised no mercy. They had been hardened to this world long ago - when they were a child and the universe was changing, folding in on itself and expanding beyond imagine.

People like (Y/n) were born from a gunshot, brought into this world dazed and reeling, restless and crying, still. People like (Y/n) were coiled in on themselves, holding all of the tension of existence between dignified stares and impassive remarks. People like (Y/n) were broken before they were bought, shattered before being made.

People like (Y/n) didn’t fall in love.

That is, until they did.

And it was cruel, what love did to a person, tearing them apart as though they weren’t already broken enough and pulling on the wound every time the person they cared for came near. It was cruel and impassive, and perhaps what made it sting the most was that it reminded (Y/n) of themself. Little else compared to how cold they had become, little else carried the same crushing weight.

Love was cruel when it was not reciprocated, and no one in this world knew that better than (Y/n) and Gleb.

This world was changing, and the time for monarchs was over. (Y/n) and Gleb had been taught that from the moment they joined the Bolsheviks, both of them small things - broken and heaving, still. They hadn't been friends, at first. There was no place for friends, as a good and loyal Russian. There was only duty, and those painful tasks that were a part of it.

Just when (Y/n) had fallen in love was hard to say - for the longest time, (Y/n) did not believe in the word, let alone fathom that it could come to them in the form of a handsome and charismatic young man, their opposite and begrudging equal. Gleb had always been an acquaintance that someone more naive would have mistaken for a friend. It was when (Y/n) found themself fond of him, going so far as to save him before themself, they knew something had changed.

They had believed love to be silly, then, not realizing the dagger it concealed beneath.

Love came to Gleb in the form of a rumor, a ghost of his past that haunted him always - when in sleep and wakefulness. The beautiful Anya, a girl who had the presence of a princess and the eyes of a Romanov, came to Gleb by chance and lingered in his mind. Gleb was tasked with coming to Paris to finish her, like a good and loyal Russian, and when his back was turned, they ordered (Y/n) to see the task to completion.

(Y/n) sat in the back of a darkened theatre, now, and love held a knife to their throat.

They had seen Gleb's love in his eyes before, but here, it was something different. In his glassy eyes lay a feeling too exquisitely painful to be anything other than the sting of love, cruel and chilling. Perhaps it was because he believed himself to be alone, that Gleb allowed for his vulnerability to show; or perhaps it was the dancers with their melancholic beauty that brought such emotion to his eyes. Either way, it was clear by his demeanor that he could not do it. He loved Anya too much to finish what his father had started, and (Y/n) didn't know whether to pity him or commend him for his strength.

(Y/n) thought, once, that it took a strong man to believe in their love. They weren't so sure anymore. How could they, now that his love tore him away from them?

(Y/n) looked at the pistol at their side, concealed but glinting like a grin in the light of day. Gleb would not, so they must. Who would be most hurt by their actions? They were all victims in this cruel deed; they were all at risk of losing something when the pistol fired.

Anya would lose her life.

Gleb would lose Anya.

(Y/n) would lose Gleb, and their love would be dashed upon the theatre floor.

They tried to envision themself at the moment, but their mind would not comply. As though it could not fathom such ruin, for fear of never recovering.

(Y/n) tried to reach for their gun, to secure their place at the opposite end of the barrel, but their hands shook. The ballerina was leaping now, making her grand finale with the most complicated of moves, the most dazzling of tricks. The entire theatre sat on the edges of their seats, dying to see the finish. Love held a knife at (Y/n)'s throat and dared them to think who would draw first blood.

Gleb sat, his mind still conflicted, but his heart made up. Perhaps he would pull his gun, but he could never touch the trigger. 

Say (Y/n) pulled their gun, could they pull the trigger?

(Y/n) slid into the seat next to Gleb, and he jumped at their appearance.

"What are you doing here?"  And there was panic in his voice more than anything else; the fear that if he was unable, (Y/n) would finish the job.

"You won't do it."

"Of course, I will."

"Gleb."

He looked at them, and (Y/n) knew they could never pull the trigger.

"It doesn't need to be done."

And the ballet ended. The crowds roared with applause. Gleb stared at (Y/n), his mind unable to reconcile what he heard with his expectation. People started to leave. Gleb sat rooted to his chair.

"This is a game."

(Y/n) scoffed bitterly, something broken in their eyes. "No, it's not."

"You were sent here after me, and you expect me to believe it's all a lie?" Gleb shook his head as though believing in (Y/n)'s intentions was the last thing he could do. "How can I trust you?"

"We might have been friends, once."

Gleb stood and (Y/n) followed in suit. "You're distracting me, aren't you? Somehow you believe I won't pull the trigger."

"You will?"

He scoffed and pushed past them, but (Y/n) was faster and grabbed his wrist. "I know how it sounds, but you must trust me. We'll tell her she must leave but that she can keep her life so long as she never returns. The others need never know - Russia already runs with too much blood."

Gleb stared at them, and (Y/n) could see in his eyes that he wanted to believe it - like the way one wishes they could fall into a dream and never wake. "Why would you do this for me? We are good and loyal Russians."

"Neither of us is good, but we are loyal." (Y/n) let go of his wrist, but neither made to move. "I know what ails you—" and they liked to believe their love was in their eyes, apparent through the tears "—and I know it's cruelty. I know what you planned to do, and at first, I did not trust it. I have never trusted anyone..."

"...But I am not just anyone."

And it was cruel, what love did to a person, tearing them apart as though they weren't already broken enough and pulling on the wound until they were raw and heaving, still. And it was funny how the tension didn't leave, just fell victim to the flames and burned like a funeral pyre at midnight, cold and alone.

"You never were."

And love drew the first blood.

"(Y/n)..." Gleb cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowed in an exquisite sort of sorrow - something beautiful in the glittering lights of the theatre.

"Tell Anastasia. There doesn't need to be more bloodshed." (Y/n) lowered their eyes and started to walk away. Gleb called to them, some shard of tenderness in his tone that lodged itself in their heart with the promise of staying. (Y/n) turned.

"How can I repay you?"

And his words were naive but spoken from his heart. He did not yet know that telling her would cost him everything - that it would break his heart to let her go. His love would crush his heart, but what else was Paris for?

"You won't wish to."

-- taglist: @musicallisto, @locke-writes, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena // message me if you want to be added!

[shinymooncolor]

I love your sw chats! If you need prompts: something centered around Remus!

Thank you - I’m sorry in advance. This turned a little angsty. But we get happy again. Remus to the rescue - this team would not survive without him.

Characters and universe by @lumosinlove ❤️

My ever shining and supportive ra(e)s of sunshine @wxlfstxrx and @siriuslyqueer. This one is for you guysss.

Sweater weather chat #6

Kuny is hurt. Nado is scared. Kasey and Sergei plans a murder. Sirius is angry. Walker makes a burrito blanket. Remus is the best. Kris is a mom. Remus calls Nado Jackie. He’s the only one allowed to do that. Crouch Jr. is Russian (sue me). We all hate the 🐍

Wednesday 1.22 pm

Eliascookie: why are Nado and Kuny yelling again? They’ve been fighting all day.

Timmyforrealz: they’ve been arguing for TWO days about who’d be the wife in their weird bromance. Also - They’re both totally the wife. It’s weird.. 🤨🤨

Ollibear: well apparently some shop clerk thought they were a couple and nado is mortally offended that Kuny said they weren’t

Nadotheman: IT WAS THE WAY HE SAID IT. Like he wouldn’t be the luckiest fucker alive to land me.

KrisVolley: but you are both into women?

Nadotheman: I know. Still offensive to know you’re not your best mates first pick.

Blizzard: Well we all know that eventually, Kuny is going to marry some Russian model and nado is their live-in, grown-ass man child 😏

Prongstar: He’s probably going on the honeymoon too. It’s weird

Siriusly: are you ladies reaDy to get back home and have your pre game naps... We have a game tonight and I want to beat those snakes

Sergei_81: 💪🏻🤛🏼🦷😡

Blizzard: aye aye captain 😴🥱

RussianGod: hehe we kick ass today!!!

Prongstar: whoooop!!! Let’s end the snakes 🐍

Dumodad: go sleep my babies. We need to be on tonight.

—

Wednesday 8.33 pm

7 missed calls from Nado

Nado: Remus where are you? Can I come to the hospital

Nado: Remus please can I talk to him?

Nado: Remussss

Nado: Is he ok?

Nado: He was down re, for a long time.

Wednesday 9.02 pm

Remus: hey Jackie, he’s okay. It’s not a concussion. Please stop calling - I promise to keep you updated. They might let him come home tonight. He’ll be okay. Are you home? Is someone with you?

Nado: remus he was on the ice for a long time. Are you sure he’s okey? Why can’t I see him he needs me. He’s scared of needles and I know his ab negative!! Do they even have the right blood? I’m ab too I can help! Is someone talking to him? When they do the needle stuff just rub between his shoulders that calms him down and if he’s scared call him zhenya. That’s his Russian baby name!! It calms him. Remus please fix him.

Remus: these are some of the best sports doctors in the world, they know what they’re doing and they’re taking good care of Evgeni. Sergei is here, and he’s explaining everything to him in Russian ok? I’ll keep you updated! But I need to know if you’re alone? I think you should not be. Please take care of yourself ok?

——

Wednesday 9.13 pm

Kris: hey remus, I’m here. Nado is really freaking out. I drove him home but Olli and walker had to help me wrestle him into the car and into his house. Timmy is making us some food and Olli and Cap are trying to keep him from pulling out his hair. Is Kuny alright?

Remus: keep an eye on his hands, one of his ticks is scratching at his palms. They’ve scanned twice and it’s not a concussion. He’s got stitches both on his eyebrow and on his neck and he’s got to be out for a few days. I still don’t understand how he skated off. Tell Sirius to use his captain voice if needed.

Kris: yeah I’ve wrapped his hand up, they froze his knuckles at the rink but he’s kept fiddling with it. Walker rolled him into a burrito blanket and he’s quieted down a bit. But he’s not okay. Do you think Kuny can come home tonight?

Remus: I have to wait and hear, they said it’s depending on his x-ray - if it’s just a sprain in his hand he can come home so we’re just waiting. I’m glad no one here but Sergei understands Russian. I don’t think it’s very nice what he’s sayin.

Kris: fuck man. It was a bad hit. We’re rewatching. He was nowhere near the puck. Crouch and Nott fucking just came at him on purpose and if they don’t get a disciplinary I’m quitting the league. Cap crushed the remote... dirty snakes

Remus: I saw. It was a bad hit. I tried to get him on a stretcher but he insisted.

Wednesday 9.20 pm

Nado: he didn’t recognize me re... after he went down. He just looked at me and didn’t recognize me and I heard his head connect. His helmet was off before Nott threw him. How is he supposed to fight back when crouch swiped his leg?

Remus: I know. But even “just” hitting your head can cause some confusion and I promise you they scanned three times and he’s not got any concussion or bleeding. He’s tough ok? He’s asking if he can go home. Not very nicely might I add. And he flirted with a nurse. He’ll be ok.

Nado: but I heard it crunch. He was bleeding a lot. Is she cute?

Remus: I know, face cuts bleed a lot but he’s got quite a few stitches and he did well. He even got a lollipop and I’m pretty sure at least one phone number. Also Tall blonde with a nice smile.

Nado: is he coming home? Leave the nurse

Remus: I’ll let you know ok? Try and sleep! You’ll need it.

Wednesday 9.25 pm

Remus: hey kris. It sounds like they’re letting him come home. Sergei is going to drive us. Did you get Nado to go to bed? Also, I can stay over night. I think they both need a babysitter

Kris: I think we’re staying. Ava is with Anya and the kids and Olli is already crashed on the couch. Walker actually had to threaten Nado to stay in bed and he’s camped up next to him now. He’s not going anywhere. Timmy and I will crash in the guest room. Can Kuny sleep alone?

Remus: he’s on a lot of painkillers and he’s not entirely coherent. Sergei offered to stay with him to translate but I honestly think his English will come back once he’s slept and recovered a bit

Kris: their beds are like extra king size anyways. We can just make a sleep over in nado’s room. He’s gone and pulled down every blind and the house is dark. I’ve never seen him this stressed out.

Remus: yeha that might be best. Sergei says Kuny is asking for his brother. So I think it’s best for everyone. We’re leaving once Kuny gets his stuff back.

Wednesday 9.55 pm

Sirius <3: is he okay love? I drove here / do you need to stay or come home?

Remus ❤️: hey! He’ll be fine, not a concussion but he still hit his head prettt bad. I think they’ve set up a sleepover and he’s in good hands. I’ll be okay to go home.

Sirius <3: it was such a dirty hit. He was down for a long time. And that Pussy ref didn’t even call a major.

Remus ❤️: coach said he’s contesting it and demanding an inquiry. But it was bad. I wanted to punch his face in. Did you see crouch after? He was laughing.

Sirius <3: I know. I’ve never seen blizzard react like that. He actually tore Nott’s Jersey with his hands.

Remus ❤️: I know, let’s get Kuny to bed and we can go home. I need cuddles.

Sirius <3: me too. Re. Me too. It hurts every time. We would not function without you. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wednesday 10.33 pm

Siriusly: boys, Kuny is home. It’s not a concussion. He’s got a bad hit and stitches and he’s out for three days and a new scan. But he’s back home and sleeping now. I’m not sure how Walker or Nado can sleep with his snores. But he’s ok.

Prongstar: they made a sandwich?

Siriusly: I think kris called it a sleepover but yeah. I don’t think Nado would able to sleep otherwise and Kuny kept trashing until someone was on either side of him. It’s cute. I’ve got pictures.

Blizzard: open fucking season on Nott. Why the fuck did you pull me off @eliascookie? I wanted to punch his fucking disgusting face in. He deserved it!!! Kuny’s helmet was offf before they swiped his legs

DumoDad: kasey, you were right to fight him and he was over the line. But getting you suspended won’t help. We need to beat them through our game

Timmyforrealz: but it was a bullshit call?! I agree to open season on Nott and crouch. Fuck it all of those creeps. They could’ve ended his career ffs

Sunnysideup: I haven’t had a line brawl like that in years. Broke carrow’s nose. Felt good. I’m glad Kuny is ok.

Prongstar: I heard his head hit the ice. It was terrifying.

Bradygunz: how’s Nado handling this? I had to sit on him to hold him back from going after the ref.

KrisVolley: he’s asleep, I think. But it was a long evening. I know they’re not actually related but I swear they’re brothers somehow still.

Sergei_81: I want to kill crouch. He’s hurting on purpose

Sunnysideup: @sergei_81 did he actually say that or did I hear it wrong?

Sergei_81: he did. It was revenge

Siriusly: what??

Sergei_81: crouch was take off Olympic team for too much fight. Kuny got his a and this was revenge. He said so. He want Kuny out on purpose. He not like younger player get a.

Wednesday 10.55 pm

Remus: hi sergei, did you call Kuny’s parents? Did you get home okay?

Sergei: yes I call them. Tell what happneed. And I stay at house. Kuny needs me if he speak. I’m worried about Nado. He thinks his fault. He only pretend to sleep. Can u talk to him?

Remus: I’ll try. Thanks Sergei!

Wednesday 11.33 pm

Remus: hey Jackie, I know you’re not sleeping. I don’t want to call and disturb you but you can always talk to me, ok? It’s confidential as always and I’ve got your back alright. What happened today was not your fault.

Nado: I should’ve been out there with him. I could’ve helped him. Instead I was off somewhere in the other end he’s my line buddy and i failed him.

Remus: Nado you didn’t fail him. Did you see what sergei said? It was a planned hit. They wanted to take him out. It’s not your fault. Please promise me that you understand it’s not your fault.

Nado: he just looked at me. What if he doesn’t recognize me when he wakes up. Re he’s my best friend and I watched his head get smashed on the ice.

Remus: I know it’s hard. And it’s heartbreaking. But the doctor’s checked him ok? He asked for you - or well according to sergei he demanded to be sent home to his brother and cat. Alright, he knows you. Just let his head rest and recover and then you’ll be back to your antics in no time.

Nado: he’s snoring now. Guess something never changes.

Remus: get some sleep and tomorrow I’m gonna have a look at your hands ok?

Nado: thanks rem. Not sure what we’d do without you. ❤️

Remus: always, Jackie. You guys are my family as much as my actual family!

Nado: still gonna kill crouch and Nott. Not care about getting suspension.

Remus: I get it. I think you should see heather tomorrow.

Nado: can I just talk to you?

Remus: yeah, call me when you wake up ok? I don’t care how early. I’m not a professional though, Jackie.

—-

Thursday 8.22 am

Nado; he’s awake. Re. He remembers me. Thanks for fixing my best friend.

Remus: I’m glad to hear it, I’m coming over to check him ok? I’ll bring breakfast.

———-

[witcherslittledove]

All Tied Up

Joey Batey/Henry Cavill RPF - Also on AO3

Rating: E

Summary: All of the things Joey had expected from his first day back on set, he hadn't expected to spend the morning in a harness and chained up. And he really hadn't expected Henry to be staring at him like that. It was going to be a hard day.

CW: Light spoilers for Blood of Elves, bondage, references to torture (for Jaskier not Joey), exhibitionism, masturbation, hand jobs, frottage, multiple orgasms

Thanks to @jaskiertheflowertwink for being my beta!

__________

Joey tugged at the cuffs of Jaskier’s doublet, it felt strange to be back on set after so many months away, trapped in his flat with Madeleine. Luckily, Jaskier was an easy character to settle into, almost like a second skin. The bard was eager to come out and play, taking the edge off of Joey’s anxiety. With Jaskier, he almost forgot how much he fucking hated other people. Still, not even Jaskier could save him from first day nerves, and Lauren hadn’t started his shoot off easy. Joey was diving straight into a torture scene, and he would be spending the majority of the day hung up from the ceiling in ropes and shackles, waiting for darling Anya to come and save him. It wouldn’t be real of course, there would be harnesses and all sorts of wires to make sure he wasn’t injured, but it wouldn’t be comfortable. The harness was already bulking out his costume, and chafing the insides of his thighs.

 And after the mess of the pandemic, Joey wasn’t sure how he felt about losing control and being trapped for the afternoon. It unnerved him. He wanted to be free, and thought of the shackles around his wrists just… nope.

 “Hey?” Henry came up from behind him, a hand squeezing his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

 “What? Oh, yeah. Yeah. I’m fine,” Joey mumbled, staring up at the set. “First day back and all. It’s like being back at school.”

 “You’ll be fine, Joey. You’re an incredible actor and I couldn’t ask for a better bard,” Henry reassured him, his voice low and gravelly in Joey’s ear. It was unreasonably hot. Honestly, Joey knew that Henry was fucking Superman but did he really have to be so godlike, and on top of that he was a complete dork.

 Perhaps Joey could invite him to a D&D game once they were done shooting season two. Would that be too weird? It was probably too weird. They were just colleagues. Christ, Joey hadn’t even seen Henry since they’d finished promoting the show the year before. He really needed to get a grip, and ignore Jaskier’s voice in the back of his head. They were not best friends, and Henry would not want to play a shitty Dungeons and Dragons game with him.

 Okay. Not shitty. His games were pretty fucking brilliant, but Henry would be too busy with his PC games, and his War Hammer and whatever cooler nerd stuff that he got up to in between his work outs and eating far too many chicken breasts and smoothies.

 Jesus Christ, he missed Madeleine.

 He didn’t say any of that aloud, no, that was for the safety of his own thoughts, racing at a million miles per hour. Instead, he channeled Jaskier and laughed, hiding his anxiety behind the more confident mask that had fooled millions of people into loving him. “Now, now, witcher,” he teased. “We both know you don’t mean that, what was it you said? If life could give me one blessing.”

 “Oh fuck that, we’ve both read the books,” Henry groused, rolling his eyes.

 His very, very blue eyes. He was in full make-up except for the yellow contacts and it was just weird to see Henry’s eyes looking back at him from Geralt’s face. It was confusing. Were they Henry and Joey right now? Or Geralt and Jaskier?

 Perhaps a weird blend of the two.

 And it was only the first fucking day.

 Joey chuckled, “Yeah, talking of which, why are you here, Henry? I don’t recall Geralt being Jaskier’s Prince Charming in this scene.”

 Henry shrugged. “It’s your first day, I wanted to see how you are.”

 Joey swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry, and he flicked his fringe from his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wanted to run his hands through his hair but the poor hair and make-up team would have his balls in a vice if he tried. It was bad enough that he kept pulling at his costume, but luckily he seemed to have made fidgeting into a characteristic for Jaskier. He grinned, settling back into the character more than ever. “So, you came to see me all tied up?”

 Henry, the bastard, winked. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 Joey squeaked, feeling his cheeks heat up beneath the make-up. He tried to laugh it off but holy fucking cock balls… was Henry actually flirting with him? And about bondage of all things. Fuck. He was not going to survive the day, not if Henry was watching him.

 No. It was going to be fine. He was an actor, a professional. He wasn’t going to get hard on set just because his unfairly attractive co-star was watching him. The harness was uncomfortable. He’d probably be in pain and there would be an entire crew watching him. There was absolutely no reason to get hard.

 So… naturally… he got hard.

 Getting into the rigging was awkward and possibly the least sexy thing he had ever done in his entire life, which was really saying something. The shackles around his wrist didn’t hurt at first but his arms became tired quickly. He opted to stay in the rigging as much as he could between takes though. It was better for continuity and, well, if he was being truly honest with himself, he was enjoying the way Henry looked at him. It was intense, not dissimilar to how Geralt looked at Yennefer whenever she entered the room, but this time that burning desire wasn’t directed at Anya, it was directed at him… and Henry wasn’t acting.

 It was all incredibly distracting, but having Henry there made him completely forget about his previous anxiety of being tied up for the morning. Something about the other actor’s presence was grounding and Joey trusted Henry not to let him get hurt, more than he trusted the crew, which was completely stupid and probably the result from some teenage crush. He was lucky that he only flubbed his lines a couple of times, and by the time Yennefer flew into the room, he was aching and desperate to return to his trailer.

 He’d never been so grateful for Jaskier’s baggy clothes.

 “Ah, umm, Lauren?” he stammered, rubbing his wrists. They were sore, and he really needed to stretch out his arms, maybe have a nap too. Fuck, he was really out of shape. Lockdown had really been a curse. “Can we take a breather?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck and giving the showrunner a sheepish smile. “I umm.. I need a break.”

 “Oh yeah, sure. You’ve done brilliant work today, Joey. Let’s take a half hour everyone!”

 Joey all but ran back to his trailer, shuffling awkwardly as he tried to hide his erection as best he could. Occasionally he stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders back so that if anyone saw him then they would think he just needed to recover from the physical exertion of being strung up like a puppet for most of the morning. He was sure that he looked like a state, his doublet was torn and bloody and his shirt barely covering his torso. The makeup team had had far too much fun spraying him with fake blood and dirt. He hadn’t been allowed to shave for a couple of days and heavy film makeup was caked on his face, making him seem bloodied and bruised. His lips itched from where they had been made to look split…

 And everyone was staring at him.

 Fuck.

 He supposed he was usually the one that wasn’t covered in shit. The worst he’d had was the djinn wound from season one, but normally he was all bright doublets and smiles. Sometimes a little bit mucky, but nothing like this.

 And Jesus Christ, he really needed a wank.

 Why on god’s earth had Henry been staring at him like that? Did the bastard know how it affected him? He probably knew. Fuck, cocking shit balls! He was in trouble. Joey was still trying to break into the industry, if fucking Superman lodged a sexual harassment complaint against him then he was done for. He’d never work again…

 But then again, Henry hadn’t been looking at him like he was angry. No, he’d been looking at him like he wanted to eat Joey alive, get down on his knees and get his mouth around Joey’s cock whilst he’d still been suspended in the rigging, the shackles caught around his wrists, unable to move…

 “Fucking cock!” Joey slammed through the door to his trailer, fiddling with the fastenings of Jaskier’s trousers as soon as he was inside. His cock was already leaking in his boxers, throbbing and desperate for relief. He bit back a moan as he thumbed the slit, collecting the precum on his fingers and sliding it down the length of his cock. Waves of pleasure washed over him, and he closed his eyes, picturing Henry’s blue eyes, dark and wanting, his pretty pink lips stretched around Joey’s cock.

 He barely managed to stumble to the bed, his legs shaking, head already spinning. It wasn’t going to take him long, he’d been far too keyed up all morning, and with Henry at the forefront of his mind, he was tumbling towards his orgasm faster than he would have liked. Joey moaned, biting his lip as he stroked his cock, the memories of the day fuelling his fantasies. It felt so fucking good and soon he felt a familiar tug at his core.

 “Joey, are you alright?”

 “Shit!” Joey gasped as he came all over his hand, but the pleasure seeped from his body, leaving him feeling hollow and dissatisfied, “For fuck’s sake, Henry! Fucking knock!”

 Henry was staring back at him, blue eyes, silver hair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and looking like a fucking god. The bastard smirked and crossed his arms in front of his chest, raising an eyebrow. Joey had a sinking feeling in his chest.

 “You- you did knock?”

 Henry chuckled, his low gravelly laugh that sent shivers down Joey’s spine. There was a reason he spent much of their time on set trying to make Henry laugh. It was a gorgeous and beautiful sound, and Joey was completely addicted. He would quite happily spend the rest of his life trying to make Henry laugh… although that made him sound a lot more infatuated than he actually was, right?

 They were just friends.

 And Henry was a very attractive friend, friend? Co-star? Fuck!

 “I am      so    sorry, Henry,” Joey whined, pulling a pillow in front of his face to try and hide his embarrassment but Henry wasn’t having any of it. He sat down next to Joey on the bed, gently pulling the pillow from his hands.

 “Don’t apologise,” he said hoarsely, “I shouldn’t have walked in. I heard you moaning. It wasn’t exactly a hard jump to make… pun intended.”

 Despite himself, Joey snorted and whacked Henry on the arm with his clean hand. “You arse!”

 “What?”

 “I’m actually dying of embarrassment and you’re making dick jokes!”

 Henry smirked. “Sorry, I thought you’d be up to it.”

 “Fuck off!”

 “Oh come now, Joey.. it’s just a joke.”

 Joey whined. “I hate you.”

 And then Henry was suddenly in his space, so close that he could feel the warm tingle of the other actor’s breath on his cheeks. Lips brushed against his ear, and despite already cumming, he felt heat prickle over his skin and he mouth was dry. “I don’t think you do,” Henry whispered, his voice dropping to a low base, not dissimilar to the accent he used for Geralt.

 Joey took a shaky breath, very aware that his cock was still on display, covered in his spend, already twitching, trying to get hard again. “What- What are you doing, Henry?”

 “Tell me to stop, Joey, I’ll leave and we never have to talk about it,” Henry breathed, pressing a kiss to Joey’s neck, nosing along his jaw.

 “I-I… no. Don’t stop…”

 “Seeing you today, chained up, Christ, Joey. It was so fucking hot, and then you were hard. I bet you could hardly resist cumming in your pants like a fucking teenager, and with everyone watching you,” Henry growled in his ear, the actors fingers now stroking along Joey’s thighs, higher, creeping closer to his slowly hardening cock. Joey whined, pressing his head into Henry’s shoulder, “but I think you like that, don’t you Joey?”

 His cheeks flushed red, burning hot right up to his ears. “Fuck off.”

 “Or was it just me watching you?”

 “Hnnng.”

 “Can I touch you?” Henry asked, his voice sounding almost as wrecked as Joey felt, “We don’t have long but, god, I’ve been wanting to touch you since you walked into the reading room that first day all those years ago.”

 “Wh-what?”

 “You seemed so shy, then you started reading and you just melted into Jaskier’s character. It was fucking amazing. You’re amazing.”

 Joey whimpered. “Henry, please.”

 And then Henry’s hand finally wrapped around his cock. The effect was instantaneous. Joey keened, bucking into Henry’s hand as his second orgasm began to build, his poor cock already sensitive but he was craving more, he wanted to feel that overwhelming pleasure that had been so cruelly stolen from him. Henry covered Joey’s hand with his own, gathering a mess of sticky white fluid and then continued to stroke down the length of Joey’s cock.

 “Can I kiss you?”

 “Hmm.. uh huh.. Yup,” Joey stammered, lost to his pleasure, his head feeling hazy, almost floaty, but he didn’t need anymore words as Henry’s lips crashed against his. Moans and grunts and gasps were muffled by the kiss, and Henry shifted on the bed so he was sitting over Joey, one of Joey’s legs pressed against his clothed cock.

 If Joey had any more sense left in him, he might have offered to get Henry off at the same time, but he was too far gone, babbling nonsense in between kisses, curses, moans, wordless cries. Henry seemed more than happy to thrust against his leg, grunting as he moved to suck kisses onto Joey’s neck.

 “Henry, god! Oh fuck!” Joey keened, his back arching off the bed. “I-I… fuck!”

 His eyes squeezed shut as he came, sparks flying across his vision and his head rolled back onto the pillow. His energy seemed to drain as the waves of pleasure took over his body, Henry’s hand stroking him through his orgasm, still rutting against his leg until he came with a strangled moan. Henry collapsed on top of Joey, breathing heavily, silver strands of hair getting in Joey’s mouth and eyes.

 “Urgh, get off me,” he groaned. “Heavy and you have so much fucking hair!”

 “Blame Sapkowski,” Henry grumbled but rolled over, lying next to him on the bed.

 They both stared up at the ceiling, panting as they tried to catch their breaths. It should have felt weird, fucking his apparently not straight co-star in the middle of takes… but, well, it sort of just felt right?

 Joey laughed, turning to face Henry. “Make-up are gonna kill us.”

 “Costume too,” the other actor groaned.

 “And Lauren if we don’t get back…”

 “Yeah.”

 Their eyes met and it was no use. They both reached for each other, their lips meeting once more in a feverish kiss. It wouldn’t hurt if they were a little late… right?