#IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE WHY ITS CALLED BRANCHES

[pocket-dust-starr]

UM HELLO???

LOKI??

NOW THAT IS A FUCKING GOD

[astraloverflow]

Good Cop, Bad Cop (They're Both Bad)

Basically cop!König and cop!Ghost pull you over Since my current König post is going to take a while, I decided to cook up this little post for you guys, I hope you enjoy it :) If there's enough traction, maybe I'll make a part 2, lemme know what you guys think <3 TW: power dynamics oh my, manipulation, implied smut, implied non-con/ dub-con WC: 4046 MDNI

The asphalt stretches ahead, darkness swallowing far beyond your line of sight. Your dim, aging headlights carve a soft path through the void for your eager eyes to make out, their yellow glow flickering against the cracked asphalt; trees loom on either side, their twisted branches reaching, almost as if to grab you. The night is thick and quiet— too quiet. Each bump in the road rattles through your hands on the wheel, a reminder that you’re alone out here. Or at least, you should be.

You push your foot on the gas, watching the speedometer climb up, noticing an abandoned car on the side of the dirt as you whiz by it. It’s customary to see at least one on these long deserted back roads. You’ve always wondered what ends up happening to these cars that are left behind by their owners. Do they rust away, staying on these streets? Do they get towed away? Broken into? Stolen?

You don’t think much more of it and continue tearing up the road, tapping your finger idly on the steering wheel, mimicking the music beating loudly through the speakers, wanting to get home as fast as possible. You’ve never been a fan of driving at night, especially not this late and alone. 

Suddenly, the headlights of this so-called abandoned vehicle come to life in the distance, flashes of red and blue catch your attention from the rearview mirror, and your heart sinks in dread, “fuck.” 

The police car eases its way off the gravel that lines the side of the street and onto the concrete. For a moment, the car gets smaller and smaller, your speed creating distance between the array of flashes, and you hope that this distance consumes the car straight out of your sight. To your dismay, the vehicle starts to speed its way to you, lights becoming more pronounced and more difficult to ignore. 

You curse yourself and pivot your foot from the gas onto the break, slowing your vehicle down steadily. Due to the sheer speed you were driving at, it takes a moment for the car to decelerate. The dial on the speedometer shifts counterclockwise and you watch as the numbers slowly crawl down, as if dying. After a few seconds, the car is slowed enough to pull it onto the shoulder of the road, tires crunching as they make contact with the gravel, the car rolling to a stop. Your heart is pitter-pattering in your chest, and your hand that was shaking from the sudden rush of adrenaline reaches for the transmission to push upwards on the knob, parking the car, doors unlocking with a click at the gear change. Your foot lifts off the break, and the car steadies itself with a small roll, tires locking. Instinctively pressing down the red and white triangle button on top of your audio system, the hazard lights flick on, imitating the tick of a metronome to illuminate the crushed rocks beneath the vehicle slightly. You’ve never so much as stolen anything before, being pulled over and having to face authorities in these conditions makes your stomach sink into a pit. As you ruminate, the police cruiser slows behind you, parking itself, lights still flashing wildly. You lament the situation, thoughts flooding your mind about how stupid it was for the cops to be here in the first place. It’s practically empty almost all of the time on these backroads, especially at this hour of the night; it doesn’t make sense to you why any kind of law enforcement would wait for a driver to pass by just to nail them with a ticket.

You almost forget that you’ve been pulled over, sucked into your thoughts, until you see a large figure exit the vehicle from the rearview mirror. Your heart jumps at this, and you quickly reach for your glove compartment to grab your vehicle registration, closing the door with a thud. A sharp knock at the window makes you jump and turn your head. He was fast, you thought you had at least a few more seconds. The officer bends at the hip after a moment, leering into the car, and you push down on the window switch, watching the glass disappear into the driver's side door.

You strain your eyes trying to make out his face in the dark, noticing that it is obscured by some sort of cloth, the only part visible being his eyes. You’ve never seen an officer hide their face before, let alone with a piece of fabric.

“License and registration,” he says, accent cutting through the silence like a knife, reaching your ears. 

“One second, sorry,” you stammer, grabbing your wallet in the middle console, unzipping it and pulling out a plastic card. You hand him both the registration papers and your license, and he takes them, gloved fingers brushing against your own for a fleeting second. Your heart jumps at this contact, already overstimulated by being pulled over— you retract your hand, placing both your palms onto your lap, beginning to think of excuses.

He stares down at the card, holding it in his large hand. Your name leaves his lips as he repeats it, reading it off of the thin piece of plastic, “Do you know how fast you were going?” His eyes flick up, boring into your own. The dark makes it hard for your brain to construct his eyes, but the light from your dashboard is enough to see the cold expression he holds in them, blue irises a thin line around his blown pupils.

“Uhm.. no officer,” you hesitate, a bit quieter than you had hoped for your words to come out. 

“About thirty over,” he states matter of factly before looking into your car, eyes catching your outfit, “What are you doing out this late?” 

You feel your mouth go dry at this. The truth is you were just at a house party, celebrating the end of a successful-ish semester. It was about 1:30 am now as you sat in your car trying to come up with any semblance of a believable story. You told yourself you weren’t going to drink, not having a ride back home, being forced to take yourself back to your place through the outskirts of the city at the end of the night. You told yourself. You even made sure to reject any and all alcohol until a close friend of yours urged you, drunkenly begging you to take a shot to celebrate finishing classes. “One can’t hurt, just drink some water after, you’ll be fine, please, for me?” Your friend’s words ring in your ears, and you wallow at yourself for being guilted into taking two more after their initial coercion. It’s been an hour since that, but fear creeps up at the thought of a breathalyzer test. Although you felt sober, you knew the test would not reflect that, and would get you in trouble with the bulky officer staring down at you from your left. It was best to just not act suspicious, take the ticket, and reap the consequences to your bank account later.

“I was just at a friend’s house. Stayed up too late watching a movie, so I decided I needed to get home,” you respond, lying through your teeth, hoping it was convincing enough, feigning a small smile nervously. 

The man hums in thought and you feel relief, thinking he bought your lie. He pauses before speaking up again, “Wearing that?”

You look down at your outfit, a pair of jeans and a tiny top that did little to preserve your dignity. You wish you brought a sweater. Arms almost immediately wrap around your waist, insecurity filling you whole. “Yes...” You murmur, hoping he won’t question you further than that. 

He breaks eye contact and motions towards the vehicle parked a few feet behind yours, almost like he was calling someone. You watch from the rearview mirror as another figure steps out, this time from the passenger's seat. Their silhouette looked almost entirely black, except for the white on their face that reflected the red and blue lights spinning on the top of the car. The figure’s boots made contact with the ground and crunched softly as they made a few strides towards the other man. “Ran a check, looks good on my end. Yours?” His voice was deep, with an accent behind it that you could only assume was from somewhere in England, something rough and commanding in its tone.

“Can’t say the same,” the taller man speaks out, eyes flickering to yours for a brief moment before quickly shifting away to meet the man standing beside him. The officer with the white mask makes his way toward the other, and as he closes the gap, your mind scrambles to make sense of his appearance. Squinting, you notice that the mask covering his face is white, with strange grooves etched into it that resemble the jagged shape of a skull, deep and haunting. His eyes are like dark, void-like holes that seem to bore right through you as he passes, there’s something unnatural about the way he carries himself, something predatory, and you can’t seem to pry your eyes away.

“What’ve we got ‘ere?” The shorter man, not to imply that his height was by any means unimpressive, chimes, his voice oddly casual. He leans towards the open window of the car, placing one forearm on the side of the metal encasing you safely, almost like a prison.

“Suspected intoxication,” the hooded man speaks up, his tone flat and emotionless. His words hang in the air, each one settling in your chest with an increasing heaviness. The other hums, eyes scanning you once more, but unlike the cold blue ones of the officer standing behind him, his gaze isn’t as icey, there’s something deeper in it, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“You been drinkin’ sweetheart?” His voice is laced with a syrupy sweetness that makes your stomach flip. The term ‘sweetheart’ rolls off his tongue like a curse, and the word itself feels out of place as if he’s using it to control the situation, to unsettle you. The question hits you hard, and your stomach drops with the weight of an anchor. The unease in your gut tightens into full-blown dread. Something about this doesn’t sit right with you. This isn’t how any regular traffic stop should feel, is it?

When you don’t immediately answer, his voice shatters the silence again, colder now, sharper, “Talk to me.” 

You feel your throat tighten, words barely escaping your lips as you answer meekly, “I haven’t..” It’s almost a whisper, barely audible against the growing noise in your head. The man at your window continues to stare at you, eyes piercing, trying to get a read of the situation, searching for any information he could use against you.

“Ghost.” The voice calls from behind him, a demand. The man you now know as Ghost turns, his posture stiff, his gaze flicking to the other looming behind him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses, voice laced with annoyance. Shaking his head with a slight scoff, turning back to face you, his eyes crinkle in the corner softly, and you imagine that behind his odd display of a face, is a smile— though something about this situation makes it feel like a threat.

Watching this play out is frightening, to say the least. You feel your pulse quicken, and every second that passes tightens the knot in your stomach. You don’t know if this is the experience most people face when pulled over at night, or if it was just your terrible luck. You don’t have any prior experience to compare it to, but something in your heart screamed at you that this was wrong, something was terribly wrong here.

You stare at Ghost, now leaning forward slightly as he tilts his head. His voice breaks through your racing thoughts, low and silky, “Why doncha step outta the vehicle for us?”

Your body freezes. You aren’t entirely sure why you reacted this way; regardless of what it was, the suffocating feeling, the lead weight against your chest did not waver. Every single instinct inside you is telling you to get out of this situation. 

“Did’ja hear me?” His voice shatters through the silence again, sharper now, and the calm, almost bored tone from before disappears, replaced with a command, “Turn the ignition off, n’ step out, love.”

The instructions linger in the air like a final warning, and despite every fibre of your being telling you to refuse, your shaking hands reach for your keys nestled in the ignition and you twist, the engine dying, along with the lights at the head of your vehicle. Holding the keys in your hand, you step out of the car, hesitantly. Ghost steps back to give you space to open the car door and exit. You stand and immediately notice how he dwarfs your height, looking down at you through his skull mask, arms crossed over his police vest. The red and blue spinning on top of the police car creates a cast of colours, allowing you to still make out the scene in front of you despite the darkness that engulfs the scenery. You notice a dark streak across the white letters that read out ‘POLICE’ across his chest. In blue light, it looks almost black, but as the red circles back around, you make out a faint scarlet colour. 

Blood? 

Your eyes focus on it, your heart skipping a beat. Though the thought barely forms in your head before he speaks again, “Hands against the car, love, turn around.”

You blink, not understanding or comprehending the sudden demand, “What?” You ask, almost automatically, surprised at his sudden order.

“Gonna search’cha. Turn around, hands on the hood of the car. It’s standard protocol, isn’t that right König?” He remarks, turning to look at the man behind him. His words are so casual, so rehearsed, and it takes you a second, but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the looming presence of the larger man, König, who just nods in approval. 

You aren’t well versed in what your rights are exactly, despite seeing countless posts online urging you to become aware in case some cop tries to take advantage of your ignorance. You think back on those moments you’ve scrolled past and feel regret, maybe you should have been more cautious, should have taken some more time to read up on it. The thought of outright saying no flicks through your mind, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came; you’re not entirely sure if you have the right to refuse, so you comply and turn to face your vehicle slowly, moving your arms to place your trembling hands on the hood, still warm from the engine. “Good girl,” he whispers with a growl from behind you.

The words make your skin crawl, sending a wave of nausea through your gut. You want to turn around, stand your ground, and demand answers. You want to scream at him, ask why he pulled you over in the first place, especially here, in this deserted, dark stretch of road. But your body is frozen, your limbs heavy with a deep, paralyzing dread. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

As you find the courage to open your mouth and protest, a wall of muscle presses up behind you— the air is forced out of your lungs in a sharp, startled gasp, and all that escapes your throat is a choked sound, trapped and desperate. It dies instantly at the pressure as if your body knows it’s powerless to stop what’s happening. A nudge from something stiff, something heavy, something warm, presses against your lower back, and the sensation almost makes you fall forward, but you keep your hands on the car, shakily. “What are you doing?” You ask, heat rising to your ears, your voice quiet and cracking, breaking under the weight of the situation.

“Just gonna check ‘ya angel, no need to panic.” Ghost’s voice is smooth as his hands start to move along your sides, gliding over your trembling skin with cold precision as he pushes his hips into you, eliciting another small yelp from you that serves to bring heat straight to your face at the feeling of his hardness against your spine. He then slowly moves down each leg, bending at the knees to pat down your thighs, not before grabbing at the skin, and moving to your ankles. You’re humiliated, and you have to stifle the urge to ask him why this is even necessary. Your top is small, and your pants are tight against your skin, they’d be able to see if you had anything in your pockets, concealed away. His leather-clad hands are along your body. And then, he stands back up, his hands lingering near your stomach, just shy of touching your chest. You can feel the tension hanging between you two, the thin line between a normal pat-down and something much worse. His fingers hover, almost hesitant as if testing the waters, “You don’t mind, do ya?” 

You blink at this, your head spinning. Is this normal? He asked for permission, didn’t he? Maybe you’re overthinking. Maybe he’s just doing his job, and you’re just nervous. But the doubt gnaws at you. You’ve heard of cops acting imposing, standing tall with a panoptic gaze, demanding submission without ever needing to speak a word. You’ve heard stories of them using that authority to cross boundaries with people— no, to break them entirely.

You’ve always struggled with confrontation. You’ve tended to let things slide before and made excuses for bad behaviour. It’s like a habit, but this, this is different. This is too much. The unease deepens into something darker. Something inside you screams to fight back, to speak up, to demand that they stop.

But all that comes out is a whisper, barely audible, “I’m a little uncomfortable.” The words feel weak, but you force them out, your voice trembling. You hope that’s enough— that the honesty will be enough to make him stop.

He was teetering the edge of patting you down, and groping you; you’re not sure if this is what a standard pat down is considered to be. You’ve seen people get checked at the airport after stepping through the scanners, lighting up with a flash, at the indication that something was out of place— it was quick, fast, non-invasive. But this. This felt like he was about to grab at your very soul, so tightly that it might as well burst in his hands, deflating any sense of pride or dignity you had left with a harsh crack and spill of the contents. “Poor thing’s uncomfortable,” Ghost murmurs with a frown, turning to look at König.

The other man doesn’t say anything at first, his towering figure casting a long shadow over you, but when he speaks, his voice is commanding, “Enough, Ghost.” Relief surges through you as Ghost steps back, his lips curling slightly in irritation as he clicks his tongue, finally, some distance. But your pulse doesn’t slow; it races, your heart still pounding in your ears, as the confusion and fear hang thick in the air, choking the space around you. Maybe they’ve decided to let you go now, but something in you tells you this isn't over. 

Your thoughts are silenced as your hands are suddenly grabbed from where they were resting, being maneuvered roughly behind your back. The sudden action makes you lose balance and fall forward with a yelp. When you make a move to straighten your torso up, a hand reaches the nape of your neck to keep you pinned to the hood of your car roughly, your chest and side of your face becoming dirty with the dust covering your vehicle. The taller man leans over your body, and you’re brought to your tippy toes as he does this, his erection pushing harshly against your ass. The cloth on his face drapes over your shoulder as he brings his mouth close to your ear, “You’re too soft with her, asking if it’s okay if she doesn’t mind. Slut like her doesn’t care about shit like that. Look at what she’s wearing… Begging for it, on display for us.” The way he spoke into your ear made your heart seize up. He spoke directly to you, but referred to you in the second person, dehumanizing you even further, not even addressing you as equal to them. This was beyond humiliating, beyond anything you would have expected. 

“Get off of me,” you protest, with a tone less than convincing. The one holding you down laughs, a chuckle breaking through his throat.

He thinks this is some kind of joke. 

“Fuck, Ghost,” he chortles, the sound low and sinister, dripping with mockery. “You should see how she’s trembling under me right now. It’s pathetic,” His voice cuts through the stillness, like a sharp blade, and the way he savours the words makes your stomach churn. Each laugh feels like a slap to your senses, echoing in your skull, ringing louder than the panic surging through your veins.

“Fucking bitch doesn’t even know we aren’t actually cops,” he says, and just like that, the ground shifts beneath your feet and your entire world is upside down. Your breath has ceased, and your lungs feel as if they were taken straight out of your ribcage. “We put on a good show for you though, right? Pulling you over like that? Saying you were going 30 over, Ghost saying he ran a check on you.”  A laugh spills from his lips again, thick with satisfaction, and every syllable feels like it's pulling you deeper into a pit of dread.

It’s as if time stops. The world tilts sideways, and your body goes cold. The weight of his words presses down on you, and you realize, with sickening clarity, that everything you thought you understood was a lie. The badge, the uniforms, the flashing lights— all of it was just a performance. A sick game.

“Cops in this area have no backbone,” König starts, with a sickening satisfaction lingering on the ends of his words, “They were so easy to take down too, Schatz, you have no idea.” Another laugh billows out from his chest, “Where else do you think we got this uniform from? The cruiser?” 

Your heart is pounding so loudly, and everything starts to click. The blood on Ghost’s vest, you should have known. You want to move, to escape, but your body feels like stone. The world around you is suddenly too small, suffocating like the walls are closing in with every laugh, every word. You want to scream, but the sound won’t come. A tear runs down the bridge of your nose and König hums, leaning in close to you to breathe in the scent of your fear, “Love breaking girls like you, fuck.”

Ghost remains silent in the corner, his eyes watching, but you can’t tell if he’s complicit or detached from the cruel charade. You’re too far gone to care now. All that matters is the cold truth sinking into you like a heavyweight. Your mouth goes dry, the room spinning as the sick realization settles in harshly. You weren’t just caught in a trap. You were the prey, and every moment of this has been designed to break you, to twist you into their game.

Your eyes look backwards to meet Ghost’s, and you plead to him with begging eyes, for him to say anything, to get the man on top of you off, give you some sense of respite, some room to breathe, some time to process what is happening. As you thought you were starting to make progress, looking at Ghost with such a sad, pleading look, König notices and glares down at you. He leans into your ear again and speaks words that make you feel like you’ve died, a million times over and over again, “Oh Schatz,” he chuckles with a small sigh, sounding almost disappointed at your display, “Don’t look at him like that, he’s just waiting his turn.”

[with-my-calamitous-love]

HE SAW FOREVER SO HE SMASHED IT UP

katsuki bakugou x reader

the times bakugou broke your heart

heavily inspired by mbobhft

1) the denial

“are we breaking up?”

“…yeah.”

“oh.”

his reasons made sense. he had a job, a goal, a burning drive to prove himself as the best. he was burnt out, his fingers worked to the bones. he couldn’t give you not just what you wanted, but what you needed. and that killed him more than it did you.

it made sense. the gears turned. the writing was on paper. like almost everything he did, it worked out. of course it worked out for katsuki bakugou- he’s the best.

it wasn’t all that set in stone for you, however.

he could have given you a million more reasons before the tears spilled. “i’m an asshole.” true. “i don’t treat you right.” fair. “you deserve so much fuckin’ better, [y/n.]” yeah, he was right.

but you always liked to challenge the acceptable.

at first, it didn’t hit you as hard as you thought it would. you walked through your room, too numb to pay mind to the tears that rolled down your cheeks, and silently packed up his sweaters into a box. the necklace he gave you, the ‘k’ pendant, came off your neck like a butterfly lands on a branch, knowing that its death is inevitable and doing nothing to stop it.

at night, you cried, and cried, and cried. you called him about 27 times. he never answered. he texted you to make sure you were okay, but your tear-blurred eyes kept you from seeing the keyboard clearly. you left him on seen and prayed that he was worried, prayed that his heart would explode at your lack of an answer, prayed to god that he would come over just to check on. suffice to say your prayers were left unanswered.

you thought he’d call. but he didn’t. but your soul remained devoted, eyes glued to your phone screen and hands shaking. he has to call. he has to tell you goodnight. he has to tell you that you’re an idiot. he has to tell you he loves you. he’s going too, idiot.

right?

2) the anger

if he wanted you dead, why didn’t he just say?

your heart burned for anger. for salvation. for revenge. you knew katsuki bakugou knew anger well, but he had no idea the way your soul flared like a whole new depth of hell.

you laid in bed, awake, eyes excruciatingly drive from crying your tear ducts may as well have been burnt off. memories of him haunted your brain while your fists tightened.

you regretted giving him your heart. your love. your late nights and early mornings. your fights, your passions, your 2ams and your smiles. you hated the way you let him draw the laughter out of you, how he showed parts of himself to you he had never shown anyone.

and those little things that made up your love, he was going to use on someone else. you knew it.

he was going to cook them his special fried rice his mom taught him how to do. he was going to teach them how to punch because he doesn’t want them to get hurt- something he did for you. he was going kiss them how he kissed you, love them in a way that should have only been you.

but he shouldn’t. in fact, he should look back at what you had, and regret every. single. thing. he did to let is end. he should regret everything he didn’t do to keep you. he should burn alive from guilt. scream. cry. fight for his life while his body is doused in gasoline. attempt miserably to tear the fire off his skin while it burned him to a crisp. he should die screaming.

he should deserved it, after all. because he heard your screams, and put his headphones on.

3) the bargaining

please. you wailed. who do i have to talk to? what do i have to do to get him back!?

you suddenly thought of so many scenarios in your head, scenarios fuelled by false hope. things you’d do to kiss him one last time, to hold him, to love him and be loved by him. you’d dry the ocean water. you’d turn stones into gold. you’d bring him to heaven and back. you’d get out of bed. you’d compromise more. you wouldn’t forget to kiss him. you’d love him. you’d love him so much harder. please.

suddenly everything seemed possible. if someone answered your calls, if someone made a deal with you, you’d offer up everything. you were sure you’d place everything on the line for him. you want it all back- his yelling, his snark, his nicknames, his attitude, his everything- no, your everything. you’d pluck out your own eyes for his red ones, or your heart for his heroic soul that loved you brighter than anyone else. being loved by katsuki bakugou was something you wouldn’t trade for anything- turns out you couldn’t trade it either.

4) the depression

everything smelled like him. your sheets blossomed into his sweet, burnt scent, the one that he’d leave behind whenever he slept over simply because he left you. all your jackets felt like his chiseled arms, wrapped around you as if you’d be gone in a moments notice. his voice was everywhere. the songs on the radio, the words you read on your phone, and the memories that played like your favourite movie soundtrack.

you wondered if he knew you couldn’t get out of bed. sometimes you imagined him calling your ass lazy, and then dragging you out of bed with a kiss to your forehead and a breakfast he cooked for you. maybe then you’d rip off the sheets and face the day. but right now, your bed was the only place you could mourn.

it was cruel, in a sense. letting you fall in love with him only to leave. letting you fall in love with his stupid smug smirk, his laugh, his teasing, his anger, his unreasonable handsomeness, his millions of pet peeves and trigger words, his clinginess, his distance, his days and nights, ups and downs, his hate and love all tied into one. he made you love him, knowing you would never get to love another katsuki bakugou.

5) the acceptance

acceptance was bakugou realizing how badly he fucked up.

part 2 soon!

[pussyydestroyer]

“The echo of the past”

Pairing: Ghostface Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Warning: +18, smut, masturbation, fingering, oral, scissoring, stranger, fear, rudeness, Sam doesn't care, they are both horny

Word count: 6.2k

The day had been extremely exhausting for you. Your boss, as always, sent you to do things that were not your responsibility at work. He took advantage of you for being young and inexperienced.

You went to college in the morning and in the afternoons you worked to earn a mediocre salary. An exhausting routine, but you brought it on yourself because you wanted to become independent so young and want to leave your city as soon as possible.

But you were finally in your small house that your aunt had rented to you at an accessible price some time ago.

It was a reasonable size. Cozy and had just the right amount of space for your daily needs as a young adult.

You had a lot of stress built up from having to put up with your asshole boss giving you orders incessantly, along with your teachers who talked constantly without stopping.

And there was no better way to get it off than with your own hands.

Slide the zipper of your pants so you could take them off a few seconds later. The cold air on the thighs made your skin crawl.

You closed the eyes so you could think of something that would help you warm up and move on.

You didn't like watching porn, you found it disgusting and totally fake, which is why it didn't turn you on.

All your mind kept wandering and thinking, making your body get hotter. And as if by magic, your hand slowly moved from the chest and down to your abdomen.

Felt the beginning of your underwear and without thinking about it any longer, you dipped your hand underneath it.

The wetness between your legs was evident as your thoughts acted wildly.

You shivered slightly as your finger brushed down your swollen clit.

The coldness of the room seemed to fade from your senses as the fingers ran up and down your already wet folds.

Your thoughts and memories of today disappear from your mind as the hips rose in response to your finger sliding inside you, causing a shaky exhale.

You could feel the thoughts becoming more vivid as your hand found the right rhythm, making you gasp.

The thumb rose slightly, finding its way to your clit, while your free hand grabbed your shirt and brought it to your mouth, exposing your breasts.

It was already customary for you to always take off your bra as soon as you stepped into the entrance of your house. Having it on all day was a bit uncomfortable and suffocating.

Your hand ran over your body with delicate movements, making you arch your back while your other hand worked wonders on your crotch.

You would occasionally massage or squeeze your breasts, and together with your mouth that muffled the moans from biting the shirt, it made it difficult to pay attention to anything other than your need to satisfy yourself.

The thumb circling your clit, your fingers entering and exiting you in a determined manner.

All of this was being very satisfying until the sound of something hitting the window made you stop abruptly.

You opened the eyes and looked towards the window next to you, feeling somewhat bewildered and disoriented.

You didn't give it much thought since the branches of the trees were always hitting it constantly or the baby pigeon that is learning to fly crashed roughly.

So you settled down to could continue fingering until the phone started to ring.

With frustration you grabbed your phone that was on the table next to you and saw who it was, an unknown number.

You huffed roughly before hanging up without thinking twice.

Most likely it was phone lines calling for you to hire them or it was the university charging for overdue tuition.

But before you could put the phone back on the table, it rang again.

It was the same number.

You muttered several insults and then cleared your throat and answered,

“Hello?” Your lack of motivation and disinterest in speaking was noticeable as you wiped your hand that was on your crotch earlier against the sheets.

There was a brief silence before the person on the other line answered “Congratulations, you have been selected as one of the winners in this prize wheel!”

Silence filled the room for a long moment, bewildered by how stupid this call was. “What?”

His voice could be described as that of a very high-pitched young man, possibly just coming out of puberty which irritated you even more.

“As you heard! You just have to answer a few questions to be able to access your prize!”

The positivity and joy of that kiddo was exhausting and frustrating to listen to.

If the day couldn’t get any worse, this clearly ruined it. The last thing you wanted to know was that you had won in a clear scam.

A normal person would have hung up immediately, but since you were stubborn, you didn’t. “Questions? What kind of shitty questions?” You said reluctantly and angrily.

But before you could finish speaking, the other person interrupted you. “What is your favorite scary movie?”

The voice abruptly changes to a deeper, more serious one with a slight distortion, but you ignore it, thinking it was your lousy internet’s fault.

“I don’t know. 500 days of summer?” You reply with frustrated sarcasm, bringing your fingers to your temple.

“That’s not a horror movie…” His voice was piercing and thicker as you paid more attention to it as it transformed into a more menacing one. “I’ll give you one last chance. What is your favorite scary movie, Y/n?”

Swallow heavily as your eyes widen in shock and disbelief before answering. How did this guy know your name?

You think of all the possibilities he could have gotten away with. He probably knows your address too.

“This has to be a fucking bad joke. I have better things to do than to be wasting my time on this shit. Bye.”

You didn’t even have time to take the phone away from your ear when he interrupts again.

“Don’t you dare hang up or I’ll slit your throat right now!” his voice rises higher.

All of your arrogant facade disappeared as you heard him yell. You were scared shitless now.

The person on the other end chuckles making you shiver “are you going out somewhere or are you still going to play yourself like a guitar?” He continues with his voice full of venom.

The phone bounced off the bed as you let go of it to sit up properly. Your pulse was racing at the revelation that he was clearly spying on you.

Looking around as the silence in the house was deafening making you even more scared.

Neither of you broke it. You trying to stay calm and process this. The other just enjoying watching you lose your composure.

“Don’t play with me like that you fucking pervert. Where are you?!” You tried to regain your courage, though your voice was shaking as you scanned every part of your room.

He chuckle again in his thick voice, making you shiver and sigh. “You want to know where I am? Well then. Come find me.”

The beep that sounded after he hung up made you break out in a cold sweat. Your body was frozen and you refused to move.

You wanted to keep holding on to the idea that it was a prank call, until you gasped when you heard footsteps in the distance.

The floors were made of wood, so anything that fell or someone stepped too hard, made them squeak.

You could feel your heartbeat pounding through your ears. You wanted to stay where you were, but you knew that if you stayed there for too long, something serious would happen to you.

With slow and clumsy movements, you sat on the edge of the bed while you held your phone tightly in your hand.

You looked around before letting out a heavy sigh and standing up so you could put on your pajama shorts. Something in you told you that you should play their little game, even though you knew that one way or another you would die.

You take short, delicate steps so as not to make any sound until you reach the entrance to your room.

The door was already open since you always left it that way, but seeing the darkness on the other side was like living in a horror movie, but one with a very low budget.

You look around with subtle movement, making sure there was nothing in sight so you could call the police.

The light switch was a few steps away from you, but you were too scared to go there and turn on the lights. So, you shine the light of your cell phone around the place, making sure everything was clear before making a call.

But before you could press the first digit, a message from the same number pops up in your notifications.

‘If you continue, consider yourself dead. ’

His voice echoed in your mind, leaving you completely paralyzed and shaking with fear.

You see that message for a short time that seemed like hours until it disappears from your sight. You didn't want to open his chat, you just wanted to get out of there and go somewhere else, but you knew perfectly well that you had nowhere to go.

It never crossed your mind that becoming independent in a place far away from all the people you knew since you were born would lead you to be stranded with a murderer in your own house without knowing what to do.

The chances of this happening were few, but never zero.

With a shaky sigh, you squeeze your phone in your hand and start walking, crossing the hallway to get to the stairs.

You try to control your breathing because you feel that it is too fast and it sounds too loud, but it is inevitable to hold it when you know that you are risking your life.

When you reach the stairs you hold on to the railing as if it were your life support, you put a foot on the first step and you curse yourself internally, pressing your lips together when it creaks.

Your eyes were firmly closed as you began to descend. Each step you went down creaked louder and in a different tone, causing a small gasp from you when you noticed it.

You weren’t even halfway up the stairs when the phone rang again, biting your bottom lip to stifle your sobs.

The movements were clumsy and shaky as you looked back at the phone. You didn’t want to answer it, but your life was at risk right now.

You slid it before hesitantly placing it against your ear, biting the inside of your cheek to keep any sound of surrender from escaping.

“Cold.” His voice filled with menace and mockery penetrated your ears making it hard for you to breathe.

A lump formed in the throat, feeling like you couldn’t speak, but you managed to do so anyway. “What?”

The shaky and vulnerable voice made the other person laugh causing you to sob in panic.

“You’re not even close…” you could feel the sick mania in his entire being “but I can see you”

Shallow breaths came out as you tried to maintain the little composure you had left, while blinking to keep from shedding any tears.

You took a moment to clear your adrenaline-fueled thoughts before taking another step down.

The switch was at the beginning of the stairs on the first floor, which meant you were a few steps away from reaching it so you could better see your car keys and be able to leave the place as soon as possible.

The call was still online while you heard his laughter as you continued down.

The worst of all was that, although the house was somewhat small, you couldn’t hear the distortion that phones produce when they are very close to each other, which meant you couldn’t have an idea of where he would be.

You take the final step, managing to reach the first floor completely, and you run your hand along the wall until you feel something bulging.

“That’s it. You're warm now" his praising voice makes a shiver run down your spine.

You freeze, not wanting to know what was coming next, but your hands betray you by moving to press the switch.

The lights turn on, illuminating the living room with warm tones. The atmosphere could be cozy as it normally was, just for the small detail that you catch a black presence out of the corner of your eye.

Slowly turning your head to get a better look at the other being in the other corner of the room, you quickly examine him and see that he is wearing a black robe and an elongated white mask, which makes your mind click.

It was the ghostface.

You had heard a few years ago the news about killers who dressed like that to kill, but it was irrelevant to you since your friends always dressed like that for Halloween with the purpose of scaring other people.

It wasn't a big deal to you back then, though you were very attracted to some of those killers that were shown in the news reports, but saying that you found a serial killer attractive was socially frowned upon. So you kept it to yourself.

But having him in front of you now, even if it was just a few steps away, was fucking terrifying and it didn't compare to anything your friends had used before or your teenage thoughts.

Your eyes didn't leave the other's movements as the masked one grabbed a device you didn't know about and raised it until it was close to his mouth. "hot"

Swallowed hard as you saw him tilt his head before he turned off the lights again, losing sight of him instantly.

You cursed yourself in a shaky, pleading whisper at the fact that he had found the other switch.

The curtains were closed, which meant that there was no trace of light into the house and that made things more difficult.

You knew perfectly well that he wanted you to follow him, to find him so that you both would be as close as possible and he would end your life. But you weren't going to give him that pleasure.

Taking a deep breath trying to stabilize yourself, but it was impossible to do so if you heard silent creaks approaching you.

Your body trembled and sweated as you took steps forward. You wanted to avoid him at all costs.

If you continued straight you could reach the front door and escape, but first you would have to go around some armchairs to grab the car keys.

You took some time to mentally prepare yourself for how risky your next moves could be, but there was no other way.

Continued with the slow and determined steps as you headed to the side of the couch. You knew he was on the other side and could see and feel your movements, but you had to pick up the keys that were on the table a few inches from you.

“You are so hot right now”

This was a trap. You bite your lip to stifle your sobs as you look around desperately to recognize where the saturated voice was coming from.

In an act of desperation and stress, you hang up the phone and throw it against the couch, making it bounce before you can grab the car keys that were right next to you.

But you should never declare victory too soon.

“Surprise” his voice is heard so close to you as you turn to see him when he turns on the other lamp that is next to the other personal chair in front of you.

Your blood immediately runs cold as soon as you see him with his knife in his hand. You drove yourself to your own death.

He tightens his grip on his knife as he heads towards you with slow, firm steps.

You stand tense, completely paralyzed without knowing what to do. If you moved, he would quicken his pace and kill you faster, but if you stayed still, he would do that too. So many options and they all led to the same destination.

The sighs and sobs coming from you were the only thing that could be heard in the room. You keep the eyes tightly closed so you don't see how close he is to you.

You groan as you back away and stumble into the chair he forced you to sit on when you hear the footsteps closer to you.

Sweat runs down your forehead and you shiver as you feel a rough hand touch your chin, forcing you to lift your head.

You don't protest. The terror running through your veins was too much to contradict him, so you lift it with a weak, shaky movement as you open your eyes.

You give him a quick glance and notice that he doesn't have the knife or the circular device in his free hand, which makes you frown slightly in doubt.

He tilts his head and chuckles again, enjoying the way you gasp and shake when he does.

Your fear mixes with curiosity when you hear him laugh and notice that his real voice is a little higher than you expected.

Gently, he removes his hand from your chin to take off the leather glove with the other and then holds your chin up again.

It was a thin hand with long, thin fingers. His touch was soft and warm, leaving you totally with doubt by the delicate way he touched you.

A few minutes ago he was threatening to take your life, and now he was being silky with you. It was all very strange, but you weren't going to complain now that you had him literally in front of you.

His thumb began to trace circles on your cheekbone, making you tremble.

You didn't know if your involuntary reactions were due to fear or because you were enjoying feeling his delicate touch against your skin.

He seemed to enjoy it in the way he let out a quick exhale.

His finger moved down, just below your bottom lip.

You were trying to figure out what his purpose was if he wasn't going to kill you, until he started to draw a slow, straight line across it.

You could feel his piercing gaze through that mask. Even though it scared you, you couldn't take your eyes off of him.

As if the other person was asking for it, you licked your lips before opening your mouth a little more and leaning forward to catch his thumb.

The tremble you caused him to feel was hard to miss.

You looked down at his arm to then see the mask. You tried to see who could be behind those black eyes, but it was impossible to notice anyone there.

You curled your tongue around his finger, and your wetness made him shiver.

Flattening your tongue, you moved up from below to the tip of his thumb as you hummed on purpose.

His breathing was heavy, as if he was holding back his gasps.

Your eyes never left his mask as you took him back into your mouth.

You noticed he was enjoying it in the way his fingers dug into your jaw as he tensed up.

Sucked on him so hard that your cheeks sank, eliciting a soft, low whimper from him.

Notice his sounds are delicate and sharp again, and you look at him with a frown, having a slight suspicion that the person behind the mask was not a man but a woman.

The other person tilts the head in doubt at the way you look at them.

You lower your gaze, even with their finger in your mouth, to look at they crotch. But there's nothing there.

They evil robotic laugh snaps you out of your thoughts, but you still keep looking at they crotch trying to see a bulge or something, but nothing. “There’s nothing there that you like.”

Through all that deep, distorted laughter you can hear a female voice behind it all, which makes your heart skip a beat.

She pulled her thumb out of your mouth when she noticed you were more excited and determined about what was to come.

Her thumb moved tracing a line from your lip to the chin, then finding your neck and grabbing it, pushing you back so you were completely against the couch.

You let out a moan at the sudden act, and found yourself grabbing her hip in a way to hold on to something.

Your breathing was labored and you felt yourself getting hotter and hotter from the way she held you. Her pressure wasn’t painful, but it was still strong.

Without taking your eyes off her, you run your hand down her waist, but she doesn’t seem to complain, until you reach her crotch applying a slight force which makes her gasp and move her hips against you.

“See? “Nothing,” she whimpers as her grip tightens on your neck, making you moan.

Her breathless voice was the last thing that made you give in to whatever she wanted from this moment on, completely forgetting the fact that you were on the verge of crying or panicking a moment ago.

Despite all that distortion and depth in that fictional voice, the female voice still echoed in your head. You swore you heard it somewhere else, but you were too determined to get into lust to think of where you could have heard it from before.

With an impatient movement, you lean forward and lift her tunic to reveal her waist. Your eyes quickly find the belt and your free hand unbuckles it with ease, almost as if you were experienced.

The sound of leather hitting metal abruptly was deafening and overwhelming.

You assume her gaze is fixed on your movements as you pull down the zipper. You put your thumb inside the edge of her pants to begin to pull them down little by little, while your other hand continues to hold the tunic by her stomach so as not to interfere with your movements.

With her pants already around her ankles, you notice that her underwear is already quite wet, which makes you wonder how long she had been like this.

You swallow, leaving those thoughts behind.

Briefly raise your gaze to look at her, while your hand reaches her crotch, putting pressure on it, managing to get a moan out of her as her grip on your hair tightens.

Hadn't noticed that she had placed her hand on you, causing you to gasp at the sudden contact.

You felt the wetness immediately on your hand, biting the inside of your cheek, not wanting to let out another sound.

Her hips jerk against your hand. She wanted more friction and you knew it perfectly.

Not think twice and pull her underwear down completely exposing her pussy.

She gasps again feeling you so close to her skin now.

You run two fingers through her folds causing her to drop her head back down with a sharp, shaky exhale.

You press your lips together realizing that her sounds are affecting you the same way your movements are affecting her.

You continue to rub her folds, feeling that she is shaking more than usual.

She needs you in every way possible.

She grabs your hair tightly and pulls it back. You moan at the grip that forced you to look at her.

You nodded frantically, understanding her need.

Your fingers trail up her folds one last time before going back down, applying a little more pressure until you reach her wet slit.

With a low growl, she leans forward, holding on to the couch firmly with one hand, sensing you about to enter.

You move your fingers up, entering her with ease thanks to her growing wetness, drawing a groan from her along with a tight grip on your already messy hair.

Your fingers continue to enter deeper, and her breathing become more frantic hitting the mask.

Her voice was so beautiful that it resonated in your mind despite not having heard it verbally.

When your fingers no longer seemed to be visible to the naked eye, your thumb pressed against her clit, briefly moving it up, managing to make you shudder at the way she moaned that you will continue.

A shaky “yeah” escaped your lips as your fingers began to pull out and push deeper inside her.

Her moans grew louder with each thrust you gave, and you were completely lost in the way her unfiltered voice sounded.

Your own wetness began to seep through the thin fabric of your shorts as your thumb matched the steady rhythm of your other fingers.

You couldn’t stand just listening to her. You wanted to see her, to feel her deeper.

You abruptly pulled your fingers out of her, leaving her stunned and reeling. But before she could complain or yank on your hair, your fingers dug into her bare waist as you looked at her with a sly smile.

“Maybe there’s something I like after all,” your hot breath against her skin made her shiver before you moved in completely and licked at her clit.

An intangible curse escaped her lips with this light contact. Her hips rock against your face and you try to hold on tight so you can continue.

You flatten your tongue to explore more of her sensitivity. But she always wanted more.

With a quick movement, she lifts her leg and flexes it on the couch, right next to you, opening herself more to you.

A gasp catches in your throat at the sudden movement. You look at her for a few seconds once you return to continue licking her.

Now having more accessibility to her, your tongue moves frantically through her folds.

Her moans are getting louder as she holds your head to not let you go.

Gasps leave your lips against her pussy with each lick you give. Closing your eyes slowly so you can concentrate on your movements as you get closer to her entrance.

The movements of your head were determined and little by little her voice was clearer, more tangible to you.

She continues to tremble and moves against you. His grip is strong, almost painful, but you loved it.

Those moans, that unique and beautiful voice you could recognize from somewhere else, though you didn't know where. But that ragged gasp, like he was losing his breath made you realize who it was.

“Sam?!” Your voice of genuine surprise crashes against her skin as you raise your head again, suddenly stopping all the pleasurable movements.

Of all the people who could be behind the mask, Sam was one of your last options of who it could be.

You hadn’t seen her since… over a year ago? You didn’t remember exactly, but her calling you threatening to kill you in a very stupid voice so that you could end up having sex, is a very strange and unexpected reunion.

Her body, as well as yours, was equally agitated by the abrupt change of contact.

Your eyes met, and the only thing that broke the silence was the heavy breathing.

You tried to figure out what was going through her mind, since neither of you dared to break the silence. You were pretty sure it was Sam.

As if it were the blink of an eye, she grabs her knife tied to her hip and stabs it into the back of the chair, very close to your head.

You didn’t have time to react, just your nails digging into her hips.

She grabs your jaw and pushes you back, lifting you roughly so you look directly at her.

“Don’t say that again, you hear me?” She hisses, her voice mixed with venom and desire.

You nod frantically as you swallow hard at her demanding tone. “Alright. I won’t.”

“Good.”

The low, husky way she said it made your need grow along with the wetness between your legs.

She quickly puts her hands on your thighs and squeezes them hard, making you moan before she roughly grabs you and pushes you to the side, sliding you down the couch so you’re now completely lying on it.

You just stare at her as she completely takes off her pants.

When you wanted to leave your parents' house behind, you were traveling from city to city to experience new things and get out of the routine you had before. That's where you met Sam in Modesto.

She worked at the gas station across from the restaurant you work at as a waitress.

While you were taking the order of one of the many diners, you saw her enter with slow steps. She seemed very tired that day.

She was heading to the front desk, but there was no one there to serve her. Luckily for you, you had just finished taking the table's orders, so you headed to the front desk to see what is offered to her, even though that wasn't your specialty.

You cordially introduced yourself and she did the same.

Both of you talked for a few minutes until she finally said she was coming to get a takeout order. You went to the kitchen and quickly came back with a paper bag in your hands.

She asked you where you were from, since she had lived in the city for some time and had never seen you. You told her your reasons and she seemed to understand the situation.

Both continued talking for a while until she had to leave. Without first telling you that she worked right across the street.

Your first impression of her pleased you, she seemed like someone kind and fun.

As the days went by, you started talking more and more, although she was still reserved about some topics.

Sometimes in your free time, you would stop by the gas station just to waste time and talk to her. Sam did the same when he didn't have many customers to serve.

A few months passed and you started having feelings for her, and somehow you became very close.

Everything about her seemed charming and attractive to you. The way her hair moved against the wind, her smile, her voice, her hands, everything.

Until, at the worst of times, you found out that she had a boyfriend.

You didn't like him. He was lazy when it came to his work and ridiculously clumsy and conceited.

But if that was Sam's taste in men, you weren't one to judge him publicly.

You started to become more distant with her because of that. You didn't want to get hurt because of your feelings.

It wasn't romantic attraction, it was simply admiration, or that's what you tried to convince yourself.

As usual, things were boring again around you. Being with Sam of course wasn't, but you didn't feel the excitement of working every day anymore. So one day you left without saying goodbye or leaving a trace.

You never heard from her again since you never shared numbers or social media. That was the fun of being with her, not having to harass each other with daily messages or stalking each other. Just spending the day talking about whatever, even if it was just a few hours, was great.

Over time, your attraction to her was fading. You weren't constantly thinking about her anymore. In fact, you hadn't thought about her in a long time.

Until now.

She grabs the sides of your shorts pulling them down hungrily, exposing your delicate, wet cunt.

You were both agitated and eager for more, so just letting her do everything.

She grabs your knees and pushes them to the ends of the couch, causing one of them to rub against the newly stuck knife.

You can't hold back the shaky gasps once you see her get on top of you, followed by a moan as you feel her full weight against your body.

The sensation of cunt against cunt was deliciously stimulating once their hips collided, causing both of you to gasp.

Feeling her wet pussy against yours was driving you crazy, but you somehow managed to lift one leg and place it on top of her bent leg next to your hip.

Her grunt along with your moan was a noticeable clue about your dripping slits hitting each other, but still neither of both moved yet.

She adjusted herself by put her other leg across your hip, on top of your outstretched leg.

Maybe the version of Sam you knew a year ago wasn't the real one. Whatever it was, you liked either one.

She grabs your thigh, digging her nails into you, making you groan.

Your nails automatically dug into her own thigh and waist as you grabbed her to hold on.

The gasps of both of you mix in the air as you feel each other.

Raising your gaze, you look at her with pleading, dark eyes, not knowing what features she could have at this moment.

As if she were reading your mind, she begins to rock on your hips slowly and painfully.

You grab her waist tighter, trying to pull her towards you. The little friction was killing you.

“Sam, please,” Your own voice showing how needy you were. You raise your hand, wanting to remove that hideous mask from her face that somehow managed to turn you on.

Sam being faster, grabs your wrist when you barely manage to touch the resistant plastic. “What did I just say to you?”

She sounded so firm, so drowned in the same desire as you that you just stayed quiet and looked away.

With just that act of vulnerability, she began to move her hips again, guiding your hand to her shoulder.

You held on tightly every time she slid her pussy against yours.

Instantly the moans and labored breathing resumed their course. Both of you firmly holding on to each other.

You saw how her body moved up and down, which meant that her pussy slipped more easily.

Your whole body was on fire, and hearing her moans stimulated you even more.

You grabbed her hips with both hands, helping her increase the speed.

She didn't scold you for that, she simply let you guide her.

Your hands and her hips moved simultaneously causing your back to arch against her.

The movements became faster and more erratic that splashes could be heard.

She was practically hugging your leg, turning her moans into mumbled curses.

Her cum was dripping everywhere, dripping down your ass, becoming excitingly sticky.

She braced herself with her free hand on your chest, not wanting to show weakness to you

Between all those moans and gasps your head fell back, feeling the heat build up in your belly, but you didn't want her to stop.

You both moved your hips in sync against each other, generating more of that exquisite friction that increased that pressure.

Your clitorises rubbed together easily. The sweat mixing between your legs made it easier to move, which generated more pleasure along with the heat of your bodies.

“I'm so close Sam”

Sam's hand slides down your neck, forcing her to lean in closer to you. “Shut up”

The aggressiveness of her words that came out as muffled moans brought you closer to the edge of your climax.

She kept panting and you could feel her body tense up.

“Fuck” she moans before bringing a hand to her mask and taking it off to throw it somewhere in the room.

Her totally messy hair along with the sweat on her reddened face was extremely exciting.

You wanted to keep looking at her face, but she gave one last thrust with her pussy that managed to make you come.

Arching your back and throwing your head back, away from her face to receive the climax.

Even though you had finished, she kept rubbing her cunt against yours. She was so close to her own climax that she didn't waste any moment of your weakness.

Her moans became higher pitched and her grip on your neck was strong.

You kept guiding her hips, wanting her to be just as satisfied as you.

Feeling her clit rubbed in a rough and desperate way was the only thing missing for her to came with a groaning groan.

Her whole body tensed up giving that final push.

You gasp happily at the feel of all her cum in your pussy when she finally finishes.

Her breathing was fast and erratic as her face was so close to yours.

It took her a few seconds to compose herself. You watched as a satisfied smile formed on her lips as she untangled her legs and sat comfortably on the couch.

You were still lying down with your breathing slowly returning to normal.

She leaned her head back against the backrest as she let out a final sigh.

You continued to watch her silently, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the place, but you felt forced to do so. “What the hell was that all about?”

She chuckle without looking at you yet and playfully hits your leg. “Yeah. I missed you too.”

I thought I was going to do less but I got carried away

[devonpink]

A Thanksgiving Story

Arrogant, ignorant, and stupid, no three words could better describe my dad. I didn't always see him like that, though. Growing up, we were best buds—I admired and looked up to him as a role model. I truly felt like I could tell him anything, I could trust him. So, you could imagine my shock when after coming out as gay to him, he turned on me. He ignited into a homophobic rage, disowning me as his son. He couldn't stand the sight of me. The unpleasant feeling was mutual and I moved out as quickly as possible.

For almost a decade, there was nothing but radio silence between us. Until one day, I randomly got an email from him, inviting me to a one-on-one Thanksgiving. I read it over and over, completely stunned. As mad and hurt as I still felt, I knew I'd regret not accepting his olive branch. So, I accepted.

A few days later, in the early afternoon of Thanksgiving, I drove over to my dad's place, my childhood home. As nervous as I was, driving up the old driveway and parking in my old spot felt good. As I stepped out of my car, I was reminded of how sweltering it was for November, even for Florida. As much as dressing up sounded fun, wearing a white tank top, dark tan loose shorts, and flip-flops only made sense. My balls would have melted in a pair of underwear, so I freeballed.

My heart was racing, as I flip-flopped to the front door. I was expecting the worst but hoping for the best. I could smell the turkey cooking through the front door as I knocked, its mouth-watering scent calming me slightly. A few seconds later, my dad opened the door. Unsurprisingly, he was exactly as I had left him: bulky beyond belief, obviously my leaving had no effect on his serious workout routine. Then again, maybe he exercised to escape the pain, I know I did that. He was wearing nearly the same thing, the only difference being his loose shorts were black. His pit stains were just as bad as mine—like father, like son, I guess. To my relief, his nervous expression pleasantly told me he was just as anxious as I was.

Stepping inside, I got a good whiff of him as I passed him, that oh-so-familiar scent of cologne failing to mask the intense pit reek. The house, like my father's manly stench, was exactly how I'd remembered it, nothing had changed—it was nice. As my dad led me to the kitchen, with his back to me, I gave my hairy sweaty pits a sniff. They reeked, even worse than my dad's. Unlike him, I'd forgotten to put on deodorant or cologne. We both stunk, in slightly different ways, but that similarity was comforting—like father, like son.

I was expecting things to be insanely awkward, but it was like the good old days. We sat out on the porch, drinking beer and shooting the shit as we waited for the turkey to finish cooking on the barbecue. I forgot how much I loved talking with him, for an arrogant douch bag, he sure could make me laugh. Neither of us had brought up my leaving yet, I assume to not break the good flow we had going. In truth, I didn't want to bring it up. It felt good to pretend everything was as it was in the old days.

When the turkey was done, we brought it inside and gobbled it down like too starving beasts. Obviously, our nerves had calmed down quite a bit. Everything was fantastic, I forgot how good of a cook my dad is. We didn't say much to each other while eating, too distracted by our hunger to converse—like father, like son. Before we dove into dessert, he offered me another beer. As much as the pumpkin pie was calling my name, I couldn't decline.

Instead of the usual beer we were drinking, he brought a brand I'd never seen before, "Obedience." I didn't question why he only brought out a single can, I was too distracted by the pumpkin pie to care. I cracked it open and swigged it down, anxious to get to the pie. However, after I finished, I felt funny. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt different. I silently stared at my dad, watching an evil grin form across his face.

My dad spoke, dropping his nice-guy demeanor. "Now listen up, boy. It's time we finally get to the point of our happy reunion." My heart was racing, I knew something terrible was about to happen. Flashbacks of before I left flooded my mind. Strangely, as much as I wanted to move, I couldn't. My body was frozen like it was waiting for something. "Take another swig of your beer, down every last drop." What happened next shocked me to my core, my body moved on its own! It was like I was a bystander in my own body, only able to watch. I robotically brought the can up to my mouth and downed every last drop, doing exactly what he commanded. At that moment, I horrifily knew exactly why it was called, "Obedience," and why he only brought out a single can of it.

"Belch, boy. Like a man." My dad arrogantly commanded, knowing I'd helplessly comply.

"bbbbbbBBBBUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppppp!!!" Just as he commanded, the biggest manliest belch came out of me. I hated how good it felt to obey him, an obvious effect of the beer.

"Belch again, boy. Except this time, additionally, let out all that stress and worry. Also, uncross your legs and manspread! Sit like a man!" He commanded.

I wanted to resist but was helpless to his commands. "bbbbBBBBBBBuuuUUUUUUrrrPPPPPPPPPpppppp!!!" Like he commanded, all stress and worry had left my body. I then uncrossed my legs and manspreaded, just like my dad. Sitting that way felt so much better.

My dad laughed, like a cocky bastard. "Such a good and obedient son I have." I wanted to get up, scream, anything but just sit there. Except I couldn't move. No matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn't move. "Now, let's get to the good stuff," My dad excitedly proclaimed, unnerving me even more. "Let out all the useless liberalism! Become a rigid conservative, just like dear old dad! Like father, like son! Belch, boy!"

I tried as hard as I could to keep it down, but it was useless. "BBBBBBUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppp!!!! With that, all liberalism and open-mindedness had left me. My mind was assaulted and reprogrammed to believe all sorts of small-minded conservative ideas and beliefs. It was overwhelming, yet electrifying. With conservatism comes stupidity, so my mind had become completely moldable, exactly what he wanted.

"Real men vote red, don't they, boy?" My dad asked, every word dripping with superiority.

"Sir, yes, Sir! Real men Vote-BBBBBBBbbbuuurrrrPPPPPPPPpppp!!!" Before I could finish, another manly burp escaped from me, making my dad bust out laughing. I couldn't help but laugh too, being more stupider now. It felt good to make my dad laugh. I felt like… a good son.

"Now, before we continue, I want to make sure you have no remaining resistance. So, let it all out! Give yourself to me completely! Belch, boy!" My dad commanded.

"BbbbbuuuuuuuUUUUUURRRRPPPPppppppp!" I did as he commanded, like a good son. It felt good, right, to obey him. Why would I want to resist him? He's my dad! He made me, I must obey him!

My dad was grinning like a king, as he should. "Belch again, boy! Belch as loud as you can!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" I was more than happy to obey.

"Fuck yeah, son! You sound just like your old man!" My dad enthusiastically congratulated me.

Having him praise me felt good, so fucking good. More, I wanted so much more!

My dad then got serious, obviously, this next one would be important. "Belch, boy, and erase all gayness from yourself. Become the straight man I've always wanted you to be! No man wants a faggot for a son! Blech, boy! Belch and become straight!!!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" Like a good son, I obeyed. "BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" And just like that, all my gayness was gone. I'm now as straight as a freshly bought nail. I like women, only women, like a normal man. Who'd want to be fag, anyway? Fags are sick freaks!! Thank god I'm not one of them anymore. Thank god I'm straight, just like my dad! Like father, like son!

We celebrated my much-needed transformation over two massive slices of pumpkin pie. Afterward, we returned to the porch and smoked cigars, some of his finest. I feel so much better now that I'm following in my dad's footsteps. I want to be exactly like him, in every single way. I want to be completely interchangeable with him. He gave me a matching pair of sunglasses and a red cap, to protect me from the blistering sun. I obviously wore my cap backward to match him. I'm so thankful for my dad. Without him, I'd be lost.

[team-avia]

Interview with the Vampire(s)

You flipped open to a fresh page in your journal, a newly sharpened pencil in your hand, with two more tucked precariously behind each of your ears, and another one shoved in the front pocket of your lab coat.

The room was dark, save for the lone candle illuminating the desk at which you and your guest sat at. Rain pattered behind the closed window, branches moving in the slight wind.

“I have some questions I'd like to ask you, about yourself, about Novit,” you told the person sitting in front of you. They held a long and delicate looking porcelain pipe in their hand, sweet smelling wafts of smoke pouring from their lips as they exhaled.

“I will answer any questions you have to the best of my ability. Though this knowledge is not something you should share readily with the humans in your world.”

You nodded your head. You understood how dangerous this information could be falling into the wrong hands. But you also knew how big a wave this could make in all the fields of science. You'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity.

Clearing your throat, you pressed your pencil to the page. “For now, I merely need a few details about yourself.” More in depth questions would come later once you knew what to ask about this mysterious new world and its occupants.

“My name is Cordelia,” the woman in front of you spoke, her piercing blue eyes glowing in the dark. She held herself with a sense of importance. “I am the head of this coven, and I own Corville manor. I am originally from a beautiful and serene island country called Yupin, before moving to Piedamonte to fulfill my duties.”

You scribbled down her words.

“I keep the peace between your world and Novit, and have been doing so for many decades. I have seen both the truimphs and horrors of man and I seek to prevent tragedy from befalling either worlds. Though there are those of my kind that seek to bring about chaos. It is why the rest of the coven and I fight diligently to keep them away.”

The scene changed and another vampire had taken Cordelia's place. This vampire wore a charming grin on their face, long brown hair swept up into a ponytail. “My name is Natalie and I hail from Cuniso, an island nation that curates the pursuit of knowledge. I feel you would love it there very much, given your curious mind.” She flashed you a bright grin. “Perhaps I could take you on a date and show you around sometime?”

You flushed at her words, clearing your throat awkwardly as you turned back to your notes.

“What do you do in the coven?”

“You could call me Cordelia's right hand person. She gives us orders and I make sure everyone falls into line to follow them. I'm a peacekeeper of sorts in the group.” She placed a hand to her chest, proud of this fact. “Someone has to keep Victoriqua in check. You know how Drunians get.”

“Natalie said they were Cordelia's right hand person?!” the red head's nostrils flared as she crossed her arms over her chest tightly. “I'm Cordelia's right hand person! I was there almost from the start, helping her build this coven, helping her build the defenses to keep the humans safe!”

“Uh, could we maybe move on from-” you began, not wanting to continue listening to this rant.

“I'm going to find her and shove my fist up her-”

“Where are you from?” you interjected loudly. Victoriqua glared at you.

“You're trying to distract me from giving her an ass kicking and it's not working.”

She hurried away from her chair, making it rock back and forth, before she slammed the door to the room shut. You sighed, wondering how badly things would go after this.

Willow was next and she sat stiffly in her chair, a semi vacant look in her eyes. You could hear crashing noises and muffled screams in the distance and you really hoped that someone would intervene between Victoriqua and Natalie.

“Mind telling me a bit about yourself?” you asked Willow hopefully.

The woman with white hair and dark circles under her eyes, sighed gently to herself. “I am Willow of Prevenio. I have been alive longer than several generations of your family.” Her voice was whispery, scratchy, as if she didn't use it often.

“Why did you join the coven?”

“What other option did I have?” she poised and you scratched your cheek with eraser of your pencil. Huh?

“Willow-”

“I must leave,” she said, already pushing her chair back. “The mirrors need a freshening.”

Now what did that mean?

Willow was barely out of the door when another vampire bounded into the room, sitting down hard and fast in the chair, almost crushing it with their strength.

“I'm Sierra!” she cheered, hand in the air, smiling sharp fangs at you. “I'm from Piedamonte.” She put her hand down. “I'll tell you anything and everything.”

“Are you...okay?” you asked in mild concern, noting the trickle of gold red on her shirt.

She glanced down. “Ah man, I'm gonna have to wash that. It's one of my favorite shirts too.” She looked up at you. “I'm fine. Vic-a-dic and Nat-a-lie we're going at it, so I kinda jumped in to give them the biz and they got annoyed I was getting involved so they chased me away and I had to run around the manor to lose them. Cordelia caught them tho and she gave them a thorough tongue lashing but it's all fine now cuz she made them apologize to me and I wasn't even mad at them.”

“Sounds like you were busy,” you said, noting this down.

“It's always a blast around here, human,” Sierra smiled. “Stick with us, and you'll never be bored...”

The candle on the desk flickered and gave out at this, throwing you both into the dark, leaving Sierra's pink eyes staring unnervingly back at you.

A little taste to give some more context about the setting and characters in MHD...

[libraryofloveletters]

The Right Way To Do It 

Sebastian Vettel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: it's ferrari!seb of course - he's the most husband, seb's so picky and reader is over it, one childish joke about balls, seb's a little OCD about his ornaments, some playfully husband and wife bickering.

Word Count: 695

Author's Note: welcome to my holiday extravaganza series! are we shocked im starting with seb? no :) I hope y'all enjoy this as much as I as do!!

--

Sebastian is the most meticulous person you've ever met in your life, and yes, that also translates to Christmas tree decorating. 

The 8 foot tree stood strong and tall in the middle of the window. You stood back a few feet, looking up at it in all its glory. The boxes of ornaments you had Sebastian lug up from the basement were scattered on the couches and the coffee table.

How are you ever going to get this done?

You took inventory of all the ornaments you had, making sure you had even amounts of the colours before you began hanging them on the tree.

Starting from the bottom, you rotate the colours every few ornaments. It took you a few tries and a lot of reshuffling before you were satisfied with it.

"That's not how it's supposed to go," he calls as he walks into the living room, dropping himself down into an empty space on the couch.

Kneeling on the floor to put the ornaments on the bottom branches, you shift to look at your husband. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," he nods, eating a bit of the popcorn you had made to string and put on the tree. "It's supposed to be red, gold, green. Not red, red, gold, green, red. That's messy, babe."

"Instead of nitpicking, why don't you just come do it yourself?" You huffed, turning your attuning back to the tree.

Sebastian liked to annoy you, picking at things just to raise your blood pressure. You often bit back, much to his amusement.

He liked it when you got feisty with him. He never took you seriously, not until today.

His warm hands rested on your shoulders, carefully shifting you off to the side as he started to rearrange the ornaments you had hung. "Seb, are you serious?"

"As serious as a heart attack, baby." He smiles at you, then turns to the ornaments you had scattered on the living room floor.

Sebastian starts muttering under his breath, his fingers moving 100 miles an hour as he sorts through something in his head. You looked at the man, watching in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"Counting."

"Counting.. what?"

"Balls."

You snickered at his response. "You're counting.. balls?"

He rolls his eyes, "we need to go to the store." Your brows furrow and he senses the lack of understanding, as if you were missing a piece of the puzzle, and that you were. "We need more green, let's go."

Much to your displeasure, your husband drags you out into the cold. He promised to buy you one of those hot chocolates you liked from the stand outside of the store before you went home and that he did.

Five massive shopping bags in hand; Seb picked up anything from ornaments to throw pillows to Christmas candles.

He had a habit of losing his mind when the holidays rolled around.

After you two finally made it home, Sebastian instructed you the order in which you had to hand him the ornaments; red, gold, green, red, gold, green - in that exact order.

You huffed and grumbled, handing him the ornaments as he moved around the tree, saying that you could have done the same thing. Sebastian playfully rolls his eyes at you, reminding you that you don't have to help if you don't want to and as much as you'd love to stop, you knew Seb would get distracted and leave the tree halfway decorated.

It took an hour and a half, a trip to the store and a bit of bickering but the tree was finally done.

You stood up, watching as Seb steps off of the stool, the star sitting perfectly straight on the top. His hand rests on your lower back, pulling you into his side.

"Perfect, isn't it?"

You roll your eyes, "I would have done the same thing, Sebastian."

"Not the way I'd do it, though." He teased, nudging your hip with his. You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again, something you did often in the presence of your husband.

"Yeah, sure." Your hand resting on his jaw, your thumb brushing over his soft skin - he finally shaved, an early Christmas gift for you - you lean into your husband, reaching up to kiss him. "Whatever you say, Seb."

[xiiithhazard]

Chaos Control

Knuckles tracks down a chaos source that could threaten his home. (Movie Verse)

Word Prompt – Begrudging

@year-of-the-echidna

(Warnings at the end)

…

Knuckles opened his eyes when something seemed to pull at him, something from inside his own body. A sensation he hadn’t felt since finding The Master Emerald, signifying the end of his journey. However, as he sat up in his bed and focused, he realized that kind, yet demanding touch had returned.

Turning around he checked on his brothers, both of whom were still fast asleep, neither one of them even aware of the strange energy in the air. Not even Sonic, who had been the last to hold possession of the Emerald, before it had been lost to the void, upon the destruction of the eclipse cannon.

Another tug against his soul and Knuckles slowly got up, making his way toward the window and looked out at the stars. However, the pull did not originate from there. It was instead much closer. Coming from the surface of the planet he currently stood upon.

Again, it pulled on him and he could no longer ignore it. And so, taking one last moment to make sure that his clan would be safe while he was gone, he silently leapt to the circular window in the ceiling and made his way out onto the roof. Keeping his steps light upon the tiles as he oriented himself, finally focusing on the direction in which he was being called.

…

It took him a couple of hours to finally pinpoint the exact location of the energy source. Though the closer he got to it, the less he was sure of what it was. The sensation of pure chaos was that of the emeralds, yet it was only one.

He’d been afraid of that.

Without him present to restore it, the seven Chaos Emeralds were now let loose upon the world. Separated and scattered to who knew where, doing who knew what, just waiting for some unlucky sap to pick one up and go mad with power. That was why, even if the sensation of its energy felt worryingly - off, he had to secure it before something happened.

However, his quest was cut short, when the pull led him straight into the solid stone face of a cliff. Grumbling to himself, the echidna turned his eyes to the top of the wall, trying to focus on the pull and its point of origin. But it wasn’t coming from above, so he walked alongside the wall for a bit, only to snap back when the energy signal moved.

He only just managed to get his arm up to defend himself, as a mass of Chaos power crashed into him, and he had to swallow a scream of pain when his already broken wrist cracked under the pressure. With his vision going white for a second, he couldn’t see what was attacking him, before it suddenly snapped out of existence, only to reappear on his undefended side. However, this time he’d sensed it coming and reached out to wrap his fist around the attacking figure’s neck.

Twisting his whole body into the throw, he leveled the creature directly into the cliff face. The force of the impact sending a crack charging up the wall and creating a massive hole where a familiar shape rested at the center, clearly shocked by the sudden turn of events. And, for a horrifying second, Knuckles thought it was Sonic. But when his vision cleared of the pain, he realized it was another hedgehog.

“Shadow?” He asked, honestly shocked. They had all believed him to be dead. But before he could determine anything else, the hedgehog lifted his head, eye’s sparking with orange chaos energy, as he vanished again.

Still able to sense the lingering power of the Master Emerald within his attacker, Knuckles was able to pinpoint his returning location and prepared his defenses for the impact. However, he was still sent flying back into the forest from the pure strength behind the strike.

Branches and leaves snapped under him, as he rolled into the fall, eventually coming to a harsh stop at the base of a large tree, where he found himself gasping for air, his ribs protesting with each breath. But yet, he couldn’t help but smile. It had been so long since he’d had a worthy opponent, and while he truly loved his new home, there was really nothing there that could challenge him.

However, he kept his excitement in check, as he could still sense the vortex of energies inside his opponent. Now that he was close enough, he realized it was not a chaos emerald at all, but instead an intense built up of pure power that was likely equivalent to one, yet this was darker, fueled by fear and rage.

It was so intense that he was actually surprised Shadow was keeping it under control at all. Of course, that was before he looked up to find that the hedgehog had stopped his attack and was instead meandering about, clutching his head in pain. Clearly fighting to stay in command. However, the more he pushed it back down, the more pressure was built.

Even he wouldn’t be able to contain it forever.

Understanding now what he was looking at, Knuckles carefully got back to his feet, causing the hedgehog to freeze up for a split second, before turning to lock his eyes on the echidna. An action that honestly made him look more like a cornered and frightened animal, than the power chaos warrior he really was. But it didn’t take long for that unnatural vulnerability to fade again, replaced by a more familiar rage.

“What do you want?” He growled. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Realizing that his intentions had been misunderstood, Knuckles opened his mouth to explain. But didn’t get the chance, before the hedgehog was attacking him again. And, again, this was not a normal reaction.

Though they had met just a few times and fought only once, Knuckles had gotten a good read on his opponent. Shadow wasn’t the type to strike first, he was more patient than that, he waited for the opportunity, when his enemy had dropped their guard in the initial, overconfident moments of their attack. The fact that he had given up on the strategy that had won him so many battles was proof of just how panicked he truly was.

However, Knuckles couldn’t afford to show him sympathy. Shadow was not someone he could simply hesitate against. If he didn’t fight back, the hedgehog would go right through him.

Sensing the incoming attack, he dodged, just as Shadow reappeared to crush the tree he’d been leaning against. The force of the blow, sending the thing tumbling into the forest, but having missed his original opponent, the attack also left him slightly off kilter.

Taking advantage of this, Knuckles rushed in for a hit of his own and managed to just make contact, before the hedgehog snapped away. He didn’t get far, as he reappeared only a few feet to the right. But the force of Knuckles’ attack had not been negated, so he was left to slide and tumble across the forest floor, until he finally came to rest in a pile.

Keeping his guard up, the echidna carefully approached the unmoving form, hoping he hadn’t gone too far. But he pulled up again, when Shadow finally moved, slowly getting to his hands and knees, struggling for the breath that had been knocked out of him.

Eventually, his shock led him to look up and, for a moment, he looked like Shadow again, not afraid, just confident, maybe even impressed. But then the moment was shattered, as his body suddenly erupted with energy and he screamed, clutching at his head again, his chaotic presence moving erratically, as if torn between worlds. The power within him ready to rip itself free of his body and consume everything around it.

Feeling the buildup of energy, Knuckles’ attention was momentarily called toward the Wachowski home and the surrounding town. If the hedgehog’s power were to detonate, everything within miles would be leveled. Including his clan.

Immediately, he disregarded his own safety and rushed forward to take hold of Shadow’s arm, noticing that one of his gold rings was missing. But he didn’t get much of a chance to consider this fact, as the second he made contact with the hedgehog, the unfiltered chaos energy surged through his body, and he was flung backward again.

Thankfully, he didn’t get too far before he crashed into a boulder, but the impact left him momentarily dazed, and he felt a trickle of blood run down his face. However, before he could get up to try again, Shadow appeared to regain some form of control. But unfortunately, it was directed at him.

Shadow had always walked a fine line between light and darkness, but now he seemed to be teetering dangerously close to the abyss. His eyes were wild, unfocused, a storm of agony and rage, as the chaos energy threatened to consume him. And Knuckles knew that he had to act. Not just to protect everyone else from the disastrous fallout, but to protect his own life.

Summoning his strength, he pushed himself off the boulder, launching himself at Shadow and barely ducking under a wild energy blast that scorched the air above him. And, in a desperate and awkward reach, he finally got a hold on Shadow's arm.

Immediately he felt the searing heat of chaos raging through his body once more, but this time, he held on, trying desperately to ground the erratic energy. Of course, Shadow was not going to make it easy. As he quickly struck out with his other hand, hitting the echidna straight in the head and opening the already bleeding wound there, before changing his tactic and snapped them both to another location.

Somehow, despite all odds, Knuckles managed to keep his hold on the hedgehog, as they fell through the forest canopy, hitting the ground hard as they fought for control of the situation. Chaos sparking around them, turning leaves and twigs straight to ash and leaving scorch marks on anything it touched.

At some point, Knuckles realized that the screaming in his ears wasn’t just Shadow’s anymore, but also his own. The pain was so intense his body had simply stopped registering it. However, his mind was still reacting, trying to get him to let go. But he couldn’t, he had to hold on, he had to keep it under control – even if it killed him.

…

 “I’m – sure he’s fine.” Sonic said, though he wasn’t even able to convince himself let alone Maddie, who’d been waiting by the window for the last two hours. “It’s not like he hasn’t disappeared before.”

This was true, of course, that had been in the early days following Knuckles’ acceptance to the family. It had taken him a number of months to grow accustomed to the idea that he was now accountable to other people. People that worried about him when he disappeared for days on end. But he had slowly come to understand that, if he planned to be gone, he had to, at the very least, leave a note.

It hadn’t even been a full day since the family had woken up to discover their resident warrior was missing. But they’d just assumed he was training or patrolling. So, they had started their day like any other, expecting him to be back in time to eat. But breakfast had come and gone without him, leaving Maddie particularly irritated, but it was what it was. Then lunch had passed them by and still no sign of Knuckles, that was when she had started her pacing. It was almost dinner time now and the sun had almost completely set. Now they were all starting to worry.

“It’s not like him.” Maddie insisted for the hundredth time, as Tom walked up beside her to check the window as well.

“Alright boys.” He said softly but firmly causing Sonic and Tails to perk up, as the man turned to them. “Time to start the search.”

“Tom.” Maddie proclaimed sternly, reaching out to stop him from opening the door. “You just got out of the hospital. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But –”

“We will be searching.” She indicated the boys and herself, before poking the man in the chest, being careful of his broken collarbone. “You will be staying here; in case he comes home.”

The poor guy looked like he wanted to argue, it was almost painful to watch him give up on the idea of looking for one of his kids, but he knew she was right and complaining about it would only waste precious minutes of daylight.

Giving Tails a minute to get his bag of gadgets, they each took a flashlight and stepped out into the encroaching night, only to pause when something slowly emerged from the forest.

“Knuckles?” Sonic asked the too large form, stepping up to put himself between it and his family, in case it was something else. However, he just ended up staring, like a deer in headlights, when Maddie flipped on her flashlight to show them what it was.

It was Knuckles, but he was covered in blood and burns and looked to only be barely conscious. Despite that, he was still moving forward, carrying something on his back.

“Oh my god.” Maddie breathed in horror, being the first to respond, as she raced down the steps to him. Eventually everyone else followed, only to be pulled up again, when they got closer look at what Knuckles was carrying.

“Shadow?” Sonic whispered in both shock and anger, unable to really decide which was more appropriate for the moment. On the one hand, this was the hedgehog that had nearly killed his father and had seemingly just tried to kill his older brother too. But on the other, they’d also worked together to save the world just a few weeks before.

Needless to say, he was a tad conflicted when Knuckles locked onto his eyes, breathing harshly, and seemingly only able to open one eye, as the other was caked in blood. But he remained focused as he spoke. “Containment.” He forced out, but it seemed to use all the breath he had collected, as he had to lower his head to get more, prompting Sonic to finally snap out of his stupor and rush forward.

“What?” He asked, getting as close to his brother as possible, so he could hear what he had to say.

“His energy – it requires – containment.” He finally explained, before finally losing the battle with consciousness and collapsed. But Sonic was there to catch him, slowly lowering his brother to the ground, before lifting Shadow away, so Maddie could check him over.

By the time the two of them managed to carry Knuckles into the house, Tom and Tails had set up a makeshift hospital, clearing the living room for a mattress to take up space, and every single medical or veterinary object in the house was now placed somewhere nearby.

 Trusting Maddie to help his brother, Sonic forced himself to leave and return to the yard. Thankfully, the other hedgehog was still out cold and exactly where he’d left him. Though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it.

Eventually Tails followed him, having left to find something that could fulfill Knuckles’ request to contain Shadow’s energy. Though the only thing he’d come up with were the titanium handcuffs, which he had designed to hold creatures with massive amounts of energy like Sonic or Knuckles, so they could only hope it would be enough. In the end, they opted for two sets, one for his hands, the other for his feet. Just so the hedgehog couldn’t wake up in a bad mood and go on another rampage. After a couple of minutes, they also decided to bring him inside, if for no other reason, then he would be easier to keep an eye on there.

“How – is he?” Tails asked in a tiny, worried voice. Finding a place where he wouldn’t be in the way but also close enough that he could hold Knuckles’ hand, as Maddie cleaned and dressed his wounds.

“Thankfully, it’s not as bad as it looks.” She explained, obviously distressed, but was holding it together as their most experienced doctor. “But – he’s burning up and I don’t know why?”

Sonic came over as well, watching as Tails pulled out his little handheld computer to scan the echidna. However, before he could do so, Knuckles suddenly shifted, as if he were waking up and they all quickly rushed in, wanting to be there when he did. However, it seemed that Maddie had noticed something they hadn’t as she suddenly rushed to put her arms around his head, just before his body convulsed again.

“What’s happening?” Sonic demanded, only for Tom to pick up on the problem as well and pulled him and Tails back, as their brother began to shake and jerk, his back jackknifing so sharply that their feared it was about to break. But Maddie was able to roll him onto his side, still holding his head protectively, somehow able to keep his neck straight.

Eventually everyone else joined in, doing what they could to keep him still, as the full effects of the seizure took over, and his unnatural strength was suddenly turned against him. It took everything they had and maybe a little divine intervention, but they were able to keep him safe, as red chaos energy sparked to life, around the room.

It seemed to go on forever, but thankfully, at some point, everything slowly began to calm down again, and Knuckles started to breathe a little easier.

“Shhhh.” Maddie whispered, gently holding his hand when he mumbled something in his sleep. “It’s okay. We’re here. You’re safe.” She promised. Tears running down her checks, as she pressed their foreheads together.

“Tails.” Tom spoke up, turning to the fox and softly rubbed the kid’s back as he stood staring at his injured brother in complete horror. But the contact quickly brought him out of it and Tom handed him back his computer, knowing the best thing for the fox to do, in that moment, was distract himself. However, when he finally got the opportunity to run a scan and check over his findings, he seemed even more alarmed by what he’d discovered.

“What is it?” Sonic demanded worriedly, and the fox shook himself out of his shock once again.

“He – his body is full of chaos energy.” Everyone looked understandably confused by that.

“Isn’t that – normal, for him?” Tom asked, but Tails shook his head.

“Yes, but not like this.” He insisted, tapping at his computer, like he wasn’t sure if it was working properly. “His energy is usually neutral. But – now it’s got a negative charge. I – I don’t understand. That shouldn’t be possible. Unless –” He paused for a second, clearly coming up with an idea and lifted his eyes to look at Shadow. “Unless he absorbed someone else’s.”

“He can do that?” Sonic asked, but even Tails didn’t look convinced by his own hypothesis.

“I don’t know – in theory, he should be able to channel chaos energy, the same way you do with the Emeralds. But – normally someone with an innate chaos of their own can only handle one type at a time.” He looked up at Sonic, as if needing eye contact to calm himself down. “For example, your chaos charge is positive, if you were to take negative energy into your body, it would make you really, really sick, maybe – maybe even kill you.”

Sonic felt his heart skip a beat, as he looked back at Knuckles, who was thankfully still breathing. But – he’d never before been so badly hurt that he’d lost consciousness, and he’d certainly never had a seizure. “He – he’s gonna be okay – right?” He finally asked, looking back at the fox, who again looked unsure.

“I don’t even know how he managed to absorb this much energy, let alone survive the charge distortion.” He insisted, making everyone wince at his distracted word choice. “But, maybe –” He filtered off again, once more speculating the nature of this strange event. “It could be that his connection to the Master Emerald has given him a stronger advantage, maybe even an innate ability to channel and – possibly purify chaos energy.”

He suggested this as more of a question than a statement. As he clearly had no idea and just wanted to come up with something, anything but the presumption that his brother was simply dying.

“Hey.” Tom cut in, kneeling down to bring both Tails and Sonic into a one-armed hug. “Don’t you guys worry about him. You know Knuckles is more stubborn than that.”

Well, that was true.

Of course, they didn’t get the chance to discuss it further, before another moan had them all turning to look at the couch, as this one had instead come from Shadow. Immediately, Sonic was on his feet, putting himself between the hedgehog and his family, as the guy slowly opened his eyes and became aware of the fact that he was handcuffed.

This obviously woke him up, as he quickly tested his strength against the titanium. But, as promised, Tails had built them to withstand just about anything. Eventually his attention was instead drawn to Sonic, leaving them to just stare each other down for nearly a full minute, before Tom stood up to address the heavy atmosphere.

The effect was almost instant, as Shadow turned to look at him, his eyes widened in shock and all he could do was stare at the man, who he clearly believed to be dead.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Tom insisted when Sonic moved again to stand directly in front of his father, his fear and anger causing blue energy to radiate from his body. But the man was able to get ahold of his shoulder and gently bring him back to earth. “We’re all friends here. Isn’t that right Shadow?”

The hedgehog blinked as these words seemed to pull him from his stupor. However, he was clearly unable to respond, so Sonic did it for him. “Friends!?” He proclaimed in horror. “Are you kidding me? He nearly –”

“It was just an accident.” Tom insisted kindly, still not taking his eyes off of Shadow. “Just a simple case of mistaken identity – right?” He asked, and Shadow jumped as if his spirit had just slammed back into his body.

“I –” He tried, forcing himself to finally look away from the man he’d nearly killed, only to notice Knuckles instead and he tensed up again, causing Sonic to get right in his face this time. However, his rage soon dissipated, when Shadow looked up to meet his eyes and he remembered the moment, on the moon, when they’d been in nearly the same position. He’d been unable to act on his anger then – and couldn’t do it now.

Eventually Sonic managed to pull his eyes away and stood with his fists clenched and his breathing heavy, as he fought down the surge of chaos energy in his body, until it was finally gone.

“How?” Shadow spoke up again and Sonic twitched, but didn’t move, as the other hedgehog looked down at his cuffed wrists, not even trying to escape them anymore. “How did I get here?”

The room was quiet for a moment, but it was Tails that eventually broke the tension. “Knuckles carried you here.” He explained, his voice was a little jittery, but he was staying strong. Even when Shadow looked up at him, clearly shocked by this information and he turned to study the echidna once again. Only to quickly look away, when Sonic tensed up, prepared to jump in and defend his brother, if the black hedgehog so much as breathed the wrong way. However, Tails somehow found the courage to step forward and continue their conversation. “He – has a large amount of negative chaos energy in his body. Is – it yours?”

“What?” Shadow asked, clearly confused. Only to seemingly remember something and he looked down at his hands again, specifically focusing on his right wrist, which was missing an inhibitor ring. “He –” He proclaimed in shock, looking back at Knuckles, despite Sonic’s warning, only this time he looked almost flabbergasted, maybe even somewhat humbled. “He helped me? But – why?”

This got everyone’s attention, as it was pretty clear that Shadow was far too traumatized to lie. “What do you mean he helped you? What did he do?” Tails insisted, trying to collect as much data as possible, in order to help his brother. But, for a moment, the hedgehog just looked back at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists, before finally answering the fox’s question.

“Without my ring – my power was unstable. I couldn’t control it anymore. I was – I was going to – die.” He admitted simply, looking back at Knuckles once again. “He must have syphoned it off. That’s the only way I could still be alive right now.”

“Okay.” Tails muttered shakily, running his thoughts through his brain analyzer. “Can – you syphon it back?” He asked, but Shadow only shook his head.

“I don’t have that ability. I’m honestly surprised that he does.”

Tails made a noise of deep concern and bit his finger in consideration. Desperately trying to find a way to help his brother, before finally focusing on Shadow’s inhibitor rings, and reached over to poke one, barely even noticing anymore that he was in the presence of their most dangerous enemy to date. “Would these be able to help him?” He asked, but again Shadow shook his head.

“They are designed to contain my power, not remove it.”

The fox was about to ask another question, when Maddie called them back and they all turned to find that Knuckles was actually waking up. Though he was still groggy and not all there yet.

“Knuckles.” Maddie whispered, gently rubbing her thumb along the bridge of his muzzle. “Hey honey. Talk to me.”

“Mo – ther.” He mumbled and everyone kind of started a little, having never heard him call her that before. However, it wasn’t exactly clear whether he was aware of this fact or if it was a case of mistaken identity, and Maddie looked as if she might melt into a puddle of happy tears, so no one had the heart to either confirm or deny it.

Eventually, with a little more coxing, the echidna opened his eyes. Though they were dull and unfocused at first, he started to slowly come around. Leading Tails to pull out his computer again and scan him.

“What?” Sonic asked, when the little fox looked at his screen in shock.

“It’s – going down.” Tails proclaimed in a tone of voice that suggested that this simply should not be possible.

“What?” Shadow demanded and they turned back to him. “Where is it going?” He asked, clearly aware that that would be the only reason for the fox’s explanation. But Tails only shrugged, looking back at his computer again and smiled a nervous little grin, clearly happy that his brother was okay, even if there was no explanation for it.

“Contain?” Knuckles told the ceiling groggily, as he tried to get his arms to work and push himself up, but he didn’t accomplish much more than getting Maddie irritated with him.

“Don’t worry, big guy.” Sonic told him, kneeling down to place his hand on the echidna’s shoulder, to help keep him from moving, and smiled when their eyes met. “We got it under control. Now the only thing you need to do is get better.”

This finally helped the warrior to relax, in fact, they’d never seem him look so relieved. It made them wonder just what kind of serious situation they had truly missed in the subtests. Either way, he was able to focus on other things now, as he slowly turned to look at Maddie again, his expression a little drunkenly sheepish.

“I’m – sorry.” He offered, looking like he was afraid he was about to be grounded. “I’m – late for breakfast.”

…

They tried moving Knuckles to the spare room, or Shadow to the garage, but the echidna was having none of it. Despite not even being able to sit up yet, he insisted on keeping an eye on the hedgehog. Which meant that Sonic was pretty much permanently rooted to a nearby chair. And Tails had moved everything he’d need into the dining room, so he could work on something to help contain Shadow’s energy while still being close by.

Tom seemed to magically appear anytime there was even a hint of animosity. Maddie was usually checking on Knuckles’ or Shadow’s recovery or making sure that her husband didn’t do anything he wasn’t supposed to. An endless task, considering the man’s worst enemy was boredom.

Then there was good old Ozzy, who was always whenever someone needed a snuggle or a pet. He even managed to get through to Shadow a few times. Of course, Shadow hadn’t moved from the couch once since he’d gotten there. And thankfully seemed content to keep it that way, at least until Tails was finished with his new inhibitor ring.

“Why did you help me?” Sonic opened his eyes, when Shadow said this and slowly shifted until he could see the other two occupants of the room. It was night and everyone was supposed to be asleep. However, Knuckles casually opened his eyes as if he’d just been waiting for the black hedgehog to speak.

“Because I had to.” He whispered back. “Your energy was unstable. If I had done nothing, it would have destroyed my home.” He clenched his fists, before turning to glare at Shadow. “I have lost everything once. I will not allow it to happen again.”

Shadow looked shocked by this reviolation and slowly looked away from the echidna’s intense stare. “Still, you could have achieved the same goal – by just killing me.” He pointed out, only for Knuckles to suddenly sit bolt upright, despite clearly feeling some discomfort from the action.

“Do not tell me how to achieve my goals, hedgehog.” He snarled angrily, somehow able to keep his voice down, so as not to wake anyone else. “For years others have tried to make me kill for them. I would not do it then; I will not do it now.”

Sonic twitched at this sudden revelation, realizing that his brother was talking about things that he’d never brought up before. He had always claimed that his past was just that ‘the past’ and he had no need for it anymore. However, it seemed that something about his interaction with Shadow had opened the flood gates.

And it appeared that Shadow was picking up on this as well, as he slowly turned to look at him again. “If those people were truly so evil, then killing them would have been a blessing.” He insisted, clearly convinced of that, as he met Knuckles gaze firmly and without fear. However, the echidna didn’t waver either.

“Perhaps.” He admitted.

“Then why not just kill them? You have the power.”

It was Knuckles who looked away this time and lifted his hands as if to check them for something. “I nearly did.” He said and Sonic started to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t want to spy on his brother, but at the same time, he couldn’t make himself speak up. “I faced that monster you refer to as revenge.” Knuckles spoke again and looked back at Shadow, more determined than he had been before. “And it nearly consumed me.”

Shadow blinked and honestly looked a bit taken aback. “So?” He finally asked. “At least you would have had –”

“I would have had nothing.” Knuckles corrected him sternly. “Killing him would not have taken my pain away or returned the years that he took from me. All I would have achieved was becoming that which I hated.” It was clear that Shadow had never actually considered this in his own quest for revenge, as he suddenly looked far away in his thoughts, which made Knuckles soften his words as well. “It took everything I had to get back even a small piece of myself, when all was said and done.” He revealed quietly and Shadow looked back at him again. “If I had turned against my own beliefs, turned against everything I knew to be right. I would not have been able to find even that. I would never be able to face my father again.”

Shadow considered this for well over a minute, before finally speaking up, though there was something else in his voice now. Like he was in physical pain, upon realizing just how close he had come to doing the same thing, to turning against everything Maria had stood for and never being able to face her memory.

“You said – you lost everything once?” He asked, almost like he hadn’t meant the words to actually be said aloud. However, he still looked back at the echidna, prepared to finish the question anyway. “What is – everything?”

Knuckles just continued to stare at his hands for another moment, lost in his own thoughts. “Everything.” He answered simply. “My clan, my father, my home, my freedom, even my own memories were slowly stripped away. The person I once was – died, and I have never been able to get it back.” He finally looked up at Shadow again, an odd softness to his eyes now. “But – I have found a new life now. I have a family here, friends, brothers. And I have slowly come to find the person that I want to be. It is not the same, but that doesn’t matter. This is my island to protect. This is my home.”

Shadow slowly looked up again and he too seemed to soften a little, to the point where he almost smiled. “How did you do it?” He whispered and Knuckles smiled back, before turning to look over his shoulder and Sonic jumped, as he met his eyes.

Realizing he’d been caught, or maybe they’d known all along that he was listening, he smiled back and slowly untangled himself from his blanket. Then he sighed and looked at Shadow, finally feeling all of his anger and fear fading away. If Knuckles could do it, after losing so much more than anyone should ever have to, then how could he, the one who’d actually managed to pull him back from the edge, do any less.

“It’s not easy, Shadow.” He spoke up at last, the other hedgehog seemingly coming alive for the first time since they had met. As the three of them found connection in their shared losses and their shared love. “But you don’t do it for yourself.” Sonic continued, feeling tears in his eyes. “You do it for them. The ones we had to leave behind. Because – if we don’t live for them, no one else will.”

…

Chapter 2

(Warnings: Blood, seizures, death, trauma, loss, mentions of slavery)

[prolix-yuy]

Olive Branch

Pairing: Francisco Morales x F!Reader

Summary: If Frankie doesn't like olives, then what does he like?

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: T, alcohol consumption, mention of drug use, incredibly tame for me, hints of spice. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: I was challenged by @happypedrohours to write a story involving Frankie and olives, and what do you know, these are two of my favorite things! I was snickering to myself the entire time as the olive metaphor rolled out, but what the hell, we're gonna keep it in! Enjoy my friends, and Happy Pedro Hours!

Cross-posted on AO3

When it slides in front of you, you know it’s a good one. You watched the bartender make one at the end of the bar and it was just how you like it. Dry, cold, three olives on a hardy metal toothpick. You were practically salivating by the time you ordered your own and it slid in front of you, shining like the Holy Grail.

“Didn’t know you liked martinis.”

Head whipping around, you stutter out a laugh as Frankie slides in next to you. He perches an elbow on the bar, free shoulder coming close as the crowd tucks you into each other. Your eyes dart to his crinkled brown ones, then to your drink, and back again to distract from the proximity. His hand is tucked into his faded jeans, but it wouldn’t take much to cup your elbow or wrap around your waist. 

“On special occasions,” you quip, tossing your head at Will and Tatiana surrounded by your friends. She’s showing the girls the ring, the men clapping hands on Will’s back and making him laugh. The air holds the fresh taste of new beginnings.

“Never had much of a taste for ‘em. Just gasoline in a glass,” he replies. Your face must be ten levels of indigent with how quickly his eyebrows shoot up.

“Do I look like a car to you?” 

Frankie’s eyes twinkle, and it flips your stomach.

“Definitely a hot rod.”

You laugh it off, rolling your eyes. He’s never serious, after all. He likes to ply you with compliments just short of flirty and leave you high and dry at the end of the night. The first time it stung so hard you didn’t go out with the boys for weeks. 

“He’s just a little fucked in the head, don’t take it too personal,” Santi told you when he finally wrestled the reason for your absence out. “Can’t stop chasing anything messy with two legs. Last girlfriend was a cokehead, even worse before that. He likes ‘em pretty and crazy, and he bags ‘em left and right. They always leave him worse for wear.” Santi’s eyes narrowed over his knowing smirk. “So now you like him?”

“Fuck no,” you spat out, arms folded tight. “I don’t deal with boys who play games.”

Yet here you are, again, with Frankie, ready to roll the dice yet again. At least he doesn’t know you’ve still got a soft spot for him ready to land.

“I’ll ignore the fact that you called Hendricks gasoline,” you scold, sliding your gleaming prize closer on its soggy black napkin. “There’s also vermouth, and olives.” You take a sip, the warmth of the gin and sharp salt of the charcuterie mainstay sweeping across your tongue. Frankie’s eyes drifting down to your lips on the rim of the glass.

What a cocktease. At least most men who eyefuck you actually follow through.

“Shaken, not stirred?” he quips in a rough approximation of a Scottish accent. You snort, instantly regretting it as the burn of brine and alcohol decimates your sense of smell. Trying to hide it under a tiny cough, Frankie’s face turns to the bar.

“Not much of an olive guy either, so you're 0 for 3 on convincing me.” 

You don’t know why, but your stomach sinks briefly as you gingerly twist the glass stem between your fingers. 

“Perfect, more for me then,” you shoot back brightly, but he looks back a fraction too soon before the disappointment flits away. 

“C’mon, you know you were never gonna change my mind,” he teases, jostling you with his shoulder as he motions for the bartender. 

“Never said I was,” you add absentmindedly. 

Frankie will never be an option. He’s made it clear time and time again that he doesn’t choose you. But sometimes, when you let your mind drift, you think about how it could happen. Some dark room where he finally finds something he’s been looking for. The brushing of noses and near-misses before one of you finally acts and you’d know what his lips feel like. Then he would lick into your mouth and his flavor would dance with acidity and botanicals on your tongue and he’d moan at how good you taste.

But he doesn’t even like olives. Or you.

Frankie’s drink is a golden lager, malt rising to your nose. You like beer too. You like a lot of things. You could sit at this bar and talk about your favorite drinks for hours. You’re not just the martini girl. You’re so much more. 

You need some air. Your daydreams are getting in the way of enjoying the night and Frankie’s none the wiser, so best keep it that way.

“I’m gonna bring my gasoline olives back to the party,” you say, ducking out from Frankie’s body without waiting for a reply. Maybe catching a glimpse of surprise, you strut back to the girls. The warmth of their excitement and enthusiasm reinvigorate your tight throat. 

Your drink dwindles slowly, savoring the clean flavor and crushing the olives one by one between your teeth. One of the girls tries the dregs of your glass and wants one of her own, so you weave back to the bar so you can help her order. A holler rises from the boys around Will, and when you look you catch Frankie’s face again. He’s all beaming smiles, eyes barely visible from behind his crows feet and gleaming teeth. He catches your eye and his smile softens, and over the din of the bar he mouths “you good?”

You nod. Of course you are. What would Frankie know about that?

The drinks come, followed by cheers and hums of contentment. You will definitely be tipping well tonight. Before you can make it back to the group Benny cuts off your path, swooping one arm behind your back and your free hand into his. 

“No no no, Benny, I’ll spill!” you shriek, feeling the telltale wetness of a sloshed drink over your fingers. “Shit, I think I got it on the back of your shirt…”

“Ah, I’ve had worse,” Benny says, mock-dancing with you to the barely audible music. 

“How’s Will?” you ask, leaning over his shoulder to snag a healthy sip of the martini. Now a more manageable level, you let Benny lead you away from the bar.

“So in love it makes me sick.” You raise an eyebrow. “In a good way!” he adds, turning you so the man in question is visible. Tatiana’s tucked under his arm, and his mouth drifts to kiss the top of her head.

“You know what, I get it,” you agree, the both of you snickering as the tempo of the music changes. It might be a Hozier song? It’s hard to tell over the babble of voices.

“How are you?” he asks, feigned innocence a red flag flicked in front of your eyes.

“Peachy. Why?”

Benny’s hand squeezes yours in a soothing rhythm.

“Hey, don’t bite my head off. Fish mentioned you seemed down. Something about olives?”

The flash of heat rocketing to your face has to be combatted, so you choose comedy.

“Oh yeah, the fact that they never give me enough in my damn drink. Could drive a woman to tears!” Your put-on mid-atlantic accent doesn’t sell it. Benny chews on the inside of his cheek before leaning to bring his mouth to your ear.

“I know you’re gonna tell me to fuck off…”

“Then you don’t have to say anything.”

“...but you and I both know this ain’t about olives.”

You lean back, jaw set and eyes cool.

“You’re right. It’s about absolutely nothing.”

“Hey…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Benny lets go and you down the rest of your drink. It burns and you hate yourself for it, but it feels good to let liquid frustration carve through the center of you. 

“It’s late, and bar snacks aren’t gonna soak up the hangover I’ll have tomorrow. I’m gonna say bye to Will and Tatiana, get a cheeseburger, and go home.” Benny puts his hands on his hips, blue eyes filled with a brotherly care you know better than to try and tamp down.

“And it’s not about olives?”

Plucking the toothpick full of metaphor out of the glass, you point it at him.

“It’s not about olives.”

Benny relents, and walks you over to the happy couple. Promises of more drinks and a bachelorette party are half shouted before you pick through the crowd and exit the front of the bar. 

The air is just starting to get cool, alcohol thrumming in your blood. You love the way a martini buzz feels, your mind crystal and your body sharp as glass. It’s different from the smoky haze of scotch or the sluggish thudding of beer. Martinis make you diamond.

Which is why you notice Frankie immediately upon his exit, even though you can tell he wanted to go unseen for a few moments longer. He fumbles his hands into his pockets, ambling up to stand beside you while you glare at the Uber app.

“Got a ride coming?” 

“Eventually.”

He nods and stares at the toes of his boots, which you observe surreptitiously. The progress bar keeps filling and emptying as the silence stretches. 

“I’m sorry for shitting on your drink.”

You can’t help but snap your face to him, eyebrows raised.

“I sure hope you didn’t shit on my drink.”

The poor choice of words quirks the corner of your mouth as Frankie tries to recover.

“Jesus Christ, I mean…you know what I mean! I didn’t mean to be a dick,” he says, now contemplating the sky with resignation. There's still a fight in you, but you try to meet halfway.

“S’all good, I shit on your terrible beers all the time. We’re even.” You glance back at the app and shut it out of frustration. You’ll try again in a minute. 

“I don’t hate olives, either,” he rushes out. You roll your eyes, shoulders slumping. God, could they just let this go? You’re embarrassed enough about it. Before you can make another joke, another deflection, he barrels on.

“To be honest, I’ve never tried…olives. I see them all the time - at parties, at the bar, at friend’s houses - and there always seems to be some reason not to try them. I’m always having something else, or just had something, and I don’t want to…I’m afraid if I try the olives, I’ll really like them. And I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. And that’s been scaring me off from even trying.” 

Frankie looks up at you, mouth parted and brow furrowed, as realization rises slow and fizzy.

“Because I think I could really, really like them. Enough that I’d want them all the time. But I’ve never had anything like that before. And I don’t want to hurt the…olives.”

Your heart is thudding in your ears, lower lip close to a betraying tremble before you force it between your teeth..

“You don’t want to hurt…the olives,” you parrot back and Frankie sighs, lifting his cap enough to rake his fingers through his hair before resettling it. 

“Fuck it, you know what I mean, right? It’s not about…it’s not about the fucking olives,” he says, and one of his hands wraps around your shoulder. It’s hot and strong and your chest swells at the touch.

“If it’s not about the olives,” you say, tentative, voice dropping into a lower register. He’s closer, almost as close as in the bar, thumb worrying back and forth over your shirt. “Then why don’t you show me what it is about?”

You expected more hesitation, but with that permission he lunges for you, cupping your face with both hands as he crashes your lips together. It’s fast and messy, teeth pressed against your lips and his tongue slipping in to taste. He groans and your knees go weak, head spinning worse than any drink could hope to do. You clutch the lapels of his canvas jacket and pull him closer, sweeping strokes of your kiss filling your mouth with bitter hops. With a lurch he pulls back.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but he continues to clutch at you, arm banding around your waist to keep you snug against him. 

“For what?” you tease, sliding your nose along his proud profile. 

“Takin’ so fuckin’ long.” His teeth graze your jaw lightly, heat pooling in a place that’s demanding a more private location for proper penance.

“I think you owe me a lot more than one very good kiss, after everything you’ve put me through,” you contemplate, his grip tightening. 

“Still waiting for your ride?”

Your fingers wander to the nape of his neck, and his curls are just as soft as you imagined.

“No.”

A gentler kiss follows, broader, somehow still able to make your head spin.

“Good, you’re coming home with me so I can properly apologize.”

The next morning as Frankie opens his front door for his breakfast delivery, he finds a pristine jar of olives resting on his welcome mat. The scrawled note - better start getting a taste for these! - is clearly in Benny’s handwriting. The memory of your body, soft and sleeping in his bed, pulls him back inside. 

After everything that got him here, he could learn to like olives.

END

"This is where righteousness ends It’s a relief to wave this overdue white flag and My blind spots have tortured you enough How much salt could I pour in To think that I called myself a friend."

Alanis Morissette, Olive Branch

[lightsovermonaco]

Wedding Date, Part 2 (Pato O'Ward)

an: requests and comments always welcome! There will be at least two more parts to this series.

wc: 3800

Summary: Pato is in need of a wedding date, desperately. Despite hating him, and despite him knowing it, he asks you to be his date and you agree.

Okay, maybe Pato isn't all bad. If your favorite childhood Disney movie trilogy taught you anything, it's that everyone has some good in them, no matter how sour they seem. (High school musical, for the record- even Sharpay had her positive moments.)

Inherently bad people don't pay the aquarium entry fee for their fake date, or purchase the add-on ticket that allows you access to the touch tank. Perhaps Pato was revealing the best parts of himself in an attempt to impress you. Normally you're not inclined to let someone throw money around like that but… Pato had invited you. That counted for something.

For now, you give Pato the benefit of the doubt, extending him an olive branch in the form of holding your tongue. He is your employer after all- well, in a sense, at least. You do owe him some debt of gratitude for flying you out here, paying for your room, your dress, all of it. So you allow him to set the pace, occupying yourself by reading the plaques on the walls. 

While you're happy to take your time stopping at all the tanks, Pato gravitates towards the wrap-around shark tank the moment it comes into view. You let him wander, keeping him at the edge of your vision while you check out another nearby exhibit filled with brightly colored fish the size of your palm.  

Pato steps into the tunnel, utterly nonplussed by the thousands of gallons of saltwater pressing against the glass on either side of him. The water casts a cool, blue glow over him as he cranes his neck to see a bull shark swim over his head. His mouth falls open as he turns to track the animal as it glides through the water, gaping like a kid in a candy store. 

“Wooowww, did you see that? Amazing!” Pato’s boyish grin is something out of a story book. His following laugh draws the attention of a young, blonde woman to his left. She blatantly stares at Pato, eating him up like Christmas dinner.

Something curdles in your gut. Objectively, you know it's not Pato's fault that people become ensnared by him the second they're in his orbit. But you can't wrap your head around why people are so infatuated with him in the first place. He's just a guy that drives fast cars for a living. What makes him so special? 

“The shark? Yeah, it's great.” You roll your eyes and turn back to the tank you'd been examining. Tiny fish no larger than a stick of chewing gum dart through a miniature rainbow coral reef. The sign above the tank proudly encourages visitors to ‘find nemo!’, including a photo of a clown fish with only a single white stripe on its body. You're determined to find it, nose bumping the glass as you go up on your tiptoes for a new angle. 

“Bella, come look at this.” Apparently, Pato is equally determined to ensure you do not have a moment of peace. His voice grates on your nerves, though your feet propel you forward against your better judgment. It's a learned reflex and one you now curse yourself for developing. Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, you cannot stop yourself from answering Pato’s call- you blame Emma, head of Arrow McLaren's PR team for that. “How many times do I have to tell you my name isn't Bella?”

Pato looks at you as if to say yes I am aware but does not correct himself. You sigh, arms crossed over your chest. “What did you call me over here for?”

Like you had done seconds before, Pato presses his face to the tank and jabs his finger at something down below. It's hypocritical, but you cannot help noting the childishness of the action.

“Look at that one. The little one at the bottom, isn't it adorable?” Pato glances over his shoulder to confirm you follow his line of sight. You hum politely, not even remotely interested. “That's a nurse shark- they're pretty much harmless. They're known for being friendly, but they're fourth on the list for biting humans. Their teeth are tiny though, so really they don't cause too much harm.” Maybe he isn’t as much of a himbo as you thought. Apparently, Indycar’s golden boy knows a thing or two about aquatics. “I touched one once when I was snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef- I'll never forget that.”

Ah, there it was. The humble brag, which is almost certainly the real reason he'd called you over here. It's like he knows exactly what buttons to press to get a reaction out of you, and as much as you hate it, it's effective. You shouldn't give in- you should let the subtle jab roll off your back like a wave instead of rising to the challenge, but you just can't.

“Great, any other world travels you'd like to rub in my face? What about the hammerhead- did you swim with those when you were free-diving in the Galapagos?”

Something flickers on Pato’s face that you don't recognize. His eyebrows twitch downward and he purses his lips ever so slightly. It is gone in a flash, smoothed over by his usual aloof mask, “that doesn't make any sense. Hammerhead sharks don't live-”

You've had enough. Dealing with his high and mighty ass day in and day out during the season is torture enough. Enduring it now in the off-season is entirely too much to bear. When you agreed to come sightseeing with him, you imagined him as your silent human GPS and your face stuck in your phone whilst you took ten thousand photos. Instead, you're at the aquarium- which you won't complain about- with a man who insists on flaunting his lifetime of luxury experiences over your head- which you will complain about. 

“Look Pato, it was nice of you to bring me here and all, but I don't need a zoology lesson. Listening to you drone on about your beautiful tropical vacation that probably costs more than I make in a year doesn't sound interesting to me, and I don't feel like entertaining your ego. I'm gonna go find anywhere else to be,” you point your thumb over your shoulder, and then pivot to point at the tank in front of you, “and you can stay here with your sharks. Have fun.”

Pato has the audacity to look hurt by your outburst. “Oh. Right. Sorry for bothering you.” A pang of guilt hits your stomach when Pato stuffs his hands in his pockets and sighs. You dig your nails into your palm to resist the urge to apologize when you haven't done anything wrong. “You can just send me a message when you're ready to go. I'll be wandering around, but I promise I won't bother you.” 

Finally, peace.

Without another word, you spin on your heel and search for the signs pointing you to the touch tank, the one thing you are genuinely excited about experiencing. To be honest, a visit to the aquarium was already on your agenda before Pato brought it up. Marine life is something you've enjoyed since you were little, with your fascination dating from the first trip your family took to the ocean. Since then, you've consumed an unfathomable amount of media about all things ocean related, from documentaries to blog posts written by top activists. Oceanography was a career path you briefly explored at one point before deciding the long hours, low pay and tough competition wasn't worth the effort. Ironic that your current job also ticks all three of those boxes, and yet that hadn't deterred you.

The queue for the touch tanks is mainly comprised of families with young children, with a few couples scattered through as well. It feels a bit odd to be in line on your own, but that won't stop you. The bored teenager manning the entry line notes the neon pink band on your wrist and waves you through without a fuss. 

Excitement unfurls in your chest as you take a moment to soak it all in. Two semi-sunken tanks sit on either side of the exhibit, both the size of a small swimming pool. The sides are clear so that the children running about have a clear view of what's inside. The few attendants near the tanks are too busy reminding the little devils to be gentle and not poke the sea life too forcefully to deal with the kids running free.

Seeking a refuge from the chaos, you tuck yourself in a quieter corner away from most people. Your elbows rest on the thick plexiglass as you lean over for a view of the urchins, coral, and sea stars who are, like you, attempting to find some room to breathe. 

“I promise I'm gentler than most of those kids,” you say quietly, like the animals can understand you. Rolling up the sleeves of your chunky knit cream sweater, you dip your hand in the saltwater tank. The cold is a welcome shock to your senses. You gently run your fingers over the bumpy arms of a starfish, which somehow brings to mind the texture of tire marbles on a track. 

The sea creatures creep slowly through the water. You imagine they're on their commutes, either headed home or going to their mundane office jobs on the other side of the tank. There's a certain level of calm beneath the surface despite the occasional shriek from an unruly child. Simply having a hand in the saltwater is enough to regulate your body. Your frustration ebbs away with each passing second until your head is finally cleared of any lingering red fog.   

Circumstances aside, you're glad you're here. Visiting aquariums feels like reconnecting with yourself, a reset of sorts that erases your unease and replaces it with optimism. Did Pato know about your love of water, or did he simply get lucky? 

Guilt wraps around your shoulders like a blanket. You shouldn't have stormed off like you did, you know that. It's not your fault that Pato's unexpected kindness has put you on the back foot. Deep down, part of you knows Pato wasn't trying to brag. 

Despite witnessing his giving personality first hand in the past, having it directed at you is hard to wrap your head around. Whether it be making time to sign as many autographs as possible or purposely building time into his schedule to greet fans ahead of every grand prix on the calendar, Pato always showers his supporters with kindness. 

Now that you think about it, Pato hasn't once treated you as beneath him, despite the power balance in your relationship being skewed heavily in his favor. He's treated you as somewhat of an equal. Which is… an interesting revelation, and one that is best left in a dusty corner of your mind and unpacked another day. 

The sting rays are your next stop, your childhood favorites. Your heart beats a little faster when you approach the water despite knowing the captive creatures are perfectly harmless. Their barbs are kepts closely trimmed, and only the most docile of the animals are allowed into the exhibit. Still, your courage takes a minute or two to build before you stick a tentative hand into the water and brush a light gray ray as it swims past. 

“Beautiful,” you mumble to yourself. The surface of the water ripples when a ray chases your hand as you go to withdraw it. Leaning heavier on the tank now, you submerge your arm to the elbow in an effort to interact with any stingray that seems interested. Perhaps they intuitively know how much you admire them and that's why they seem drawn to you. Whatever the reason, you're perfectly content to stay just as you are, even when pins and needles prick your arm from lack of movement. 

**********

Promises aren't Pato’s forte. He does his best to uphold them, but once he gets bored it's easy to forget said verbal pacts. 

Pato walks through the entire aquarium twice and even stops to sit and watch the otters for fifteen minutes before he gives up. His watch vibrates thirty seconds after he stops pacing, alerting him that his ‘workout’ has ended. Sitting still is another thing he isn't exactly good at, hence his choice of high-octane career. 

If Pato has to make another lap, he might lose his mind- despite almost certainly doubling his step count for the day.  

So he breaks his promise and goes looking for you. Scavenger hunts aren't something Pato actively enjoys, though he is quite apt at them. Being trained to quantify small details means that he can often pick up clues easier than most. He suggested the aquarium because he  had overheard you talking about the ocean once. The wistful love in your eyes had taken his breath away, and he had understood then how much sway the water had over you.

Pato also happens to know that sting rays are one of your top five favorite animals; another fact he had picked up on after seeing the documentary you chose to watch on the plane. After only a few short minutes, Pato finds you by the touch tanks, leaning over the two inch thick plexiglass side and straining to reach a stingray that evades your advances. The sleeve of your sweater drags in the water, but that doesn't stop you. Pato quietly steps up to the tank a few feet away and merely observes. 

“Come on little guy, I just want to say hi,” you murmur, completely oblivious to his presence. A noise of frustration escapes you seemingly without your notice. It's adorable. The urge to squish your cheeks and inform you of that is compelling. Luckily, Pato is good at repressing said urges, particularly when it comes to you.

“Do you need some help hermosa?” Pato’s smile is the equivalent of a white flag of surrender when you glance at him.

“No, I'm fine.” You push up onto your tiptoes to gain a few more inches of leverage. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth, a telltale sign of your laser focus. Pato's seen that sort of look on you when you're holed up in his driver's room crafting the perfect socials post. “This is the only one that I haven't pet yet. All the others wouldn't leave me alone. I just… want it to… trust me…” 

Never did it cross Pato’s mind that one day he might have something in common with a stingray. No matter how hard Pato tries to be kind and considerate and moreover prove that he's a half decent man, you don't catch on. Like now, as you attempt to coax the stingray from its hiding spot beneath a rocky ledge with a piece of dinner, the ray remains steadfast in its decision to remain concealed where it believes itself to be safe. 

If it would just swim out if it's comfort zone… and if you would step out of yours- perhaps you could be friends. One of you has to take a leap of faith, and considering how you have shown no interest at all in doing so, Pato supposes it's up to him. Heavy lifting is something he does regularly, just in a literal sense, but how hard could it be to do figuratively?

“Here, use this.” Pato grabs the small step stool leaning on the opposite side of the tank and brings it over. He pats the step like it's gold plated and then smiles, “that should give you enough of a boost that you can drop it right in front of him. He might just be new to the touch tank, maybe he's not used to humans yet.” 

“I guess that's a good point.” Though you eye him warily, you accept his help and the extra six inches of leverage is exactly what you needed. Now you can just about reach the ray, and it seems more curious now that your hand rests under the ledge in front of it. 

“Ah! There! That's perfect.” Now that you're within its bubble, the ray happily takes the fish from your hand before immediately retreating to safety. “Perfect, that's perfect! Thanks Pato-” 

You weren't aware of how your arm pressed against Pato's when you gripped the glass for balance, but he was. He hadn't dared to move a muscle. Water from your drenched sleeve drips onto his hand, ice cold and scorching hot at the same time. Time stretches like taffy into what feels like hours but in reality is only a few seconds before you realize your error and break the contact. 

“Sorry. Didn't mean to get you all wet.”

You'd done more than dampen his sleeve; you've tied his stomach in knots. “It's alright. Don't worry about it.”

You absently wipe your wet hand on your sweater. Pato mentally wills you to look at him. His message goes unanswered and your attention is awarded to the view outside the window, “I'm ready to leave now. I didn't mean to keep you here so long. You could've left, you didn't have to wait for me.” 

Pato knows you mean that, too. Whether you admit it or not, he knows you hate feeling like an inconvenience. When the crew invites you out after a race, you're always the first to suggest a restaurant choice that's neutral and well-loved by the majority rather than picking something you like. Pato's heart aches on your behalf, a physical squeeze in his chest that steals his breath. 

Because what you don't realize is that Pato would set the world at your feet if he could. Your rough, impenetrable exterior is a defense mechanism. On the rare occasion that you let yourself enjoy and live in the moment, your brilliance exceeds that of the stars that paint the night sky over his hometown. And upon your request, Pato would pluck each of those stars and fasten you a crown of starlight fit for a queen.

Damn, he was down bad. Elba had warned him that inviting you to Copenhagen may wind up being the death of him. He would rather burn his lucky boots than admit she was right, but Pato fears there may have been some wisdom in her warning. 

“It's alright,” Pato says. “I don't mind. I've had my fill of watching sea otters play for a while though, which is good cause who knows when I'll have time to do something like this again.”

Your laugh is more or less a huff and roll of your eyes, but you know what? Pato will take that. It's an improvement over the icy facade you’ve insisted on wearing, albeit a small one. Progress is progress; shaving a tenth off his lap time is still better than nothing. He may as well build on his lead. 

“So, I was thinking we could grab something to eat on the way to our next stop? Honestly there's a few sights around here I think we should at least walk by, we could just see what sounds good along the way.”

“I guess that's fine.” 

There's another few hundredths shaved off. Another step in the right direction. 

Pato is careful to keep his distance while you walk and is generally happy to let you take the lead. Which is odd for him, because in all other aspects of his life, he has to be in control. But in your presence, his brain recognizes some green flag that tells him ‘hey, you don't have to worry around this girl, she'll sort everything out’ and it's damn refreshing. The never ending string of thoughts in his head goes inexplicably quiet around you. He doesn't worry about what he's wearing because you quite literally could not care less if he was wearing a potato sack- as long as there was no cameras in the immediate vicinity. He doesn't have to paste on a plastic smile when he's in a mood because you don't expect him to be sunny, happy Pato every second of every day. 

Pato can simply exist around you, be a human being with thoughts, feelings, needs. He's starting to think that is the most precious thing. 

“This looks delicious,” you say, pulling him out of his thoughts when you stop on the sidewalk. “How’s gelato sound?” 

Pato raises an eyebrow, “do you know me at all? When have I ever said no to frozen dessert? If they have any sort of chocolate flavor, I’m game.”

“Considering that chocolate is literally one of the two classic flavors, I think you’re safe there.”

“Hopefully it's as good as that place you took me to after Road America- that little vintage place? How many scoops did I have that day?”

Your laugh is a sound that Pato will never tire of. And now, when it bubbles out of you freely, it sends an unfamiliar heat to his cheeks. “I lost count after five. I still have no idea how you weren't sick! I couldn't imagine having that much in one go.” You wag a finger at him as the line moves forward and brings you closer to a sweet treat, “gotta admit, I was impressed.”

“So… Sounds like I have to get six scoops here and break my own record?” 

“Oh no please don't-” 

“Kinda sounded like a challenge from you though-” 

“Pato don't, seriously don't because then you'll be sick!” Your hand lands on Pato's forearm and squeezes to emphasize your plea. 

Pato hums, glances at the man waiting for your order. “You first cariño, pick one.” 

Pato isn’t sure if you’ve picked up on any spanish, but he uses little nicknames with you anyway. Whether you know what the affectionate words mean or not, your cheeks flare each time.

“What can I get for you, miss?” The shop worker, a young man in his mid twenties, smiles sweetly at you. 

“Um… Single scoop of strawberry please. Yes, thank you.” 

Your hand is still on Pato's arm. 

“And I’ll do…” Pato purposely drags out his choice, teasing you a bit to see what you’ll do. He won’t spoil his diet that badly, after all. The hand on his arm tightens ever so slightly, a warning to not over do it. “Two scoops of chocolate.”

“Thank god,” you mumble, smiling at Pato over your dish. “Thought I was gonna have to rat you out to the team when we got back.”

“Oh, you're reporting back to the team? Well then I have to be on my best behavior! Can't have a bad grade on my otherwise perfect record.”

“So far so good O'ward,” you say, pointing your spoon at him. “You're sitting at a passing grade right now, so don't mess it up.”

[the-wandering-wonder]

By The River

I was rewatching Lord of the Rings, and oof. I now remember why I swooned over Orlando Bloom so much as a teenager...

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Rating: T (angst)

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: You've grown quite fond of Legolas, but when he disappears without so much as a word, your world is turned upside down.

You walk slowly towards the river Bruinen, occasionally glancing up at the clear night sky. A handful of trees litter the path of the river, marking where the beauty of Rivendell merges with the beauty of the forest. You take in a deep breath as you approach a particular beech tree, one that was slowly becoming your favourite.

You smile to yourself as you hear the feet landing behind you, slowing for just a moment as you see the familiar blond elf falling into step alongside you.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Legolas breaks the silence.

You merely hum in agreement, glancing at him with a soft smile, one that he returns.

You couldn’t quite remember how long you two had shared this routine, but he was always there, every night, ready to join you in your walks along the edge of the forest. Most nights you spoke, joking and laughing, but some nights, you enjoyed the simple silence, interrupted only by animals in the distance or the whistling of the wind. Truth be told (but never to Legolas himself) he was the reason you enjoyed your walk so much.

You eventually find yourself paused at the riverbank, looking down at the moonlight reflecting along the rippling waters. A breeze whips around you and you shiver, exhaling softly as you wrap your arms around yourself. You feel a warm presence behind you as Legolas moves to wrap his cloak around your shoulders, his hands resting on your upper arms. Without thought, you lean back into his touch, letting his warmth wash over you.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head to glance back at him, finding him gazing down at you, blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. His hand comes up slowly, resting along the hollow of your throat, his thumb and forefinger pressing up against your jaw, lifting your face to meet his. He dips his head down, tentatively brushing his lips over yours before pulling back and letting his hand return to its place on your arm. Your lips part slightly, but no words come, so you give him a soft smile instead, letting your head fall back to rest against his shoulder as your gaze returns to the waters of the river Bruinen.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, you find yourself busy, running small errands for the council. But Legolas remains in the back of your mind, his soft kiss replaying over and over. Once night falls, you grab your cloak and slip out for your nightly walk. You quickly make your way to the beech tree, pausing for a moment. When all you hear is the rustling of the water and chirping of birds, you glance around.

“Legolas?” You call out, looking up at the branches.

Your heart begins to race as your elven senses pick up no sign of him. 

“Legolas?” You call out again, silently hoping that he had somehow lost track of time.

No answer comes and you feel your breath run short, catching in your throat as your pulse pounds in your ears. You force down a deep breath before turning to run back into the walls of the city. You make your way to the council room, steadying yourself before approaching Elrond, who greets you with a nod of his head before returning to the map he was studying.

“Lord Elrond,” you begin, bowing your head slightly, “have you seen Legolas?”

“He is gone,” the elf responds, “A messenger came from Mirkwood this morning, and he left.”

You feel your heart sink to your stomach as tears prick the corners of your eyes. Your jaw drops slightly as you turn away from Elrond, clenching your fists by your sides.

“This troubles you?”

“I was just-” You pause, unsure of how to explain yourself to the high elf. “I did not know he was leaving.”

“Do not worry for him,” Elrond says, turning to look at you fully, “he will return in time.”

~~~~~~~~

You try to follow Elrond’s advice, busying yourself with whatever you can find and forcing yourself to focus on anything but the thoughts of Legolas. But days soon turn into weeks, then into months. And the Sindar elf does not return. You eat out of habit, on the days that you remember, and hardly ever venture out of the walls of Rivendell. Some days your heart aches as it did when Legolas first left, other days it feels cold and numb.

One day, Elrond, who had kept a distant eye on you as you grieved, approaches you.

“You should take a walk,” he says softly, “the air would do you good, as would the sun.”

“The river reminds me of him,” you admit.

“An unpleasant memory?”

“No, not at all. I just…I miss him.”

You stare at Elrond with glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall. He lets out a small sigh as he places his hand on your shoulder.

“Then go to the river, sit with the memories.”

Elrond gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before turning to walk away. You watch him disappear around the corner before turning your attention to the waterfalls scattered around the city, listening to the sounds of rushing water. You slowly walk through the city, heading towards the waters of the river.

You eventually approach your tree, reaching out to run a hand along the bark as you look down at the flowing water. In the light of the noonday sun, the colour almost matches Legolas’ eyes. A tear slides down your cheek as you turn to lean against the beech, sliding down to the ground and bringing your knees to your chest. Your eyes close as you lean your head back against the tree, losing yourself and letting time fly by.

You hear footsteps in the soft grass and you leap to your feet, turning to face the approaching figure. The sun glints off golden hair and your jaw drops momentarily before you close your eyes, deciding that your eyes are playing a cruel trick.

“No.” You say softly.

You slowly open your eyes, taking in the figure that now stands before you. Piercing eyes stare at you as golden locks flutter in the soft breeze. Legolas…

“I thought you’d left,” you murmur, “never to return.”

“You truly think I would do that?” Legolas tilts his head slightly, striding forward to stand in front of you.

“I didn’t know what to think,” you reply slowly, “you were just…gone. You never even said goodbye.”

“I tried to find you,” the blond elf murmurs, “but I couldn’t. And it was urgent that I return to Mirkwood.”

You take a step back and swallow as you stare at the river again, fingertips digging into the bark of the tree as it presses into your back. Finally bringing your gaze up to meet his, you see pale blue filled with concern and… was that hurt?

“I would never abandon you.” 

Legolas’ voice comes out as little more than a whisper as he moves in closer, bringing up a hand to caress the line of your jaw, catching a fresh tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you feel his free hand resting ever-so-lightly on your hip. 

“ Melethril…”

Your eyes flutter open as you feel Legolas’ warm breath dancing across your lips, his own within inches. Your hands find purchase on his cloak as his body envelopes yours, your lips finally meeting in a soft kiss. You lean into him as his grip tightens on you, holding you close as your lips mold together. Your lungs begin to ache, but your desire for Legolas pushes all other thoughts back as you cling to him.

Legolas finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both take in a breath. He tilts his head back to look into your eyes, the intensity of his gaze filling you with warmth. He speaks in a low tone, slowly and assuredly.

“I will always come back to you…”

[getaandlucius]

A brief taste of Honey (Geta x Lucius)

Summary: Geta is staying on the island with his uncle and learns of the aliance made with the Alamanni and of his brother Caracalla's fate.

Geta's POV

Geta and Caracalla, 8 years old

They were spending the season in Sicily. Their parents were both there, along with fifteen servants, all stuffed into a grand white villa near the sea. Its courtyard was adorned with an outdoor bath surrounded by lemon trees which was where Geta and Caracalla spend most of their time.

Both sat on the edge of the bath, their feet dangling in the water. Caracalla was playing with a carved wooden bear while Geta attempted to read. Both were privately tutored, but Geta was a far quicker learner than his brother. Caracalla preferred games and animals to arithmetic and literature.

Geta yawned. The heat was oppressive, and he had slept poorly the night before. He always struggled to adjust to unfamiliar surroundings. He placed his book in his lap and gazed at his pale legs submerged in the water. His skin, untouched by the sun, was milky white from spending so much time indoors. Though it was only the beginning of June, Geta preferred the palace halls, wandering through their vast expanse, discovering hidden alcoves where he could escape his parents and immerse himself in his studies.

Lost in thought, neither he nor Caracalla noticed the servant calling them for supper, the rustling leaves masking the sound. Suddenly, their mother appeared. Geta squinted against the sunlight. She looked furious.

"Why are you ignoring the summons?" she demanded.

Geta swallowed and glanced at her sheepishly. "You called?"

"Yes!"

He exchanged a look with his brother, who was suddenly pretending to be deaf, stacking his wooden animals into a precarious tower. The fox kept falling.

"We did not hear it, Mother. I am sorry," Geta tried.

"Lies," she hissed, shaking her head.

Geta looked past her at the trees, unable to hold her gaze. Looking at her was like facing Medusa. His mother had a lifeless kind of beauty—her features symmetrical and refined, her cheekbones high—but her eyes were cold and unyielding.

Defending themselves was futile. She never listened. Caracalla continued stacking his wooden animals as if he were somewhere far away, though Geta noticed his right hand was trembling slightly.

Without warning, she grabbed Caracalla by the armpits and hauled him up. "Look at me when I am speaking to you!" she seethed.

Caracalla still refused to acknowledge her.

Then, she backhanded him so hard that he fell sideways, his cheek striking the stone edge of the pool. The impact made a sickening sound.

"Both my children have no respect for me. Do you know how that makes me feel?" she asked, though Geta knew it was not a question that required an answer.

He remained silent, his breath shallow.

Geta rushed to his brother, rolling him over carefully. A small cut just below Caracalla’s cheekbone had already started to bruise. Geta bit his lip to stop himself from crying. His mother was already gone, but he did not need to turn around to confirm it—he had developed a keen sense for her presence over the years.

"I want to go home," Caracalla murmured, his voice thick with tears.

Geta knew he did not mean home exactly. He meant away—from the pain, the rejection, the cruel indifference of a mother who did not love even a single part of them. They had only ever had each other.

"I shall find the healer after dinner," Geta promised, helping his brother up.

Caracalla nodded distantly, then looked at him. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

Geta nodded without hesitation. "Of course."

Geta's POV - The Dinner in Sardinia

Geta sat down at the lavishly decorated table. Before him lay a feast—roasted meats, fresh fruit, rich wine, and golden bread, all accompanied by fragrant thyme branches. He barely glanced at it.

"First, let us eat," his uncle said, pouring himself a glass of wine. Agrippa was absent—Aelius had insisted this be a private dinner.

Geta was not hungry. His body felt hollowed out. He picked at an apricot and took small bites while watching his uncle.

When Aelius finished his plate, he wiped his mouth. Two young women entered, their breasts bare, carrying honeyed cakes. His uncle smiled and placed a hand on the younger woman’s arm. "Thank you, dearest."

Then he turned to Geta. "Very well, then. While we enjoy these, I shall tell you what you wish to know."

He picked up a honey-soaked cake, biting into it. "Let us begin with the alliance, as it concerns you most."

Geta swallowed and tapped his foot nervously. "You spoke with Caracalla? How is he?" he asked eagerly.

Aelius exhaled. "Besides his illness, which still lingers, he fares well enough. He was upset, of course. But I am not certain he truly understands the situation. I tried to explain, but it did not seem to… take hold."

Geta nodded, waiting.

"Naturally, I wish for my nephew to be safe. Both of you." His uncle scratched his neck. "So I asked them how we might secure his release. They knew Caracalla still held value—remnants of the power you both once possessed. And I assured them that, yes, there was still potential, still something to gain." Aelius took another bite, watching Geta closely. "I have men, a small independent force, but compared to Rome’s, to Lucius’s, it is insignificant, as you can imagine. So I asked what else I could offer. They requested intelligence. A spy within the new Senate. Inside information."

He let the words sink in before continuing. Geta's eyes went wide. This was unthinkable. This could not be.

"At the time, I was unaware of your… bond with Lucius," Aelius said, his tone pointed. Geta shook his head slowly, not wanting to know where this was heading. "But rumors reached me. Very interesting rumors. So I returned with a proposal. If I could supply them with battle plans, strike points, army sizes—would they free Caracalla?"

Geta slumped in his chair, his face drained of color. "You want me to become a spy? To betray Lucius?" he whispered in horror.

"Yes, Geta. Because this is our chance to retrieve Caracalla."

Geta shook his head. "You cannot ask this of me. This cannot be the only option."

Aelius leaned in, voice smooth as silk. "Then tell me. How do you plan to retrieve him? Will you storm their fortress? Slip past guards? Do you truly believe they will show mercy?"

Geta’s mind raced. He felt like he was falling, spiraling into something dark and endless. He stared blankly at the table, the honeyed cakes, the wealth surrounding them—such stark contrast to the cruelty in his uncle’s voice.

"Laurentius is part of the alliance too." Aelius then added, making Geta gasp. His entire world was collapsing. He was used to betrayal, but this was different. Laurentius was one of Lucius's closest confidants. This was not possible.

"Since when?" He whispered, then remembered Lucius had told him Laurentius had not forwarded Geta's message when he had asked the guard to tell Lucius Geta was leaving the fesitivities to speak to his uncle.

"A few weeks before I visited you."

Geta shook his head in disgust. "What did you do to him."

"Nothing worth shearing dear nephew. Let's just say there are high stakes for him as well as his new wife.

Geta did not know what to say, just stared at his uncle in disbelief.

"I know this is a lot to take in, but sleep on it," Aelius said then, placing a heavy hand on Geta’s head. "Stay here at the house. Think it through. Then, we shall talk."

====

That night, Geta lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling as though his soul were being ripped apart. He felt an intense sense of guilt. He had done nothing yet, and still he felt like the worst person alive.

By the fifth day, he realized he had already made his decision. Perhaps he had even made it the moment he heard the news.

And when he understood that, he wept the entire night.

Eighteen days passed before he felt ready to return. When he reached the shore and saw Lucius waiting, he let himself be pulled into the water, disappearing into his arms. He fought not to cry.

Do not cry. Whatever happens, do not cry.

Lucius held him, stroking his back, speaking softly of how he was glad to have him in his arms again. Nothing felt better and nothing felt worse than to be held by him in that moment.

Geta broke the embrace first. He avoided Lucius’s gaze but failed. Lucius immediately saw that something had changed.

But Geta could not tell him.

The following days were agony. He had rehearsed his lines, but he could not speak them. Ulysis visited once when Geta was alone in the garden. It startled Geta but he should have seen it coming. Ulysis did not have an intense character. He did not push for information, or forced Geta to do anything. But he did not have to. Geta could feel the claws of his uncle from all the way oversees, the nails digging deep into his skin making everything hurt and bleed. He told Ulysis what he knew, which was not much as he had isolated himself so much the past days. Ulysis thanked him for the information about the size of the current army and the location of the their strongest defense posts and left.

The next morning Geta did what he was expected to and asked Lucius where he was going next. They were taking a break while sparring on the fighting grounds. Though they were still using practice knives, Geta was rapidly improving. Both were breathing heavily from the physical exertion, wiping away the sweat from their foreheads, their tunics drenched.

“I have to go away for a while,” Lucius told Geta, slowly straightening, giving Geta an easy opening to jump in.

“Where are you going this time?” Geta turned his practice knife over in his hand, not able to meet his eyes. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. “Still fighting the rebels, or somewhere else this time?” Forcing out the words was like swallowing his own vomit. He could feel Lucius' eyes burn and looked up briefly.

Lucius furrowed his brow. He was pondering whether to tell him, Geta could see it in his face: all the emotions traveling through there. Confusion, rejection, hurt.

“Talk to me Geta.” Lucius pleaded. “Tell me about Sardinia, and I’ll let you know,” His eyes were begging and Geta felt like he was stabbing him and twisting the knife.

“It’s okay.” Geta shrugged, forcing carelessness. “I don’t need to know.”

Lucius shook his head and laughed a hollow laugh to himself. Then, with frustration, he smashed his practice knife into the sand. “Well, fuck this then,” he bit out, before walking off, not looking back.

Geta stayed there, feeling a weird sense of relief and panic. Knowing anything meant having to pass it along and puting Lucius at risk. Not knowing anything was dragging out Caracalla's imprisonment. No matter what he did, Geta felt like his soul from this point onwards could not be saved. It'd be tainted forever. He'd be awful, forever. He wanted to collapse then and there and never get up.

===

That night Geta could not sleep.

He kept torturing himself, thinking out every worst possible scenario. Receiving knews that Caracalla had been killed by the Allimani because it was taking too long and they had broken the alliance. Watching Lucius leave for battle and getting defeated, and then hearing back how he was stabbed to death on the field and Geta would never be able to hold him in his arms again, or look at his peaceful face while he was asleep.

His thoughts spiralled so out of control he eventually started hyper ventilating and could not get any air in. He fisted the sheets, gasping for breath, silent tears streaming over his cheeks. When calmed down enough to sit up straight he wiped his face with the back of his hand and walked over to Lucius' sleeping quarters. Without thinking it over he knocked on the door. He was certain he was not able to get through this night on his own.

As he was let in he knew he was being selfhish. It might have been the most selfish thing he had ever done but he was not in his body anymore. His thoughts were not his own.

Lucius was eying him wearily, confusion lacing his face. He was laying on his back, propped up on his elbows, looking almost angry. He was not happy to see him.

Anger Geta could deal with. Anger was good. He could make him more angry. But he also needed to feel him. Maybe one last time. He did not deserve it but he was going to ask for it anyway.

“Can you please pretend not to hate me for tonight?”

He stood before the bed and only then realised he was crying again.

Lucius did not say anything. He just looked at him in silence.

Geta wiped his cheeks, eyes not leaving Lucius’s. Then his hands went to his robe, he untied it and pushed the fabric over his shoulders. He did not know what he was doing. He was acting from instinct, from pure need. He stood there, completely naked, letting Lucius look at him, let him hate him.

‘I know you do not trust me." Geta said. "I’m not asking you to. But please pretend you love me for tonight.“ He breathed and added nercously, "You can have me in any way you want.’

Lucius' throat bobbed. His fingers were digging in the mattress. He looked in pain almost.

'Come here.' He said in a quiet voice. Geta wondered if he was on the verge of crying. Lucius gestured to the side of the bed and went to sit on the edge himself. Geta lowered himself on his knees inbetween Lucius' legs until their arms and legs were touching.

Lucius hand traveled over Geta's wet cheeks until it rested under his jaw, cupping his throat.

One tear slipped out of the corner of Lucius eye en he sniffed once. He looked so hurt Geta regretted coming here. He could not take it. Lucius' hand stayed posessivily around Geta's throat, keeping him in place.

'What is going on with you huh?'

Love to hear your thought in the comments :) x Murphy

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

For your ask game ~ 📖 🦉 🔞

Worth the Risk - Jack Delroy/Reader

Warnings: Female reader, no use of Y/N, making out, almost fully clothed grinding, clothed fingering, bit of exhibition/voyeurism, vaginal sex.

Wordcount: 6317

Summary: He'd given you his card, invited you to the studio with the promise of a good time, and the show had been amazing for sure, but did the night really have to end once the cameras turned off?

Notes: I really wanted to write this the other day but I was too sleepy and went to bed early y'know like a baby 😖 anyways I've been wanting to do a sequel to Susceptible since I first posted it and somehow it ended up even longer so this is for you hehe hope you enjoy~ 💗💗💗

Wait for me by the back entrance at 11:00 Phil will let you in JD

You don’t know how many times you’d looked at the card he handed you since that night, but the corners were starting to bend and the pen marks were beginning to smudge, just a little. You forced yourself to leave it be as you checked your appearance one last time, the mirror by the front door to your apartment offering its final encouragement as you decided there was nothing left you could do to delay your departure before you were late. As soon as you were out the door you had to resist the urge to sprint, your heels sending muffled echoes down the hall as you headed straight for the elevator, a kindly old woman holding it for you with a smile. 

You had the sense to call a cab early so you wouldn’t have to risk waiting and missing your 11PM deadline, the car stalling right outside the door as you waved to the driver and got inside. ‘Fiske Studios, please,’ you tell him, the small building owned by a branch of UBC now very well known thanks to a certain Mr. Midnight. Your leg bounced the entire way there, the card once again in your hands as you stared out the window, neighbourhoods giving way to open city streets, more cars circling around you like a school of fish. You hated driving in the city, it was the main reason why you dedicated so much of your paycheck to cabs, but tonight you were starting to wish you’d driven yourself as you hit the tenth red light in a row.

The driver sensed your anxiousness as you bit your lip for just a split second before your purse was opened and your lipstick was uncapped, the tiny mirror in your hand reassuring you that it’d be fine, you looked great, it was an easy fix. ‘Hot date tonight?’ he asked over his shoulder, his voice startling you a little as you snapped the mirror shut again.

‘Uh, going to a live show, actually,’ you said cautiously, avoiding a yes or no to his question; it’d be too presumptuous to say yes, but god if you didn’t want to hope. ‘I’m meeting a few friends there, don’t wanna be late and all.’

‘Oh, well, girl’s gotta have some fun on a Friday night, I guess,’ he said as he looked you over in the rearview, your coat pulled a little tighter over your shoulders as you forced a smile and tried not to look to disgusted; this was yet another reason why you were so fond of Jack Delroy, he’d never make you feel that way, what with him being such a gentleman and all.

The memory of the night you met made you shiver briefly as the hallucination flashed through your mind again, the false feeling of his hands on you having haunted you all week. You sucked in a very long breath through your nose as you willed the pink to leave your cheeks again, the last thing you needed right now was this guy seeing you get covered in goosebumps and assume it was because of what he’d said. You actually hadn’t been able to watch Night Owls since that night, feeling almost guilty about it even though there was no way he would know you hadn’t seen all the exciting things he’d been talking about. You’d tried last night, but as soon as the wall had opened and he’d strolled on out with that smile and his eyes instantly finding the camera you’d become a right mess way too fast and had to turn it off again, your heart pounding and your legs pressed uncomfortably tight together just at the sight of him.

Goddamn you Carmichael Haig.

The studio came into view with the latest turn and you readied yourself to get out, money already in hand by the time the car had stopped. The bill was settled and you stepped out into the cool night air, cutting off the driver’s wish for you to have a good night with the slamming of the door, and you took a look around and tried to guess which way would lead to the back door he’d mentioned. You waited until the car was out of sight, pretending to see your ‘friends’ so it wouldn’t look like you were about to walk down a dark alley by yourself, another deep breath exhaled sharply as you summoned up all of your courage and headed to the right.

It was a large alley, big enough for a car to drive down and reach the parking lot out back, which thankfully held just as many people walking about as the front did. A lot of them favoured a large, metal door up a tiny flight of stairs, keycards flashed to unlock it before it was held open for several people at a time, everyone helping each other in the most efficient of ways. You had no idea which one Phil was supposed to be, and if you waited too long you might get pinned as a fan trying to sneak in, so the next time someone approached the area you were lurking in you got the card back out and held it out to him.

‘Um, I’m supposed to find Phil?’ you said uncertainly, the man looking you over before taking the card. ‘Ja- Mr. Delroy told me to meet him here.’

‘How’d you meet Jack?’ he asked, clearly recognizing the handwriting but wanting to be certain all the same as he handed it back to you.

‘At Carmichael Haig’s show, we got to talk for a little bit,’ you explained, your nerves starting to rise the longer you were out there, the paranoia that you wouldn’t be able to get in starting to rise in your chest.

‘Ohhh, so you’re the one he was telling Gus about,’ the man said with a grin, your back straightening at the very thought of Jack talking about you with anyone, let alone with someone in a public place. ‘Yeah, he told me to expect someone, I’ll take you up there now if you help me carry something, save me a trip?’

You agreed to his terms, the man apparently being Phil as he shook your hand and handed you the box he was balancing on one arm as you talked. He quickly jogged back to his car to grab another box before returning to you, the door held open for you both as you squeezed past another employee and followed him through the maze of hallways and way too many doors to count. The studio itself was actually on the second floor, the first dedicated to offices and meeting rooms and other businessy things, the elevator able to just barely let you both cram inside as everyone got ready for the taping.

‘Is it always this hectic?’ you asked before you realized you were even opening your mouth, Phil just laughing and adjusting his box.

‘Every single night.’

Once the elevator had pinged and the doors had slid open, Phil then led you through a few more hallways until he pushed through a locked STAFF ONLY door, even more people on the other side, although there was more to the area back here, your eyes widening when it hit you that this was the back of Jack’s set. Phil noticed your excitement and set his box down on the nearest table, taking yours in another swift movement before motioning towards the slightly ajar wall panel; the audience’s seats were just in view through the crack, some people already coming in and finding their spots, and you were just in the middle of wondering if you should attempt finding an empty one when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

‘Quite the view, isn’t it?’

You turned to see Jack standing behind you, a look of pure bliss on his face as he watched the band get ready, Gus talking to someone and going over scripts off to the right, the few audience members chatting with each other as they guessed what they’d see that night. He truly loved this job, you could tell he did even after doing it for so many years, and seeing him so in love only made you love him even more. He looked down at you then, a fondness in his eyes as he gave your shoulder a squeeze and led you around back, a little tour before you had to leave him.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he admitted as you took everything in, everyone shifting their gaze towards the both of you as long as they thought they could get away with it. ‘Been looking forward to tonight all week, what did you think of the lineup?’

‘I, uh-’ you trailed off as he pulled you out of the way of a staff member carrying the requested items for tonight’s guest, your coat suddenly feeling way too warm to still be wearing inside. ‘I missed out on them, actually, been a busy week,’ you lied, avoiding his face as your cheeks lit up; you were not about to tell him that it was because looking at him made you remember how he’d felt pressed up against your waist, even if it was fake.

A shiver ran up your spine as you then realized that the heat against your back very much wasn’t however.

‘I’ll have to tell you all about it later, don’t want you missing out on anything,’ he said with a grin, your lips trembling as you tried to keep your smile from getting any bigger. There was no way he’d actually do that, he had to be too busy to entertain you when the PMs turned to AMs, but it was a nice thought indeed.

‘I’d like that,’ you admitted either way, happy to live in the fantasy for just a little bit at least.

‘Jack!’ someone called from just out of sight, a curly-haired man in sunglasses hunting him down with expert precision as he hurried over. ‘Gus just told me you’ve been saving seats all week, you wanna explain why that is?’

‘And there’s my cue,’ he whispers in your ear before using your shoulders to turn you and guide you back to the slit in the wall. ‘Middle front row, furthest left seat,’ he whispered before pushing you to the other side, his attention turned to his producer as he descended upon him for losing them money. You listened for just a second before it hit you that you were there, you were really there, your mouth dropping open as you slowly spun to check out the Night Owls set. People were whispering about who you might be but you didn’t care, not leaving until you heard Gus clear his throat and ask what you were doing.

‘Finding my seat,’ you mumbled, although maybe it had come out as nonsense in your delighted stupor, you couldn’t be sure at the moment.

‘Okay, do you have a ticket?’ he asked, still so polite even though he was very much confused. You just held up the card again, your eyes going higher as you stared at all the lights. ‘I see, so you’re the one he’s been waiting for, right this way.’

The one he’s been waiting for? Clearly you must’ve misheard, Jack Delroy couldn’t possibly have been that excited for you, you’d only spoken for maybe five minutes, tops.

Gus led you to your seat and you instantly sank into it, a 40 minute wait still ahead of you but it felt like no time at all as the rows all filled up and people slowly stopped walking across the set to prepare. On either side of you, cameramen took their places and lined up their shots, the blue screen of the viewfinder catching your attention as you couldn’t help but see what they saw. Gus got himself ready by the band, who were all tuned up and ready to go, and when midnight hit and Gus started calling out that night’s guests, you couldn’t help but bite your lip again as Jack’s name was announced and the wall opened up again to reveal him.

He’d been right, it was an incredible show, his presence so much more overwhelming as you could only focus on him no matter who he stood or sat beside. Every single one of his jokes landed, every eccentric wave of his hands drew you in without fail, and every single smile he shot your way when you laughed only confirmed more and more that you were genuinely glad you came. He tried to talk to you during the breaks but each time he’d been interrupted either by one of his co-workers or someone in the audience ready to snatch up his attention, Jack too polite to refuse either, although it was honestly starting to make you a little jealous.

Before you knew it, his hour had passed and he was saying goodbye, your chest deflating as he was played out again along with his final guest, your hands a little numb as you gave him his well deserved applause. You didn’t want to get up and leave as the rest of the people around you did without hesitation, a chorus of yawns starting to infect everyone like a virus now that it was officially bedtime. You were rooted to the spot, hands clasped in your lap as you wondered if it’d be too presumptuous to assume that maybe he’d come back out again when everyone was gone, wish you your own personal goodnight, people staring again as you waited until you accepted that you’d fulfilled his request, there was no need to stay now.

‘Oh good, you’re still here,’ Jack panted as he jogged over to you, a sheen on his cheeks and forehead from the excitement of the night mixed in with the hot stage lights, ‘I was worried you’d leave when Leo grabbed me just now.’ 

‘I’m in no hurry,’ you told him as you stood, your clasped hands hiding behind your back so he wouldn’t see you fidgeting. ‘It was a great show, I had a lot of fun tonight.’

His smile turned from Showman Jack to Genuine Jack at that, your ability to always tell coming in handy yet again as you tried to hide your blush by tucking your hair behind your ear. ‘I take it you had a more enjoyable time with me than at Haig’s, then?’ he asked, your blushing deepening at his choice of words.

‘I did, yeah.’ Everyone was packing up for the night around you, no one giving you a passing glance as the desire to get home and sleep overtook their curiosity, and when he stifled a yawn you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at keeping him. ‘All good things must come to an end though, I suppose; I should really get heading back, it’ll be a nightmare to find a cab this late.’ You didn’t want to go, but you also didn’t want to press your luck either, and maybe you’d get another invitation to another show, who knew?

‘I could give you a ride, if you wanted,’ he offered, completely catching you off guard as your eyes widened for a second in surprise. ‘Or, if you’re truly a night owl like me, you’d prefer to join me for a drink? I always grab one after a show, can’t sleep otherwise.’

You swallowed, mouth cotton dry as you went over his offer in your head a few times; was he asking you out on a date? He had to have been, who else went out to get a drink together at 1AM other than people on dates, right? ‘Yeah, a drink sounds great,’ you finally managed to squeak out, the corners of his eyes scrunching when he smiled before offering his arm for you to take, a true gentleman. He led you back through the labyrinth until you reached the parking lot, his car parked in a spot with his name plastered against the wall behind it, most of the other cars already gone now that their owners were free.

His car was simple, nothing too flashy like someone else in his position would own, the seats worn on the inside and telling you that he must’ve had it for many years. You tried not to look too nervous as he unlocked his door and let himself in, his long body stretching across the front so he could unlock the passenger side as well; an old car indeed, he was taking very good care of it for it to still look that good. You thanked him as you sat down and shut the door, the smell of his cologne stealing your breath away as you were surrounded by purely him, the faint smell of smoke mixing in with it, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried not to look too obvious.

He shot you a glance as he clicked his seatbelt into place, the noise making you come back to your senses and do the same so he could start driving. There were quite a few bars around there, some late night diners as well, and you grew more and more confused as he drove by all of them without a word. By the time you left the city and started to head towards a more residential area, you were starting to wonder if you were going for a drink at all, not remembering ever telling him where you lived, of course this neighborhood was much too nice, maybe you should be flattered if he thought you lived around here.

‘Are we still…?’ you tried to ask, your question dying out as he then turned into the driveway of a very nice but modestly sized house, all the lights off inside telling you that no one was home. He didn’t turn off the engine though, his eyes on the wheel before he turned to you, a hopeful something in his eyes that mirrored your own.

‘Would you like to come inside? Or should we try calling that cab?’ he asked you gently, giving you the choice of what you wanted to do now that you knew where you’d be drinking, your heart thumping a little faster as you adjusted the strap of your purse and flashed him the most confident smile you could muster.

‘You did promise to tell me all about the shows I miss,’ you reminded him, Jack’s smile softening as he agreed with a, ‘Yes I did.’ The engine shut off and you both exited the car, the night air making you shiver as you held your coat a little tighter over your arms. He noticed immediately, his suit jacket draped over you before you could confirm or deny you wanted it, heat spreading throughout you as the scent of his cologne hit you even harder. You wrapped yourself up in it, face tucked into the collar as you headed for his front door, always a few steps behind until he unlocked the door and pushed it open, allowing you to go in first.

It was a modest place, decorated more cozily than anything, and you felt right at home as you stepped inside and took a look around; the walls held photos of family and friends, his coworkers and people he’d met through Night Owls spaced out around them, the surfaces of every table and shelf decorated with something and filling the space while also feeling sparse. Cozy was definitely the right word, but it also felt like a bachelor pad in the way he’d left clothes draped over the back of the couch, how the kitchen was pristinely clean from rare use based on the amount of menus he’d collected into the holder by his phone, and the dedicated minibar off in the corner so he could entertain guests.

He headed there now as you observed your surroundings, his voice breaking your thoughts as he asked you to pick your poison. You gave him your desired drink request, Jack’s eyes shining as he located the bottle amongst the plethora of them in his reserve, whisky placed next to it as he located a couple of glasses next. ‘Ice?’ he asked casually as he poured both drinks, you kindly refusing as he grabbed a couple for himself. The ice crackled in his glass as he returned, the sound pleasant to you and filling the air as he handed you your drink. ‘I’d offer you a seat at the table, but my back is killing me tonight, if you’d rather join me on the couch?’

What a liar, you could always tell when he was acting. You accepted anyways, pretending to buy into it as you both took opposite ends of the old leather couch situated in front of his fireplace. The cushions creaked underneath as you sat down, Jack letting out a sigh that didn’t sound fake as he relaxed, his body sinking right in before he took a sip and turned to look at you. You blushed and looked away, focusing on your glass as you swirled the contents around, now wishing for ice since watching it would be a good distraction.

You’d been so focused on his home that it was starting to dawn on you that you were in his home, on his couch, drinking his liquor, his focus on nothing and no one other than you. ‘Dreamer, here, awake,’ you whispered softly under your breath, remembering what Haig had said to snap you out of it and needing to make sure this wasn’t just another dream.

‘What was that?’

Oh god, it wasn’t a dream, you were really here, and his arm was now on the back of the couch, casually reaching towards you as he tilted his head to the side with an amused grin. 

‘So, how did the shows that I missed go?’ you quickly choked out, Jack chuckling at how your voice sounded way more broken than you’d wanted before downing the rest of his drink and setting the empty glass on the coffee table in front of him.

‘Well, on Monday I got to interview someone about his upcoming play, so that was interesting,’ he began, his body turned more towards you as he spoke. ‘On Tuesday, we had a man who sailed halfway around the world and narrowly survived being shipwrecked, and he read us an excerpt from his captain’s log, which he revealed he’ll be turning into a book to preserve the memories of his shipmates.’ He slid a little down the leather, genuine interest in his eyes as he spoke, that another thing you loved about him. ‘Wednesday was Game Night, as you know, and one of our audience members managed to win the jackpot and gave us a victory dance to celebrate. Gus tried to attempt it and fell on his ass, so everyone made me try it and I nearly crashed into my stage, everyone had a lot of fun that night.

His voice started to soften as he moved a little closer, your body frozen in both awe at what you’d missed and also the sight of him starting to fill up your entire view, your drink forgotten in your hands.

‘And then on Thursday we took a call from a man who thought he had superpowers, can you believe that? He truly believed he got them from another dimension, so fascinating.’ He was just about to slide over the middle cushion, your legs pressing tightly together so you wouldn’t touch him on accident, your lip worried between your teeth again. ‘I asked him to come on the show, but he hung up, I hope he calls again next week.’ His arm was completely behind you you finally noticed as his thumb brushed against your shoulder just enough for you to feel it over your coat and his suit jacket, the heat of both starting to make you sweat as he stayed just outside your personal space, ever the gentleman as he waited for you to tell him to back up. 

You didn’t, your tongue darting out and tasting your lipstick as you glanced to the side, seeing just enough of him to know that he didn’t look dangerous, or overly sexual like your fantasy had been, his actual expression one of wonder as he remained just out of reach. You felt like you had to comment on his week, say something in response to what he was telling you but you couldn’t, the sound of his thumb running over the fabric directly in your ear as you finally took your first sip.

‘Sounds like I missed a lot,’ you eventually said, Jack nodding and shifting as he got comfier, the movement sending him a little closer to you. ‘Maybe you should invite me back again, I could probably make time for that.’

‘I’ll have to see if I can get you an actual ticket this time, then, Leo was very unhappy I snuck you in.’ His voice was so low as you took another, bigger sip, his arm sliding off the back of the couch and just barely resting against the very bottom of your neck.

‘Is that what that was? I’ll be sure to use the front door next time.’ Another sip, his other hand in plain sight on his thigh as it traveled down towards you. 

‘I think I’d prefer to escort you in myself, so you don’t get lost, it’s like a maze in there.’ You watched his hand just barely touch the hem of his jacket, a soft hum leaving his throat as his eyes half-lidded. ‘You look good in this, I might have to let you borrow it more often.’

‘You assume I’ll need it again? How presumptuous of you,’ you joked in an attempt to keep things light, but it fell flat as you looked at him while you said it, his expression rendering you speechless in seconds. Now that you were facing him he couldn’t resist the urge to touch your cheek, his fingertips just barely brushing against you and making you shut your eyes as you tried to lean against them, the contact causing shivers to run down your spine at how incredibly gentle it was.

‘I really am glad you came tonight,’ he whispered as he leaned in, breath soft against your face as you both held off from closing the gap, ‘god, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

You nearly dropped the glass, Jack placing his hand over yours to make sure you didn’t before taking it away entirely. ‘Y-you’re just telling me what I wanna hear,’ you repeated from your fantasy, Jack leaning away to set the glass down before letting his forehead rest against your own.

‘Is it working?’

You grabbed onto his tie and pulled him into you, your mouths crashing together as you kissed him with all the need of someone who’d wanted this for years. He braced himself on the back of the couch as you leaned against the arm, your body arching up as he rearranged how he was sitting to kneel over you. He wasn’t as forward as your fantasy, which was understandable considering you knew very well that he’d only acted the exact way you wanted, but instead you discovered that he was slow, making as many points of contact as he could while giving you space. He was obsessed with kissing away the rest of your lipstick but he never tried to take more than you were giving him, your bodies still too far apart as he caressed you.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he repeated as his hand left your jaw to travel down to your hip, not to hold down or make you keen but just to feel the soft curve of your body; he was committing you to memory, tracing over each wrinkle in the fabric, each place that made you squirm just a little.

‘Jack…’ you sighed as he pushed both coats aside to gently kiss at your neck, small things that made you want beyond the sweetness, the love. ‘Don’t make me wait anymore, please…’

He pressed a single kiss to your jaw at that, sitting back just enough so he could look at your face. You turned away, embarrassed by your neediness, but he turned you back to him with only a whisper of a touch, a plea instead of a command. ‘How long have you been waiting?’ he asked, lips hovering just above yours, pulling away when you tried to close the gap.

‘Years.’

He kissed you again, a little rougher this time as his own need was made clear, his body shifting down until he was laying himself on top of you, and for however real your fantasy had felt, it was fucking nothing compared to the weight of him pressing pure want directly into your waist. It made you gasp how good he felt, your legs spreading until your skirt wouldn’t stretch any further, the desire to hike it up all the way so you could feel him a little better making you almost actually do it. It was him who made that move when he felt you struggling, your legs pressed into his almost uncomfortably, and he placed his hands at the hem and waited for your okay, not wanting to do anything without your permission.

What a fucking gentleman.

You nodded and he lifted your skirt, your back arching off the couch so it could be bunched up, your underwear on display just the smallest amount before your skirt was let go. That small amount made him blush, his lips parting as he then palmed himself to ease the strain of his own clothes, his nice suit pulled taut over his dick as he kneaded. It made you want him even more, the fantasies of seeing him like that deciding to play like the world’s longest and lewdest film in your mind, reminding you of every single thing you wanted to do to him, what you wanted him to do to you.

‘I want to feel you,’ you told him, his eyes fluttering shut like the quicktalking showman Mr. Midnight couldn’t handle a bit of dirty talk; he was so cute it almost hurt as he moved his hand aside for you, granting you access to the space while he tried to undo his belt. You rubbed him over his pants, listening to the sounds he was making and letting your desire grow with each one, and when his belt was undone and his zipper was down you tugged just his pants over his hips just enough to show off his bulge a little better. It strained over the opening, the sight so tantalizing that you’d risk staying hypnotized forever if this really was just another dream, his body laying down over yours again as you wrapped your leg around him.

He started to grind against you, the fantasy definitely not doing him justice as a sinful heat warmed you up in an instant, the coats much too hot as you tried to strip them both off. He helped you but didn’t stop moving, each thrust just enough to create the best friction you’d ever experienced. There was no audience this time, no one to risk ruining this for you, and you took full advantage of that as you let out a deviously loud moan when he rubbed against you just right. 

‘God…’ he panted into your neck, hips moving just a little faster, and it felt good but it wasn’t what you wanted, not entirely. You reached down between where your bodies touched to try and get a hold of his boxers, your nails catching over the waistband just out of reach. He felt your attempts and knew what you were trying to do, his face unsure even though he still couldn’t stop. ‘Are you sure?’ he needed to know, his hips finally stilling for the most part, your eyes watering with how much you meant it as you told him yes. He groaned as he reached between your legs, feeling your wetness seeping through your panties as you moved against him, your head instantly falling back.

The sounds you let out were indecent, he wasn’t even inside you yet and he was making you fall apart just because it was him who was doing this, his fingers rewriting your brain and telling you that you’d never be able to get off on just your imagination ever again. He played with you as his other hand pushed his boxers down the rest of the way, his dick falling free and making him hiss as he gave himself a few strokes, the sound getting you to look up. Your legs twitched as you almost came just from the sight alone, his eyes shut tight as his head lolled to the side, his impressive length looking even bigger in his hand as he got himself ready.

As soon as he felt your eyes on him he locked onto you, his big, showman smile showing a little more teeth than usual as he let you watch, his own sounds almost addicting as he let you know exactly how good his own hand felt. Between the sight and his hands making the both of you feel good, you didn’t know how much more you could take of this before you were shoving him down, Jack sensing your desperation and leaning back over you. He pulled aside your panties and rubbed you a couple more times before pressing his waist against yours, spreading your wetness along the underside of his shaft, grinding against you this way until you were practically begging him to do more, please.

He chuckled at your reaction before taking himself in hand again, spreading it even more before holding himself up to your entrance, one last chance to back out. You made sure to lock eyes with him as you grabbed his tie and pulled him down to you once more, your mouth falling open as he pushed deep inside of you the more you pulled. You didn’t stop until you were full, the two of you panting into each other's mouth before he started to move, both of your legs wrapping around him this time as you tried to take him even deeper.

It was hot, you were sweating, you could see the sheen on his cheeks and forehead again as he suffered in the almost entirety of his suit versus your outfit, and you helped him relieve some of his suffering as you started to unbutton his shirt. You shoved it off one shoulder before he was tearing it off of himself and tossing it away, your own shirt pushed up to reveal a heaving stomach, muscles working hard under the flesh as he thrust into you, your body unable to move with him thanks to the arm of the couch keeping you in place.

It ensured he always hit the deepest part of you since your body couldn’t shift away, one of your hands on your stomach while the other took his own and placed it on your chest. He began to knead you over your bra, it soon out of the way as he yanked it down and wrapped his mouth around a nipple, his motions speeding up a bit as you tangled your now free hand into his hair. ‘You feel so good,’ you couldn’t stop yourself from saying then, starting to get overstimulated, and at your words he jerked a little erratically, like it’d made him stumble. ‘You- you were so handsome tonight, did so well, I couldn’t stop staring at you…’

He was moaning nonsense into your chest as you praised him, something about what you were saying making him fall apart; his head rested against you as he rutted into you with wild abandon, your hands just holding him there as you kept whispering what he wanted to hear. You meant it, every word, but to know that this much was making him practically whine against you was also addicting, needing him to know everything you felt for him, how proud you were of him, how you’d never be able to feel anyone but him for the rest of your life.

‘Come inside me, make me yours, I want to be yours,’ you pleaded, Jack grasping at you like a drowning man grasps at his saviour, a few more thrusts making your head fall back before he did just that. His hips jutted a few more times as warmth filled your insides, the sensation mixed with his broken gasps bringing you over the edge as well, his nails digging into your flesh where he held you, your hands thoroughly messing up his perfectly styled hair. When he was done he collapsed against you, his weight once again so incredibly nice as he pinned you against the cushions, the leather sticking to your skin and keeping you very much in place.

‘If I’m too heavy-’ he started to say before he shifted and cut himself off with a whine, his attempts to get up thwarted immediately.

‘You’re not,’ you reassured him, your fingers attempting to straighten his hair back into place, a small courtesy for him letting you grab him so hard in the first place. ‘We can just… stay a while.’

‘Do you wanna risk that? I might fall asleep on you like this,’ he asked like it’d be a bad thing; what a gentleman.

‘I think that’d be worth the risk,’ you told him as you kissed his forehead, Jack reaching up to cup your cheek before gathering all his strength to kiss you goodnight.

[lu-is-not-ok]

Sonya themed ask jumpscare

Of his design, there are a few things to note. First is how he wears a strap full of bullets on his leg [though he hasnt yet been seen with a gun to my knowledge, its in his bag maybe?] but bullets in The City are notoriously expensive, and while Hermann did mention how he 'burned all that cash' I must wonder why he wanted them in the first place is he already carries a perfectly suitable weapon.

Smaller details that stuck out to me are the eye like pattern on his goggles, and his hair. Namely the lite specs of blue in it and how it was described as 'hyaline' - a word both relating to a form of cartilage and a way to describe something with a glassy appearance.

Onto his role in the story going forward: I believe that cantos 1-3 all set up the three major forces we shall be dealing with for the remainder of the story. N corp with canto 1, Demians group in canto 3 and the Yurodiviye in canto 2. Now at first it was unclear how exactly the YRDY would be able to have as much influence as the other two, but TKT sorted it all out. While Hermann represents the power held from corporations and Demian the power gained from the outskirts/stars/things that aren't fully understood, Sonia then stands as the representative for the power of people - namely in terms of tenacity and shear staying power.

He very clearly has connections to both Hermann and Demian, through both the chat at the end of canto 2 and the fact he's got the mark. This puts him in the position that oddly enough many though Asaeh was in before his icon was fixed, as one wearing multiple hats for his own gain. He does not hide his cause.

He actuallt reminds me a lot of Ayin. However this is already quite long and my brain is currently a plate of scrambled eggs so I shan't elaborate further. Plus I am not sure if what I've got is actual analysis or my desperate want to talk about Ayin again.

Only tangentially related but the author of C&P has also written a book called 'White Nights'. Neato.

That's all for now, we got like 2 hrs til we hopefully get a teaser and I'm bring so normal about it. I swear.

Ok let me go through this one paragraph at a time because Sonya is one of those characters that makes me go a little insane as well. Read more because. Yeah.

Point 1 - The Bullet Strap

The design detail of the bullets strap on his leg is intriguing and one I didn't notice initially. I went through to look through Canto 2 CGs of Rodya's flashbacks and all the Yurodiviye related character sprites in the recent Intervallo to check if this is something that's a part of the standard Yurodivy uniform and what I've found is... interesting.

For Canto 2 Yurodiviye, the only one whose legs we see clearly is flashback Rodya, and she doesn't seem to have that same strap as Sonya.

However, for TKT, something interesting happens. All of the Yurodiviye in District 20, including the Detective captain of their group, wear straps on the same leg as Sonya... except instead of bullets, the straps have a bag attached.

That difference in uniform between Rodya and this branch of the Yurodiviye is notable because of how differently they see Sonya. Rodya sees Sonya as someone with big ideals but not enough initiative to actually see them through, meanwhile the District 20 Yurodiviye look up to him so much as to call him a Saint, a term which we recently learned can refer to the most high-ranking members of the Dieci, the association that deals with knowledge (thank you Dieci Meursault uptie story). This difference in opinion would explain why these Yurodiviye are more invested in mimicking Sonya's uniform more closely, whereas Rodya's seemed more distinct and thus more distant.

Of course, the difference between the straps holding bags for the Yurodiviye while it holds bullets for Sonya is not lost on me. As you mentioned, bullets are expensive, which means it makes sense for the District 20 Yurodiviye to not be able to afford them and thus resort to using the strap to hold something else to have it still serve a similar function. Though it does bring up the question you posited: how was Sonya able to afford his own bullets?

It's important to note we don't ever get to see whether or not Sonya had the bullet strap before Rodya left the Yurodiviye. The only CGs we get to see his legs in are ones where his current self invades the flashback Rodya is having. If he got that after she left, it's possible his cooperation with N Corp granted him enough support to get the ammunition. Note that if Hermann is to be believed that Sonya would burn any and all cash he was granted, it's not impossible for N Corp to just give him bullets out right instead.

On a more symbolic side of analyzing his design, the bullet strap is a subtle way to show Sonya's own turn towards more direct action after Rodya left, while also emphasizing how he goes about that more direct action.

Just like a gun firing its bullets, Sonya's "direct" action is him telling people around him to do the deeds for him. Whether it's through inspiration like the District 20 Yurodiviye, or whether it's through networking and sending his people out to take money from the rich like we see in Canto 2. He's not the bullet actually breaking through a wall, he's merely the finger pulling the trigger. He aims and gives command to fire, but that's where his involvement ends.

Point 2 - The Goggles and Hair

This is something I touched upon in another post I made about Sonya, so I'm gonna be brief. Sonya's visual design with regards to his eyes, hair, and accessories, has a dual purpose.

For one, it implies that Sonya is albinistic. The color of his eyes, the lack of pigment of his hair to the point it's described as glass-like, and the inclusion of eye protection and gloves (accessories that is lacking in other Yurodiviye) points towards that idea.

This directly correlates with his own tendency to try and avoid the spotlight and redirect it to others whenever possible, see my point earlier about how his direct action involves sending other people out to do his bidding + his actions before and during the game in Canto 2 are all in favor of pulling attention away from him, such as deflecting Aida's comments about him by calling her the protagonist of life, or constantly asking Rodya questions to put the spotlight on her.

For two, it makes his design a direct opposite to Rodya's, matching with their opposite tendencies with regards to being put in the spotlight. Rodya's design is notably plain for what you'd consider a Slavic woman, with wheat brown-blonde hair and blue eyes, whereas Sonya's is extremely distinct with his purple eyes and hyaline hair.

And yet, like I mentioned earlier, Sonya is the one that wants eyes off of him, while Rodya is constantly trying to be the center of attention whenever possible. They're major foils to one another down to their visual designs.

Point 3 - Sonya and Yurodiviye's spot in the story

Ever since the first batch of Cantos, Sonya struck me as a sort of double agent between the New League and Demian's Blue Man Group. We know that he clearly has connections with both, but the fact that the color his name is put on in the dialogue box is purple, the mix of red (associated with the New League) and blue (associated with the Blue Man Group), only further adds to that idea.

Plus, I feel like his attitude towards Mirror Worlds and their usage should also be pointed out. Whereas Demian directly states he wants the Mirror Worlds to be left alone, comparing their exploitation to that of stealing chips from a bag, Hermann is on the other spectrum of that through wanting the desctruction of all Mirror Worlds.

Sonya is somewhere in between, clearly wanting to make use of them to bring about what he sees as his ideal world, but not wanting to touch them beyond that.

I think the above fact combined with how he acts in the Canto 2 post credit scene is leading to the possibility of Sonya outright betraying Hermann and the New League, which would make sense with how his side is meant to represent the common people. Project Moon ain't subtle about their critique of capitalism, so it only makes sense for Sonya to eventually turn on the representation of the power the Wings hold.

Which, speaking of that, I want to note how Hermann manipulated people to her side through exploiting Mirror Worlds. Yes, her main goal is to destroy all of them, but she's willing to twist the truth when trying to get other people to her side. With her and the New League representing the power of the corporations, those empty promises and white lies feel especially fitting. That sort of "Well if you join us we will keep This One Specific World You Want alive just for you" and "Well since we're already destroying them wouldn't you like to destroy this specific part of each of them with us" shit she's been pulling.

Point 4 - WAIT WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHITE NIGHTS IS ALSO A DOSTOYEVSKY REFERENCE-

Ok. No. Anon, you can't drop a bombshell on me like that. WhiteNight is one of, if not the most important Abnormality to Lobcorp and thus Project Moon lore. It's one of the Carmen abnos. It's the final Abno boss alongside Apocalypse Bird. It's symbolically tied to the White Nights and Dark Days event through its name, one of the most important events in the fucking series.

And. Here's the thing Anon. If that's true, then that means Dostoyevsky's works being consistently important to PM lore is no longer just a coincidence, it's a pattern.

You see, there's another important Crime and Punishment reference in this series outside of Rodya's existence, it being the other abno tied to WhiteNight.

One Sin and Hundreds of Good Deeds.

You see, this abnormality's name? It's a reference to a fucking quote from Crime and Punishment, and a pretty notable one in that!

Now, mind you, the exact wording in the version of the quote is a bit different, likely due to differences in translation, but it's pretty fucking close don't you think?

One Crime, One Sin. Thousands of Good Deeds, Hundreds of Good Deeds.

Add to that the fact that One Sin is always the first abno you get in every LobCorp playthrough AND acts as an instant alternate way to defeat WhiteNight, and the fact that these two are both named after Dostoyevsky references should start raising some eyebrows.

With all of that pointed out, I'd like to adress the potential importance of both Sonya and Rodya in the wider plot of Limbus Company, based on the fact that Dostoyevsky references have been highly important to the lore from the very fucking start.

Let's start with Sonya. He and the Yurodiviye are in a bit of a unique spot compared to all the other factions Limbus Company is contending with. While sure, both the New League and Blue Man Group have a leader who is directly tied to one single sinner (Hermann tied to Gregor, Demian tied to Sinclair), we see that it's not an exclusive connection.

We know from Canto 5 that Rim, someone from the League of Nine, is definitely a part of the Blue Man Group, and the New League has not only two former members of the League of Nine (and is named to be a replacement for that group), but also Jia Huan of Hong Lu's family fame is there too for some fucking reason.

Sonya and Yurodiviye are thus far the only faction that is only connected to one single Sinner - Rodya, and thus only connected to a single source - the works of Dostoyevsky. The fact that Sonya is all but stated to be the connection between the two other groups and the effect he's had on the City thus far only add to his future importance. I don't think I need to go on about that for much longer.

That only leaves Rodya's importance undiscussed. Thus far she's the only Sinner to have recieved a "second Canto" in the form of TKT heavily focusing on continuing her character arc, but that doesn't really say much. For all we know we could see something similar be done to both Gregor and Sinclair at some point in the future. No, there's something a bit more subtle potentially going on with Rodya.

However, to explain this, I need to go on a tangent.

Let's put this out here: The Little Prince is the single most important book with regards to Limbus Company's running themes and motifs.

The "Seeing with the eye vs Seeing with the heart" motif is the single most long-running and important theme throughout the work. Demian directly says the fucking quote at the end of Canto 3 and consistently references the Little Prince whenever he appears. Blue Man Group is set up to be the ones who see with the heart, while the New League and N Corp as a whole are set up to be the ones who see with the eyes. Eyes and Hearts keep coming up in random places all over Limbus. The fucking name of the game and company itself, Limbus, can refer to two different parts of the body - corneal limbus, a part of the eye, and limbus of fossa ovalis, a part of the heart.

Why is all of this important? Because two of the Sinners explicitly have their symbols be a Heart and an Eye respectively, that being Rodya and Hong Lu. Add to that the fact that, similarly to Rodya and Sonya, Rodya and Hong Lu are essentially foils of each other with regards to how they view the world , and the fact that they're assigned the numbers 6 and 9, which in numerology are associated with yin and yang, which we know PM loves making references to spirituality and religion, and all of this is just a big ol nothing Game Theory that I'm just spitting here.

The rundown is this: Rodya and Hong Lu are both associated with symbols that are seemingly tied to key motifs and themes of Limbus Company and PM games as a whole. Rodya's focus through TKT and her connection to the one faction that isn't tied to any other Sinner makes her stand out. PM seems to fucking love making Dostoyevsky extremely important for some fucking reason.

All of this to say I would not be surprised if Rodya turned out to be one of the most important Sinners out of the cast.

...This post was supposed to be about Sonya. Whoops.

[eldritch-spouse]

Relax, I know he's big and the phalluses are uh, intimidating but the subject is extremely docile. Who knew aliens would be so–why is he out of containment?

You're frozen. Catatonic.

You remember watching videos of animals in the wild becoming completely unresponsive when approached by predators, how the only thing you could see were their eyes, wide and frantic, and their chests heaving as they seemed to be praying to survive.

Those videos were so funny, right? Well, you're not laughing now...

The lifeform, the alien, the creature you had yet to see, that they'd been easing you into the idea of meeting so that it wouldn't be a colossal shock- Just effortlessly tore down the pressurized, extremely high-tech door to its cell. You didn't even know those doors could come flying off like that.

In seconds, mere stunned moments, the entity you can't even call a monster is staring you down. He's giant, truly, but gaunt like a beanstalk, all flowing limbs and unearthly elegance. You can't count the tentacles that comprise his lower body, you can't focus on the fins of his extremely human arms, the bizarre depressions on his chest area, and the only reason you know him as male is because of the mention of phalluses.

Curiously, he doesn't look hostile.

But he's very much focused on you, and that's not ideal.

It's as if he sensed you through the cell, somehow, and that caught his attention.

A large, water-filled glass dome envelops his head, but you can still very much sense those glazed eyes studying you from top to bottom. Like any human would, he procures eye contact before attempting to communicate.

But unfortunately, he doesn't converse in a language you can gouge.

A myriad of croons envelop the room, these soft tingling sounds that feel just barely within reach of your eardrums. The... Appendage, sprouting from the top of his head sways, an assortment of warm hues gently fading in and out.

Pink. Orange. Pink. Maroon. Pink. Shock pink. White. Pink blinking.

What is this, Simon Says?

He leans down, and trembling, you glance at the intern beside you in a desperate plea for help.

They look utterly fascinated by the interaction. Panicked, but amazed. You have no idea whether or not that's good for you.

Finally, they seem to come to their senses and realize that you are probably seconds away from pissing yourself if nothing is done.

" Okay. Okay- Listen to me. " They start murmuring, an audible gulp follows. Your eyes twitch to the worker, but you don't dare stare at them long enough to lose track of the literal alien.

" Like I said, he's very docile. There's no reason for him to attack you right now. In fact he's... Nevermind. "

What the fuck do they mean nevermind?!

" I need you to not move too suddenly, and don't scream, okay? "

You nod quietly, looking at the still pink-flashing light above their head. He dangles it in front of his face, as close to the glass as he can, as if to make sure you're getting the message. You hope pink signifies friendliness.

" What- What do I do now? " You whisper.

The intern looks at you like they themself aren't quite sure.

" U- Uhm... Let- Let me contact my- "

Out of nowhere, what you can only call a bark of noise rings out through the room.

This extremely loud sound that immediately frightens you, sharp and rough like a branch cracking but amplified a thousand times. Even now, it feels like it's still echoing within your eardrums.

Did he do that? Did something in the building just break?!

You shrieked, because of course you did, eyes nearly bulging out your skull when you realize the employee told you specifically not to scream.

They're looking at you with a tight-lipped grimace, finger poised over what you presume is a contact on their phone.

There isn't even time for you to say your last words, some kind of message for your family or even just a plea for help.

The alien reacts to your agitated noise quickly, but not at all in the way you'd expect. Instead of perhaps lunging to crack your neck like a twig or slashing your face off, the entity grabs you with both arms by the chest, lifts you into the air, and slides inside the cell it was previously contained in. The clutch is what prevented you from screaming again.

Once again, you channel the wisdom of prey animals in nature documentaries by staying absolutely stock still, and allowing the foreign lifeform to do whatever it wants. He keeps flashing colors at you in patterns you don't recognize, but involve a lot of pink tones. Purple now. Long and pudgy looking digits start poking at your outfit here and there, and you spot something rippling under the mass of his front, along that large opening you had never given much thought to until now.

It looks like something's bursting out of him...

Oh God, oh fuck what is that-

You blink, open-mouthed, at what has to be a dick. Some kind of wriggling, prehensile appendage tipped with a much too human-looking phallus. It flattens against your midsection, and you shudder in confusion. Confusion that soon grows into barely contained hysteria as more bizarre and unique extremities keep slithering out of his insides- What is he, made of cocks?

" S- Some help here?! " You finally manage to nearly sob out.

The worker is frantically trying to appease someone on the other end of their phone, picking at their collar while they watch you get vaguely harassed by an excited extraterrestrial.

" No, no sir he's never done that before- I-... No, I didn't- Sir, he tore the whole door off I can't just lock- " Their eyes widen as more hues of purple keep being flashed your way, like something horrendous is about to happen. " Get- Please get here quickly, I'm begging you! "

By the time they hurriedly mash the end call button and try to stuff their phone into a tight uniform, the alien already gently pried most of your shirt off, cooing some kind of melody that fails to lull you into calmness, which is understandable when a variety of reproductive organs are hovering far too close to your bare skin. Some of them are so... Strange. There's no stopping the thoughts of how they might be used.

Footsteps sound, and as soon as the worker tries to get within grabbing range of you, an already ballsy move in your eyes, the subject makes another powerful sound, the depressions in his chest vibrating while you groan in pain.

The filament in the alien's head swells significantly, blasting a color that your brain simply fails to comprehend, seeing it as a flash of pure black that momentarily blinds you before you have the wisdom to look away, trembling in his grasp.

The employee makes some kind of pained noise, you can hear the squeaking of their shoes as they run out the room and...

Leave you to your own devices.

Lord help you.

[basilpaste]

here it is! the elle thing!!

Loop picked their name on the spot. From the moment they introduced themself — it was something you'd known. It's the name they chose to represent themself with, though! You don't have a right to question it. It wouldn't be fair if it was a name they liked. It would be even less fair if it wasn't. You don't want to push. To risk hurting them.

That's kind of cowardly, isn't it?

Ah… but um. Calling them Loop feels kind of strange sometimes? You usually call your friends nicknames! Loop is your friend, aren't they? In your time stuck in the same two days they've grown into someone you really trust. So it feels too formal when you call them it! Especially when they don't call you your name… ever.

You also wonder if… maybe they called themself Loop in an attempt to dehumanize themself? You don't want to psychoanalyze them, that feels cruel, but it makes sense, doesn't it? Whatever happened to them — the thing that did this to them — you have a feeling that their information on the loops you're trapped in is… more than just bestowed knowledge. It feels awful knowing that someone like them (like Sif, you don't let yourself think) could be trapped like you are now. In what world is that fair?

Maybe they used the name because it was easier. Easier to claim to just be related to the loops. Fundamentally less than human. A guide and nothing more.

You don't like thinking about someone you care about like that. They've let their walls down a lot since you met them! Even if they won't admit it. They aren't as cold as they were when things started. It's comforting to have someone on your side through all of this. You hope that maybe, somehow, you're a comfort to them, too.

So… you finish your prayer to the Change God. Sif passes you right on schedule, finished making their wish. You wave even though they can't see it (it's good to have habits!) and make your way back to the Favor Tree. This is routine, too, but you let yourself hope things will be a little different this time. You have a plan, after all! Something you'll change!

You slip past the low-hanging branches of the tree and sit across from Loop on its roots. They regard you with a simple nod. You wave back cheerfully.

"Hello, Fighter."

Ah! It's go-time. Okay! Play it cool, Isabeau! It's just like any other nickname you've ever given a friend! You give people nicknames all the time! You shouldn't be nervous! Oh crab, why are you so nervous??

"Hi, Elle!"

The flow of the conversation shatters before it's even really begun. You catch Loop's eyes widen just a fraction before they force themself to settle. It seems like reigning in their expression let something else slip, though. They let out a startled laugh. Wildly different from the rehearsed 'teehee' you're used to hearing from them. It's high-pitched and fluttery and when they realize it's happening they slap a hand over the mouth they don't have to muffle it.

It reminds you so much of the first time you called Sif 'Sif' that it makes your chest ache. You push past it. Now's not the time to be thinking like that. You're talking to Loop, not Siffrin.

"L?" They say finally, a barely restrained wobble in their voice.

Somehow — you know they aren't thinking of it the same way you are.

"Yeah!" You nod, "Elle like… E-L-L-E. Like the first letter in Loop! But just calling you a letter felt kind of weird, heh."

They look at you for a long time. You think you've gotten pretty good at reading their expressions, but… you're not quite sure about this one. All you know is that there's a lot of emotion they're working really hard to hide. Oh no! Is this anger, maybe? Did you step in it? Maybe you should backtrack, pretend this never happened—

"Elle." They whisper, holding a hand over the shape on their chest — right where their heart would be.

They turn away from you, "You really are something, Fighter."

Oh. You think they're trying not to cry.