#So if anyone more persuasive than me wants to start working that angle I would be THRILLED

[amplexadversary]

I wonder if a really dedicated collection of book nerds could get those Elaine Duillo style cover illustrations a foothold in the publishing industry again. There are certainly enough artists who can achieve that level of intricacy that a really really popular Trend might be able to do it.

Perhaps any of those bookbinding hobbyists might want to try to go pro and pair up with an artist to refurbish something well enough to hook the really rich art snobs into buying unique, custom pieces for a fuckton of money.

[whumpsday]

I'm going to throw my own analysis in the ring here. Apologies ahead of time if this steps on any toes, as with all analysis the thoughts shared here reflect more on me than the original work. Insert your post on forgiveness here.

I read Kane as disabled and fundamentally failed by his society, who sees that he's effectively missing a hand and decided that's all the reason they need to lock him out of sight.

Does that excuse his actions? No. Goodness knows Bellamy has been waving the "happier better life here" flag where Kane could see it.

He chose, time and again, to hurt Jim. That's on his head.

And he was punished for it.

My particular take on the whole thing is that the Hunters (and thereby us) were the crucible that knocked all the slag out of Kane that was weighing him down. Purifying him in a sense. He is smart enough to learn his lesson and do better. Anton can't claim that. I highly doubt the rest of his family can either.

At the end of the day the story strikes me as one of metamorphosis, at least for Kane. Starting out as a shitty person, who goes through a hell only he would survive, and is lucky enough to be able to reform himself on the otherside.

As for Jim and Liz, their story is more complex. For them the situation really is thorny, but they also have a plethora of good options.

Killing Kane is a good option. Technically it would even be a mercy. Jim just can't bring himself to do it. Which, fair.

To my mind, letting Kane redeem himself is the harder but "holier" option if that makes any sense.

this is a very interesting analysis!

one point i want touch on is the reading of kane as disabled. this isn't quite analogous. kane's in a very peculiar situation. lack of persuasion is looked down on with intense scrutiny within vampire nobility, but you'd be hard-pressed to find a regular everyday vampire who would care. kane was born into a very insular community with very skewed values.

@whumpshaped and i have actually discussed an AU where kane is human, and the parallel we drew there was kane being born into a cult that stigmatizes left-handedness: most of the world won't care, but particular communities REALLY will. unlike ableism, which is pretty pervasive throughout larger society.

the concept of kane's traumatic experiences "purifying him in a sense" is a tricky one. there's some nasty implications that can be drawn from that. but in a way, i do think it speaks to real life. i would draw on my own personal experiences for this. i have posted about my own trauma here, just linking that so i don't have to re-explain it. prior to my own dismal experience, i was far less understanding about the horrors of the american mental health system. i would tell people who were acting like dicks to "go to therapy". i once called 911 on a suicidal friend. i thought my grandfather (who went through something very similar to what i did) was koo-koo because of his intense paranoia of doctors.

after what i went through, i completely get it. i'm the same way, now. always afraid. never trusting healthcare professionals, ESPECIALLY mental health ones. i get it. and i've projected a lot of that "suddenly getting it" feeling into kane, obviously. for all the horrors, i personally feel that i am a better, more compassionate person now than i was before i got ptsd. so that's where that comes from.

jim and liz's situation is really thorny. for jim, once i decided to go with a whumper-turned-whumpee angle on it, i'd decided jim's story would be a metaphor for "learning to live with your trauma". anyone who has trauma needs to learn how to live with it, how to function despite it. it's something i've been trying really hard to do myself. in jim's case, it's literal. kane is his trauma, living in his house, in his basement, and if he can't bring himself to kill him, he has to learn to live with that.

[nctsworld]

no filters (just you)

✩ johnny x reader | pining | fluff | photographer au | 1.7k 

→ summary: in which you finally steal a peek at your best friend’s camera gallery and are surprised to find countless photos of you throughout it all.   → warnings: some drinking, few swear words, kissing

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

The bustling of the joyous occasion surrounds you. String lights glow under the summer night sky. They encompass the white linen tables topped with delicate flowers and ornaments, alongside all the dressed up people dancing, sitting, laughing, and overall having a great time. 

You’re one of the people sitting at a table, indulging yourself with a glass of champagne in one hand. However, you aren’t alone. Johnny, your best friend, is the photographer for the wedding and was allowed to bring a guest. Not much persuasion was needed when free food and drinks were involved. 

Taking a sip of your drink, you watch your towering friend finish taking a picture of people on the dance floor before he heads straight towards you. His camera sways lightly with his cool walk and when he finally reaches you, he feigns an exhausted sigh and sinks into the chair next to you.

“Man, photography just takes so much out of me,” he shakes his head while loosening his tie. 

“Does it really, though?” you cock an eyebrow, then flash him your signature smile. He reflects your expression, grabs your glass, and takes a sip. Actually, more than a sip, since he finishes all the bubbly without hesitation.

“I thought you don’t drink on the job.” 

Setting the thin vessel down, he shakes his head defensively, “I never said that. I said I don’t get drunk on the job. There’s a difference.” 

You snatch your empty glass back and begin to refill it as Johnny carefully removes the camera strap from his body prior to gently placing the camera on the table. He leaves a hand on it, giving him a sense of security over his prized possession (and because it’s the reason why he’s getting paid tonight). 

Johnny looks back and forth between the floor and the table when he says, “Sorry I couldn’t really be with you tonight.”

In the midst of a sip, you immediately refute his apology. “No, don’t apologize, Johnny. You’re working, and you know I can’t complain.” You gesture towards all the food and drinks. 

“But...” you play with the stem of the glass. “Can I at least see some of the pictures?” 

“No, you cannot,” he quickly answers, shutting you down like he usually does. You pout. 

“You know I couldn’t give two shits if you take pictures of naked girls in your spare time, right?” Sarcasm oozes from your accusation, but anyone walking by and hearing it wouldn’t know otherwise. 

“Oh, my God,” he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head from your lack of shame. You notice his cheeks start to colour, but you’re unsure if that’s from the drink or embarrassment. 

“Firstly, all the pictures of the naked girls I take are on my other camera,” he begins to count on his fingers, responding against your banter. “And secondly, I’m working on a secret photography project. Once I’m done, then you can see it.” 

“You promise?” you hold your pinky out. 

He chuckles. “I promise.” 

His pinky finger curls around yours, then both of you angle your hand a bit upward to have your thumbs touch. After the promise is sealed, the two of you have some fun on the dance floor until midnight rolls around and guests trickle more and more away. Johnny deals with the last bit of his job before he begins to drive you home. 

You relax into the passenger seat, looking at all the things that pass by in the middle of the night. Johnny’s music softly plays in the background and almost lulls you to sleep until he mentions he has to stop for gas. 

“I’m gonna pick up some snacks. Do you want any?”

A few come to mind, so you list them for him to pick up on your behalf. He smiles, jokingly tells you not to go anywhere, and heads into the gas station’s convenience store as he’s done filling his tank. While you watch him make his way towards the store, a lightbulb goes off in your head. Without thinking, your hand reaches in the back seat of his car and grasps onto his camera; you couldn’t help but jump at the chance to rummage through his camera gallery. 

The camera’s screen glares at you in the darkness of the car. It’s a bit painful, but you persist and smile back at all the people enjoying themselves in the wedding photos. 

Whenever you see Johnny’s shots, they never fail to amaze you. He has the ability to capture a moment in its purest essence. If a picture is worth a thousand words, Johnny’s pictures were worth double.

Suddenly, you notice a photo of yourself sitting at the table, glancing off to one side. You think to yourself that Johnny caught you in such a picture-perfect moment, he probably couldn’t help himself. 

You scroll further through the wedding photos, but realization gradually dawns on you when you notice that there are more photos of you than there should be at an event that wasn’t even your own. 

Hastily, you go to the master gallery page to view several photos at once. The camera almost drops from your hands as your fingers fumble with the back button to view photos that date back from weeks and months ago at mutual friends’ gatherings. 

Earlier in the summer for Taeyong’s birthday, you see glimpses of you in various shots. Laughing, smiling, wincing. You didn’t even know you had such facial expressions. 

There’s shots of your back peering at a sunset, looking off the balcony of Taeil’s new apartment from his housewarming.

Before then, there’s shots of you at a dinner party celebrating Mark’s promotion at work. 

Johnny’s taken so many photos of you without you ever knowing. How did you not realize? 

You hold the camera’s screen close to your body for a second, wondering if you’re simply Johnny’s artistic muse for a mere project or if there is something actually more to all this. 

Did Johnny really see you as more than friends? 

Did he view you the way you silently yearn for him, or did he only like you through a camera lens?

Turning your head, you see Johnny strolling out of the store with snacks in his arms. Faster than the speed of light, you ensure the camera roll is back to the last wedding photo taken and almost throw it against the back seat. You seethe, knowing Johnny would kill you if he knew you did that, but you maintain composure. You pull your phone out, playing cool just in time as he opens the door. 

During the rest of the ride, you try your hardest to pretend nothing’s wrong. Even when silent, Johnny’s known you long enough to know something’s off. He doesn’t say anything until he pulls up in front of your place. When he does, the suited figure turns off the engine, but leaves the music playing still. 

“Hey,” he whispers your name in the night air. It’s tender, but worrisome. Not a common thing you hear from him. “You okay?” 

You lie, barely nodding, and glance down with a slight grip on the snacks he bought you. The crinkle of the bags are a loud intrusion to the background music and silent air. 

“I…” You’re searching for what to say, deciding if you should continue to lie or not. 

“I may have went through your camera.” The truth croaks out of you, and you’re shaking your head because on top of your confusion, you’re feeling waves of guilt from intruding your best friend’s privacy. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” 

From your peripheral vision, you catch Johnny’s hand grip a little tighter on the steering wheel, then his grip relaxes and he rubs his thumb delicately against it. 

“Can I just say,” he speaks after a few passing moments that feel like eternity, into the tension still present in the air. “I’m not a stalker or creeper, I swear.” 

A beat passes. 

You cut the thick tension with a small laugh. He follows and begins to laugh along with you.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” you sarcastically add and look over at him. 

“Hey, you know I need to cover my grounds. I don’t need my best friend suing my ass.” 

Hearing the term “best friend” lingers and sits with both of you strangely in the air.

“Do you…” you begin to ask the question that may hurt the most, so you elect to ask a less loaded question. “Are you actually doing a photography project using my pictures?” 

He nods with the dim street light shining on him. He’s tired, you can tell, and you feel more guilt for keeping him up any longer than you should. Despite his wariness, Johnny still looks gorgeous, especially with the perfect lighting. Sometimes, he jokes that life is a runway for him, but in this moment, you begin to understand and agree with him. 

“Yeah, it’s a project on something that I consider beautiful,” Johnny glances over to you as the last word rolls off his tongue, and you’re smiling softly at his compliment. “I’m supposed to present it later this week. I was going to figure out a way to break it to you afterwards.” 

Hearing Johnny call you beautiful has your heart fluttering. You just want to jump out of the car, squeal so much that the neighbours would wake up, then you would run into your home and call it a night.

Instead, your body takes control and courage courses through your veins when you reach for the end of his tie. You daintily roll the tip of it between your fingers and let the haunting question free, ready for whatever follows.   

“Do you like me? As more than a friend?” 

You’re suddenly conscious of how hard you’re breathing and your heart flutters become hard knocks against your chest. Johnny’s face is now a few inches away from yours. At this point, you’re unsure if you’re playing with his tie out of nervousness or desiring for something more, or perhaps both. Your eyes attempt to lock with his and you note how he’s breathing just as hard as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Johnny this nervous before. 

“Yeah,” he exhales with a nod. You smell a small hint of the champagne scent against your face from his breath, along with the scent of his faded cologne. Johnny finally manages to match your gaze. “Do you?” 

Without a word, you answer his question by practically yanking his tie closer to you, meeting his lips with yours. 

The night ends with you two kissing breathlessly in the backseat until hues of orange and yellow begin to stain the horizon. 

[danzinora-switch]

Typing the Turtles (ROTTMNT) Part 3 - Leonardo

This started out as an investigation into the turtles’ insecurities, because one thing the show does so well is demonstrate that they are still teenagers. And being a teenager is a confusing experience - there’s angst, drama, exploring one’s identity, a lot of growth, and overall figuring out who you are. That’s a messy process, too! And we see this mess in our turtles: they mess up, they’re learning, they self-doubt, they have fears and insecurities, but they’re also discovering their strengths and how to overcome their inner obstacles.

So after thinking about all this way too long, here’s my psychological breakdown of each turtle (I’ll be referencing MBTI and the Enneagram a ton, but will include links for more general information on those if you don’t know what I’m talking about). 

Parts One and Two found on the links for Raph and Don.

Leo: ESTP, 3w2

The Achiever, the Entrepreneur, the Charmer, the Explorer

I’ve wanted to say this for a long time: Leo is such a 3, he is such a 3 it hurts, oh my goodness. Read this: https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-3 and tell me that isn’t Leo to a T.

It took me a little longer to figure out the MBTI for him, but he has a lot of similarities with the ESTP. This does mean we need to step away from the ‘frat bro’ stereotype of ESTPs, though. They are a lot more keen than convention would suggest.

Really, a big thing with Leo is his need to be The Best. What that means, to him, is normally something physically-related. He needs to be the best at sports or performing certain moves, which we see in episodes like The Longest Fight where he bets he can pull off the impossible skateboard move, or Shell in a Cell where he asserts he can out-perform Ghostbear. Additionally, episodes like Air Turtle really showcase the ugly side of his competitiveness. But he also desires physical perfection. He is rather image-conscious, fretting about his body in Stuck on You, and routinely referring to himself as the team’s Faceman. The biggest example of this was his idea for a disguise in Hidden City Job: the Turtle Adonis. An adonis is considered the peak physical ideal, handsome and attractive to boot. If this drive doesn’t scream Enneagram Three I don’t know what does.

Leo at his worst: Leo’s competitive side can certainly get the best of him. We see this in episodes like Air Turtle, where his ‘win at all costs’ attitude starts to alienate him from the group. Raph has also described him as a ‘poor winner’ which refers to his tendency to gloat when he does beat out the competition, or was proven right (Bug Busters, The Gumbus, You Got Served, LAIR GAMES). He’s smug, gloating, and when he does lose tries to wiggle out of it through technicalities. The one time he says something isn’t a competition is after Mikey beats him at Skateball (You Got Served). And when he ‘loses’ the Lair Games, Donnie’s win comes with a catch that Leo built in.

Threes do this for approval and validation, though, and we see that underlying his need to be the team’s Champion in Minotaur Maze and Portal Jacked! “I’m nothing without them!” he cries to Hueso. “What good is a team with just a Faceman?” Threes have a need to distinguish themselves from others, to be admired, to have attention, so that they then feel valuable and worthwhile. Other people, then, are necessary. When Leo wants to get on the Wall of Champions in Minotaur Maze, his brothers factor in to his unmet needs. “...because what good is being a Champion if you can’t rub it in your brothers’ faces?” Leo doesn’t just need to be The Best… he needs others to acknowledge it, as well.

Average Leo: He’s got a practical eye for situations and the quickness to adapt and act as needed. The ESTP is known for being bold as well as perceptive. We see this in fight scenes such as Battle Nexus: New York when he is quick to determine that physical comedy is the key to making the sprite laugh and immediately changing his approach.

He also displays a remarkable amount of common sense when making decisions. In Origami Tsunami, as the guys discuss becoming heroes, he’s the one who shoots down ideas until they reach a more achievable goal: taking on paper thieves. And he’s got a point, can you imagine the turtles taking on a spine-breaker or mangler at that point in time? When everyone else is blinded by ideals concerning fixing the Mutant Menace, he’s the only one who asks “anybody down for staying home during the anti-mutant panic?” Of course, he still goes along with their adventure, because ESTP’s live in The Moment, so why not?

Something else that I want to mention is Leo’s appreciation for the Machiavellian. He has an incredibly intuitive grasp on it, and actively appreciates twists, turns, betrayals and deceptions. His love for magic probably stems from this (The Clothes Don’t Make the Turtle) and he is the only one enjoying the series of betrayals in Warren & Hypno Sitting in a Tree. Hidden City Job also expands on the fact that Leo doesn’t have a problem with betrayal, as he revels about brotherly betrayal happening all the time. He’s cool with being betrayed… just know that he can betray you back. It’s all fair game.

This can have upsides and downsides. On the upside, his understanding of trickery can lead to brilliant plans and solutions such as what we saw in Many Unhappy Returns, where he was able to outsmart Big Mama herself. On the downside, this kind of behavior is not always the best move - his family does not appreciate being left out of the loop of his schemes, or actively being manipulated as part of them (Leo’s plan in Many Unhappy Returns worked, but he still left his brothers alone and exhausted, and did not consider the emotional effect it would have on Splinter being sent back into the arena). At that point it’s no wonder he asks “why does no one trust me?” Because you tend to have an angle, ‘Nardo. Be careful how you use that.

He is also incredibly persuasive. This is partly why I feel he is a 3 wing 2, ‘The Charmer’ because he knows how to communicate to get what he wants. When used for the right reasons, we see him settle discord such as cooling the mobs in You Got Served or apologize when he knows an apology is needed (Todd Scouts, Air Turtle, Hidden City Job). We see it used neutrally (and a bit skeptically) in Many Unhappy Returns when he declares he’ll just go to see Big Mama and “turn up the Leo”. It can also be used deceptively, however. Todd Scouts shows this when Leo is the one who convinces Todd that they’re ready to kick things up a notch by going out alone… when really they just want to get away from him. He’ll also use words to get under people’s skins: dismissing Warren Stone in Stuck on You, but also pointing out Donnie’s beach ball fear in Mind Meld. He knows which words will get the responses he wants, for better or for worse.

Leo at his Best: Leo is the team’s motivator. He’s the one giving the others the pep-talks and encouragement they need to continue (Origami Tsunami, Finale: Rise). Donnie said it best after Leo’s redemption in Air Turtle: “your confidence is giving me confidence!”

Because that’s the healthy thing about Threes: they strive to reach their own full potential, which also inspires others to reach theirs. Leo doesn’t like to fail/lose, but he won’t let anyone else succumb, either. He has the most confidence in each Mad Dog’s ability. “I knew you guys could handle it!” he says in Many Unhappy Returns, and points out with amazing accuracy just what his brothers are capable of. He not only believes in himself, he believes in those around him. And he’s able to inspire them when they’re feeling down about their own abilities or not enthused about the task (see his speech about standing up for the paper men in Origami Tsunami).

This also includes encouragement and compliments in other areas. Regarding the Shell Hogs: “Donnie, these are amazing! And I know everything I say sounds sarcastic, but I’m being completely genuine this time” (Stuck on You). When Mikey isn’t sure Hypno will like him: “What? Of course he will, you’re adorable!” (Newsworthy). To Raph, “Does this place have smoke detectors? Because you’re on fire, Big Daddy!” (The Clothes Don’t Make the Turtle).

He’s also able to step in and take charge when Raph falls because he can see what action needs to be taken (that practical and observant, yet bold ESTP side coming in). When Raph gets separated in the sewers, Leo’s the one who doesn’t treat it casually and gets the others moving to find him (Man vs Sewer). When his older brother is hypnotized by Hypno in Stuck on You, he quickly reacts and tells Mikey and Donnie what the plan is and enacts it. We see this leader potential grow bit by bit, and his awareness of each individual’s role on the team allows him to step back from areas that he knows aren’t his forte: Raph can handle the ‘teamwork’ stuff, Donnie has got the technical know-how, and Mikey takes care of positive outlook for any situation. Leo can keep things fun and inspire confidence. His puns help lighten the mood, his jokes break the ice of tense situations, and he never stops believing in their own abilities, which keeps them all going (Donnie’s Gifts, Many Unhappy Returns).

Leo Relationships:

(While Leo has a competitive episode with each of his brothers: Shell in a Cell, Lair Games, and You Got Served, there is more going on than just that).

Raph: Both Leo and Raph have strong gut feelings that can be blindsided. Leo picks up immediately that Big Mama is not trustworthy while Raph is more than happy to believe her, but Leo is blinded by his fan-love for Jupiter Jim to realize that Marcus Montcrief is a crazy and suspicious adult, which Raph becomes aware of early on (Bug Busters, Jupiter Jim Ahoy!). They both can be a little too head-first when diving into plans, such as checking out the creepy bus in One Man’s Junk or doing their best to help April in Hypno: Part Deux. But they do trust each other to have each other’s backs, and there’s (thankfully!) no Leo vs Angst in this version of their characters. It really allows them to be comfortable with each other (and egg each other on with more than just missions: see the pizza pigeon in Mind Meld).

Donnie: In some ways Leo acts like a foil for Donnie. His own natural confidence counterbalances a lot of his twin’s insecurities. They butt heads over it, sure, with Donnie perhaps taking things too seriously and Leo seemingly not taking them seriously enough, but I like I said in Donnie’s typing: one’s chill and one’s uptight. There’s a ton of back and forth between them: they are the epitome of siblings fighting one minute and getting up to no good together the next (Example from The Mystic Library: Leo grooves out with Donnie’s rap one moment and tries to get him kicked off the team in the next scene). They may antagonize each other in Lair Games, Smart Lair, the beginning of Snow Day and Hidden City Job, and so much more, but also demonstrate brotherly love (and antics) in Operation: Normal, the end of Hidden City Job and Smart Lair, and, of course, Battle Nexus: New York. “For Donnie’s honor!”

Mikey: Leo sticks up for Mikey a fair amount, especially to Raph. He supports Mikey trying to open the portal in Mystic Mayhem, and going out on his first solo mission in Hot Soup: The Game. We actually need more Leo and Mikey episodes; of the two we have one is a competition episode (You Got Served), and The Gumbus has Leo tag along intent on proving Mikey wrong. It seems they like to hang out during the down time a lot, as they play in the arcade and skateboard off-screen in episodes such as Mrs. Cuddles, You Got Served, Mind Games, and Sparring Partner. And of course, we have the gripping image of Leo protecting Mikey’s shell with his own in Battle Nexus: New York. I’d really like to see them get up to more shenanigans, though. (hint, hint @nickelodeon​, @netflix​).

Ultimately, Leo is a confident, competitive turtle striving to reach his full potential. He is normally great at encouraging his brothers to do the same, and devising grand strategies, but tends to forget the emotional effects his actions can have on them, especially if he gets carried away on his quest to be The Best. He’s still learning, and these traits will likely flesh out as he grows into a more leader-like role.

For more information on the ESTP and Enneagram 3 personality types, click here:

https://www.16personalities.com/estp-personality

https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-3

https://www.crystalknows.com/enneagram/type-3-wing-2

https://ih0.redbubble.net/image.155775924.2701/flat,800x800,070,f.u5.jpg

[latenightcinephile]

#719: 'Hour of the Wolf', dir. Ingmar Bergman, 1968.

Ingmar Bergman: <makes Hour of the Wolf> Me: that's a trap. Me: <walks into trap>

According to people who have seen a lot more of Ingmar Bergman's filmography than I have, this is an interesting actor's piece, but not a very successful film overall. They cite the overall reliance on suspension of disbelief, and argue that if you have to actively tell your audience to put their critical thinking faculties on hold for the plot to be persuasive, then you haven't made a very good film and you shouldn't pretend your artifice is deliberate. One of the things I've always tried to avoid when writing about the films on the list is pretension. If I think a film isn't very good on its own merits, then I don't feel the need to defend its watchability. Something can be important without being good or fun, and I try not to pretend I know more than people who make a living discussing films just because I have a degree and can scroll to the sources at the bottom of a Wikipedia article.

All that being said, I think Hour of the Wolf is a trap Bergman has set for people who analyse films, and I think I can discuss the trap without falling into it myself. I think. Let's see.

The plot of Hour of the Wolf is pretty simple: A woman tells us the story of how her husband, an artist, disappeared. They moved together to an island owned by a wealthy couple who lived in a nearby castle. The artist Johan (Max von Sydow) is beset by nightmares about strange figures, and forces himself to stay up all night, even through the hour just before dawn, which is where the film's title comes from. The wife, Alma (Liv Ullmann) is visited one day by an old woman who knows where Johan keeps his diary, and she encourages Alma to read it. Reading the diary, Alma discovers that Johan is hallucinating the figures from his nightmares, and also his former lover, Veronica Vogler (Ingrid Thulin).

Johan and Alma are invited to the castle for dinner, along with other inhabitants of the island, who we've seen through flashbacks are the same people pestering Johan. Everyone is a big fan of Johan's work, and everyone knows his history with Veronica, which makes the whole dinner awkward bordering on eerie. They seem to view art as a commodity, and artists as figures to be humiliated as a kind of public service, but all in good fun. During their late-night discussions, Johan admits to Alma his previous traumas, which test her faith in her husband. They are invited to another dinner, and promised that Veronica will be there. Johan shoots Alma (fatally, he believes) and runs to the castle to be reunited, where he discovers that the guests are the nightmarish beings he feared. Nonetheless, he finds Veronica, but is unable to make love to her while the assorted spectres watch. Alma finds Johan in the swamps, where he is attacked by the monsters before disappearing. Back in the film's framing device, Alma asks if she was unable to protect Johan because she didn't love him enough, or if she loved him too much.

Before diving into the more meta analysis, I think it's worth saying that this film is really good, and that Bergman makes it compelling in an interesting way. Watching it (and especially the 2016 remaster) I thought that it could be summed up as 'crisp'. Bergman and his cinematographer, Sven Nykvist, use sparse settings and frame them from unusual angles that highlight textures. Everything is still and quiet, and it feels like you have a sense of how every object in this film feels. Because of that crispness and quietness, it becomes easy to share the fears and internal experiences of Alma and Johan, who are frequently filmed in such tight shots that they physically block the camera from having a full view. That silent claustrophobia is what makes this film so unsettling, although there aren't many points where that unsettlingness becomes outright horror.

A lot of the critics that disliked Hour of the Wolf weren't able to make that leap of belief that Bergman seemingly wants from the audience. With a director as renowned as Bergman, who frequently made heavily allegorical films, people were quick to read the film's content, searching for what was autobiographical in order to fit it into the larger pattern of his work. Critical analyses abound in which Johan is a stand-in for Bergman, in which the character is read through theories of psychoanalysis and sexuality; parallels are drawn with Mozart and E.T.A. Hoffmann, August Strindberg and Henry Fuseli. Johan's nightmares are drawn from dreams that Bergman acknowledged having, so it must be autobiographical; Bergman must be trying to express something about himself.

Okay. But if he is trying to express something about himself, let's step back to look at the film's plot, retold in broader strokes to make the overall picture clearer. An artist meets some people who are fans of his work, and who seem to know his history and behaviour better than his wife does. They oppress him to the point that he turns to violence to get rid of them - in fact, this is the one common denominator of all of Johan’s violence: people observe him too closely. All that changes when the fans offer to reunite him with his lost object of obsession. They all love her too, you see. It must be tempting to be rewarded by the people who know you best, but they never seem to want that for your sake, only for theirs.

Now imagine you've made a film about that, and fans of your work, who seem to know your history, try to tell something about you through it. They observe you and your work closely. They want to use it to figure out how you feel about your past. They like your work, but in the confines by which they understand it - as an allegory, as a commodity, and as a reflection of you.

This is why I think this film is a trap.

Now, if you follow the instructions Bergman lays out, you'll escape alive. Start with the opening credits, during which you can hear the film's crew setting up for a take. That's your first hint: this is a fiction; it's been carefully constructed to make you believe it's real. Enjoy Hour of the Wolf as a film and as a story. Bergman has drawn some elements from his own life, as all artists do, but don't let yourself be distracted by which things are real: Bergman has nightmares, but he's probably never killed anyone, and anyway, that's the whole point. This film spends a lot of time trying to make you decide whether the monsters are real or not. Ignore that. Assume they exist, because the film will eventually tell you. Did they exist beforehand and start haunting Johan, or did Johan will them into existence? Would they exist if Johan wasn't still obsessed with Veronica? Has Johan really done those awful things, or does he just say he has to try and drive Alma away?

Hour of the Wolf is just a story that ends in a swamp. Analysing it is a whole other swamp of its own.

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #10: Heady

Heady – (of liquor) potent; intoxicating. -OR- willful or rash

Note - This takes place during the finale of 5.0, after the little kid asks if the player is the Warrior of Darkness, but before the Scions gather in the Ocular and send the Warrior back to the Source. The Crystarium is throwing a giant party to celebrate their victory.

Rheika was being subjected to another round of hearty toasting. She’d had a few to drink, but she knew her tolerance well enough to know that she was slightly tipsy and planned not to go any further than she already was. With every toast she pretended to drink, and so far no one had noticed. She wanted to be mostly clear-headed for what had to happen next.

She spotted Thancred approaching the bar and waved him over. The assembled patrons then began toasting his virtues as well, but he managed to weave past them all to get to her.

“Enjoying the festivities in your honor?” he teased.

“Uugggh. Ordinarily I only want this much attention when I’m performing, but these people won’t even let me get a word in to start a performance! It’s a never ending stream of ‘thank-yous’ or ‘bless-yous’ or people asking me to bless them!” she replied, tossing her hands in the air in frustration.

“I notice you’re not partaking much” Thancred pointed out, glancing towards her still-half full tankard.

She scoffed. Of course, he’d notice. He’d probably been keeping an eye on her all night. This newfound protector role he’d adopted suited him well, she decided. It was also kind of, okay really sexy…

No, down, girl. Things to do. “Not yet. Can you gather everyone in the Ocular? The Scions, I mean. And the Exarch. Ryne, too, but I counted her in the Scions, but I didn’t know if you would, so…yeah her too.”

He chuckled. “Give me a little bit and I’ll send them all that way.”

“Thanks, Thancred. Meet you there.”

Reaching into her pouch, she palmed one of her smoke pellets.

A short time later, Thancred led the others into the Ocular. Rheika was already present, wearing the armor she wore as a Shinobi. Her daggers sat her side, and she smelled faintly of the smoke they knew she used to distract opponents so she could hide. She stood in front of the portal that led back to the source, the Exarch’s usual spot when he addressed them all

Everyone, almost by instinct, fanned out in a semi-circle around her.

“Thanks for coming, everyone. I wanted to get you all together before the night got any later. I’ve…I’ve got things I need to say to each of you. Stuff that I didn’t want to wait until the morning. Hell, most of it I didn’t want to even wait until now but…well we’ve been a bit busy.”

All of them nodded, waiting for her to continue.

Rheika walked up to Ryne and embraced her. When they finally separated, she kept her hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes, a wide smile on her face.

“Ryne, I love you. I know you had to accept a lot, being the Oracle, but you’ve never wavered in wanting to help, and you saved my life a bunch. I’m so thankful for you and we are gonna spend a lot of time becoming friends, okay?”

Ryne had tears streaming down her face, but she hugged Rheika again. “I can’t wait!”

Rheika let her go and walked over to Alphinaud. She ruffled his hair. “You, sir, used to be an insufferable twerp when I first met you.”

Everyone chuckled, even Alphinaud.

Rheika continued. “I said ‘used to’ and I absolutely mean it. You aren’t that kid and you haven’t been for a very long time. “

She bent down and put her hands around his shoulders. “You’ve had many more successes than you have failures, and they’ve been much more far-reaching. I want you to stop living in the shadow of your mistakes and live for your successes, past and future. Can you do that for me?”

Alphinaud sniffed and wiped a single tear from his eye. “I can. Thank you.”

She nodded, then walked to Alisaie. She also got a hug, but Rheika did not let go when she spoke to her, merely loosened her hold a little. “You’re so amazing, you know that? Trust me, I know Red Magic, and you’re utterly fantastic, and you’ve got a lot more growing to do, so just imagine how much more amazing you’re going to be. Tesleen was not your fault. Please don’t let guilt over her consume you. You have far too much life left to be eaten up by it, okay?”

Alisaie just hugs back harder, choking a sob. “Okay”, she says through her tears. “I’ll try”.

Rheika releases the hug and kisses her forehead. “All I ask, sweetie.”

She lets her go and looks over to Y’shtola, who has been smiling at the outpouring of love from the Warrior of Darkness. That smile fades when she sees that Rheika’s expression is no longer happy.

She looked upset.

Rheika approaches her, arms crossed. “I know you weren’t part of the deception. But you still held things from me. I know it wasn’t long before you did say something, but it hurt that you delayed even that long.

Y’shtola started to respond, then looked away, shame on her visage. “No, I will not defend my actions. You are right. I should not have. You are my friend, one of my dearest, and I treated you as a puzzle to be solved. Never again.”

Her eyes found Rheika again. “I am truly sorry for the pain I caused you, Rheika.”

Rheika smiled and reached forward to hug her. “Accepted and forgiven, Shtola.”

She grinned. “Oh, and do you recall what you promised me the night before we set out for Eulmore? Feel free to make good on that whenever you like!”

Y’shtola arched her eyebrows in confusion, then they shot up as her eyes went ride and she turned crimson. She quickly looked down, hoping no one noticed.

Everyone did, though no one had any idea what Rheika was talking about.

She walked over to Thancred, giving him a cool smile. “You know what I’m going to say?”

He gave a half smile. “I presume you’re going to chastise me for the way I acted these past few years, the way I treated Ryne.”

“And everyone else, too. You hurt more than you realize when you lash out rather than talk about your hurts, Thancred. We all realize how much we rely on you, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t able to have you rely on us when you need it, when you’re the one hurting. No more forgetting that, you understand?”

“I won’t forget anymore, Rheika. I promise” he says, solemnly.

“Good.” She gave him a quick seductive wink. “Remember what you lose when you do, pretty boy”

He also blushed and prayed Ryne didn’t notice. She did, but she wasn’t sure why he was.

Rheika then turned to Urianger. He noted with some distress that her expression had chilled to anger, and he closed his eyes and bowed his head.

She stopped in front of him. “This is twice now you’ve played a game without informing the rest of us that’s gotten people hurt, Urianger. First there was that double-dealing with Ardbert’s crew that got Alisaie poisoned by Renda-Rae, now this. So I’m going to ask you one more time; are you going to honor the promise you made before we dove into the Tempest? ‘No further secrets?’

“Aye, milady. No more. Mine strategizing alone hath proven a bane upon someone too many a time, and I wilt allow no persuasions of any kind, be they mine or elsewhere, to deter me from this.”

“Good. You’re not BAD at this, Uri, but as brilliant as you are, no one can see every angle. The best tacticians work in teams, so that others might see circumstances that we miss. You’re surrounded by some of the smartest people on two stars, don’t forget that. I forgive you, by the way. I don’t remember if I said that already.”

“My thanks, Rheika.”

She smirks at him. “However, you DO owe me, so here’s how you’re gonna pay me back. When we get you all home, you are absolutely not allowed to hide away under that hooded robe ever again. In fact, I hereby ban you from wearing anything with sleeves. Those arms deserve to be seen.”

Urianger looked at his arms, confused. The other Scions chuckled, with Thancred throwing in a “Hear, hear!” for good measure.

She leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “And we can talk later about whether or not you’d like to show me the rest of those muscles later. If you want.”

She pulled back and gave him a friendly innocent smile. Urianger, to his credit, managed to hide his blush short of some faint rosiness in his cheeks.

Rheika turned to the Exarch and frowned. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled.

When she re-opened her eyes, the others all took a step back. None of them had ever seen her this angry, a fury born of betrayal and pain.

“What’s coming next is not going to be pretty. If anyone wants to leave, I understand. No judgement. If you stay though…well, consider yourself warned.”

No one moved.

She panned back and forth to the others, then nodded. “All right, then.”

She stepped forward to G’raha and poked a finger at his chest. “You’ve talked a lot lately, G’raha Tia. You’ve always been gifted with a tongue of silver. But right now, I’m more than just a bit tired of it. So here’s how this is going to work. You are not allowed to speak until I’m done talking, unless I ask you a question directly. When you answer, you do so with one word. You say anything more than that, or take too long to choose your single word and I will put you on the floor. Am I clear??”

G’raha gulped, then said “Yes”. His voice was uneven. Scared, even.

Good, she thought.

“Did you think I didn’t know, G’raha Tia?”

He cocked his head in confusion. “Pardon?”

She turned and looked back to the portal. “Did you think I didn’t know that it was you under that hood?”

His head fell. “Hoped.”

She laughed. “If you didn’t want me to recognize you, you did a pretty piss-poor job of trying to disguise yourself. That hood didn’t always cover your eyes, you know. I glimpsed crimson under there, more than once. But even before that, did you think I wouldn’t recognize your voice?

He looked up, sadness on his face. “Years”

“NOT FOR ME!” she yelled, whirling on him. “Not for me. I knew, right away, that it was you. So many times you could have come clean, and you didn’t, so I never knew exactly how much to trust you. After all, why would my good friend G’raha Tia need to conceal himself and his intent from me?”

She paused, and begin pacing back and forth before him. Eventually she spoke again. “So why, Graha? Why lie to me?”

He swallowed. “Protect.”

She froze, then slowly panned towards his eyes, outrage practically pouring off of her. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘protect’? YOU DON’T HAVE THAT RIGHT” she yelled.

G’raha reeled, catching his balance on a backstepped foot, before righting himself and returning his gaze to her, looking pitiful.

She continued. “I am SICK to FUCKING DEATH of people deciding what’s best for me and still asking me to risk my life to save their homes or people or the planet. I, and I alone, have the right to decide what I need protecting from! Especially from people who are supposed to be my friends! Instead, your so-called protection put me through an absolute hell to deal with on my own!”

She gestures to the other Scions. “I love and cherish these people and without them I would never have stood a chance in this fight, but they are not the Warriors of Light! They don’t have the Echo, or the Blessing of Hydaelyn. Do you have any concept of how much easier this could have been if you had thought to summon more than one of us?”

G’raha suddenly looked very afraid. “Un…undefended!”

She noticed. “Oh, undefended, I see! You were thinking of the Source, you didn’t want to leave no Warriors of Light to defend it. Fine, I’ll accept that. But there’s four of us, G’raha.” She held up four fingers for emphasis. “You could have grabbed me and Dahkar, or Franks and Fearless, or me and Fearless. Any combination of two of us! But you didn’t. No no, you specifically targeted me. Don’t bother denying it, I’ve seen enough of your past to know this. So here’s the million-gil question, G’raha Tia. Why. Me?”

He closed his eyes, tears streaming down. He opened them again, crimson irises meeting green. “L-love.”

Leather first met his face before he could even blink, impacting his crystal covered cheek. He remembered crying out in pain, and then the next he was on the floor, grasping his jaw. He heard Ryne gasp, then Alphinaud say “That’s enough, Rheika!” He regained his equilibrium in time to see that Urianger is blocking Alphinaud from physically interceding.

“Master Alphinaud, if thou valuest thine health, I beseech thee, be silent. These feelings must needs be aired.”

He turned to see that Rheika has not stopped glaring at him. “What did we talk about that second night at the find, G’raha?”

He tested his jaw. Not broken, thankfully. The crystal didn’t appear to be cracked, either. He wondered if her first is all right, then quickly remembered he was on a timetable. “You.”

She nodded. “So you do remember. I knew you were interested in me, so I told you all about me. I’m not shy about it, after all. Do you remember what you said in reply. Don’t answer that, because I don’t want to hear it from you right now. You said you understood. So you already knew there would never, ever be anything but friendship between us when you locked yourself in this tower, and then you turn around and bring me across the rift, alone, and ask me to save both of these worlds because you think you’re in love with me?”

He had gotten back on his feet, but let her unleash all of her hurt, because he knew he had misjudged her greatly, and he deserved it. “Shame.” is the one word he could think to say.

“What exactly were you thinking would happen, G’raha? That some grand romantic gesture would break through the stone of my heart? Do you think you’re the first person to think that they’re the ‘right one i’ve been waiting all my life for’?”

“No…”

She crossed her arms in front of him. “No, you’re not. Dozens of others before you have tried, thinking I just needed ‘fixing’. You know what happened to them? They have it made very clear to them that they are not to speak with me anymore. Because I do NOT. NEED. FIXING. There isn’t a damn thing wrong with me. And you lied to my face when you said you understood that, just like they did. But your lie? That nearly cost me my life and two worlds worth of others.

G’raha silently sobbed, eyes closed but tears streaming down his face.

“Look at me”

He opened his eyes. She looked back at him, her face neutral.

“The only reasons I’m not going to do that to you are because despite all of that, you did bring hope to the people of that undone future. You built this city as a bastion of refuge and safety to the people of this realm. You protected them for a century. And despite your massive fucking screwup bringing me here alone and lying to me about it, when I truly needed them the most, you brought my brothers and sister across the rift to help me kill Emet-Selch.”

“That’s a lot of good to weigh against the bad of you lying to me and ignoring my wishes, G’raha. And I think you realized how futile your hope was a while back. Am I right about that?”

He nods. “Lakeland.”

“When we spoke alone after the Eaters invaded it you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Got it. So here’s what we’re gonna do, G’raha. You’re gonna figure out how to get the Scions home. Without killing yourself. You’re gonna keep taking care of this city. You’re gonna be one of the voices that helps guild this realm into a bright new future. You do all that, and this godsdamned time you remember what I told you, and maybe we can fix our friendship? Think you can do that?”

He nodded and smiled. “Yes.”

“Good.” She walked past him towards the Ocular’s exit. The others all watched her. “That was it, I’m done. I’ve been holding back drinking too much all evening so that I’d have a clear enough head to say all of that, so now that it’s over, I’m going to drink a lot more. If you all feel like joining me, can’t wait to see you there. If not, see you in the morning.”

She strode out of the Ocular. The twins soon followed, then after a few gazes between each other, the other Scions soon followed, until only G’raha Tia remained.

Despite everything he knew he’d done horribly wrong, he counted himself fiercely lucky that it hadn’t cost him everything. And he looked to the future with a renewed determination to continue repairing that which he’d damaged.

[movedyourchair505]

After Hours 

I know, no one asked for this. But if anyone was wondering a little bit about Matt’s backstory in NN (which no one was) and how he met his wife, here you go. Smut warning ~

x x 

“So...”

Along with the words, he could feel the dark pair of eyes on him, from the corner of his eye, and despite everything, it was soothing rather than challenging.

“'ow's it feel?”

He let his gaze wander before he offered a response, took in the dim lights that illuminated the inside of the club's darkness here and there, the silhouettes spinning around the shiny poles that the lights bounced off of, reflecting back to the glass-lined wall, the air thick with the smell of whisky bitterness and heavy perfume. He nodded slowly, licking his lips and taking a sip from his drink before looking back at the man to his left. “'s liberatin'...” He inhaled deeply. “'onestleh can't fank yeh enouf, Mr Turner.” He swallowed, diverted his gaze when he did too, another sip that burned down on his tongue, down the heat of his throat. He'd missed the taste, had sworn to himself between the exercise, the focus, the challenges he'd faced that he would never take his freedom for granted again, especially now that the man next to him had made a whole different life possible, the opportunities endless, and he would not waste a single one. He breathed out with content.

“Exquisite, innit?” He raised an eyebrow at the taller man to his right, nodding down to the glass in his hand.

“Bloodeh gorgeous,” he nodded. “What fookin' thrill.” He tilted his head to the side. “'n the view too.”

Turner chuckled. “Aneh of 'em tha' yeh fanceh, amico mio?” He scratched at his jaw as he looked out at the women across the club, dancing, illuminated on the stages. “Yeh pick one. I'll free a private room for yeh in the back, eh? Me treat.”

“Mr Turner...” He swallowed, though couldn't resist the undeniable temptation of the offer.

“Oh,” Turner waved it off, shaking his head. “Yeh work for meh now. Alexander t'yeh.”

He smiled, knew how lucky he could count himself due to the respect he'd earned himself from the most powerful man in the city. “Rehyt. Alexander.” He bit his lip, worried he'd overstep a boundary, but the look in the other man's dark eyes was genuine.

Turner chuckled, gesturing vaguely with his hand before his fingers closed around his glass again. “None of 'em are off limits.”

He swallowed again, looked around, his gaze having wandered, though continuously returned to the same light in the darkness, not too far from them, over and over again, the curves, moves familiar and he nodded towards the tall brunette. “'er.”

Turner followed his gaze, the indicating nod. “I mean, tha's not realleh... 'er line of work. Sheh usualleh joost dances.”

He scratched at his chin, nodding slowly, had already expected the response. “Yeh said none were off limits,” he chuckled, though let his gaze wander to find an alternative.

“Mm.” Turner hummed. “Tha's rehyt, Maffew.” He nodded. “I'll see wha' I can do.” He waved over one of the other security men, stating his command when the man leaned in to await instructions.

“Yeh said sheh dun't-...”

Turner waved it off. “Nobodeh says no teh Alexander Turner.”

He chuckled, pursing his lips, watching as the man wearing a suit identical to his own made his way over to the light Matthew hadn't been able to take his eyes off of, waited until the woman faced him, then beckoning for her to come down, and Matthew eyed the way her hips swayed, the way she shook her hair back as she was led off her stage by the hand and mere moments later stood right in front of them, the other member of security stepping into the back again.

“Mr Turner...” The woman smiled, taking a step towards him.

“'ello, darlin'...” Turner drawled, eyeing the strappy silver dress that clung to her body, accentuated her curves with cut out panels that left little to the imagination, her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. “Y'look luvleh...” There was a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “'avin' a good night?”

“Always,” she smiled, tilting her head as she looked back at him, held his gaze when it met hers again.

“Look, doll,” he hummed. “Dun't wanna aneh pressure on yeh or nofin'...” He placed his hand on her lower back, leaning in as he angled her slightly to face Matthew. “But this is me good friend, Maffew...” He nodded over at him. “He likes yeh, why dun't yeh spend the night wif 'im? Mm?” He reached to stroke his thumb across her cheek. “I need yeh teh show 'im a good time.”

Her gaze wandered over to the man in question and she stepped away from Turner and closer to him instead, placing her hand on his shoulder as she looked him up at down, then back at Turner who raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, making her nod in response. “Hi, Matthew,” she smiled, the tone in her voice melodic.

“'ello...” He swallowed. “Y'look stunnin'. Nice t'meet yeh.”

“And you,” she said, her fingers moving through his hair at the back of his head as she came closer. “I'm Sapphire.”

“Got the room readeh for yeh, take 'im away, eh? Yeh'll beh compensated generousleh,” Turner promised.

She smiled back at him, had expected the reassurance, though would not have insisted on it, given the attraction to her employer's friend, the familiarity. “Thank you, Mr Turner,” she responded, before turning to the man who's hand was now resting on her lower back. “I'm happy to be of service.” She smirked, then walked ahead to lead the way, could feel both their gazes on her as her hips swayed, though before she could open the door, Matthew had caught up with her, his hand pushing down on the handle, then waiting for her to walk through, instantly following and they were shielded from the rest of the club.

She watched as he slowly crossed the room to sit and sink into the plush of dark velvet that lined the wall while her heels clicked on the floor on her way to the pole in the middle of the room, though she held his gaze when he looked back at her, gave a nod when she reached to wrap her fingers around the pole.

He smoothed his hands down his thighs as he leaned back and shifted to get comfortable, unable to take his eyes off her as she started to move, swaying slowly at first, but soon transitioning into the moves he still found somewhat familiar, getting lost in the way she ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes locked on his while she wrapped her leg around the pole, dipped her chest, her movements slow, seductive, capturing his full attention with ease, had his gaze trailing her curves, his fingers twitching.

He cleared his throat. “C'mere,” he hummed, undeniably impatient, moving his legs apart slightly as he watched her follow his command instantly, slow, her hips swaying as she approached him, came to stop once she stood between his legs, where she resumed her dance, teasing him purposefully with her every move, so close that he saw no reason to not touch her, his reaction instinctive as his hands found her hips, though surprised when she shifted into his lap without difficulty, straddling him, her hands on his shoulders.

“Is this what you want?” she hummed, adjusting herself in his lap, grinding, felt him squeeze her hips. She tilted her head to the side. “I haven't seen you here in a while...”

He swallowed, surprised she'd even noticed him before, raising an eyebrow at her.

She pursed her lips. “Where have you been?” she asked quietly, her tone inquisitive.

“Well...” He licked his lips, the innocence in her voice not escaping him, persuasive. “Were caught doin' summat I shouldn't 'ave done...” He cleared his throat again. “Got a year, but... Turner got me out earleh... I work for 'is securiteh now... joost came back...”

She nodded slowly. “Mm,” she hummed. “So you're going to be around more?”

“Definiteleh.”

Her movements had not quite ceased while she spoke, her awareness of the music somewhere in the distance ever-present, the way her hips were slowly working into his, seemingly unaware, but he was sure she knew – it was fuelling a fire within him.

“So how long's it been?” she breathed, leaning closer, her fingers brushing back his hair.

“I mean...” He pursed his lips. “Couple o' monfs...”

She pushed her bottom lip forward in a sultry pout, her eyes wide. “Oh, no...” She blinked back at him. “No one been taking care of you..”

His grip tightened impulsively when he sensed her intention of getting up, but he was soon eased when she attempted to push his knees apart, allowed her to sink down to her knees between his legs.

“This okay, Sir?”

The corners of his lips tugged upwards and he gave a slight shake of his head. “Nah, no need for tha', darlin'...” he drawled. “Joost Maffew.” He cleared his throat. “But... yeah...”

She sat up to busy herself undoing his belt buckle, unzipping the trousers of his black suit trousers. “Alright...” she hummed, lifting her gaze to his again, while slowly freeing him from the restriction of his underwear, wrapping her fingers around his already hard length, eliciting a sigh from him. She licked her lips, tilting her head to the side, a smile playing around her lips. “Matthew.”

“Oh, fook...” He swallowed, his adam's apple prominent, his neck tense. “Darlin'... wha's yehr real name, eh?”

She didn't hesitate, looked back at him fearlessly. “Fiorentina.”

He watched closely as she held his gaze while parting her lips, slowly pursing her lips around him and taking him into her mouth, making him throw his head back, his hand instantly grabbing a hold of the back of her head, fingers knotted into her hair. “Fookin'ell...” he sighed through gritted teeth.

She hummed with her lips wrapped around him tightly, stroking the base of his cock until she took all of him into her mouth, guiding him into the back of her throat and swallowing around his tip, making his hips buck up, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

“Oh, doll...” he drawled, pulling lightly on her hair to lift her off his cock for a moment, to gather himself, knew he wouldn't last long if he got carried away, it'd been too long.

“I'll go slow...” she promised, breathing out shakily, raising an eyebrow and taking him into her mouth again once he nodded, her tongue pressed to the underside of his cock as she slowly started bobbing her head, her gaze fixated on his, the depth of his eyes dark, wild.

His chest was heaving, his breathing irregular, her efforts leaving him unable to compose himself, torn between slowing her, pulling her hair, and grabbing the back of her head to fuck her mouth relentlessly, so eager to take more, to give her more, the way she stared back at him weakening his control.

There was a knock on the door that snapped him out of the trance she'd eased him into, the blur of pleasure and ease lifting as he gaze rose to the girl that opened the door, a tray with two glasses and a dark bottle in her hand. He nearly lost himself when the girl between his knees continued without missing a beat, didn't flinch, instead took him deeper into her mouth, once again swallowing around his tip, his eyes threatening to roll back into his head, but he tried to collect himself, clearing his throat before going to address the girl that placed the tray on the table, but she beat him to it.

“Don't let me distract you,” she smiled. “Complimentary drinks from Mr Turner.” She gave him a wink, then was out the door again a moment later.

“He's nice, isn't he?” Fiorentina hummed as she slowly came up to take a breath. “Mr Turner.”

Matthew swallowed, nodding slowly, unsure what fuelled him to tighten his grip on the back of her head, to push her right down on his cock again, would have been regretful had the purr that escaped her not almost pushed him over the edge, though he only slowed for a moment, then rising from his seat, pleased with the way she inched back slightly on her knees in an instant, gave him the room he needed and relaxing to allow him complete control of her, moaning around him as he picked up his pace as he fucked her mouth shamelessly, lost in the heat of the moment and grunting above her until he came too close when she swallowed around him again, tears in the corners of her eyes, the tightness of her throat, her lips, the friction her tongue offered too overwhelming and he pulled her back by her hair forcefully. “Fooook...” he rasped shakily.

She hummed, licking her lips, her eyes wide as she watched him sit back down, one quick nod from him and she shifted into his lap again, angling herself to line herself up with his cock once she'd pushed her thong to the side, and she could hardly catch her breath when he'd already grabbed the base of his cock and positioned her, his other hand on her hip, the second following, her head spinning when he forced her down on him and she mewled from the sudden sensation, the friction as he stretched her mercilessly, overwhelmingly intense. “O-Oh...”

He chuckled shakily, though the moment she attempted to lift her hips forcing her down again, reveling in the way she tightened around him to accommodate to his size, her eyes rolling back, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. “Yeees, doll...” he groaned appreciatively, taking a moment longer to gather himself, to enjoy filling her completely before he loosened his grip as a sign for her to start moving, patting her ass when she didn't straight away. “C'mon, luv...”

She giggled, then slowly lifted herself up to start working her hips into his, her hands in a tight grip on his shoulders, gasping when he bucked up his hips to meet her, encouraged her with his hand still on her hip, guiding her, his grunts, the way he moved her demanding a faster pace until she was bouncing in his lap to the sound of his deep groans, let him push and bend her however he pleased. She was aware of his need, his instinctive reactions and the way he'd lost all control of himself while he seemed in a complete blur of lust, of taking more, his head thrown back until she rolled her hips into his at a particular angle that didn't only make her see stars. His head snapped up and his wild gaze was fixated on her, his grip tighter on her in a silent demand.

“Do tha' again,” he rasped.

The urgency in his voice, the insistence left no room for her to stall or disobey and she repeated the movement, her own eyes threatening to roll back in her head at the way he stretched her, the friction as delicious as it was overwhelming and she whined as his hand came down flat on the small of her back to guide her, arch her, taking complete control of her body, the wild gaze in his eyes weakening her whenever she met them.

He was drunk on the way she moved, followed his every verbal and physical demand, was under a spell watching her, the curves of her body, couldn't hold back from grabbing, moving, bending, taking and craving more the more she gave him, getting lost in her so quickly that he barely knew what he was doing and could hardly handle the way he slowed the pace himself, his grip clamping down on her hips to still her movements, a guttural groan escaping him when her eyes met his, innocent, questioning momentarily why he'd stopped her before she tilted her head and nodded slowly.

“You feel good, Matthew?” she coaxed. “Because you're...” She leaned in, pecking his lips and running her fingers through his short hair, rolling her hips slowly into his, felt him pulsing inside her. “You're making me feel so good...” Her voice trailed off, gasping as his hand came up to wrap around her throat, angling her head as his thumb dug into her skin just below her chin, forced her eyes to stay on his.

“Yeh?”

“I've watched you when you were watching me...” she whispered, biting her bottom lip.

“'ave yeh now?”

She nodded to the best of her ability with his grip on her, whimpering as he stroked his thumb over her throat. “I'm glad you're back... Turner's lucky to have you for security...”

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards and he couldn't suppress the way she made him feel, his eyes widening when she moved her hips, had him to mesmerised on her face. “Fookin'ell...” he groaned, swallowing hard.

His grip tightened automatically on her throat, his rings digging into her skin and she gasped, only for him to loosen his grip with genuine concern. “How about a drink?” she whispered.

Matthew tried to collect himself, nodding slowly. “Mmm...” he nodded. “Get off meh.”

She needed no telling twice, grateful for the way he steadied her until she'd slid off him and regained her balance, her heels clicking on the ground as she made her way over to the table.

He watched her hips sway as she walked, her ass bouncing, her skin shiny with sweat, her silhouette a vision in the dark. His fingers twitched with an impulsive need to force her down the moment she bent forward slightly to pick up the bottle and unscrew the top. “Fook...” he sighed as he slowly rose from his seat and made his way over. “I'm gunna make yeh scream me name, darlin'...”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Yeah?”

He pursed his lips, taking the bottle from her. “Mmm,” he nodded. “Wha's yehr limit, doll?”

The way his eyes were locked on hers as he without sparing the glasses she handed him poured the drink and did not spill a drop had her knees weakening. She shook her head as if in a trance. “No limits, Sir.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Matthew.”

The way her lips formed his name was almost too much and he tried to focus on the way their glasses met between them, though she still did not break his gaze, tempted him further as her eyes closed for a moment to savour the luxurious liquor. “Magnificent.”

He swallowed, could not stand waiting a moment longer. “Bend over the table,” he stated dryly, with all the control he had left put into his voice to steady his command. “'m gunna ruin yeh.”

She breathed out shakily, took another sip, then placed her glass down and followed his instructions without missing another beat, turning to look at him over her shoulder, but his hand was at the back of her neck in an instant, his palm hot against her skin from the glass.

“Down.”

She swallowed, her cheek pressed to the surface of the table, could feel him shuffling so opened her legs for him to step in between, earning herself an appreciative groan.

“Good girl.” His fingers were instantly between her thighs, though not teasing long before he was lined up with her again and filled her, too eager to build the pace slowly, too desperate for a warning and he held her where she was with his hand on her hip as she jerked forward, her body tense before she relaxed under his touch. “Shhh...” He smoothed his hand down her back, reveled in the way she adjusted, squirmed for a moment before she melted around him. “Thaa's a good girl...”

She whimpered, tried to brace herself for him really taking control.

“Are yeh alreyht, doll?” He leaned forward, shuffling to adjust himself so he had the leverage he needed.

As he filled her completely, pushed her onto the table, her heels slid off the ground, left her with absolutely no leverage and she turned around to look at him once his hand was no longer holding her down, instead taking hold of both her wrists behind her back. “Please...” she whispered with a nod.

He chuckled darkly before he drew back, then bucked his hips to fill her again, another two drawn out thrusts before he was bent over her and letting himself go, completely overwhelmed by the way she clung to him, clenched around him, the friction blissful, allowing him at least momentarily to forget the past few months and they were worth what his life was becoming now, how it was starting right then and there as the pace increased with every moment of the past he now wanted to let go, all his pent up frustration now coming to the surface as the girl in front of him begged for more, begged him to take it all out on her.

She could barely breathe, every push of his hips practically knocking the air from her lungs as he ruined her, fucked her down and coming true on his promise that he really would ruin her, proving her right that he had so much more to give, so much strength to demonstrate as she had no other choice but to take it all, asking for more although she had nowhere to go, nothing to hold onto, whining when he let go of her wrists to grip her hips and go even faster, the pace more punishing and she struggled to hold on, gripping the edge of the table and in the rush, the desperation knocking the half-full glasses to the ground, but he didn't miss a beat, she could merely hear a low chuckle, a squeeze of her hips and he fucked her faster, and she could feel him throbbing inside her, making sure she would feel him for the next few days in a way she hadn't for way too long and just as she thought he would fall over the edge, he slowed, though the anticipated moment to catch her breath was cut short when he leaned forward and reached to cup her throat, his other hand pressed flat to her abdomen as he pulled her up, stayed buried deep inside her as he held her with a tension in his arms, though nothing else to suggest that he couldn't maintain the same pace as before despite him being the only thing able to support her and he thrust up hard, making her whine loudly. “F-Fuck...”

“Mmm, tha's reyht, darlin'...” he hummed, his thumb dragging across her bottom lip before two of his fingers pushed inside her mouth, the way she sucked on them instantly making him tremble.

She was surprised by his voice, loved that he was more physical, actually gave what he promised rather than talking her through it. She could his heart pounding strongly against her back, her own not quite in sync. Her hair was stuck to her forehead, her dress bunched up, her breasts spilling out and she arched into him desperately as his hand closed over one of her breasts, squeezing, holding on while she had absolutely no way of keeping herself steady. She was completely at his mercy, had given everything up to him and it was only now that her eyes opened for a moment when he angled her head slightly and she met her own gaze in the mirror across the room, though her attention was quickly drawn to the expression on his face, somewhat gentle just for the moment, but she knew that any moment, he would completely ruin her.

“Look at yehrself, Fiorentina...” he drawled. “Absoluteleh stunnin'...”

She sighed, sucking harder on his fingers when his hips pushed up into hers again.

“Gorgeous, aren't yeh?” He slapped his hand across her chest lightly, watching her breasts bounce. “Mmm, luvleh tits...” he drawled. “Keep those pretteh eyes on meh, will yeh?”

She struggled to lift her gaze, keep it there, knew her eyes would roll back the moment he'd start fucking her again, that they'd close, that he was too much.

“Y'kno'... yehr cunt's real good...” Another buck of his hips that made her gasp. “Real fookin' tight... fits meh perfectleh...”

She swallowed, tears pearling down her cheeks at the intensity of him, the way he was so overpowering, and yet held her with complete security, tensing as his hand dragged flat down her body before her clit was pinched between his fingertips.

“Yeh got meh so close, if I'm honest...” he told her. “'n I want yeh teh let go wif meh, yeh? Please try 'n look at meh though, wanna see yehr face when yehr cunt melts on me cock...”

She could barely nod, could barely promise she could do what he asked.

“Been so long, doll, 'n yeh're an absolute dream, alreyht?”

“Matthew, mmm...” she mumbled, could hardly speak with his fingers in her mouth.

He nodded, gave a hum of satisfaction before his hips bucked into hers again, the way he picked up the pace almost impossible to adjust to, his fingertips now toying with her clit to the point where she could no longer focus on anything but the pleasure he promised, her mind so drunk on him, on lust and the desire to let go, knew that she could completely let herself go, but she tried precisely for that reason to fulfill his request, to force her eyes open when she sensed his punishing thrusts were nearing the final one and as her body tensed ultimately and he twitched inside her, she caught his gaze in the mirror and it intensified the pleasure that ripped through her to a high she hadn't quite felt the same way before, all of her tense, the pleasure precise to every nerve in her body it seemed until she fell limp in his arms and all of her relaxed as the heat of his release filled her.

For a moment, nothing but his heavy breathing behind her was audible, despite the way he'd let go, so hard, had gripped her so tightly, he'd held her securely while she'd lost all sense of where she was and as she managed to catch her breath, he still held her up safely until she managed to stand herself, his arms unwinding slowly from around her as he stepped back, though the moment he saw her tumble, his arm instantly looped around her waist again and she was pulled flush against him.

“Careful.”

His voice was low, but much quieter, much more in control. “Sorry,” she said quietly, a small smile playing around her lips and she moved to adjust her dress, could feel herself leaking already and hoped she would get a moment to clean herself up before getting back out.

“Yeh're alrehyt, yeh?” he asked once he was sure she could stand on her own.

She nodded slowly. “'course,” she said, blinking back at him and licking her lips. “You're... um...” She took a breath, her gaze wandering up and down his body, now redressed impeccably in his suit. He made it work better than any other member of security of Turner's she'd seen. “Strong.”

He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head slowly, unable to keep himself from laughing quietly. He scratched at his chin, knew she would walk out the door soon, had done what was expected of her, but he hated the thought of it. “Didn't get t'finish our drinks, did weh?”

She smiled. “Not entirely my fault.”

He chuckled. “Quite reyht,” he agreed. “So I'll get yeh a new one. Sit wif meh at the bar, will yeh, doll?”

“Will I?”

“'ope so,” he drawled. “I mean... I'd beh lyin' if I said I were readeh for yeh teh not beh mine anymore alreadeh...”

“I'm still here.”

“Fink I want yeh all night. Turner might not beh tha' generous so I'll pay wha' it takes.”

She took a hold of his wrist for a moment, looking at his watch. “Technically, my shift ends in a few minutes.”

He met her gaze, waiting for her to continue and enlighten what was unpredictable to him now.

“But I'll stay with you after hours.”

He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it, her hands smoothing down his chest.

“No money involved.” She leaned into him as soon as she felt his hands on her hips to guide her towards the door. “Just you and me, Matthew.”

[comfy-whumpee]

Rozen 3

[Rozen arc in order.]

Rozen wakes up with a start to the sound of a knock on their door.

Nobody should be knocking on their door. They don’t tell their address to anyone. Their only post is rent and bills and junk mail. Whoever is out there, they’re not getting in. Not the morning after they rescued someone.

Speaking of. They get up, opening the door to the living room. Reece is there, they see with relief, although he’s not on the sofa and instead curled up on the floor beside it. Whatever makes him comfortable, they suppose. He probably hasn’t been on a bed in a long time.

They circle around to check on him, and his eyes move to them. He’s awake.

“Jeez, you scared me,” they murmur, smiling slightly to show they mean no offence. “How are you feeling, Ellis?”

There’s another knock on the door, louder. Ellis looks in the direction of the hall, a frown dipping the middle of his brow.

“Don’t worry about that. Did you sleep alright?”

He blinks slowly, then nods, but his eyes stay on the hall. Pulling an arm under himself, he gets to his feet, swaying slightly through a head rush and then moving towards the door.

“Ah.” Rozen snags his hand, cutting his motion short. “Ellis, do you know who that is?”

Ellis’s arm is limp. He turns to look at them again, eyes searching their face. Then, a tremulous smile twists his mouth, something small and scared and appeasing. Fake as a free lunch. “Master,” he says.

They were warned about that, but it still surprises them to see the word leave his mouth, sincere and plain as though it were just the man’s name.

“His name is Alistair,” they tell him, not letting go of his hand. Three more pounding knocks echo through the room. “Ellis, if that’s him, you know I can’t let him in, don’t you?”

“He will,” Ellis says distantly. He looks away from Rozen towards the window, and Rozen looks too, but sees nothing. “Rule twelve.”

“You are Master’s pet and you need to be kept,” Rozen supplies. They memorised the dozen after getting Nic to write them out. Knowing how he’s been conditioned to act is going to be invaluable.

The preparation pays off as Ellis’s eyes focus on them properly for the first time that morning, surprise widening them slightly. They meet his gaze levelly, tugging his hand in a little, trying to close the gap. “That’s right, Ellis. I know your rules. I know you.”

Fear enters his eyes at that, and he glances away again as the door rattles under that man’s fist. Because it must be him, there’s nobody else who would do this so persistently, not with Ellis’s return a secret.

“Ellis,” they repeated. “I know what you are, and I accept you. I want to help you. Can you sit down for me?” They tug him gently back towards the dining chair from last night. “I promise I’ll let him in after just a minute.”

He goes where they guide him, for a moment, and then stiffens. “You’re lying,” he whispers, and the fear returns to his stare, and he tentatively tries to pull away. “You’re lying, you stole me.”

“Rescued,” Rozen corrects, letting him stand for a moment but not letting go. “You wanted to be rescued last night, Ellis. What changed?”

A tremble runs up their arm from his hand. “I didn’t,” he protests. “I didn’t, I don’t, I-I want to go back. I want to go home.”

“Why?”

“Because I need him!”

The front door bangs. Not a knock, this time. Engels is trying to force his way inside.

How the fuck did he find them?

“Please let me go,” Ellis whispers. He’s crying, now, when they look back. “Please.” He’s begging, his head lowered, his eyes big and miserable, even his body angled in a supplicant’s stance, and he’s still shaking, flinching with every thump on the front door.

Rozen sighs. “Nope. Sit down.” They give him a firm push, he folds, and his butt hits the seat of the chair. They grab his other wrist. “And uh, sorry.” With a sharp pull and a twist, they get his hands behind him, and pull a plastic tie around them. When he jerks forwards, about to pull away, another tie loops around the first and the chair.

“Stay put for me,” they say, though they haven’t given him a choice, and head for the door.

Yep, that’s Engels. They can see him clear as day through the spyhole, smiling serenely with his hands in his pockets. Rozen turns to the umbrella stand, and pulls out the crowbar they keep there – for work, of course. Then, chain on, foot set to block it being pushed open further, they crack the door.

“Good morning,” Engels says. “Rozen, I believe? I think we need to talk.”

Rozen hasn’t heard his voice before, but it’s just what they expected. Smooth baritone with a gentle edge, the kind that can drop into persuasive charm at a moment’s notice. To a practised ear, it’s black ice on a crossroad. “Disagree,” they tell him, their own voice flat and dead level. “Please exit my property.”

“Last night, you broke into my house and kidnapped my ward.”

“A year ago you broke into his house and kidnapped him.”

Engels’s nostrils flare, but the rest of his face stays perfectly calm. Not smiling anymore, though. “That’s not what happened. Are you telling me you’re going to hold him captive here?”

Rozen lifts their chin. They’re much shorter than him, and Ellis too, but who gives a damn? “I would call it protective custody, given the nature of his situation. Given your nature.”

The blue eyes stare down at them, slowly freezing over. “I don’t believe you know what his situation is at all. He came to me, and stays willingly with me. Please release him before I call the police.”

“Call the police, then,” Rozen says simply, and pushes the door closed.

It doesn’t click. It bumps against a foot, and then Engels is leaning against it, trying to push his way in with brute force, hands assisting. His leg presses against the wood all the way up to the knee, and Rozen looks down, and then swings the crowbar.

With a satisfying crack, it connects to the knee, and the leg buckles slightly. Shoving their shoulder against the door too, Rozen gives it a heave, and for a moment they almost get it, before it stops short again.

No, no, he’s not getting in. Ellis doesn’t have to see this guy again. They shove with their full body weight, but this guy is strong, and pushes back harder. The chain strains against its holder, metal links warping in the corner of Rozen’s eye.

“Ellis!” Engels shouts through the gap, one hand reaching in to try and undo the chain.

Rozen squeezes around the edge of the door, sacrificing an arm for the sake of getting their crowbar around again. Their feet slide back a little across the floorboards as Engels gives another push, grunting with the effort.

They swing, the angle of their body forcing them to give an inch, but the crowbar crunches as it lands, and the hand snaps out of sight. Moments later, the push stops, and Rozen slams the door shut with a gasp of relief.

That was not supposed to happen. They lock the door, and then look through the spyhole. Engels is retreating, moving back down the drive.

Faintly, they hear Ellis crying from the living room.

Catching their breath, they drop the crowbar back into the umbrella stand with a clang. Inhale for four. Hold for two. Exhale.

They need to have a conversation with their rescue.

[simsadventures]

Better Like This: Chapter 14: Now You’re Here

Summary: You deal with the newly remembered memories worse than you expected, and you silently wish you never remembered some parts in the first place. But Bucky’s by your side to remind you of your value.

Warnings: little angst, PTSD, anxiety, scenting, a/b/o dynamics, fluff- a lot of fluff, implied smut

Word Count: 2034 A/N: We’re nearing the end so quickly you guys! Thank you so much for sticking with me, love you all so so much!!!

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

At first, everything was a blur of images, colours and emotions. But then, as if suddenly something snapped inside you, you saw clearly. And it hit you, one memory after another. You felt as if you were in a ring with Muhammad Ali, getting punched left and right, but unlike in a real match, you couldn’t leave. You were trapped inside your own body, forever to be with your memories.

Not that you hated every single one. Not at all. You also remembered the happy times, your family, your friends, all the funny moments at school, or dining and gossiping with Wanda and Vis. Or the moment you first smelled Bucky’s scent, the first moment you realised that the true mate myths weren’t a myth at all and that you wouldn’t be forever alone. That there was somebody made specifically for you.

But then the bad ones came, not only the recent ones with Amber, but also the ones from Police Academy, or your previous unit. All the bullying for who you were, all those harsh words that you tried to put behind you came rushing towards like a truck.

You couldn’t even describe what you were feeling. You wanted this. You prayed for this to happen. And when it finally came, all you wanted was to shut those memories in a closet and keep only those that you wanted.

Bucky was sitting next to you on the bed, holding your hand, waiting for you to say something, to do something, but you just didn’t have the power. Your mind was flooded with all the colours, and you felt like drowning. You suddenly gripped your throat at the memory of Amber choking the life of you, trying to breathe properly. But the memory was so vivid that your own breath was hitching and you could feel yourself growing a little lightheaded.

“Breathe, doll, just breathe, ok? You’re ok now, you’re here with me, and I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky told you in a hushed voice, probably not to scare you even more than you already were. “Here, breathe with me. In-out-in-out-in-“

You tried to concentrate solely on Bucky’s voice, opening your eyes to look into those eyes that you grew to love so much. You breathed with him, and after a while, you could feel your heart rate going back to normal, and your breathing being more on the normal side too. You gripped Bucky’s hand tightly and closed your eyes again.

“Don’t go anywhere, please, Bucky, I know you gotta go to work, but please don’t leave me here alone. I can’t be-“

He shushed you by hugging you tightly while you cried on his shoulder. The stream of tears seemed to be unstoppable, but you felt like you needed it. Needed it to let it all out of your system. To relieve your heart and mind at least a little.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I made that mistake once, and I’m not gonna do it again. Look at me,” he said, put both his hands on each side of your head and raised it gently. “I’m so fucking sorry, love, that I left you all alone, that I didn’t stay with you, or that I didn’t take you with me! I will never forgive my-“

It was your turn to shush him this time. You simply put your hand on his mouth to prevent him from talking and wiped one stray tear on his cheek.

“None of it is your fault, Bucky. I know you think that because I was alone in your flat, she had an easier path to me. But trust me when I say that she’d find a way anyhow. She is a sick person. If she didn’t abduct me that day, it could have been two days after that, on my way to another crime scene, or something. She would have found a way regardless of you. Please, please don’t even think it’s your fault.”

“But she is my ex-girlfriend, Omega, she attacked you because of me!” Bucky pulled away a little, his chest rising and falling a little more frequently than you liked. Just then you realised, that ever since you woke without your memory, Bucky wasn’t able to scent you and that it had to be taking all of his will power not to sniffle at your mark.

You slowly pushed your hard away from your neck and angled your head so that Bucky would have an easier path to your mark. You put a hand on his thigh gently and said, “would you like to scent me, Alpha?”

Just you saying his title made him snap your head towards your neck, watching the now healed scar with sudden interest. “Only if you are 100% comfortable with me doing that. I can wait another few days, Y/N. I just want you to feel good.”

You wanted to cry again, but this time because your Alpha was the most considerate man you’ve ever encountered. He never pushed you into something you didn’t want, and even if he was an asshole when you met, his attitude changed dramatically, and he was the best thing that happened to you.

“Come here!” you growled playfully, and Bucky didn’t need any other persuasion, as he pretty much jumped at you, resulting in your back hitting the mattress. He didn’t seem to mind as he snuggled his face into the crook of your neck and inhaled deeply. You could feel his whole body shudder from the intensity of his inhale. At the same time, you could feel his entire body relaxing, the tension suddenly melting away.

“I’m ok, Alpha. I’m here with you, and you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon!” You whispered lovingly into his hair. You could feel him lick the mark, but then he stopped and looked into your eyes. “I love you so fucking much sweetheart. I thought I lost you for a second there, and I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”

“Let’s not think about that. I might be a little roughed up, but I’m still standing, and some bitch can’t bring me to my knees.”

Bucky kissed your forehead and looked at you lovingly. You could have stayed there, staring into Bucky’s intense eyes for the rest of your days if his phone didn’t ring. He sighed, stroke your cheek and got up to see who was ruining this moment for the two of you.

“Steve, hey!” Bucky said and listened to everything Steve had to say. He just hummed here and there, but otherwise kept quiet. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot, Y/N remembers everything now. Yeah, I know, it’s great, can you tell the rest of the team so they wouldn’t worry too much? Great, thanks, will do, you too, Bye!”

“What did Steve want?”

“Just the usual, nothing to worry about.” You could see right through him. He was withholding some information from you! “James Buchanan Barnes! What did Steve really want?” You said and crossed your arms on your chest.

Bucky huffed out, looked at you pleadingly, but when he saw that there was no way around it, he just rolled his eyes and put his hand on your knee. You weren’t sure if he did it to ground you or him.

“Amber told Tony about three other girls she killed but hid their bodies well enough. Well, the team went to see if the bodies were really there, and indeed, they found three young women killed in the way that matches Amber’s MO. He just called me to say she was going for a trial, but that it was a no-brainer.”

You thought about it for a minute. As much as you never wanted to hear her name again, you were relieved that the team got her and that she was no threat to you nor anyone else in New York City.

“Good, I hope she’ll rot in hell! Is there anything I can do to help convict her?”

“NO!” Bucky said a little too loud, and it made you jump a little. “I’m sorry, doll, just the thought of you being in the same room as her makes my blood boil. But I mean it, you don’t have to do anything. Steve’s got a written confession, so nobody’s gonna put you through that. And even if they wanted to, I wouldn’t let them!”

You shook your head at his protectiveness, but it made you smile a little too. It must have been hell for him the last few days, first you not being where he left you, and then the whole thing with your amnesia. You could see that it took quite a toll on him as well. The dark circled under his eyes from always sleeping in the hospital next to you. His skin was a little paler too, and you could have sworn he lost some weight.

Pff, you’d make sure he’d gain his weight back and that he wouldn’t have to be so tired anymore.

“Come here, you big bad wolf! Let’s have another nap, shall we? I think we both need it.” You laid down and tapped the place right behind your for Bucky to spoon you. He gulped hard, started to crawl towards you, but then stopped mid-crawl, and set back on his heels.

“I don’t think I can doll, what if someone comes and-“

“Bucky! Nobody is coming for you or for me. We both need a good sleep, so get your cute ass here, spoon the hell out of me, and we can worry about the world when we’re actually able to function. Ok?”

He knew there was no point of arguing with you, so he just lowered his head and crawled behind you just as he should have. You fell to a beautiful slumber.

Until it wasn’t so beautiful anymore.

You felt as if your whole face was on fire, and there was something squeezing your waist. You tried to get free, but the thing wouldn’t budge. You started tossing, trying to get free, trying to breathe, but it was harder and harder for you. You could feel the phantom of a hand on your throat and yelled.

Bucky almost got a heart attack. He was peacefully sleeping next to you, a good resting sleep after all those restless nights when suddenly he could feel you turning and trying to get his arm from your stomach. He didn’t understand what was happening, his brain still foggy with the sleep, so before he could realise what was probably on your mind, you yelled so loudly he almost went deaf.

“Shhh, Y/N, you’re home, you’re ok, love! Look at me, hey, look at me, Y/N! You’re safe!”

You blinked hard a few times before you shook your head with the realisation that you were in no grave danger. It was just your brain playing dirty tricks on you. You were still shaking from the feeling of not being able to breathe again.

“I couldn’t breathe, Bucky, she was just… I just couldn’t, and she wouldn’t let go and I only-“

You were panicking, and you had every right to. The shit you went through would shake with an experienced soldier, let alone with someone who never was in such an intense situation.

“I know, doll, I know. But you will never have to go through such thing again, I promise you that!”

“I know, I just… can’t shake the feeling of her hands on my body, you know?”

You wanted to get rid of that image, and an idea occurred to you. You grabbed the hem of Bucky’s shirt and pulled him closer to you, so you could feel his hot breath on your cheek.

“Make those memories go away, Bucky, please, just for a bit.”

He looked confused as if he didn’t know what you were asking, but because just the idea made slick pool in your nether regions, he quickly caught the scent of you.

“Doll… If we start this, I won’t be able to stop. I had missed you terribly and if we-“

You didn’t let him finish and just brought him in for a passionate kiss.

/ Next Chapter >

Better Like This Tags:

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[nightwingshero]

Can I get uhhh a number 6 for WrenMike so I can officially leave this fandom in shame? x

Abos-fucking-lutely! You’re not allowed to leave though! Also...I’m very sorry...because this is...oof. I’m gonna go hide now. IT’S NSFW FOR A REASON, OKAY?! I AM SO SORRY!!!!

I sighed, downing the rest of my bourbon, trying to focus on it instead of the steady scent of his cologne next to me. If you had told me that this was what I would be doing a month ago, I would have laughed and punched you in the face. Because I thought everything was so perfect, and the last person I needed in my company was Michael fucking Hughes. 

But here I was, the both of us drinking away. It started with his usual banter, the sly smirk and wiggle of his eyebrows, but slowly it turned into something else. Sensing something was wrong, he sat--without my permission--next to me, ordered us another round, and just talked. That must have been the biggest hint, because when had I not risen to his bait?

It wasn’t a therapy session by far, Mike was in no way qualified for that shit. But, as much as it pained me to say, it did make me feel a little better. Hearing him talk about how he understood, and then finding some dumbass thing to say to try and make me smile. It shocked us both when it actually worked.

I eyed him, setting my empty glass on the bar. He’d gotten rid of his jacket long ago, the heat of the Spread Eagle becoming too much for it. His hair was a bit messy from him running his hand through it so many times, and I almost giggled at how adorable he looked doing it. His shirt fit nicely, and you could see the outlines of his muscles. I feel the sudden urge to reach out and touch them--

Jumping from my chair, I stagger a bit, capturing his attention. “You alright there, doll?”

“Going to the bathroom.” I muttered as I walked away quickly. Bursting through the door, I clutch the counter tightly before turning the sink on. I cupped my hands, and splashed the cool water on my face, hoping for some clarity. And while it helped some, it didn’t help in the way I needed it to. Naturally, I weighed my options. Would it be so wrong to just give in? I bite my lip, pressing my thighs together tightly as I remember how heated his gaze. 

Catching my own gaze in the mirror, I can tell I’ve already made up my mind. I feel calm then, as if everything fell into place. I adjust my skin tight black dress, and leave the bathroom. He’s checking his phone when I get to him, so he doesn’t notice me approach. But his head jerks the second I place my hand on his shoulder, and lean in, my lips brushing his ear. 

I can feel his shiver, so I know I have his attention, but I decide to push it a bit further by placing my other hand on the inner of his thigh, barely brushing his jeans. “You wanna get out of here?”

“I--ah,uhm.” he took a second to clear his throat before continuing. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” I take his hand after he throws a few bills on the table and grabs his jacket, and I ignore the daggers Mary May is throwing my way. 

Outside is a lot cooler and more deserted. With this late at night, we could probably get away with what I had in mind. His car was parked in the back, mostly hidden in the dark. My heart hammered as we made our way to it.

“You wantin’ me to take you home?” he asked, a teasing tilt to his tone. “A little too tipsy to drive--”

Turning, I tugged him closer, his body slamming into mine as I hit the car, the cool metal hitting my thighs. I’m breathing heavy as I look up at him, and he smirks even wider.

“Wanting something else then, hmm?” His hands finally find my hips and I can’t help but be somewhat entranced. He was so different than what I was used to. It’s his turn to lean in and whisper in my ear. “And what would Little Johnny say now?”

“John’s not here.” I ground out, ignoring the pang in my chest. Michael pulls back, his eyes going soft for just a moment.

“You know, I never thought the Queen of Holland Valley herself would descend enough to let this happen. Never thought I’d be doing this with--”

I sigh heavily as I grip the lapels of his jacket tightly and try and pull him forward, but he’s rock solid. “Would you just shut up and kiss me already?” I snapped. 

Michael didn’t need much more persuasion than that and his lips crashed against mine. He wasn’t gentle, and I was thankful, because that’s not what I wanted. He grips my hips tighter and the pressure of it is pleasure all in itself, enough to make me gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in. 

He’s shockingly dominant and it’s hard to believe, but I’m melting against him. His hands travel, pressing me harder against him as he cups my ass with one hand and grabs my hair with the other. With a nice little tug, he angles my face so he can deepen the kiss and I moan. If anything, Michael Hughes was an excellent kisser. 

I gasp in shock when he pulls away, and I can’t breathe with his eyes burning the way they are now. His eyes travel down, taking in my dress and body as his fingers trace the edge of it. I suddenly feel insecure and I wish I had worn something else.

“John always hated this dress.” I muttered, suddenly too shy to look at him. 

Michael just scoffed before gripping the fabric tightly. “Well, he’s a fucking idiot. I fucking love this dress. Damn girl, I wanna fuck you now more than I ever have.”

He shoves the dress over my hips, and I’m gasping for air, because I wasn’t expecting that. A heated make out session, sure, but this? “We’re in public, Mike.” I breathed out. 

“Guess we should give them one helluva show then, doll. And you look fucking gorgeous enough to do it.” Shoving his hand under my thong, his fingers finding just how wet I’ve gotten for him in such a short amount time. “For me, hun? Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

He knows me well. Well enough to know that I’m about to shoot a retort at him, and he takes advantage of that. Without restraint, he rubs my clit fast, and I’m unprepared, so I can’t stop the high pitched moans that are coming from me. Michael just smiles before he holds my face, covering my mouth as he does. 

I’m too drunk to care as I feel my eyes roll back, my knees are getting weak and my heart just keeps pounding. I grip his arm tightly because it’s too much too fast, but he doesn’t stop. My nails dig into his skin, and we both know I really don’t want him to stop, not for a second. The car behind me is all the support I have as he works me expertly with his fingers. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Told you I could treat you better than him.”

And that’s what makes me cum. I almost collapse, but he doesn’t let me. I’m breathing heavily as he holds me. I hate it, but I’m only partially satisfied, and to show him I want more, I rub hand over the erection straining in his jeans. His head falls back with a moan.

“Holy fuck, yes, you’re perfect. Turn around, we’re not done.” He turns me, pressing me against his Chevy, and shoves my thong to the side. I can hear his zipper and a crinkle of plastic before he’s at my entrance with a quick slap on my ass. I whimper, shifting to try and get closer, to get him inside, but he won’t let me. “Wren, you want this, sweetheart?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I hissed. “Fuck me, Michael. Please.”

He pushes in, all the way to the hilt and I’m practically squealing at the feeling, and he keeps up a rough and fast pace that has me curling my toes. It’s not comfortable, being bent over a car like this, but I couldn’t care less. Michael made me feel things I haven’t in a long time, and part of me knew that this wouldn’t be a one time thing. It was too good to be. 

I bite my lip to try and stay quiet because we’re still out here, and at any point someone could find us. Michael’s hands are to busy pulling my hair and holding my hip to keep me in place to do it for me. And eventually, I can’t help it, even as my lip bleeds. He’s hitting the right spots and I’m already so close again. 

“God, you feel good. How the fuck could anyone give this up?” he groaned. “Is it good, baby?”

“Fuck yes.” I moaned. “Harder, Mike, please.”

“Anything for you, doll. Just keep saying my name just. Like. That.” he punctuated each word with a sharp thrust, and I cried out his name again as he pounded harder into me. There was nothing to hold onto as I came undone around him, my walls contracting around him as he continued. Michael wasn’t far behind, and with a whisper of my name and a grunt, he hit his own climax. 

We stayed still for a moment, our heavy breathing mixing with the loud noise of the bar. I don’t know what to say, unsure of where to go from here. It happened faster than I thought it would, and I have a sinking feeling at the thought of having to go home alone now. But he breaks the silence, pulling me away from my thoughts.

“So...I was gonna ask earlier, but we got kinda busy. You wanna...go to my place?” 

[franstastic-ideas]

I’m Telling the Tooth!

Underfell AU - Sans’s gold tooth gets knocked out during a physical confrontation with a rude human. Unfortunately for him, this means a trip to the dentist’s, and Asgore isn’t the only monster that feels uneasy about dental work. Anesthesia is required for the procedure, and when he wakes up, he makes a lot of loving claims about her that Frisk can’t really believe are true. He says he likes her. He really likes her. He loves her. He wants to marry her. He’s skipping more than a few integral steps of the courting process.

Word Count: 15,829

Warnings: An attempted kidnapping and assault, one instance of a minor curse word, and at one point late into the story it seems as though the narrative will begin to veer into themes of suicide.

Other than that, this is pure fluff with a small spoonful of angst.

It had began as what was supposed to have been a relatively simple shopping trip at the local mall.

 But it had ended as anything but that.

 Frisk had taken the skeleton brothers along with her because they insisted on tagging along, telling her they had some errands to run as well. Except the two had never been out in public quite like this since coming to the surface and they stuck by her like baby chicks to their mother. After about an hour of this, she had finally managed to squeeze away from them long enough to use the restroom.

 It was after she exited the restroom and was finding her way back that the trouble began.

 “Hey. You. Pretty girl.”

 She continued walking; whoever it was that spoke had obviously not been speaking to her.

 “Hey, I’m talking to you. Where you going, baby?” A man with a somewhat muscular build abruptly stepped out from his hiding place and in front of her, blocking her way with a smile and a gleam in his eye that made her insides churn with unease.

 “Um, I…” Even after her adventures in the Underground, she still wasn’t good at dealing with confrontation.

 But then again, she knew that monsters really were different than humans. The monsters she had dealt with on her journey had been at times violent, hateful, and rude, but so were a sizable portion of humans. The grand difference between them was, the monsters had understandable reasons for their unscrupulous behavior. Humans, more often than not, didn’t need a reason.

 And Frisk never liked to judge anyone by their appearance or judge to quickly on the first impression, but she could tell from a single glance and the manner in which that one question was said that this man was nothing but a troublemaking creep.

 She needed to get away from this guy, maybe alert someone of her presence, but didn’t it just figure that he would approach her when next to no one was around?

 “How about you and I go somewhere quiet together, huh?”

 He reached out to touch her, perhaps take her by the arm, but she quickly sidestepped him.

 “Leave me alone.” She gave him the most disinterested glare that she could muster, but he had the gaul to laugh at her.

 “Oh, you’re a feisty girl! I like that. It’s no fun when they don’t fight back a little.”

 She’d had enough of this nonsense. Frisk slipped past him, but she didn’t get very far before her arm was grabbed harshly, fingernails digging painfully into the flesh and her entire body was yanked backwards and pressed roughly into his chest. She thrashed and squirmed furiously, attempting to kick, bite, punch and scratch to escape his grip with little results. He laughed cruelly at her, his other hand reaching over to clench her shoulder tightly with enough force that she was certain it would leave more bruises. She took a breath, ready to shout for help, but he clamped his other hand over her mouth and hissed,

 “You try to scream, and I’ll snap your neck right here.” This man definitely had the build to do so, and she didn’t want to find out if he was bluffing or not. “Now when I move my hand, are you going to try to scream?”

 She furiously shook her head, her heart and SOUL thumping wildly in her chest out of fear.

 “Good girl. Now, you’re gonna pretend that you’re my girl. So quit squirming around and looking so miserable before people start staring. You’ve got an awfully pretty face, and it’d be a shame if you forced me to break it.”

 Once he removed his hand from her mouth, it shifted to her now aching shoulder, to her back, all the way down her spine, and then the small of her back. Thankfully, he didn’t get to move his hand any lower before…

 Frisk heard her captor let out a pained yowl and she was immediately released. Disentangling herself from the loose hold around her that remained, she came face to face with one of the skeletons she had left behind just minutes earlier in another part of the store. Sans had caught the man’s wandering hand and was bending it backwards at an angle that was sure to be uncomfortable.

 “now, i understand more than anybody that babydoll here’s got a gorgeous rear view…” Frisk would have normally scolded him for such a crude statement, but the sheer venom in his voice had shocked her into silence for the moment. “but, that don’t mean you can jus’ go and grab her anywhere any ol’ way you like.”

 Sans began twisting his arm as if it had the same flexible properties as rubber, his expression appearing at first glance to be the very image of calmness, but the anger bubbling underneath and in his tone was eerily evident if one were to take another look. Normally, he allowed his expressions to twist and fluctuate with his emotions. Normally, he permitted his volume to gradually rise and fall along with his temper. Sans’s expression, an uncomfortably wide toothy smile accompanied by violently trembling red pinpricks which served as his pupils that were just barely visible in the blackness of his large eye sockets still seemed far too relaxed, and his words were spoken in an intonation that seemed far too soft for him to use in this particular situation. It was a tranquil fury, a type of anger that was entirely foreign to him, and Frisk couldn’t recall ever having seen him this enraged before in her somewhat short, but incredibly eventful time of knowing Sans. And this terrifying display of emotion was brought about entirely due to concern over her wellbeing.

 “sweethearts like her need to be treated sweetly, and gently…”

 They both could hear the slight creaking sound coming from the man’s wrist. Frisk was aware of how ironic it was that he was twisting and flailing around in the same fashion as she had previously in his attempts to free himself from Sans’s grip. She wondered when it was that the man would turn to violence, but she didn’t have to ponder this thought long before he stopped struggling and balled his free hand into a fist. He swung at Sans’s face, right between the eyes, but the skeleton dodged it with ease. Sans had let go of his wrist, but rather than run, the man was instead looking for a fight, and it seemed her monster friend was more than willing to comply with his foolish wishes.

 Frisk was torn between leaving the scene to find Papyrus and staying to see how things between the two turned out. She knew there was no use in trying to end the skirmish herself - she could ease Sans out of a dispute herself whenever one arose with some kindness, gentle persuasion, and determination, but he was out for blood and beyond reasoning with.

 Sans was taking this personally; that man had his filthy hands all over his sweetheart, and Sans had been anticipating the first sign of aggression he could find so he could have an excuse to retaliate.

 In the end, either option wasn’t possible for Frisk. A crowd of shoppers had paused in their browsing to gather and watch the impending strife, and she had become trapped among the mass of people. She couldn’t see what was happening anymore due to her height, and she couldn’t move past them to find Papyrus either. She hoped that Papyrus would eventually notice the sudden absence of shoppers in whatever store he was currently in if not the surrounding chaos and intervene himself.

 Once the fight had began, the man couldn’t seem to land any hits on Sans; the skeleton ducked, dodged, and swerved out of every punch thrown his way and then Sans would take advantage of any openings left to inflict damage himself. He didn’t need to use any magic – laws had been recently created limiting the use of monster’s magic in public, but it wasn’t like he cared anything about that. Sans could wipe the floor with him without relying on his supernatural powers, and that was exactly one of the pieces of information about himself he was making abundantly clear. The next being that Frisk was his human, and this particular human was gonna pay for treating her like some sort of cheap toy that was meant to break.

 Eventually, though, Sans grew weary. Not tired, just bored. His opponent’s attacks were far too predictable. He couldn’t just walk away from an important fight like this, though, so he resolved to be creative to keep things interesting. So at some point during the fight, Sans pulled out a pair of glasses from his hoodie pocket that he had taken from somewhere when he had briefly teleported mid-dodge, being most likely unpaid for (they still had the price tag displayed on the frames), and put them on. He even had enough time and plenty to spare to tape them to his skull so they wouldn’t fall off.

 “you wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses, would ya?”

 MISS

 “you couldn’t hit a guy with glasses!”

 MISS

 He was actively messing with the man now. He almost would have felt a twinge of sympathy for him if he hadn’t rough-handled Frisk and wasn’t a complete creep that was caught preying on women when they were alone. Sans could understand the manly desire to display some aggressive romantic advances, but he paid particular attention to and had learned how to pick up on the mood of his lady and knew when to really back off when his flirting wasn’t appreciated. This human needed to be taught his place, and that the beating he was being put through was just a gentle warning compared to what would have happened if Sans hadn’t shown up when he did.

 Frisk had finally managed to wiggle herself towards the front of the clamoring audience, cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting over their whoops and howls,

 “Sans!”

 “yeah, dolly?” His tone was casual but still attentive, not turning his head towards her when he spoke as he leapt away from another swing of the man’s fist.

 She wanted to tell him to stop, that the guy wasn’t worth it, and Sans could get into trouble with the law for what he was doing even though he had initially only been trying to defend her. Instead, she found herself asking,

 “How did you even get here so fast?!”

 “i was lookin’ for ya.”

 “I was gone for five minutes!”

 “which was four minutes and thirty seconds too long ta be without ya.”

 Ever since they had left the Underground, Sans had practically been attached to her at the hip. She barely had a moment to herself anymore. Papyrus and some of her other monster friends were similar in wanting to occupy all of her time, but none of them could even hold a candle to Sans.

 Frisk remembered when this possessive streak of his first began to show itself; he had stopped her in the Judgement Hall, begging, pleading with her not to leave them – not to leave him. Only two foreseeable fates lied in front of her then should she continue with the last leg of her journey; defeat Asgore and return to the surface, or be killed continuously by the king of monsters. Sans was one of the select few that knew of the true nature behind her temporal powers, but it didn’t matter to him if she could simply load after each of her demises. He didn’t want Asgore to kill her and he didn’t want her to go somewhere where he would never see her again.

 She had made him care again, and then she was going to leave him.

 He had finally relented and allowed her passage, but he wouldn’t let her go without a fight. He would never take her life like all the other monsters had, no, but Sans was determined to keep her with him, and he would do anything within his power to make that possible. With each instance he dropped her HP down to 1, he would then incapacitate her and carry Frisk all the way back to Snowdin, muttering how this was for the best and what he was doing was done out of love. This process repeated, over and over again, an uncountable number of times, until finally she had learned to predict his attack patterns and in turn caused him to use up his magic until he was near ready to collapse.

 She could have ran past him and left him there, a screaming sobbing wreck, but she didn’t. She had taken that opportunity to instead comfort him, reassure him that he and everyone else wouldn’t be trapped Underground forever and she would do everything to ensure that they would one day reach the surface. His expression then told her he didn’t believe her, but he had reluctantly let her go.

 Frisk was the catalyst for everything good that has happened recently in his life; he and Papyrus making up after several years’ worth of senseless arguments and hurling petty insults towards each other, Alphys and Undyne finally speaking to each other as equals when both were too caught up in their pride to do so, Mettaton and Napstablook apologizing to each other first in private then on live television, thus putting their past estrangement behind them… Frisk was responsible for it all.

 And now she had granted him and every other monster a life of freedom here on the surface, just as she had promised.

 She was important to him, and she knew that, but Frisk couldn’t even begin to fathom just how much value her life and happiness truly meant to Sans.

 So much so that sometimes it nearly drove him mad.

 The throng then began to shuffle around boisterously with the action, some laughing at Sans’s antics while pushing and shoving each other to get a better view of the spectacle. Someone standing next to Frisk elbowed her a bit too hard in the ribs and she accidentally let out a yelp.

 Sans immediately froze, his focus drawn away from the fight as he whipped his head towards the direction he heard Frisk cry out, but couldn’t see her.

 “sweetheart?”

 That was all the hesitation his opponent needed; the man he had been walloping for the past five minutes took this moment to strike Sans directly in the mouth, probably because he had been taunting and insulting him throughout the entirety of the match. Sans stumbled backwards, moving one hand to hold the affected area and felt something wet there – pulling his hand back revealed it was stained with red magic, his own magic.

 If he still had a mere HP value of 1, that would have killed him.

 The idiot, the absolute buffoon, then made the fatal mistake of gloating over his accomplishment, one successful strike against the monster compared to the dozens Sans had effectively delivered, but he was instantly silenced when Sans reeled back and punched him just as hard in the solar plexus, sending the man hurtling towards the ground. He fell, and it didn’t look like he would be getting back up anytime soon.

 Ignoring his pain and the garbage on the floor, Sans bolted towards the crowd and began tossing people aside haphazardly and without care until he found Frisk. He took her face in his large skeletal hands and pulled her close, wobbling eyelights worriedly searching her form for any signs of injury.

 “babydoll! you okay? i heard you shout.”

 “Yes, I’m fine. Someone just accidentally elbowed me a little too hard in all the excitement…” She then gasped, eyes wide and hands clasped over her own mouth. “Oh my stars! Sans! Y-Your tooth!”

 “my wha-” He then ran his glowing red tongue, made of magic, over his teeth and noticed one was missing – his gold one.

 “That piece of-” He growled, wrapping one protective arm around Frisk in case the man woke up again to harass them as he scanned the floor for his missing tooth.

 It didn’t take long for him to find it, the deep lustrous yellow contrasting against the marble white of the floor. He picked it up and pocketed it, still clinging to Frisk as he did so. Once that was done, his attention was instantly shifted back onto her.

 He took her by the hands, rubbing soothing little circles with his bony thumbs over her knuckles. “sweetheart, ‘m so sorry i was late... did that walking mixture of crap and raw sewage hurt you?!”

 When she had been grabbed, it certainly hadn’t felt good, but after taking in the complete thrashing Sans had given to her assailant, she wasn’t sure if mentioning the bruises that were forming on her skin was a wise idea for fear of what more he might do.

 That man wasn’t worth Sans losing his freedom over, she thought.

 However, before she could respond, Sans’s hands glided carefully up her arms to rest on her shoulders, phalanges delicately grazing over where she had been seized earlier, and Frisk automatically flinched. Her reaction was enough of an answer for Sans.

 “i’m gonna kill him.”

 “Sans, please don’t-”

 “i really mean it. i’m gonna. but first, i’ll castrate him. right here.”

 “Sans, he’s not worth it!”

 “he hurt you, and then he tried to touch you. and if i hadn’t shown up when i did, he would have. he’s scum.”

 Thankfully, before Sans could carry out his threat, Papyrus had finally made his appearance. His sudden arrival was enough to stop his brother in his tracks as he strode up to them with a look of vexation, arms crossed and appearing ready to put Sans on the receiving end of a brutal tongue lashing for being at the center of such pandemonium.

 “OUR FIRST TRIP INSIDE A HUMAN MARKET, AND YOU CAN’T EVEN STAY OUT OF TROUBLE FOR TEN MINUTES WITHOUT ME CONSTANTLY HOVERING OVER YOU. I WOULD ASK IF YOU HAVE ANY SENSE OF SHAME IF I WERE LESS INTELLIGENT AND DIDN’T ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER.”

 “D-Do you know him?!” The man was apparently conscious again, but he couldn’t move around much; he couldn’t even sit up properly.

 “AND WHO IS THIS?” Papyrus questioned as he gestured to him boredly.

 The man then pointed to Sans, attempting to play the victim – the only ones that knew the truth of what had transpired were him, Frisk, and Sans. He was in front of an entire mob, and if this other skeleton didn’t believe him, then the human members of the crowd almost certainly would over the word of a monster.

 He didn’t even get the chance to plead his case before being interrupted by an enraged Sans that already knew what he was trying to do.

 “This lunatic tried to-”

 “i caught this pervert about to grope frisk!”

 Well that got Papyrus’s attention.

 “and before that, ‘m pretty sure he bruised her up! she flinched hard when i touched her shoulders checkin’ over for any damage!”

 Papyrus’s already narrowed sockets thinned to slits, his heels clacking thunderously against the floor as he closed the distance between them, snatching the man by the front of his shirt and lifting him up with a single arm. Sans’s height was somewhere in the area of six feet, but Papyrus was a seven foot tall, extremely intimidating skeleton monster; so Frisk’s would-be kidnapper was dangling almost two feet off the ground and was at the mercy of a being that had only just recently learned and had a clumsy grasp on the definition of the word.

 Papyrus didn’t say a word as he suddenly summoned a large and heavy bone nearly the size of himself, lifted it with his free hand as if it were weightless, then slammed it over the man’s head. He didn’t even get to let out an ‘ow’ before he was out cold once again.

 “He’s going to get brain damage at this rate…” Frisk said, her blatant display of concern for her aggressor shouldn’t have shocked the brothers in the slightest considering her compassionate and forgiving nature, but it did.

 “AND YOUR POINT IS…? IT’S NOT AS THOUGH HE WAS USING IT IN THE FIRST PLACE.” Papyrus scoffed, dismissing his bone-based attack he had used as a makeshift club.

 “gotta agree with my bro here, babydoll. moron should’a used what few brain cells he had and backed off when he had the chance.”

 Sans and Papyrus were not finished with him in the slightest, she realized. But before the two could concoct more ways to injure the man further, for the third instance that day, a timely arrival, this time of the police, kept her from having to play the role of the ineffectual peacemaker.

 “All right! All right! Break it up! Nothing to see here! That’s right, get moving! You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here!”

 After convincing the gathered people in the area to disperse, the pair of officers suited in blue, a man and a woman, then approached the three. Much to Frisk’s relief, they didn’t appear to be upset with any of them, and she had been so sure that they were here to arrest her two delinquent monster companions. Rather, they swooped in to apprehend the man lying unconscious on the floor of the mall from where Papyrus had clubbed him.

 “We’ve been trying to catch this guy for weeks.” The lady officer, Nina Sanchez explained once the officers had successfully carted the man away and the air around them had began to calm. “He landed himself on our wanted list for multiple charges of sexual harassment, threatening behavior, stalking, and attempted abduction. And now we have to add minor assault to that list.”

 “he was gonna try to take my baby away…” Sans quietly muttered into Frisk’s neck; the shorter of the two skeletons was curled up to her side as they sat on a nearby bench, his arms locked firmly around her as if she would disappear into nothing if he loosened his hold by even the slightest amount.

 “We’re going to make sure he stays behind bars for a long time.” The other officer, Duke Durland, continued. “He didn’t succeed in kidnapping or causing any serious harm to any of the women he’s interacted with, but the intent was still there and crystal clear. He needs to be punished by being locked away where he can’t bother anyone anymore.”

 “I ASSURE YOU; I AM MORE THAN CAPABLE OF DOLING OUT A FAR MORE APPROPRIATE PUNISHMENT.” Papyrus was all too eager to propose.

 “I understand that you’re angry over your lady friend being targeted,” He went on, attempting to pacify him. “but up here on the surface, it’s the job of officers and the court to deal with criminals.”

 “And that means no vigilantism.” Frisk was quick to add.

 “BUT YOU CLEARLY DON’T UNDERSTAND – I WAS VICE-CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD IN THE UNDERGROUND, SO I’M ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN THAT I CURRENTLY HOLD THE CREDENTIALS NEEDED IN ORDER TO DELIVER PROPER RETRIBUTION UPON TRANSGRESSORS OF THE LAW!”

 “Papy, that’s not how it works…” Frisk patted his skeletal arm, urging him to sit down on the bench next to her and Sans; he complied with an almost childish pout, crossing his arms as he did so. “Forgive him. His comprehension of surface world laws is still a work in progress. Back where he came from, if somebody had a problem with someone else, then they settled it between themselves – usually with violence...”

 “Oh, you don’t have to tell me that.” Duke laughed heartily, “I have some monster friends of my own, and there isn’t a single dull moment with them around!”

 “I thought for sure the two of you had shown up to arrest them or kick us out.”

 “On normal circumstances, we would have had to,” Nina nodded in her direction, “But you saved the both of us a lot of trouble in hunting this guy down, and your boyfriend here was in the right to react as he did. …Well, maybe not by starting a full-blown fist fight in a public mall, but we checked the security cameras and the court of law would say he was acting in self-defense and defending another party, in this case, you.”

 “Thank you for being so lenient and considerate, but… he’s not my boyfriend.” Frisk awkwardly chuckled, having tried to wiggle out of Sans’s death grip on multiple occasions throughout the conversation, but failing each time. She eventually just sighed in defeat and reached up to pat the top of his skull.

 “Oh, I’m sorry… I’m usually good at picking up on things like that.” Nina apologized, but she took a quick glance at the skeleton currently latched onto Frisk and noticed that his grin had slipped just slightly.

 “It’s alright. A lot of people say the same thing about us.”

 “Uh-huh…” The lady officer allowed her gaze to fall on Sans again and he looked even more glum than a few seconds prior. “Anyway, onto a more pressing matter – your friend lost a tooth in the scuffle, correct?”

 Sans nodded, not willing to dig in his pockets to present his severed tooth if it meant letting go of Frisk.

 “HOW LOVELY. THIS MEANS A TRIP TO THE DENTIST; YOU KNOW THAT, DON’T YOU?” Papyrus’s tone was unenthusiastic and dry as he turned to his brother, and Frisk felt Sans flinch.

 “bro, w-we can’t go. we don’t got the cash for that.”

 “Actually, if the payment to fix your tooth problem is an issue, we can easily have it arranged that the perpetrator pay for the procedure out of his own pocket.” Nina offered, “He won’t be needing any of that money when he’s in prison, and it’s not like he can, oh say, go to the mall to buy anything, now can he?”

 “That sounds perfect!” Frisk eagerly replied, the amount of silver linings of this situation gradually revealing themselves had yet ceased continuing to surprise her. “What’s your verdict, Co-Captain of the Royal Guard, Papyrus?”

 “HMMM, I CAN FIND NO REASON TO OBJECT.”

 “does what i think or feel not mean anythin’ to any of ya?!”

 “NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST. NOW HURRY UP AND GET TO THE CAR! WE NEED TO GET THERE BEFORE THIS TRIP THROWS OFF OUR SCHEDULE FOR THIS EVENING EVEN MORE THAN IT ALREADY HAS!”

 Sans let out a noise that sounded like a mixture between an annoyed grumble and a soft whine but obeyed his brother’s command without protest, dragging his feet as he followed Papyrus’s longer strides out of the building.

 “You two would make a really cute couple, though.” Duke commented before Frisk left to catch up with them.

 “I’m surprised you would say something like that. Most people look at human and monster relationships as… you know…”

 “Heh, it might surprise you to hear someone say this directly, but I’m glad you brought the monsters to the surface. I never would have met my girlfriend otherwise, Miss Ambassador.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m dating a bunny lady right now. She used to run a store in a town in the Underground called Snowdin. …I hope to one day call her my wife.”

 “It makes me glad to hear you two are happy together.” Frisk found herself smiling; it was rare for her to encounter humans that were so open about their tolerance or admiration for the monsters.

 “You should probably get going now; your, uh, not boyfriend was shaking like a leaf when he heard the word ‘dentist’.”

 “Yeah, he was. I never would have thought of him as the type to freak out over something like that, but… I better go with them. Just in case.”

 She would have tagged along anyway even if Sans had been completely unfazed by Papyrus’s declaration, but if he really was frightened about the visit then her presence might help to ease his fears and provide moral support, even if only by a small amount.

 When she had caught up to them, they were already at Papyrus’s car, a sleek black sportscar with painted on hot rod flames, and its owner was already buckled up and behind the wheel. Sans, however, was having difficulty with his own buckle as his hands were shaking too hard.

 “OH FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE – STOP BEING SUCH A BABYBONES!”

 Papyrus was swiftly losing his patience and his temper.

 “Here, I’ll help.” Frisk crawled in the back seat and fastened the buckle for him, their hands brushing over each other’s for a few seconds as she fumbled with the safety apparatus.

 “…thanks.” His reply sounded choked to her.

 “HUMAN FRISK, STOP SPOILING SANS BY COMPLETING TASKS FOR HIM THAT HE’S PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF ACCOMPLISHING FOR HIMSELF. HE MAY BE MY BABY BROTHER, BUT HE IS NOT THAT INCOMPETENT. NOW CEASE YOUR LOLLYGAGGING IMMEDIATELY AND GET UP HERE WITH ME!”

 “Alright, alright. Yes, your vice-captain of the royal guardship.”

 “DON’T TEST MY ALREADY DWINDLING FORBEARANCE, FRISK. THIS IS JUST AS STRESSFUL FOR ME AS IT IS FOR MY BROTHER, I CAN ASSURE YOU.”

 “Why so?” She inquired as she buckled herself in and the engine roared to life.

 “YOU’LL FIND OUT AFTER WE GET THERE.”

 “It would be really helpful of you to let me know now.”

 “UGH, FINE. WHEN SANS LOST HIS ORIGINAL TOOTH AND BEFORE HE OBTAINED HIS GOLD ONE, HE WAS EXTREMELY PANICKED AT THE THOUGHT OF HAVING SOMEONE MESS AROUND WITH HIS MOUTH. YOU ARE PERFECTLY AWARE OF HOW EVERYDAY LIFE WAS FOR MONSTERS IN THE UNDERGROUND – A DENTAL PROCEDURE WOULD PUT HIM IN A STATE OF VULNERABILITY, AND HE WOULD HAVE TO COMPLETELY TRUST THE ONE PERFORMING THE PROCEDURE NOT TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THAT.”

 “I guess that feeling of uncertainty is still with him, even though he knows there isn’t in any danger of that happening here...”

 “THERE’S MORE TO IT THAN THAT – ANESTHESIA WAS REQUIRED THEN, AND I DOUBT THAT IT WILL BE ANY DIFFERENT HERE IN THE PRESENT AND ON THE SURFACE. AND OTHER THAN THE THOUGHT OF HIM FALLING ASLEEP AND NEVER WAKING UP PLAGUING HIS MIND, HIS BEHAVIOR UPON AWAKENING IN THE PAST WAS… INDESCRIBABLE.”

 “‘m right here. ya can stop talkin’ like ‘m not.”

 “I’m sorry, Sans!” She squeaked, now acknowledging that she had been effectively ignoring him and was additionally asking Papyrus intrusive and probably embarrassing questions about himself. “Listen, I know the needle will be scary, but it’ll all be over before you even know it and then you can go home. I had to get my wisdom teeth removed before and it was finished in an hour, but you won’t even need to get stitches-”

 “stop it.” He nearly growled before taking a deep, shuddery breath and his tone shifting to one that sounded less dangerous and more annoyed. “i know yer tryin’ ta help, but i’d rather jus’ not think about it ‘til we actually get there.”

 “Ok… I understand.” Frisk tried not to show the hurt in her own tone as she replied, “I just thought that you might need a little reassurance since you seemed nervous...”

 “…”

 “you ass. now look at what you did – she’s sad now.” He inwardly began to berate himself. “that little frown on those pretty pink lips is your fault, all you. this is why you don’t even deserve to share the same space as her, much less think you’ll ever be good enough to be the kind of man she needs.”

 He looked out the window and watched the scenery roll by in silence, feeling even worse than he had previously.

 And after about five minutes of pure silence, Papyrus suddenly spoke up.

 “I NEGLECTED TO MENTION THIS BEFORE, FRISK, BUT IS NOW AN UNOPPORTUNE MOMENT TO INFORM YOU THAT I WON’T BE THERE TO SUPERVISE SANS ONCE THE PROCEDURE IS FINISHED?”

 “what?!” “What?!”

 “I WON’T BE THERE TO SUPERVISE SANS ONCE THE PROCEDURE IS FINISHED.”

 “Yes, we heard that the first time, but why?!”

 “I AM TO ACCOMPANY CAPTAIN UNDYNE, HER MAJESTY, QUEEN TORIEL AND HIS MAJESTY, KING ASGORE, TO AN IMPORTANT MEETING DISCUSSING MONSTERS AND THEIR FUTURE ON THE SURFACE. WE ARE TO, UNACCOMPANIED AND UNAIDED BY YOU, OUR AMBASSADOR, PRESENT PROOF THAT WE ARE NOT MENACES TO SOCIETY. AND IF THE HUMAN OFFICIALS WERE TO CATCH WIND OF WHAT OCCURRED IN THE MALL BACK THERE, I LOATHE TO THINK IT MAY IN TURN CAUSE TROUBLE FOR THE REST OF MONSTERKIND; EVEN THOUGH SANS DID, FOR ONCE, ACT OUT IN A MANNER THAT WAS ENTIRELY APPROPRIATE FOR THE GIVEN SITUATION.”

 “i still wanna castrate him, though.”

 “AS DO I, BUT IF WE WISH TO BE ALLOWED TO LIVE OUR LIVES ON THE SURFACE IN RELATIVE PEACE, WE HAVE TO COMPLY WITH THE LAWS OF THIS LAND AND LEAVE HIS FATE UP TO THE HUMANS AND CONSEQUENTLY THEIR UNSUPERIOR AND BORING METHODS OF DISTRIBUTING JUSTICE.”

 “The two of you scare me sometimes…”

 “AH, BUT DON’T YOU FEEL SO INCREDIBLY LOVED BEARING THE KNOWLEDGE THAT ONE INCREDIBLY HANDSOME SKELETON AND ANOTHER OF SUB-PAR ATTRACTIVENESS BY COMPARISON WOULD BE WILLING TO SHED BLOOD IN YOUR NAME?”

 “Not really…”

 “HMPH. VERY WELL, THEN. IF IT TRULY DISPLEASES YOU SO, THEN MY BROTHER AND I WILL DO OUR BEST TO KEEP DISCUSSION OF HYPOTHETICAL BLOODSHED TO THE MINIMUM FROM THIS POINT ONWARD.”

 “Please do. I’d appreciate it if the both of you wouldn’t try to find creative ways to get yourselves locked away in prison.”

 “wait just a sec: if pap an’ i did go to prison though, we could beat up that guy for ya! can’t get in ta trouble and thrown in the slammer for beatin’ the snot out of a guy if we’re already in there.”

 “YOU MAY HAVE A POINT, SANS! THERE’S A TOLL BOOTH UP AHEAD; I’LL GO THROUGH IT WITHOUT PAYING AND SEE IF THE AUTHORITIES NOTICE AND PULL US OVER.”

 “No! Neither of you are going to prison if I can help it!”

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 It wasn’t long after they arrived at the dentist’s office that Sans’s name was called, the skeleton shuffling out of the waiting room like a man sentenced to death row on his way to his own execution. He hadn’t uttered a word since they got here, his posture ramrod stiff, but the greatest sign of the discomfort he felt was noticeable in his eyes – his red eyelights had shrunken down to quivering microscopic pinpricks.

 Frisk was surprised that he hadn’t began to rattle; when skeletons felt a great amount of excitement, anger, or fear, sometimes their bones would clatter against each other in response. And the only reason she knew this was because of their confrontation in the Judgement Hall – the entire duration of their one-sided fight, the sound of his bones continuously and violently clinking together echoed throughout the space around them with trepidation at the thought of her leaving the Underground forever. It was the first and so far only time she had heard the noise, and she hoped that should she ever hear it again, it would be from happiness.

 Sans had snapped at her during the car ride when she tried to comfort him, so she was left feeling useless and her company unneeded. However, when Sans’s name was called, he instinctively grabbed her by the wrist.

 He had wanted to hold her hand.

 He held no issue with grabbing her by the hands or nearly anywhere else when he was flirting, but in his time of emotional insecurity, Sans couldn’t allow himself to be put into a position that would reveal what he discerned as his inner weakness. He wanted Frisk to see him as her big, scary skeleton monster bodyguard. How was she supposed to perceive him that way if he was getting his shorts twisted over something as simple as a visit to the dentist’s?

 He was both proud and ashamed of the look he gave her before he stood up; Sans managed to reign control over his eyelights for a few seconds, willing them to go back to normal long enough to stare her in the eyes with all the intensity he held within.

 Sans looked at Frisk like she was his entire world and this may be the last time he would ever see her.

 And it very well may be the last time they see each other; what if the office was filled with monster hating bigots, and when he went under he never woke up again, and then the entire incident would be ruled as a misfortunate accident and swept under the rug along with his dust? Sans loved sleep, but the thought of being forced into an eternal slumber was enough to paralyze him, and every single bone in his body went rigid once the needle came into view.

 Frisk and Papyrus were in the waiting room for nearly an hour afterward before a nurse came over to tell them he was almost ready to be taken home. The taller skeleton nudged Frisk along towards the direction the nurse pointed out, his face turned away from her with a light redness dusting his sharp cheekbones.

 “YOU NEED TO BE THE FIRST THING HE SEES WHEN HE REGAINS CONSCIOUSNESS. I WOULD ONLY MAKE THINGS WORSE IN THIS SITUATION.”

 She wanted to argue that his claim wasn’t true, that the familiarity of Papyrus’s presence would reassure Sans far more than her own, but his tone had sounded so convinced and final that she didn’t push the issue. Frisk followed the nurse to the back room where the dentist himself greeted them before allowing her to see Sans. He went over the things that she might need to be cautious over and what to expect in the next few hours, but she also wanted to know about his current emotional wellbeing.

 “How did it go? His reaction, I mean.” She asked with a twinge of unease.

 “Just fine. A little bit of cursing when the needle went in, but then he was out like a light. He should be waking up any moment now.”

 Another nurse popped in directly after his statement, “Actually, the patient woke up just now and he’s acting… emotional.”

 When Frisk heard the word ‘emotional’ pass her lips, she had expected a large-scale, curse-ridden tantrum from the skeleton. What she didn’t expect to find was Sans nearly curled up in his seat, quietly sniffling as tears ran down his cheekbones like miniature waterfalls. He looked so lost, so terrified, and so vulnerable… It was utterly heartbreaking and pulled at her SOUL in ways she couldn’t even begin to describe.

 She understood now why Papyrus had wanted her to see him first; Papyrus did love his brother, but he couldn’t handle his more softhearted outbursts. For years, the pair had grown up believing that to show tears was a sign of fragility, a stamp of death in a kill or be killed world, and it was only after the two met Frisk that they became more receptive towards the notion of openly expressing feelings that were unrelated to rage. Sans didn’t cry often, but whenever he did, his brother still didn’t know how to deal with it in the slightest. So it was because he loved his younger brother that Papyrus decided to pass him onto Frisk’s more tender care.

 “Sans…?” She maintained a soft volume as she approached, not wanting to startle him.

 His head immediately whipped up at the sound of her voice, far too quickly to not have been painful, she thought, and his eyesockets went near impossibly wide as if he couldn’t believe she was really here. Those red eyelights then began to swell, almost filling the entirety of the dark space they occupied.

 “y-you came for me…” He whispered, his words slurred but still intelligible.

 “Of course I did. I would never leave you, Sans.” She delicately reached over to stroke the crown of his skull and this seemed to placate him somewhat, his flow of tears beginning to slow.

 Sans had dreamed while he slept.

 It was a dark dream. He had been taken somewhere pitch black and couldn’t see or hear anything. It was The Void, he was certain; a place monsters occasionally spoke of, mostly respected, and always feared. No one knew just how one would cross over to this place, but it was said that once one entered there was no escape. And for Sans, being there even while inside the relative safety of a dream was a complete nightmare. There was nowhere and nothing, time and space no longer existed, and with nobody to speak to, he was left with only his thoughts to keep him company. He was far, far away from Frisk and his brother, and he just knew he would never see either of them again.

 So when he opened his eye sockets to find himself in a world of sound and color once more, he had first been overcome with relief. But then his blurred senses couldn’t detect a single sign of Frisk’s existence within immediate reach, nor his brother’s, and that was enough for him to feel as though he were dropped back into another nightmare realm. Her presence and words brought him a great deal of comfort and eased his frightened and weary SOUL; she had told him what he had wanted to hear always, that she would never leave him – if this too was another figment of his imagination, then he didn’t want to wake up if it meant being forced to live in a world without her.

 Sans gave her a lopsided grin with his newly reattached golden tooth, content now that she was here before him, safe and within his reach. He wrapped his arms around the limb of hers closest to him, wanting nothing more than to cuddle his precious human. But she needed to go tell Papyrus that he was awake so his brother could help her guide the stocky skeleton to the car, and he was extremely reluctant to allow her to leave his sight for even that.

 “Sans, I’m just going to get your brother. You know, Papyrus? I’ll be right back. I’m not going anywhere far, just into the next room.”

 He squeezed her hand, gazing up at her with wobbly eyelights. “p-promise…? promise me you’ll come back.”

 “I promise.” She used her free hand to stroke his left cheek, and he leaned into her palm, lifting up his own to rest over hers and press himself further into her touch.

 He reluctantly permitted her to leave only after placing a clumsy kiss against her fingers as they slipped out of his hold.

 The dentist stepped into the room directly after, preparing for his last patient for the day and making it easier for Sans to get up when his escorts came by adjusting the chair. As he scurried around the room doing this and that, Sans suddenly became talkative.

 “didja see that girl i was with?”

 “Yes, you mean Ms. Frisk, the ambassador? Is she a friend of yours?”

 “yeah, she is. she’s my best friend in the whooooole world besides my brother.” He swayed around happily in his seat with a carefree giggle. “and i’m gonna marry her one day, but she doesn’t know that yet.”

 It took every ounce of his willpower for the dentist to not laugh and retain his professionalism; he saw dozens of patients a week that had their fair share of interesting and amusing things to say while under the influence of the anesthesia, but Sans was behaving so innocently and had spoken so fondly of the human in his company that it was enough to melt the old man’s heart.

 “Getting married is an important step in a committed relationship, so wouldn’t it be a good idea to let her know how you feel?”

 His eye sockets widened. “you’re right…! i-i do need to tell her! i need to tell her right now!”

 He then attempted to wiggle out of his chair to find Frisk himself instead of patiently waiting for her to return. The only thing that prevented him from tumbling out and falling flat onto his face was the dentist’s swift movement of grabbing him by the shoulders to steady him, then carefully easing Sans back into his previous position while scolding him on his recklessness as if he were a misbehaving toddler. The six-foot-tall skeleton then slumped backwards with a pout, his preceding lovesick expression screwing into one of annoyance.

 When Frisk eventually did return with Papyrus, as they lead him out the back door and towards the car that was parked just outside, she couldn’t understand why the dentist was looking at her, smiling and chuckling to himself as if she were missing out on an inside joke or something of the sort. Sans must have said something really special for a professional that saw this sort of behavior daily to react in such a way. She nearly shuddered to think what nonsensical statements a mind such as his could have assembled while in this state.

 She assisted Sans in buckling him in the back seat as she did before. He practically begged Frisk to sit next to him, but she politely declined. He was acting so loopy that it was taking all of her self-control not to laugh at some of his drunken antics and articulations. He might take her laughter the wrong way and accidentally have his feelings hurt, since he seemed to be far more sensitive when he was like this.

 Sans was also incredibly chatty while high, she learned quickly.

 Every single thing that popped into his head was evidently broadcasted to his captive audience of two. And most of what was said were things that would certainly embarrass him if anyone else aside from the pair heard them. Sans could most likely brush aside anything that occurred here with them later, but right now he was rattling off puns that made no sense and jokes without punchlines, and Frisk also made the mental note that he was acting incredibly and uncharacteristically sappy. She wondered if this was what Papyrus had meant when he mentioned his behavior being indescribable.

 Indescribable was certainly one word for it.

 “frisk. ey, frisk? frisky~”

 “Yes, Sans?” She sighed for what felt like the fifth time in the past three minutes.

 “has anyone ever told you your hair is really pretty…?”

 “Sometimes…?”

 “well, it is, and no matter how many times ya may of heard so already, it still don’t get said enough. it’s… really really pretty. like, it’s all soft and it smells nice. skeletons don’t have all that soft stuff on our heads, you know. and i know i probably reek of mustard all the dang time, so… it’s really different. it’s nice.”

 “Thank you, that’s really sweet of you to say.”

 “no no no, you’re the one that’s sweet. you-your trait is determination, and i admired that about ya a lot from the moment we first met, but, b-but you have so much kindness in your SOUL that sometimes it’s a lil’ overwhelming... i didn’t understand that back then, but i do kinda have an idea now and i appreciate it so much… i appreciate you so much, frisk.”

 “I appreciate you too, Sans. You’re a good friend.”

 “no ‘m not. ‘m always causin’ trouble for ya. because of me, people look at ya funny on the street an’ they start ta talk. they’ll look at ya anyways without me there ‘cause yer too pretty not to talk about an’ look at, but i make ‘em look at ya an’ talk in the bad way. it’s all my fault.”

 “No, none of that is your fault, Sans. If those people are going to look down on me because you’re my friend, then I don’t want those same individuals to be looking at me in a positive light during the rare times you’re not standing next to me. And besides, staring is rude.”

 “but-but what about when i look at ya? does that mean i can’t ever look at ya again because it’s rude? i can’t do that – you’re too cute to ignore. even fer a little bit. i can’t help it. i just gotta look at ya, all the time-”

 “Alright, alright! I’ll make a special exception for you – you’re the only one that’s allowed to stare at me, Sans. On occasion.”

 “AHEM.”

 “Ok, you’re given an exception too, Papyrus…”

 “THAT’S MORE LIKE IT, AS I’M CERTAIN YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY FLATTERED TO BE THE OBJECT OF MY ATTENTIONS?”

 “Sure…”

 “‘asides, if i don’t always look at ya, then what’ll happen if someone decides to take ya away?”

 “That won’t happen-”

 “but it could! and it almost did just today! d-don’t you remember at all?! y-you were there! my baby almost got taken away from me forever…”

 She heard him let out a soft sob in the back seat and Papyrus shot her an unimpressed glance, mouthing out the words that she was still somehow able to decipher despite him not having lips, ‘SAY SOMETHING TO HIM…’

 “B-But it didn’t, Sans! You showed up at just the right moment when I really needed you! …I feel fortunate to have someone in my life that takes such an active interest in watching over my wellbeing.”

 And that was the truth. Before she befriended the occupants of the Underground, Frisk’s life had been barely acknowledged by those around her, and those that did pay her any mind gave her the sort of heed that she nor anyone would want; tormentors, perverts, thugs; those were the only sort of people that gave her quiet existence any notice… So when the monsters that entered her life began showing signs of appreciating, reciprocating, and even actively vying for her attention, Frisk had secretly felt incredibly flattered and somewhat ashamedly relished it. For once in her life, she finally felt important to not only someone, but several someones. But now that the inner bliss of those occasions had begun to fade and the consequences of their extreme behavior, particularly Sans’s, had come about, she was much less thrilled over the dramatic and even sometimes possessive in nature gestures and displays that were frequently presented to her.

 These monsters had gone so long without expressing love for another, they didn’t know how to anymore without going entirely overboard with it.

 And that’s exactly what Sans was doing currently – going completely, utterly, and not-so gracefully swan-diving-into-the-water overboard with showing his affections for her.

 Sans was flirtatious by nature, and she knew he didn’t mean to indicate interest in initiating a serious romantic relationship with the recipient of his sweet words, recurring caresses, and terms of endearment, especially whenever they were directed towards her - because that’s just who Sans was. And he had absolutely no filter even without the involvement of anesthesia and little understandings of personal space, most likely because he was raised in and exposed to a violent upbringing and environment. So with him there existed a thin line between when either a positive or negative touch, depending on the mood set of the situation, was appropriate at any given time. He would throw his arms around her and nuzzle the pulse point of her neck with the tip of his nasal ridge just as swiftly and eagerly as he would throw a punch to someone on the street that had personally wronged him in some shape or form.

 Sans was the living definition of the expression and phrase, ‘all or nothing’ and ‘go big or go home’.

 “aww… i feel lucky ta have ya too, sweetheart.” His cooing was slurred, and Frisk imagined the dopey grin he must be wearing as he swayed around as he spoke – the mental image was enough to bring a smile to her own lips. “yer always so nice and sweet ta everyone, even me. …that’s why i love ya.”

 Before Frisk could utter a single word or even the slightest sound, they had pulled up at a traffic light, the car pulling to a stop with a loud screech.

 How appropriate.

 After a long and uncomfortable silence, she slowly turned her head towards Papyrus, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gloved fingers were clutched tightly to the steering wheel and he was staring straight ahead of them at the vehicle-infested road.

 “…I LOATHE DRIVING AT THIS HOUR.” Was all he said, his voice noticeably more faint than usual and a near imperceptible tremble discernable in his tone.

 The quietness around them stretched on. The only things that could be heard were the sounds of the car’s engine, the air condition, and the occasional honk from an impatient driver somewhere.

 Frisk’s cheeks were burning. Her throat felt dry.

 Nobody had once ever said that to her. In any shape, way, or form.

 Her SOUL should be bursting with happiness, to hear someone say they loved her. But all she could feel was a sense of uncomfortableness – Sans was clearly not in his right mind at the moment. Frisk knew she was important to him, he told her that enough on a near daily basis and she knew that unlike his flirtations, his appreciation for her was entirely sincere.

 Perhaps he did love her, she thought, but not in the romantic sense, surely…

 She finally managed to regain her voice.

 “Thank you, Sans. For saying that. I love you too…”

 “noooooo…!” He whined loudly as he kicked his legs, surprising her. Before she could question his odd response to her reply, he continued. “not like that; i know you like me. i-i even know you love me… but, i didn’t mean like that.”

 Frisk couldn’t recall having ever felt so confused in all her life – by that way, did he think she had misunderstood his declaration of love as something romantic when it was only intended to be platonic? He had told Papyrus just fifteen minutes prior that he loved him as well…

 “you’re the best bro i’ve got, papyrus...” He had nearly cried when Papyrus turned on the air conditioner after Sans complained about the heat.

 “I’M YOUR ONLY BROTHER.” He sighed.

 “i know, b-but you’re still the best. i love ya, papyrus.” He sniffled, causing Papyrus, after a few seconds had passed, to quietly mutter that he felt the same.

 Papyrus probably would have appreciated the sentiment far more if Sans hadn’t been high as a kite when he said it and his eye sockets had been dry.

 “Then in what way did you mean when you said that, Sans?” Frisk honestly wasn’t sure if she should have asked – his brother looked so tense behind the wheel, but he wasn’t giving either of them any warning glances or cues to put the topic to a close.

 “you know… i love you - like that. like… like this.” He raised up both hands, weak and wobbly, then touched the pads of his two index fingers together. “oh wait, you can’t see back here from up there…”

 “I’m afraid I can’t, Sans.” She laughed uncertainly, but she had heard him make a noise with his mouth that sounded like a kiss, despite him not having lips.

 Or perhaps he did…? Or maybe she just misheard him because of the air conditioner. Yes, that had to be it.

 Papyrus, however, had apparently seen everything from the car’s internal mirror that gave him a view of the back seat, which escaped Frisk’s view because of her far smaller height.

 “GOOD HEAVENS, SANS!” He rolled his red eyelights with an indignant huff. “SHOW SOME SELF RESTRAINT FOR GOODNESS SAKE! SHE’S ALREADY MARRIED!”

 …What?

 That was all Frisk could think after that rebuttal. She wasn’t married; it was true that she wore a ring on her left hand on the finger that usually indicated if someone was or not, but she did so mainly because of the sizing of the ring and because it felt most comfortable on this hand. Papyrus knew that.

 And so did Sans.

 But in his disoriented state, all logic and reasoning he normally would have exercised and applied in this situation had been flung out the window.

 “frisk, how could you?!” He shouted with dismay, struggling against the binds of his seatbelt. “i’m not with you for… for… i get unconscious… and-and the moment i do, you go and get married to some other guy behind my back?!”

 “…What?” Frisk turned to Papyrus, hoping for some sort of explanation, but all she could see were the beginnings of dread and regret in his expression.

 “WHAT BRAND OF CHAOS HAVE I UNLEASHED…?”

 Sans was having a complete nuclear meltdown in the back now, and at this rate, poor Papyrus’s nice and very expensive car might be totaled from the inside out if either of them didn’t put an end to his brother’s tantrum soon.

 “Sans, calm down! You’re going to hurt yourself! …Or this car!” She managed to somehow raise her normally soft voice above and over his own, a feat she would later be impressed by. “Sans, I’m not married!”

 “……y-yer not? then… then why did papyrus-”

 “IT WAS A JOKE. A JEST. A JAPE!” Papyrus interjected with another huff. “…BUT NOW I REALIZE MY MISTAKE. TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOUR… EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY AT THIS TIME, IT WAS… A RATHER CRUAL JAPE.”

 “yeah, it was.” Sans readily agreed, letting out a growl of his own.

 Papyrus mumbled another apology before returning to his usual persona. “NOW CAN WE RETURN TO HOME WITHOUT ANY FURTHER INCIDENTS, PLEASE? THERE, I SAID ‘PLEASE’.”

 “frisk… frisk really isn’t married…” He sounded so relieved. “uuunnh…”

 And once again, Sans was so overcome with emotion that he could only express it by spontaneously bursting into tears.

 “Papyrus, would it be possible for you to pull over, please?” Frisk timidly requested. “Maybe if I sit in the back with him, he’ll calm down for the rest of the ride?”

 He wordlessly nodded his consent, then visibly cringed at the sound of his brother blowing his nose into the sleeve of his jacket.

 “y-yer gonna sit in the back, frisk? with me?” Sans momentarily paused in his sobbing, but only just for a moment. “i’m so…haaaaappyyyyyy…”

 At the next traffic light, Papyrus let his forehead hit the top of the steering wheel with a loud groan.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 A while later, the three had reached the skeleton brothers’ house without too many more tears being shed. The drive home had only lasted about thirty minutes, but it had felt like hours to Papyrus. He just wasn’t equipped to handle Sans while he was in this condition, so it gave him some amount of relief that Frisk was the one who would be dealing with him.

 But only by a small amount.

 He didn’t completely trust Sans at the moment, and he would continue not to for as long as he was like this.

 “IF HE ATTEMPTS TO DO ANYTHING UNTOWARD, I GRANT YOU FULL PERMISSION TO WARD HIM OFF WITH THIS.”

 He then tried to present Frisk a wooden baseball bat riddled with nails. Curiously, there was also a bright red ribbon tied to the handle. Was this supposed to be a gift of some sort?

 “I really don’t think that will be necessary, Papyrus.” She gave him a weary smile. “Sans wouldn’t do anything… as you said, untoward. Even when he’s like this.”

 “YES, I’M FULLY AWARE THAT HE WOULDN’T. THAT WAS YET ANOTHER ATTEMPT OF MINE TO MAKE A JEST. IT SEEMS ALL MY JAPES ARE FAILING THIS EVENING.”

 “…Oh.” That was all she could say; he looked genuinely upset that he had failed to make her laugh, but only for a moment before his usual scowl returned just as quickly as it left.

 That wasn’t truly why he didn’t trust Sans right now; he knew his younger brother respected Frisk’s boundaries and wouldn’t harass her, even while intoxicated – no, what Papyrus couldn’t trust him with currently was…

 “TRUTH BE TOLD, IT’S NOT SANS THAT I AM CONCERNED WITH.” He began to confess, his expression contorting to one of concern. “OUR LIVES ON THE SURFACE WORLD ARE FAR DIFFERENT THAN WHEN IN THE UNDERGROUND, BUT I HAVE NOTICED THAT THIS WORLD IS NOT DEVOID OF VIOLENCE AND CRUELTY. THE OUTCOME OF OUR BRIEF EXCURSION TODAY REMINDED ME OF THAT… SO, IT WOULD EASE MY MIND SIGNIFICANTLY IF YOU WOULD ACCEPT THIS WEAPON I AQUIRED, SOLELY FOR YOUR PERSONAL USE.”

 “Oh, Papyrus…” She had misunderstood his intentions; he was only trying to protect her, in his own odd way.

 She gingerly took the nail bat from him, giving it a test swing at a safe distance from any of their furniture, just to make him happy. It did. When she turned around, it was quick, but she caught a glimpse of his smile. Not one of his cocky smirks, but his real smile. There was no other way for her to describe it but dazzling.

 “Thank you, Papyrus. I probably won’t have to use it, but I appreciate it and I’ll keep it nearby… because it came from you.”

 A deep scarlet rose over his cheekbones. He diverted his gaze from her, shyly.

 “THE CRIMSON RIBBON… IT’S THERE IN ORDER TO IDENTIFY ITSELF AS YOURS.”

 The Underground had three primary colors, each representing something the entire monster population held sacred to them.

 Red – Determination. The monsters craved this trait of the humans that imprisoned them above all else, so they donned its color for strength.

 Gold – Their currency. For money sometimes held more value than anything else in their bleak and dreary lives.

 Black – The Void. Its purpose unknown, and its existence constantly acknowledged and feared.

 Of these colors, red was the only one that held any true significance to the monsters since the breaking of the barrier. Because that was the color of the SOUL of the human that had brought them their salvation.

 The ribbon looked fancy, expensive even. Frisk couldn’t say she had ever wanted a nail bat, especially since she considered herself a pacifist. But she could tell that this gift came from Papyrus’s heart, metaphorically speaking.

 She took another moment to appreciate the ribbon’s texture before he awkwardly cleared his throat.

 “I MUST BE GOING NOW… I SHOULDN’T BE ABSENT FOR LONG. I EXPECT TO BE BACK SOMEWHERE AROUND TEN TONIGHT. BY THEN, THE ANESTHESIA SHOULD CERTAINLY HAVE WORN OFF. AFTER MY RETURN, MY BROTHER AND I WILL ESCORT YOU TO YOUR OWN HOME.”

 “Papyrus, that’s kind of you, but it really isn’t necessary. I live just down the road, remember?”

 When the brothers had first began looking for a house on the surface, the sole requirements they had listed were that it be located within walking distance of Frisk’s own home, and that Grillby’s was easily accessible from wherever their future residence was located –this second condition came solely from Sans. She didn’t understand herself why that last bit was so important to him when it was common knowledge to the three of them that he could easily teleport anywhere he wanted to go as long as he knew where his destination was located.

 And for whatever reason, it seemed both skeletons had assigned themselves as her bodyguards ever since they moved to the surface.

 “I WILL NOT ACCEPT ‘NO’ FOR AN ANSWER. I CAN COMPREHEND WHY MY BROTHER’S COMPANY MAY BE GRATING AT TIMES, BUT IS MY PRESENCE SO UNDESIRABLE AS WELL?”

 Oh, Papyrus was not above playing the guilt trip card on Frisk if it meant keeping her safe.

 “That’s not it at all! Neither of you are unwelcome around me-”

 “THEN YOU ARE IN AGREEMENT WITH MY SUGGESTION THAT WE ARE TO ESCORT YOU LATER TONIGHT…?”

 “I suppose there’s no harm to be found in it…”

 “OF COURSE THERE ISN’T. YOU SHOULD LEARN TO ALLOW YOURSELF TO RELY ON OTHERS MORE OFTEN, ESPECIALLY WHEN THIS OTHER PERSON IS MYSELF.”

 “I’ll try to keep that in mind. Good luck at the meeting, Papyrus.”

 “I HAVE NO NEED FOR LUCK; I CAN CHARM THE OPPOSITION TO SHIFT THEIR CONTRASTING OPINIONS IN OUR FAVOR WITH EASE, BUT I ACKNOWLEDGE THE SENTIMENT.” He was as delightfully conceited as ever as he said this, like a strutting peacock with its feathers fanned out. “KEEP YOUR PHONE CLOSE BY – SHOULD YOU NEED MY ASSISTANCE, FOR ANYTHING AT ALL, I WILL CUT MY PRESENCE AT THE MEETING SHORT AND RETURN HERE. JUST FOR YOU. AS I KNOW YOU WOULDN’T INTERRUPT SOMETHING SO SIGNIFICANT FOR ANY REASON THAT COULD BE CONSIDERED FOOLISH.”

 She agreed to keep her phone on her person at all times while he was gone, and he allowed his gaze to linger on her for a short while longer than necessary before he stepped out the door, leaving Frisk alone with Sans tucked into bed upstairs.

 Sans had fallen unconscious the instant his head had hit the pillow. Guiding him up the stairs had been a challenge for them both; Papyrus could have simply lifted him and carried Sans up the stairs without the need for any issue, but Sans had insisted that Frisk help him alongside Papyrus, and neither of them were in any mood to hear another one of his tantrums.

 He had almost fell down on a few occasions, and a task that should have only taken a few seconds to accomplish instead took several careful minutes. The stocky skeleton had even briefly fell asleep halfway up and the two were forced to carry him with one of them grasping him at each end.

 “MIDNIGHT WILL HAVE PASSED BY THE TIME WE REACH THE LAST STAIR IF WE KEEP IT UP AT THIS RATE. I THINK WE CAN AFFORD TO GO A LITTLE FASTER, WOULDN’T YOU AGREE?”

 “Huff… That’s easy for you to say!” She panted, struggling to keep a firm hold on him. “You have the light end!”

 “SANS DOESN’T HAVE A LIGHT END.”

 And to emphasize his statement, Papyrus made them switch sides, nearly sending the slumbering skeleton down the steps for the third time since they began their gradual ascent when he suddenly tried to turn over in his sleep.

 Frisk hoped that Sans never got into another accident that would make him lose one of his teeth, because she wasn’t sure she could survive having to carry him up that flight of stairs again.

 Magical skeleton monster or not, he shouldn’t be that heavy! That was what she had thought then.

 The muscles in her arms ached, but at least she could relax a little now.

 They had brought Sans home at about six ‘o clock, and he remained asleep for a little over an hour before Frisk was alerted he was awake by him suddenly letting out an agonized wail.

 She quickly pounded up the stairs, his wails sounding as though he were in sincere and significant pain. When Frisk entered his room, she found him lying on his back, eye sockets wide open with his glowing irises shrunken down to pinpricks once more. His hands were clutching the sheets in a shaky grip, and his entire body was trembling violently.

 “Sans?” She called out to him softly, knowing that he didn’t seem to be completely there as of yet from whatever undoubtedly horrific dream it was he had escaped from. “Sans, it’s me. Frisk.”

 “…frisk?” He murmured after a long stretch of silence, his body stilling.

 His voice still sounded slurred, but less than before.

 “Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. I’m here.” She slowly stepped across the carpet towards him until she eventually reached his bedside. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurting anywhere?”

 “…had a nightmare.”

 “Do you want to talk about it or…?”

 He shook his head from side to side, small streams of tears escaping his closed sockets.

 “That’s alright. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” Frisk sat down on the edge of his bed and softly cupped his cheeks, gently wiping the tears that fell with her thumb.

 He raised his own hands weakly to cover her own, his touch featherlight and barely there as he let out another wet sob.

 Unlike the several instances where he had burst into tears during the drive home, this spell of tears felt less like a small child’s tantrum and more like a plea for help. It was more akin to when he first woke up and noticed that Frisk and his brother were nowhere to be found. He had been seized by a sudden, almost primal fear, a deep loneliness that threatened to smother him if not immediately remedied.

 “i… i love you, frisk.” He choked out as he squeezed the top of her hand. “i love you so much… you don’t have to feel the same way that i do, but please, just let me love you and don’t leave me, ever…”

 This declaration, again, unlike when they were in the car together, sounded far more desperate and anguished.

 And it was also now undeniable that he intended his words to be perceived by her as being nothing but romantic in nature.

 Frisk wanted to convince herself that it was probably the anesthesia talking, that she must appear different to him while in this state and it caused him to act more needy, and she just happened to be the person closest to him during this time, so she was the one being subjected to his forsaken whiplash responses. Anyone else could be standing in her place at this moment and his reactions wouldn’t change - this is what Frisk tried to tell herself.

 But she found herself quickly getting sucked into the whims of this new side of him revealed to her, this lovesick and vulnerable Sans that was looking at her and only her.

 “Shh, shh, shh… Sans, it’s going to be alright. I’m right here, in front of you, holding you, and I’m not going anywhere.” She shushed him, attempting to calm him even if only slightly. “It’s okay for you to love me. I love you too.”

 “nooooo…” He groaned again, followed by a hiccup. “stop it. just stop teasing me like this! you don’t think i am, but i’m being serious! i love you, frisk. i really really love you! and not just as a friend either. i… i don’t want some no name human guy jerk to be the one to marry you. i wanna be the one to do that… i wanna marry you, frisk!”

 Frisk had never felt such a red-hot burning sensation in all her life. Her face was such a vibrant shade of crimson, it was nearly scalding. She was certain that if she could look in a mirror, it would appear as if she had received a severe sunburn, her face was so red.

 “Sans…” She began to trail away, but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back towards him onto the bed and himself, wrapping his arms around her and pulling Frisk into his chest.

 She could hear a wild series of thumps coming from his ribcage, which produced a sound not unlike her own heartbeat at this point in time. There was no other thing that could have produced this noise but his SOUL, forlornly crying out for her own.

 “if… if you want a pretty ring, i’ll get one for you. i’ll get you one that’s much bigger and even prettier than the one on your finger. if it’s a fancy and expensive wedding you want, i can give you that too. it may take me a while, but i’ll make it happen, for you. if it’s kids you want, i’ll give you as many as you want our family to have, or none at all if you’d rather it be just us two… but if you do want some, i’ll provide for you and them the best i can, i promise, frisk.”

 He had said the ‘p’ word – promise.

 Sans hated making promises. While the monsters weren’t ones to honor their word while they had been immersed in the old ways of the Underground life, he still felt the word put him into a position of responsibility. That’s why he avoided that word at all cost.

 And Sans had just promised to love, marry, and have children with her if she so desired, three of the most responsibility-laden commitments known to mankind.

 Forget being flushed with embarrassment; her head was spinning far too much to even think straight now. How could anyone possibly think straight after hearing all this while being in her position?

 Sans slowly carded his phalanges through her hair in a manner that was meant to be soothing as he spoke, his tone much lower and softer than she was used to hearing. Her head was tucked under his chin and his other arm was draped across her back, preventing any possibility of a successful attempt at escape.

 Frisk was immensely thankful that Papyrus wasn’t here to see this. Otherwise, the taller skeleton might have actually made due on his previous joke about bashing his brother over the head with a bat covered in nails for this display of behavior.

 She wiggled uncomfortably, but instead of loosening his grip, Sans only held her tighter. He then adjusted the two of them into a slightly more comfortable position, as if that would fix the matter in some way. Sans must have thought so, because the hand that had been absentmindedly tangled in her hair moved to the back of Frisk’s head when she had been caught trying to raise herself up and pressed downwards, her ear directly over his ribcage where his SOUL was still hammering away against his bones.

 After lying there for a few more seconds, mulling over her options, Frisk finally decided to just be direct with him.

 “Sans, you’re gonna have to let me go.”

 “no. i don’t want to.” He held her even closer, somehow. “if you’re not here with me, you might go somewhere where i’ll never see you again. so… i’m never letting you go again. ever. simple as that.”

 “You can’t do that, Sans. It’s not possible.”

 “well not with that attitude.”

 “Sans!” She struggled, kicking her legs to little effect.

 “do you hate being with me that much…?” There was an audible hint of nervousness and uncertainty in his tone as he said this.

 She managed to lift her head enough to get a glimpse of his face, and she wasn’t prepared for how lost and alone it looked. He wasn’t trying to manipulate her with his words – Sans, at this moment, truly was drifting in a sea of self-doubt and was seeking for the answers in her.

 “Don’t say something so silly.” She reached up to pat his boney cheek, the texture smooth and oddly soft against her skin. “I enjoy your company. I love being with you, Sans.”

 “…i love spending time with you too, sweetheart.” He lifted the hand that had been behind her head and rested it over hers to keep it there, closing his eye sockets as he enjoyed the blissful warmth that emanated from it. “if i could have it my way, i’d never go a second without you. because i love you…”

 Frisk involuntarily shuddered; he had moved so his mouth was directly next to her ear. Hearing something like that, so possessive yet loving, with his breath ghosting over her skin… it was just too much.

 These affectionate, and nearly obsessive words that were coming from Sans were things she had secretly always wanted to hear.

 And it was terribly, horribly cruel.

 Because he was only saying these things because he wasn’t in complete control of his thoughts or actions.

 Anyone else could replace her at this scene and in this moment, and nothing would change.

 So no matter how much Sans insisted that his affectionate claims were true, she couldn’t believe a word of it until he was fully sober.

 “…ya never gave me an answer.” He spoke again after a while, almost causing her to jump at the abruptness. His voice was beginning to sound more slurred too. “i finally confessed to ya… i’ve told ya just about everything i’ve always wanted ta say to ya since when i realized i felt this way… but you never said a word.”

 “…” She still wasn’t sure what to say.

 “i’ve poured out my whole SOUL to ya, and it still ain’t enough…” Before she could come up with a reply, he started speaking again, his tone urgent. “then tell me what i can do ta have ya, to make ya mine.”

 “Sans-”

 “i’m not flirting with nobody but you no more cuz you’re the only girl i think is attractive anymore. could come home ta find some blonde thing in a skimpy red bikini, posed all seductive on my bed and i wouldn’t feel a thing. nothin’. ask her what she thought she was doin’ here an’ tell her to shove off.”

 Frisk absorbed his statement and then took a moment to dwell on it. Her mind did a replay of the time they had spent together on the surface, and she found she couldn’t recall a single instance of him flirting with anyone aside from herself. In fact, he almost looked annoyed whenever a member of the opposite sex flirted with him these days. It had certainly happened on a few occasions, and Frisk was there to witness it.

 “and i try not to cuss as much anymore cuz i know you don’t like it. same thing with the alcohol – i used to look forward to one day tryin’ the booze you humans got for myself if i ever got up here, but now i know you hate the smell, and drunk people scare ya, and you’re right: the risks just ain’t worth it. can’t get any of those diseases you humans get, but my mouth runs somethin’ wild plenty enough when ‘m not drunk.”

 “Oh, I know. Believe me, I know this now…” She thought, but also had to silently admit that everything he was saying was indisputably true.

 Sans had changed a lot since they had become friends.

 And she had been mostly blind to it, paying more attention to him for his misdemeanors than his efforts to change. He had been silently working to improve himself, and Frisk hadn’t paid him any mind.

 It made her feel guilty, but she still couldn’t allow herself to believe that he really loved her – not yet.

 Her own crippling self-doubt and denial was stronger than her desire for affection.

 “so… what do i gotta do ta make ya fall in love with me?” He finally allowed her some breathing room, but only so he could gaze into her eyes – eyes were the window to the SOUL, and he needed a glimpse inside hers now more than ever. “i’ll do anything. really. anything ta make ya mine and mine alone.”

 “Sans… you don’t need to do anything. Not at all.” She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the one he liked, the one that would make his SOUL do somersaults and backflips every time he saw it. This one looked strained, forced. “I just… this is a lot to process… and I can’t really believe anything that you’re saying right now.”

 “why not?!” He replied, indignant.

 “Because… you’re not acting normal. You’re… you’re all hopped up on anesthesia right now. And, well… anesthesia makes people say a lot of crazy things that they normally wouldn’t. So until it’s worn off, I can’t believe you.”

 “so yer sayin’ ya can’t trust me cuz I’m drunk? ya think ‘m not tellin’ the tooth?!” He spat; his voice was really slurred now. “the-the nerve ‘a ya! i-i’ll have you know… that i am cone sold stober…!”

 Frisk just smiled at him, almost smugly as realization bloomed across his face, that what he just said didn’t sound right.

 “wait, wait, wait. crap. i… i’ve got this, just… gimme a minute…” His eye sockets began to narrow sleepily.

 “Sans, I’ll make an agreement with you, about your confession,” He perked up just slightly, now rapt with attention. “Tell me again in a little while. Then I’ll give you a proper answer. But first, you need to sleep.”

 “ok, i promise. but-but… how can i… possibly sleep…” His body was growing heavier and heavier. “when i know that… when I wake up… the most important moment a’ my life…”

 The back of his head hit the pillow with a soft ‘pomf’. She sighed, but felt a bit of anticipation as she disentangled herself from him and tucked the covers up to his chest again.

 She gave his cheek another gentle pat and made her way out of his room, hoping that this time no nightmares plagued his sleep and that he was in his right mind when he next awoke.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 At about nine-thirty, a half an hour before Papyrus’s scheduled return, Frisk once again heard sounds coming from Sans’s bedroom.

 She put down her book and padded up the stairs, opening his door and praying to herself that the mostly sane Sans she knew had returned.

 “uuuugh, i feel like i got hit by a freakin’ sixteen-wheeler truck! fully loaded!” He groaned, clutching his cranium crabbily.

 “Oh, Sans, you’re back!” She couldn’t help but shout, causing him to flinch and she gave a quick apology.

 “did i go somewhere…?”

 “Kind of? You went to the dentist.”

 “…oh yeah, that did happen. i’m remembering that now… can we not talk about it? i don’t wanna think about it.”

 “Certainly. And how are you feeling?”

 “aside from feeling like my bones were hollowed out and got loaded with rocks? pretty ok, i guess? everything’s kind of a hazy blur ta be honest.”

 “Is that so…?” She laughed, but it sounded so forced, to both of them.

 “…why are my zygomas wet?” He reached up to touch his cheekbones, his confused expression contorting into one of disgust. “feels like i’ve been cryin’. …i didn’t… do that, did i?”

 “…”

 “frisk.”

 “Yes, you did cry…”

 “how much?”

 “When you first woke up, when you woke up again, on and off nearly the entire ride home-”

 “holy sh-” He caught himself. “crap… oh crap… you… and you saw everything… you must’a been so embarrassed an’ grossed out.”

 “No, no, Sans… it’s… it wasn’t like that.” Frisk rubbed at her arm, averting her gaze.

 “then what was it like?”

 “…I’m not sure how to describe it.”

 “indescribable. just like paps said.”

 “…”

 He didn’t remember.

 He didn’t remember what he had said to her…

 It was taking every ounce of her willpower not to burst into tears herself.

  “You idiot. How could you let yourself believe, even for a second that-”

 “frisk… can you come ‘ere for a sec?” He asked, his tone quieter, softer.

 It wasn’t helping her wounded heart and SOUL at all that it was the same one he used when he had said all those beautiful things to her earlier. But she did as he requested and walked towards him, Sans not saying another word until she reached his bedside.

 “hey, sweetheart…” He lifted one hand to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb across her skin. “why ya cryin’?”

 She didn’t answer him. Instead, she ripped herself away from him and his touch, as painful as it was to do so, and turned around, refusing to face him.

 “babydoll? frisk?” He tried to unwind himself from the sheets, but she froze him in place once again.

 “Stop it! Just stop it, Sans! Please!”

 “stop what?! i don’t understand what your problem-”

 “No, you don’t, and that’s exactly what the problem is!” She wailed, knowing that she shouldn’t and couldn’t take out her feelings of hurt on Sans – none of this was his fault.

 It wasn’t his fault that she was an unlovable mess that also couldn’t accept even the most simple gestures of affection.

 Frisk stood there, crying her heart out and neither knowing quite entirely why until she decided she’d made a fool of herself enough for the night and quite possibly for the rest of her life. Just as she reached for the doorknob, his voice stopped her, barely above a whisper but somehow still audible over her sniffles and sobs.

 “sweetheart… i’m sorry…” Sans spoke, his voice filled with genuine sympathy and warmth.

 “Why… why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything…”

 “and that’s the problem. i… didn’t do something i was supposed to, right?” He smiled wearily at her. “i broke a promise. i promised i’d tell ya how much i loved ya when i woke up sober and then i didn’t.”

 “So… you remember?”

 “i do now.” He sighed, sitting up. “some things are still a little hazy… but, i remember everything that had to do with you. i… i meant everything, frisk. every word. what i said, those were just a handful of the things i think about when you’re on my mind, every day, constantly.”

 “Sans…”

 “but… you don’t feel the same, do you? i was thinkin’ you might of told me to wait because you were tryin’ to think of a way ta let me down easy, so i hesitated on telling you how i felt again. but then you started cryin’ for seemingly no reason except for i didn’t speak up when i said i would, so… i’m… kinda gettin’ some mixed signals here.”

 “…” Frisk still couldn’t say anything, even now.

 “come ‘ere, babydoll. let’s talk this out.” He patted the empty space next to him on the bed, urging her to sit down. “i’ve said how i feel, now it’s your turn. give me the honest truth. i can take it…”

 He was still expecting a rejection, and he had lied.

 He was certain he would dust instantly if she turned away his love.

 She sat down next to him, crawling up on the bed to sit crisscrossed. Frisk opened and closed her mouth several times, but nothing would come out. Not until Sans reached out to take her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back.

 “Sans… I… this is so hard for me to do.” She choked out.

 Sans’s posture stiffened.

 He was readying himself for a rejection.

 “It’s just… nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

 His shoulders first slumped out of relief, then jumped up with surprise.

 “…nobody ever said they loved you?” He had to say it himself just for the concept to soak in.

 “Never. I… Sans, you have to understand; nobody has ever treated me like you or the other monsters do. I spent my entire life believing that I must have been some sort of mistake, that I wasn’t supposed to be here and had no place in the world… So the reason I even ended up in the Underground in the first place… was…”

 “oh, sweetheart…!” He said in a gasp, gathering her up in his arms and began rocking her in their embrace. “oh, stars sweetheart, you don’t gotta say anything… not if you don’t want to. nobody’s forcing it out of ya. but… you don’t feel the same way now that you did then, do you?”

 “No, not anymore. And… it wasn’t like that, Sans. Not how you think it was.” Frisk gazed up at him, attempting to console him now even though she was the one crying. “I didn’t jump if that was what you were thinking. I climbed Mount Ebott as a self-imposed exile. I just… it was dark. I didn’t see that hole in the ground…”

 “even if ya didn’t jump, it’s still just too sad for my SOUL to take, sweetheart.” He held her tighter, his bones clattering softly. “you came all the way out there, all by yourself, because you were that lost and lonely… and you could of died!”

 “But I didn’t-”

 “but you still could have! you could have died when you hit the ground! you could’a snapped your spine in two… or broke so many bones that you couldn’t even walk… then you would of starved to death if some other monster didn’t find you and finish ya off… you would have died… and you might of never got the amount of determination to SAVE, LOAD, and RESET… and i never would have met you… oh, stars, it could’a happened!”

 He held her so tightly that it almost became difficult to breathe.

 Now he was sobbing.

 “frisk, i can’t even imagine what kinda life you must of lived before, but…” He released her just enough to grasp her face in his hands again. “everybody i know loves ya frisk, and even if they didn’t, even if everybody else in the world hated you, and everybody else in the world hated me for it… i would still love you.”

 “Sans…!” She buried her face back into his chest. “Sans, that’s… that’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear! Oh, stars, Sans! I love you too!”

 “shh, shh, shh… it’s alright, sweetheart. it’s ok to let it all out, but remember to breathe.”

 He was such a hypocrite, was what she might have wanted to say if she were less of a mess, but right now she just wanted to bask in the warmth of his love.

 His love for her and only her.

 After several more minutes of sobbing, they both had finally managed to compose themselves.

 “…Look at us. Now our faces are both a mess.” Frisk laughed.

 “you’re still beautiful, though.”

 Her cheeks turned red at that, but now it wasn’t flushed from crying.

 “Well, I thought that you looked cute when you were crying at the dentist’s office.”

 “‘ey, i thought i asked ya ta not talk about that.”

 “Alright…” She pretended to pout.

 Her expression was so cute that Sans couldn’t resist bending down to give her a peck on her scrunched up nose.

 “so… you love me.”

 “Yes, I do, Sans.” She quirked an eyebrow at him – it sounded like what he had to say was leading up to something.

 “so does this mean you’ll marry me?” Bless him, he sounded so excited when he asked her that.

 “No.”

 “oh…” And then his shoulders immediately sagged, along with the corners of his mouth.

 “Not yet, at least.” She patted the top of his skull placatingly with a chuckle. “It’s still a little soon for that, but… I’m also not saying it’s entirely out of the realm of possibility. Especially if you continue to be as sweet and loving as you’ve been tonight.”

 If Sans had a tail, it would have been wagging so fast it wouldn’t be detectable by the human eye.

 “really? ya mean it? then can i tell everyone we’re engaged?”

 “No.”

 “aww… no fun allowed.” This time it was Sans’s turn to pout. “…can i say we are to some of the guys that try ta mess with ya so they’ll screw off?”

 “…Maybe.” She almost laughed at how quickly his expression changed from sulky to joyful. “Why do you want to get married so quickly, anyway?”

 “because… back in the underground, that’s what you did when ya loved someone and they loved you back. it was kill or be killed, so if you didn’t do what you wanted to today, you might not get to tomorrow… so that was why i decided ta be different than everybody else and do absolutely nothin’.”

 “Pfft! Sans…” She hugged him. “I don’t plan on going anywhere, and with you and Papyrus around all the time, not to mention the others, I doubt anything will ever hurt me. The surface is different than the Underground. We don’t have to rush this relationship along – we can enjoy it at our own pace.”

 “ok, but… i’d still totally be down for marrying you right now if you agreed to it.”

 “At least take me out on a date, first!” She snorted, elbowing his ribs.

 “ok! then let’s go on one - right now!” He stood up, his steps wobbly as he rushed towards the door. “then we can get married after!”

 “Sans, where are you going?!”

 “to get something to eat. what else?!”

 “Wait, Sans! I don’t think that’s such a good idea!”

 “why not? we’re just going to grill- aaaugh!”

 Sans let out a startled cry as he lost his footing on the stairs, screaming during the entire duration of his descent. He landed face down on the floor with a pained groan.

 “Sans! Are you hurt?! Say something!” She shouted, hurrying down the steps herself as quickly and carefully as possible.

 Sans’s hands fluttered towards his mouth, his eye sockets wide.

 “ow… my… my tooth! oh stars, not my tooth again! it’s gone!”

 Frisk let out a horrified gasp, hands coming up to clasp at her own mouth.

 He turned around to face her, and then removed his hands, revealing a cheeky and toothy grin, his golden one clearly visible and gleaming from the brightness of the living room lights.

 “juuuust messin’ with ya.”

 “You… You…” Frisk seethed, “Forget being a pacifist! I’m gonna clean your clock!”

 She ran towards him with fists flailing. He chuckled, sidestepping every blow she tried to land on him with ease. All until she slipped on the rug and it raveled up beneath her. She tripped forward, and Sans held out his arms to catch her. The both of them ended up knocked to the floor, Sans underneath her and Frisk on top of him just like before.

 He wrapped a bulky arm around her waist and grinned.

 “oh, i remember this part from earlier too…”

 She tried to stay mad at him, she really did. But the sight of the smugness on his face melting into an eager smile as he leaned his head towards her with slightly puckered bony lips quickly extinguished any fury she may have previously felt.

 Frisk tilted her head to the side so her nose and his nasal ridge wouldn’t collide with each other, but he took the time to brush the tip of his against hers – a nose nuzzle, as they had called it Underground. Then they leaned towards each other more, about to close the distance between their lips for real for the first time.

 And at that moment, they heard the door open.

 Papyrus stood there, standing at the doorway still as a statue, his left eye socket twitching.

 None of them said a word for what felt like the longest, until…

  “this… is exactly what it looks like.

[arlingtonpark]

SNK 131/132 Review

Hello, my name is ArlingtonPark, and I write SNK meta.

I’ve been doing this every month for three years now.

And I’ve never skipped a month.

Nope.

No siree.

Uh-uh.

(My punishment is that I have to write at least 4,000 words on both chapters now.)

So, we’ve come a long way, haven’t we.

In chapter 1, humanity had given up on itself. Humanity had barely survived the titan apocalypse and everyone was just happy to be alive.

Humanity had to crowd into the walls, but it was better than being outside.

It was better than being dead.

They could have everything they’d ever need. Friends, family, children, food, a place to live. All of it was inside the walls.

Everything you’d need to live a fulfilling life, and many saw it that way.

The Survey Corps would explore the outside world, but they were unpopular and no one took outside exploration seriously.

In chapter 1, humanity was willing to settle.

Then in comes our hero, Eren Yeager.

People in the walls had a job, family, friends, and their needs were generally met, but Eren told them they should want even more than that.

That’s how the story began.

If Attack on Titan had ended with the basement reveal, I would have said the series was obviously written by someone who watches too much Fox News.

Attack on Titan, before the basement, was a story about paranoia. It was a story about outsiders threatening to invade and destroy everything our heroes loved.

The heroes in this narrative are the patriotic members of the military. They devote their heart to humanity, are willing to die for their country, and are put upon by their slovenly compatriots.

And in between the outsiders and the patriots are the fence-sitters. These are people like the general public, and some named characters.

They’re not the enemy per se, but they’re mindset is still regarded as wrong-headed by the story.

Specifically because they are not devoted enough to the cause.

The wall’s denizens are able to live lives no worse than they would otherwise, and they’re satisfied with that, yet the story regards that thinking as insular and complacent.

People like Jean, Sasha, and Hannes are shown to be in the wrong throughout the story, and they only come around to the good side when they learn to devote their hearts.

Jean wanted to live safely in the interior, away from the action. He started off bad because he was only fighting for himself; he became good when he started fighting for his country.

Sasha also wasn’t a team player at the start. She hated that people were moving into her area, even though they were refugees looking for a new place to live. She only straightens out when she learns that she’s part of a larger group and the needs of the group are more important than her own.

Hannes was a lazy soldier who shapes up later in the story. He still died, but the point remains: he got gud only when he learned to be a patriot.

All of the bad guys are the ones who don’t fight hard enough.

The series had a lot of Donald Trump energy to it, with so much talk about People Who Look Like Us But Really They’re Different infiltrating society, and a complacent populace that doesn’t respect the military not caring about a vaguely tangible threat.

Worse than that, honestly. Trump just wanted to build a wall to keep the titans out; for a time, Eren was the hero specifically because he wanted to go beyond that wall and kill all the Mexicans.

Things started going in heavy on the satire in the Uprising arc. Unfortunately Isayama is no Jon Swift.

Japan is constitutionally committed to pacifism and formally renounces war as a solution to conflict.

In Attack on Titan, King Fritz forbids the Eldians from defending themselves because he’s a pacifist who renounces war.

You just know Isayama thinks this is hot shit he’s writing.

But wait, it’s worse!

The King Fritz character is a caricature for the conservative’s boogeyman du jure: the woke progressive.

He obsesses over the sins of the past.

He self-flagellates over it.

He talks endlessly about needing to atone, but also that they can never atone for what happened.

He abhors war even with a gun to his head.

He’s Tucker Carlson’s straw man punching bag. The AOC of SNK.

It’s like Trump wrote this.

Dummy-head King Fritz is practically screaming that modern eldians are guilty of genocide! But I know sins of father should not be visited on the son. Covfefe?

It goes from weird to *eww* when the story associates the wokeheads with barbaric, cult-like rituals. They pass down the Founding Titan by having one person ritualistically titanize and devour the other.

……okay.

So.

You could write a biting satire of left-wing politics, it just wouldn’t look like this. Attack on Titan is always at its worst when it tries to be better than it is.

Real life progressives emphasize past atrocities only because they feel those atrocities haven’t been properly acknowledged. And they talk about atonement because, naturally, if they haven’t been acknowledged, proper penance almost certainly hasn’t been given.

Satire works best when you take something and judge it on terms everyone, regardless of political persuasion, can agree on, thus demonstrating its shortcomings.

Everyone generally agrees on whether a stupid thing is stupid, so if you can successfully take the basic tenants of a position and cast them in a silly light, you’ve successfully made a valid point about that position’s failings. And maybe you’ve won some people over to boot.

SNK isn’t going to convince anyone, and I doubt Isayama was aiming for that anyway. It all reads like catnip for the people who already drank the kool-aid.

SNK’s attempt at skewering wokism is to say that with their mindset, the terrorists win. No nuance or exploration, just labeling people who disagree with you lazy, greedy, unpatriotic.

All the invective of Juvenal but actually juvenile.

I think the undercurrent of unironic nationalism peaks in the Uprising Arc, where the greedy elites are overthrown by the military in a populist coup.

It’s a classic nationalist narrative.

Greedy businessmen who don’t truly care about the country are a common boogeyman in right-wing circles.

And of course the military, being a symbol of national strength and sacrifice, is often valorized by right-wingers.

After the basement reveal, though, there’s been a notable shift in perspective.

SNK definitely takes a more critical view of nationalism now.

Turns out Grisha was part of a nationalist gang, and he was so caught up in nationalistic fervor he dehumanized his own son and only saw him as a stepping stone to racial dominance.

The people of Paradis have whipped themselves into a nationalistic frenzy. The people were calling for genocide against the marleyans.

When the government refused to commit to that, the government that had overthrown its predecessor in a nationalist coup was itself overthrown in a nationalist coup.

Don’t forget the last we saw of Paradis before leaving it: people celebrating Eren’s genocide. While the Alliance is giving their lives to save humanity, Paradis is partying like there’s no tomorrow.

SNK has almost become a metacommentary on itself; a story about how nationalist narratives backfire and only lead to more conflict.

I’m still not prepared to say SNK is fully anti-nationalist, though.

This reads to me like Isayama trying to have his cake and eat it. He wants to send a broadly pro-nationalist message while warning of the excesses of his own ideology.

There are good and bad points to be made about this.

It’s great that the series is covering all its bases.

Whatever its faults, SNK is a series that discusses its themes from multiple angles.

When the series talks about freedom, it talks about it in all its permutations.

Negative freedom, as when Eren wants humanity to be able to live beyond the walls.

Positive freedom, as when Historia builds an orphanage so the kids can build better lives for themselves.

Political freedom, as when King Fritz’s regime is toppled and society is liberalized.

Freedom from external forces, as when the Eldians struggle to be free from discrimination.

Freedom from internal inhibitions, as when Historia overcomes her self-doubt and lives for herself.

False freedom, as when the mainland Eldians delude themselves and think freedom comes by serving their Marleyan masters.

I appreciate that Isayama is willing to put in the effort to showcase his themes in all their variations.

…

Ok, so here’s the bad stuff.

I think the series harps on nationalism a lot because it’s part of a larger theme of self-determination.

SNK is, ofc, a series about self-determination. I’ve already talked about how it’s about freedom; freedom necessarily implies self-determination.

But there are two levels to this theme: the individual and the collective.

On the level of individual self-determination, there is Historia and her arc. She was a slave to other people’s expectations, and she chose to disregard those expectations and live for herself.

This theme is repeated again with individual Eldians like Reiner and Gabi, as well as Armin. These are people who’s ability to lead their best lives is limited by various circumstances.

They are unfree.

Reiner and Gabi are Eldians in a Marleyan dominated society. They want to live their lives and build a better life for their friends and family, but they can’t because of racism.

Armin wants to explore the outside world, but can’t because of the titans.

The theme of the story is that people have a right to control their own course, and they very much have a right to defend, even kill, in the name of preserving that right.

However lily-livered our heroes are, it is always drilled into them that they have to kill to enjoy the freedom they want.

I think Isayama harps on nationalism a lot because he believes that individual rights can be safely applied to groups; that groups have a right to self-determination just as much as individuals.

There is an individual level to freedom and there is a collective level.

In chapter 1, it’s not just Eren or Armin who are unfree, it is humanity that is unfree.

The titans took humanity’s land and humanity is entitled to take that land back.

Eren’s dream was for humanity to stand up for itself, not any one human.

That is a seriously flawed way of thinking.

Individuals are fundamentally different from groups of individuals. You can get away with it up to a certain point, but individual rights and group rights don’t always align. That contradiction is something the series has hinted at, but has never fully dealt with.

Historia’s pregnancy is the prime example. She’s a person with rights, but also possibly the key to her people’s survival.

Erwin’s death was also an example. Erwin devoted his heart to humanity and led them well, but when the time came to resurrect him, the choice was made to let him rest in peace. Erwin was a big asset to humanity, but it was decided to leave him be.

SNK seems to believe that when this contradiction arises, individual rights should prevail. That’s good, because most people would argue that.

But to think of group rights in this way, as being an outgrowth of a general right to self-determination, alongside individual rights, is questionable.

The central conflict of the story is over the rights of Eldians, not as individuals, but as a group. Victory for the good guys is framed as a matter of winning Eldian self-determination.

That is a distinctly nationalist framework, and I object to that.  

This is very tricky to write about because it’s natural to think about it in terms of groups.

Eldians as a group are hated, so naturally a solution would be thought of in terms of Eldians as a group.

It’s not wrong per se, but it cannot also be seen outside the light of SNK’s prior nationalist undertones.

I don’t think I’m conveying my thoughts very well, but…it’s just…

People say that SNK completely changed after the basement, but that’s wrong.

SNK is the same series it’s always been at heart.

It is because of this that moralizing about collective self-determination is something that raises eyebrows.

It is almost certainly part and parcel with the series’ prior nationalist urgings.

…

……

(Word count: 2077)

Fuck.

Uh.

Er.

Eren!

Shithead! What are you doing, Yeager?

Eren is a monster.

Literally.

So the truth comes out, and it’s exactly what I expected it would be.

People can disagree about Eren being a nationalist, but no one can deny that he is clearly an avatar for the ideology.

Eren loves his friends. He loves his family. He loves his people.

But just as the archetypical nationalist’s love becomes twisted to justify all sorts of atrocities, so too has Eren’s love become a hellish monstrosity.

Like the archetypical nationalist, Eren can only see the world in zero-sum terms.

“If we lose, we die. If we win, we live. And you can’t win if you don’t fight.”

That is his motto. It’s Paradis or the world. One or the other, but not both. There can be no peace, no coexistence, no compromise.

People have said that Eren has changed, but that’s wrong. This is just the logical conclusion of his exclusionary, nationalist mindset. The mindset he’s had from the very beginning.

Eren describes life behind the walls as undignified. He describes humanity’s comeback as a reclamation of that dignity.

Dignity not in the sense of his personal dignity, but in terms of humanity’s collective dignity.

That is to say he was thinking as a nationalist does even as a kid.

In some contexts, it makes sense to think of humanity as a singular entity. Administrative purposes, for example, or even just to foster a sense of community, but to think of humanity the way Eren does demonstrates a nationalist mindset and all that implies.

For Eren, humanity isn’t just a singular entity, humanity is almost like a living organism. He talks about humanity as an organism that can have indignity visited upon it, as an organism that needs to stand up for itself, that needs to fight.

(By the way, another example of Isayama’s hack writing: the Eldian people are a nation. A group of people bound together by a shared culture and history.

And wouldn’t you know it: the Eldians are bound together by P A T H S, a metaphysical bond through which Eldians can experience the shared history of their race.

This is such hack writing!)

Talking about humanity in this way in this context is very revealing about Eren’s worldview.

In the nationalist’s eyes, the nation is a singular organism whose survival is paramount; the individuals who compose the nation are not as important.

That’s why nationalism tends to lead to so many awful outcomes. The ideology is inherently dehumanizing even for the people the nationalist views as on his side.

But what I like about this depiction is how the series shows the contradictions inherent to that.

Eren may view the survival of humanity, and now Eldians, as paramount, as more important than any one life, even his own, but he’s still a human being who can form connections with others.

I think this is why Eren’s turned on his friends the way he has.

“To fight monsters, we have to abandon our humanity.”

Eren has taken Armin’s words to their logical conclusion: to survive, we have to dehumanize ourselves.

Thus, we end up with Eren pushing his friends away. He knows he has to separate himself from his humanity to be able to do the ghastly things he was planning.

This is the contradiction inherent to nationalism. It takes human emotions and twists it towards inhuman actions.

Not just questionable actions (which aren’t actually questionable, but are framed as such by the story) like Erwin’s strategies, but genuinely inhuman stuff.

SNK may be sympathetic to the ideology, but it’s heartening that the series is willing to be so critical of nationalist excesses.

(Setting aside for a second that nationalism of any degree is in itself arguably excessive.)

With Eren, SNK has taken maxims and morals it previously championed and picked them apart. The series wants us to fight, but now it’s showing us what happens when you fight too hard. The story is almost like a deconstruction of itself.

As far as free will is concerned, I think Eren’s right. He is in fact committing this genocide.

I don’t want Eren to be a puppet to the Attack Titan, or for him to somehow be absolved of this crime he’s committed.

When Eren confronted Reiner in the basement in Liberio, Eren was the one who offered excuses for why Reiner wasn’t to blame for the Grim Reminder. Reiner was the one who shot them down.

I don’t actually think this is correct, but the story frames things like “you were a child,” or “you were brainwashed,” as insufficient to absolve Reiner.

SNK’s morals seem to dictate that Reiner gets no get out of jail free card.

He may have just been a kid. He may have been under duress, but he still broke the walls, so it’s all his fault.

Eren seconded that notion. Reiner said as much, and Eren agreed.

Reiner is indeed a half-assed piece of shit, and so is Eren.

Regardless of the circumstances or other extraneous factors at play, Eren is doing this, and that’s it.

One of the themes of SNK is that we own our actions. What we do has consequences and those consequences, in turn, are reflective of us. They illuminate our character.

Eren owns this.

There is no Attack Titan Svengali to scapegoat or excuses to be made.

Eren is killing billions of people for his race because that is who he is.

It’s who he always was.

Speaking of the series hopefully not reneging on its themes, I really hope Hange is dead and there is no afterlife.

That would be a really, *really* stupid idea.

SNK does not romanticize death.

When Erwin died, he was taken from Levi.

When Ymir died, she was taken from Historia.

When Floch died, he was taken from Eren.

Hange’s death was a tragedy. I understand Isayama wanted to send them off on a poetic note, and I hope that’s all this was.

It’s fine to symbolize a character making peace in death with what they did in life.

I do not want this to be the hint of an afterlife people are making it out to be.

Death in SNK has consequences.

When you die, your ability to contribute to this mortal world is done.

They could have brought Erwin back to fight for them, but they chose to let him die. His death was framed as an honorable discharge from duty.

When you die, the hopes, dreams, and beauty that was your life is extinguished. Everything you’ve worked for and built is out of your hands and in the control of your posterity.

Death is fundamentally a bad thing. The bad guys in SNK are the people who relish in mass genocide.

Marley.

Zeke.

Eren.

Death is momentous to the heroes of SNK, but to the villains, death is but a stepping stone to another, usually self-serving, goal.

Marley wishes death on Paradis so they can solidify their dominance over the world.

Zeke wishes death on the Eldians because he’s bent on taking his self-hatred out on his own people.

Eren wishes death on humanity because he’s been spat on his whole life, and now that he’s big and strong, he wants to flex on them.

Death is a bad thing, but if death means you get to live it up with all your friends and have a happy existence in the afterlife…is death really a bad thing?

I do not want this. No thanks.

…I actually like Hange’s death, btw.

I interpret the “afterlife” as just a poetic send off for their character, and on that level, it’s a good death.

So, I already talked about Eren’s role in the story, I guess I should pad things out with some talk about him as a character.

All throughout the story Eren has been focused on one goal: achieving freedom.

“freedom” is pretty vague though. You can be free in some ways, but unfree in others, and many people would still say you’re free overall.

What does freedom mean to Eren Yeager?

Eren has judged his freedom throughout the story by referencing his circumstances.

Titans right outside the door? Unfree.

Unable to go where he wishes? Unfree.

Victim of racist oppression? Definitely unfree.

Defining something in terms of what it’s not isn’t very ideal though.

So really, what is freedom to Eren?

Freedom for Eren meant being able to see the world.

Flaming water, frozen plains, sandy snowfields.

A lot of people misread this as meaning Eren’s goal was to see the world, but in truth that was just a means to an end.

Seeing the world was a gauge to Eren. It was a way to measure how free he was.

But that still doesn’t answer the question: what does freedom mean to Eren?

Well, in hindsight it was always obvious, but now we know for sure.

“Ever since I was born, there, before my eyes stood those miserable walls. Flaming water, frozen plains, snowfields on sand. I’m sure that the outside world is way bigger than the one inside of these walls. Anyone who saw those things would be the freest person in the world.”

Absolute power.

The power to break down any wall that stands in his way.

Marleyans, warriors, even his friends. Eren is free because he answers to no one. No one can stop him. No one can beat him. He is the god of this world.  

Freedom for Historia meant having her autonomy. The power to live for herself.

Freedom for Eren, in stark contrast, meant absolute domination.

Historia was fine with knowing that the whole world hates her guts and wants her dead, but not Eren. Historia would work to survive as best as she could, but she doesn’t pretend that those people aren’t human beings who deserve to live.

Not Eren.

His thought process is if you’re barreling towards conflict and you have the power to wipe them away easily, then why the fuck not?

We have nukes. We have the power to wipe out North Korea. Why the fuck not?

Eren’s solution to the cycle of violence is to be the last man standing in the end.

That’s the type of person Eren is.

Simple and ruthless.

It all comes back to power with him.

Want to end the cycle of violence?

Be stronger than anyone else.

Want to protect your friends?

Be strong enough to do it.

Want to be free?

Be strong enough to claim it for yourself.

And don’t be afraid to step on people to get it.

And that’s Eren in a nutshell.

What about Mikasa?

Let me say that at first I actually hated Mikasa.

She lost her family at a young age and she wants to protect her new one. That’s really sweet, but what really grated me was how utterly incapable she was at compartmentalizing that.

Protecting Eren was her only goal. She didn’t care about anything else.

She joined the military just to protect Eren, and it showed. There was always some friction whenever her orders conflicted with being able to protect Eren.

Her single-minded desire to protect Eren has consistently held her back. Strength isn’t a problem for her; her character flaw is that she cares too much for someone else.

Mikasa has to constantly be kept from flying off the handle whenever Eren is in trouble. When Eren needs rescuing, her brain turns off and she moves without thinking.

Usually someone manages to restrain her, but when that doesn’t happen, she usually does stupid shit.

Levi can tell you all about that.

My point is that Eren is someone prone to not thinking, and when that bites him, Mikasa starts not thinking too, and while that usually doesn’t bite her since she’s Mikasa, it still illustrates a bad dynamic.

The ultimate culmination of this toxic relationship is this story arc.

In 132, Mikasa refuses to say she’ll kill Eren. Instead she’s going to bring the old Eren back.

Like, fucking really?

“That man isn’t Ehreh, the man I love, he’s Eren, the Bad Guy!”

Mikasa is every abuse victim who keeps crawling back to their abuser.

Eren verbally abused Mikasa until she cried.

But instead of standing up for herself, she makes excuses for him.

First she was desperately trying to find some explanation for why he abused her, and now that it’s undeniable that Eren’s a lunatic, she’s settled on the old “I’m going to fix him” excuse.

Strength isn’t a problem for Mikasa; her character flaw is that she cares too much about Eren.

No one can deny that Eren and Mikasa’s relationship has devolved into an abusive one.

Don’t even try it.

I don’t think Mikasa’s confrontation with Eren will be as straightforward as people think.

Everyone expects Mikasa to overcome her unwillingness to kill Eren and do it.

I don’t know if that will happen or not, but I think it’s important not to lose sight of the fact that Eren is the main character and this is his story.

If we really are in a place where the main character is waiting to be killed off so the story can end…that’s pretty lame.

When Eren touched Historia’s hand, he saw the future.

Everything.

His attack on Marley, the Yeagerist rebellion, Falco.

Everything.

Are we really supposed to believe he didn’t see the Alliance coming for him?

That all this time, Eren knew he’d have to kill Mikasa to succeed?

That’s probably why Eren’s POV has been shrouded so much. Obviously this is something he’d be dwelling on a lot.

That’d fuel some good character drama going into the climax.

I think Mikasa will be the one who dies.

Eren is the main character, and it’s his story.

After everything he’s done, he can’t get off easy.

Being killed my Mikasa is too good for him. He’s going to die anyway, and while dying now means he failed, he won’t be able to experience that failure.

Eren doesn’t deserve to die.

No, he deserves to fail, and he deserves to live with that failure.

Eren is ostensibly doing all this to protect his friends, so the only way to truly punish him is to take those friends away from him.

Maybe throw in Historia too while we’re at it.

…That’s a dark note to end this on.

Uhm.

Hey, look!

4486 words!

\o/

[mamichigo]

[Fic] stupor [asanoya]

@harbingerspeach: “could I PLEASE get an asanoya sickfic?”

Characters: Asahi, Nishinoya, background Karasuno Rating: G Word count: 1,936 Tags: Sickfic, Fluff, Established Relationship Summary: Asahi sits practice out due to a cold.

AO3 link

*

Asahi didn't mean to get to practice late. Really, he didn't.

But, well, there was a lot of convincing to do when the nurse didn't seem inclined to let him leave, at least not while his fever was still burning quite high. Even more so when Asahi had a persuasive power of zero on a normal day, worse yet with an unconvinced nurse staring down at him, eyes pointedly following the sway of his body. Asahi was sure that, if she had her way, Asahi would be strapped down to the bed, instead of walking to the gym.

He had to promise not to do any actual training no less than five times before she let him go.

Asahi could already imagine Coach's scolding, and Daichi's unforgiving scowl, if only because Asahi had forgotten to notify that he got a cold, or even because he had gotten one in the first place. He sighed, adjusting the mask on his face, fussing over it as he hovered at the entrance. He was absolutely not stalling, really, he was just making sure there was no chance he'd contaminate every single one of his teammates. No reason to make anyone else miserable as well.

Maybe it was his punishment for not just going in and getting over with it that, a minute later, his name rang on the court, squeaking shoes all coming to a halt at the same time a small body charged at him.

Oh, that's bad, Asahi absentmindedly thought, but had no brain power to rationalize that he should get out of the way. His limbs were too heavy for that to begin with.

Instead, as Nishinoya leaped straight into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist with unsurprising strength, all Asahi could do was open his arms wide to receive him. Then, a moment later, press his palm to the back of Nishinoya's head as his body collapsed like a particularly pathetic sack of potatoes.

His back hit the ground with a loud smack, knocking against his lungs and ripping a wheezy, high pitched sound from him. Asahi could feel his cold get at least ten times worse with each pained breath.

"Asahi-san?!" Nishinoya yelled, right in his face. "You sound like a dying animal, what's wrong?"

Asahi tried to conjure up a reply, but an even louder exhale of air was as all he got. Nishinoya's hovering got an even more worried aura to it.

"If you can understand me, blink your left eye. If not, blink with the right," Nishinoya instructed, gazing seriously into his eyes.

Asahi, still struggling to tilt his own brain back into the right position, blinked at him very slowly, with both eyes.

"Oh my god, he's dying," was Nishinoya's response as he sprung to his feet and ran calling out to Daichi.

As for Asahi himself, he was more inclined to just let the floor and the earth consume him, so he was fine lying right there.

Not that his plan would ever come to be, as it was interrupted by the arrival of his team. They walked closer until they made a circle around him and, from this angle, they looked more like shadows than actual people. Suddenly Asahi felt like he was about to be sacrificed in a religious ritual.

"I told you, he's already turning into a vegetable," Nishinoya said, pointing at him. "He's not even moving!"

Tanaka patted his shoulder in consolation while Nishinoya sniffled loudly. The team shuffled on their feet, unsure of what to do (some more than others--Tsukishima, for example, didn't seem particularly inclined to do anything to begin with).

"First of all, we should help him sit up first," Suga wisely advised. Everyone nodded in unison.

"And stop circling him like some weird gang, all of you," Daichi said next, prompting everyone to take several steps back.

Asahi wasn't in enough of a stupor not to realize that a hand being offered to him meant he should put some effort into not just lying on the floor, so he gratefully accepted the help, rising to his feet so he could wobble to the nearest wall. Nishinoya kept a hand on his back as he swayed all the way there.

"You look terrible," Kageyama commented as Asahi sat down, back to the wall.

"Kageyama!" Hinata chided.

"Well, he isn't wrong," Suga said next, raising his eyebrows at Asahi, though his voice was gentler than the usual one he'd use for picking at Asahi. But only slightly. "What happened to you?"

"Yeah, you seemed alright yesterday!" Nishinoya piped up from where he was half leaning against the wall.

"I guess it's just one of those cold that--" Asahi started, but had to stop when the scratchiness of his throat made him cough. He winced at the mucus that got stuck somewhere low in his throat. "Creeps up on you. I had to go to the nurse's office, sorry I didn't warn you guys earlier."

Coach, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up: "You sure you shouldn't be heading home?"

Asahi shook his head. "There's no one at home this time of the day." He scratched at his cheek. "I thought I'd watch practice, then head back to the nurse's office."

Coach hummed. "I don't see why not," he said. "It's better than leaving you unsupervised. At least this way I can make sure you won't do anything stupid while you're sick."

"Please, have more faith in me…" Asahi replied, chuckling.

"Well, you can stay, just don't strain yourself or spread your cold to anyone else, got it?"

Asahi tapped the mask he was wearing, indicating that had been his plan all along.

"Alright, everyone else get to work!"

"Wait, Coach!" Nishinoya exclaimed, raising a hand as he did so. "Can I stay with Asahi-san, so I can keep an eye on him?"

"Well…." Coach glanced between the two of them, unsure.

"I'll train twice, no, ten times harder tomorrow to compensate!" Nishinoya declared, preening a little at Hinata's and Tanaka's chorus of "Noya-san, so cool!"

Coach didn't appear as moved by it, and he kept looking on with uncertainty. Asahi didn't want them to be worrying about his wellbeing, so he tried to convey that with a look, but only succeeded in making his eyes sting and water.

"Oh, what the hell, why not," Coach finally decided. "It's probably for the best anyways."

"Alright!"

After a command from Coach, then Daichi, the team began sprinting away to do their exercises, most showing Asahi encouragement by giving a thumbs up or clapping whatever part of him they could reach first. Kageyama in particular bowed deeply as he said, "Get well soon" in a very polite tone, then shuffled away with an embarrassed face as Hinata teased him for it.

"You didn't need to stay back with me," Asahi quietly commented, knowing Nishinoya was listening. "You shouldn't miss practice for my sake."

"Well, I did it because I wanted to, so you can't stop me," Nishinoya promptly replied, settling down beside Asahi.

"I don't think I'd ever be able to stop you in the first place."

Nishinoya grinned at him, and Asahi did the same, though it was cut short by a new bout of coughing. Asahi sniffled through his clogged nose.

"I have to say, this kinda sucks," Asahi said.

"Just kinda?"

"It really sucks," he amended.

"Yeah, you totally look like hell." Nishinoya gave him an once-over. "Do your eyes hurt?"

Asahi made a face of surprise. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"They're super red, it wasn't exactly hard to guess. The good news is that I know just the thing to help," Nishinoya said, managing to sound very ominous. He also wriggled his fingers, for some reason. "Come here."

Asahi stared at the fingers with skepticism. "You don't make me feel safe with this."

"It's alright, so just come here!"

Asahi sighed, but shuffled closer all the same, turning so his body faced Nishinoya. When he reached a hand for Asahi's face, he closed his eyes on instinct, startling a bit when fingertips touched the back of his head.

"Keep your eyes like that for a moment," Nishinoya instructed.

"What for?" Asahi asked, voice wavering with fear.

No answer came, and before he could second-guess and lean out of the grip, Nishinoya pressed his thumbs to Asahi's eyelids, gentle enough not to dig into his eyes. Then, he moved the thumbs in circular motions, doing a quite peculiar massage. While the sensation was a little weird at first, it did a great job at soothing the stinging in his eyes, and even helped with some of the headache drilling at his brain.

Asahi felt himself slump, relaxing into the touch, not worrying what their teammates thought of the scene if they were seeing it (at least not for now). He was certain he could fall asleep like this, but Nishinoya chose the moment Asahi started nodding off to stop.

"Don't go falling asleep like that," Nishinoya said, snickering. "So, how was it?"

Asahi, feeling even groggier than before, though this time in a far more pleasant fashion, blinked blearily at him. It took him perhaps several seconds too long to realize the reason he couldn't see well was because his eyes had welled up with tears, thanks to the little massage.

He then remembered he was asked a question, and nodded. "It was really soothing, the pain actually feels a lot better. Thank you."

Nishinoya puffed up his chest."You can count on me for anything, on or off the court!" Then, a lot quieter but still audible: "As your libero and your boyfriend, I've got your back."

Their relationship was considerably recent (they had been dating for a little over three weeks now), and the reminder of it still managed to make Asahi's stomach do embarrassing leaps in response. 

"I know you do," he replied, as it was the simple truth.

Nishinoya seemed satisfied to leave it at that, and they both fell into silence as they brought their attention back to what was going on the court. Everyone was hard at work, while Asahi and Nishinoya watched, listening to their spirited shouts and the squeak of their shoes.

He knew he was supposed to pain attention, so at least he'd learn something from watching his teammates, but Asahi quickly found out that keeping his eyes open was an impossible quest at the moment. He held out for as long as he could, but sooner rather than later Asahi was lulled into a light doze, half listening to the sounds of practice going on around him.

He felt somewhat distantly as his head hit a solid barrier, but was simply glad to have something to lean on, keeping himself there without a second thought on it.

For an undefined amount of time, Asahi stayed in that position, with no changes heard or felt. Then, there was something at his temple, a little rough in texture but gentle in its touch. Asahi willed himself awake, turning to see Nishinoya's face close to his.

"What are you doing?" Asahi asked, brushing a finger where the kiss had been pressed to his head.

"Checking your temperature," Nishinoya deadpanned.

"Daichi is gonna scold us, Nishinoya."

"He doesn't mind."

Asahi glanced to where Daichi was standing with Suga, their backs very pointedly turned to them.

"Somehow, I don't believe you."

"Don't sweat the details." Nishinoya patted at his head, remembering to weaken it as to not worsen Asahi's muddled brain. "Sick guys should just go to sleep."

Asahi hummed and did just that.

[conneko]

Sneak peek at another rk1k hunger games AU

—

They find a cave, crouched low enough in the bushes that people might overlook them when visibility is low, if they're lucky enough. Connor helps Markus lie down, and Markus winces at every step. His movements are stuttered, stiff and staggered. The cut around his face crusts with a mix of dried blood and dirt, and his breathing has gone heavier than the humidity of the forest.

His wound bleeds a raging dark red, torn open like the mouth of the cave itself. Connor finds a broken piece of fabric in Markus's satchel and wraps it around his thigh, careful despite Markus's winces. 

"You should have focused on gaining more sponsors before this," Connor scolds. "Charming the public is good and all, but it doesn't help you in the arena."

Markus tries to lift himself up to sitting position and he flinches. "I doubt... ah, I doubt they'd let the sponsors hand out endless vats of medicine willy-nilly."

"Still," Connor says, pulling on his bandages a little too tightly. "You should have tried."

"Connor." Markus grasps his hands. "I can hear your nerves from here. I’ll be okay. I've had worse."

"That doesn't make it better, Markus."

"We'll figure something out," Markus says, rubbing his thumb back and forth. "We've gotten this far, haven't we?"

Markus is dangerous, Connor knows, Markus is unbelievably dangerous is how persuasive and damn bright he can be in the darkest situations. It’s his stupid resolve and charisma. Bludgeoned by the sheer hope in Markus's eyes, Connor slumps his shoulders, conceding into his touch.

Markus gives a small smile, a small quirk on his lips. He kisses Connor's hand and pull him to lie beside him, holding him close and burying soothing noises into his hair. 

Injured to the literal bone, and Markus is still trying to comfort him. Connor wishes they'd met outside the games. Although, realistically, outside the games, they would have probably never met at all. Here, they're restricted by the cameras; every movement kept under watch; every word filtered in hopes that the Capitol won't find them too offensive. 

Connor wants all of Markus's honesty; all of his thoughts and his memories. He doesn't want the diplomatic Markus that comes out when his eyes pass the brush around them. He wants the Markus that comes out in moment like these—where they can pretend that there's nothing in their bubble but the two of them. 

He won't ask about his family and friends, like Markus won't ask him about his either. Instead, Connor brushes his hands over Markus's chest, and bundles his head closer to where Connor can hear his heartbeat. 

"When did you start painting?" Connor asks. "Do you think you're good at it?"

“I like to think that I am,” Markus says. “Although, I don’t get to do it as often as I liked. And that’s a funny way of asking if I enjoyed it.”

Connor almost pinches him. “You know what I mean. If you’re good at it, then surely you’d enjoy it.”

“Spoken like a true Careers.”

Connor does pinch him this time. Softly, though, and Markus stifles his laughter.

"My adopted father taught me," Markus says. "He taught me how to play the piano too."

I love him very much, Markus doesn't say, but he does squeeze Connor's hand hard enough for the message to come through.

“What about you? What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“As in, hobbies?” Connor frowns. “My brother and I trained often.”

“Oh,” Markus says. “Your twin, right? Do you two get along?”

It’s like a switch has been flipped, and a dam spills open. A flood of despair crashes into him, at the thought that he might never see Nines and Amanda again. This is what he’s been preparing for all his life, and yet, it also isn’t. He loves them and he wants to see them again. Yet, that would mean wining the games, and Markus being dead.  That’s something he doesn’t want to delve any deeper.

Connor can tell that Markus already regrets asking his question, his hands running apologetically down Connor’s back. His silence said too much, but then, the Capitol had already held them for ransom. Connor rubs his hips in an attempt at comfort.

“Yes,” Connor says. “I miss him. And my mother.”

And so time passes, hidden in between silent whispers delivered between private touches. Then, Connor can hear it—the synthetic chirping of a parachute making itself known. 

"I'll get that," Connor says. "Stay here." 

The longer he takes, the more it will attract unwanted attention. Regretfully, he slips Markus's arms off himself and he heads crouches out the cave with his knives drawn. Once Connor has retrieved the parachute from a tree branch, Connor opens the gifts and finds a note tucked in. 

Tell lover boy I said 'hi' - Hank

Connor almost smiles. Markus's charm strikes again and his mentor's right; if they keep this up, they might get more sponsorship later on.

"What you've got there?" Markus says, pushing himself to sit up. 

"Soup," Connor says, twisting the container open and uncapping the spoon. "Stop moving so fast. I've got this."

"Connor." Markus sighs and reaches for the food. "I'm not going to let you feed me." 

Connor stops him with one hand on his chest. "That's exactly what you're going to do. It's the only reason I'm letting you sit up. It's better for digestion, this way."

Markus sighs again, but he does bundle his bag behind his back. The soup is a clear broth which chunks of carrots, chicken, and thin slices of sausages in it. It's on the simpler side in Connor's opinion. It takes Markus effort to chew the substantial bits of the soup down, but from the hunger that folds his face, Connor knows that this is one of the most decadent meal he's had in his life. 

"What are those red thing?" Markus asks between his chewing. 

“What thing?” Connor tilts his head. He spoons up a slice of sausage. "This one?"

"Yeah," Markus says. "They're... It tastes like wild turkey. But it doesn't as well. It’s so… salty."

"Oh," Connor says. "They're Frankfurt sausages. These ones are a little non-traditional and commercialized, since they're only a mixture of pork and beef."

"Amazing," Markus says. "My friends and I would've taken so many tesserae for a piece of those."

Connor hesitates. "Have you taken many of those?" Connor asks, angling the spoon so Markus could have a better bite. "Tesserae?"

Markus thinks on his reply which he chews. "You'd struggle to find anyone who hasn't done it at least twice a year," he says with food still in his mouth. 

Amanda would be appalled at his manners. For some reason, the observation only makes Markus more endearing to Connor. 

“And if you were alone?”

“Then you find people,” Markus says. “You find your family there.”

Markus says it like it’s easy. Like it’s the norm for people to be taking strangers in and treating them like family. 

"I would take one for Carl and Leo," Markus says. "Then when Josh, North and Simon came to live with us, we were fortunate enough to be considered a family. So we could take an extra Tessera for each person."

"That's... quite a lot of odds to be putting in."

"But if everyone's increasing the number of times they're entered, then the probability roughly stays the same. I think was at 39 at the last reaping."

A laugh escapes from Connor. "I'm not sure that's how it exactly works," Connor says. “But I guess you’re right, more or less.”

Markus shrugs. "Math was never my best subject."

Connor is about to ask about what other things they teach in District 12 when a booming voice cuts through their conversation. 

"Attention Tributes. Attention.” 

Markus almost chokes on his soup, and Connor rubs a hand on his back as he bends over coughing.

"Commencing at sunrise. There'll be a feast tomorrow at the Cornucopia."

Connor snaps into attention.

"However, this will be no ordinary occasion," the announcer says, a little slyly. "Each of you need something... desperately and we plan to be generous hosts."

Markus jolts forward catching his elbow before Connor could move. "You're not going," he says. 

"It's your medicine," Connor says. "Of course, I am."

Markus's hold tightens. "Connor, don't. You can't go alone."

"Markus, you can't even stand without flinching."

"Connor, I'm serious," Markus says, and his eyes are pleading. "You can't just--you can't just risk your life for me. I won't let you."

"There's nothing you can't do to stop me."

"I'm not letting you die for me!" 

"Markus—"

"No, Connor," Markus says, jerky and desperate as he’s never been before. "Listen to me. You go out there alone, and you'd get slaughtered. They've made it clear that the Cornucopia's a target, and you don't even have a ranged weapon."

"I can throw my knives."

"Faster than an archer with a bow?”

“If they can spot me. That’s why I need to scout the area and set up traps.”

“You won’t be the only one to think of that strategy.”

“I know,” Connor says. “It’s still the best chance for us to keep track of everyone in the area.”

“Connor, please,” Markus says. “Don’t risk yourself like that. It’s not worth it.”

Connor chews on his lip. "Markus. You haven't even finished your food." 

"And this!" Markus waves up and down. "You don't owe me anything. I saved your life, but you've already more or less saved mine. Why are you doing all this?"

They're locked in a standoff. Markus's eyes are brighter and more demanding in the darkness of their cave than they did in the daylight.

They're not even from the same district. There was already no way both of them could come out of this alive. Markus is wounded and if Connor was smart—if Connor was still playing the game as he should, as someone worthy of his District—he’d slit Markus's throat now and lay out a trap at the Cornucopia. Everyone there would do the same, if they're smart, but Connor can be smarter. He just needs the jumpstart time to plan ahead. 

But he doesn't do any of that. For once, he doesn't want to do what's expected of him. 

“We don’t have a lot of time left,” Connor says carefully.

Markus grimaces. “I know.”

“Why is it so bad, then, that I want to spend what little time I have left with you?”

That seems to stop Markus short.

Connor puts the soup aside, safe in its closed container, and leans over slowly. He hovers, just as his lips is about to touch Markus's. He looks up from Markus's lips, categorizing each freckle which dots his cheeks, and the slashes carved on his temple.

"Can I?" Connor asks quietly. 

Swallowing, Markus nods, and Connor leans in, pressing their lips together. 

Markus tastes like soup, Connor distantly notes, a wave of giddiness and warmth blasting through his bones like the recoil of a force field. He tilts his head, testing for a better angle before softly pulling away.

"Oh," Connor says quietly. He brushes Markus's bottom lip  with the tip of his index finger. "I've never done that before."

Markus laughs, and it's a soft puff of air fluttering on his skin. "Finally," he says. "Something I know more about than you do."

Connor sneaks a quick peck on his lips. "If you did," Connor says, brushing his thumb over Markus’s chin. "You didn't show it."

“That’s not fair,” Markus says. “I’m injured.”

Which reminds Connor all the more of current their situation. His dopey smile drips and he can see Markus mirror him. 

Markus tugs him by his elbow, closer until he can rest his forehead onto Connor’s. He closes his eyes and his presses in, and if Connor doesn’t want to fall back, he has to press in as well. For some reason, Connor finds the balance soothing.

“All the more reason I can’t let you go,” Markus mumbles. “Please stay here. Stay here with me. We’ll work something out. I promise you we will.”

Connor knows Markus isn’t the type to hand out empty promises as assurance. They’re not empty promises, of course, if he wills them into existence, and Markus is stubborn enough to make it a reality. It’s almost as potent as his kindness and courage. Yet he knows himself so well, knows the line tips into the ruthless and practical side of himself. Everything about Markus draws Connor in like a flame. Everything about Markus hits like a drop of dye unfolding in a bed of water.

But with a cut that deep, it’s only a matter of time before infection starts creeping away at his skin. And then Markus will be a sitting duck, shaky with his fever, while the whole arena sniffs at his trail. It’s not like Connor plans to leave Markus if they ever get to that point, but he’ll have to for brief periods of time. Food and water won’t fetch themselves, after all.

“Okay,” Connor lies, running his hands up Markus’s arms. “Okay, I’ll stay. Can you at least finish your food first?”

“I’ve already had a lot,” Markus says. “Have some with me.”

“It’s your food, Markus,” he says. “From a sponsor. Guess I spoke too quickly on that, huh?”

“No reason it can’t be shared. I’ll have some if you have some.”

Markus moves himself back, and even though they’re more colour on his face, the act of eating has taken a lot out of him.  Even still, he looks at Connor expectantly after he takes a spoonful, and he doesn’t stop until Connor sips at the broth himself and almost sighs from how his stomach curls in happiness. 

No sickness can keep Markus and his stubborn will of steel down, it seems. 

He stays awake long enough to tug Connor onto his chest. As soon as Connor arranges his limbs, so that he wouldn’t budge Markus’s wound, Markus’s breathing evens out into long, deep, soothing beats which lulls Connor on the edge as well. 

He’ll doze until just before sunrise, Connor decides. That will give him enough time to slip out, and plan what he’ll be doing at Cornucopia.

—

“Oh, Markus,” Carl says tiredly. “What have you done?”

They had watched in silence and bated breath like the rest of the world. Connor leaned in and Markus leaned in back, and the kiss was terrifying—the kiss was hesitant, and tender, and so unflinchingly real that Carl’s heart already aches for what lies ahead as the number of tributes dwindle down.

“Always said he had more heart than brains,” North says, thinning her lips.

“He’ll have somebody watching his back though,” Simon says. “A Careers, as well. That’s more than what we hoped for.”

“That’s just it, Simon. What’s going to happen when there’s only the two of them left?” Josh asks.

“Then Connor will probably kill himself,” Simon says bluntly. “If his feelings are true, that is. That’s our best bet for getting Markus back. If his feelings are faked then…”

“Markus would never let him do that,” Josh says.

Simon shrugs. “Markus doesn’t need to know.”

“Markus is smarter than you’re giving him credit for, Simon,” North says. “And I don’t think that Connor’s faking it. Else, he would’ve just killed Markus then and there while he’s incapacitated.”

“They’re not faking it,” Carl says, eyes still on the TV. “Trust the eye of an old artist, my child. Even seasoned actors would struggle to replicate what they have.”

Markus is starting to get feverish, shivering and turning in his sleep. Jolted, Connor blinks awake. Then, they watch as, half-asleep, Connor rearranges the jackets Markus kicked away, and falls back into his dozing.

Markus turns into him, seeking the warmth of his body.

“Oh, Markus,” North says, echoing his words from earlier. “What have you done?”

[rotzaprachim]

the closest to heaven that i'll ever be (Kanej Guardian Angel AU)

From @elorcaning‘s prompt of Kaz just being an idiotic human getting in trouble all the time and inej is his guardian angel just trying to keep him from dying while doing stupid shit, which I thought was a BRILLIANT idea and kinda ran with. At 1 AM while on jetlag so I Apologise. 

Props to @kettvrdams for not killing me when i sent an incomprehensible WIP for her to beta. All accidentally unfinished sentences and spelling errors are entirely My Own Fault 

On AO3 - 1816 words, Teen

In her illustrious career as a guardian angel, Inej has learned several things. The first is to believe in the fundamental good of all people- well, almost all people. Almost. But really, she likes to think the best.

The second thing is that no matter how hard she tries- and damn, she really tries hard- humans will still find ways to screw their own lives over, and even if her role is supposed to be more hypothetical or spiritual than anything, she always finds herself getting involved in more practical ways.

But still she thinks, as the poor Dutch farm kid tries to eat fertiliser from the container for the third time, only to be shooed away by his older brother, that this is going to be a challenge.

--o0o--

“Organised crime? Really?” sneers a figure in the corner of the precinct station with their dark hood pulled down low. Kaz glances around. There isn’t anyone else around aside from the beat cop who’s just let him out of the holding shell with a glare and a kick to his good shin.

The figure pulls their hood down. It’s a girl about his own age. Looks like a university student, with a purple jacket and a rain slicker.

She holds out a plastic Albert Hejn bag. Ah. So this is what it’s about. Per Haskell, Pekka Rollins, whoever the fuck it is this time, want him to move something. Cash, drugs, fucking tulip bulbs for all he knows. He doesn’t really care, as long as he’s alive on the other side of it.

But it isn’t really heavy enough to be either of those things.

“You haven’t eaten anything in over twenty four hours.”

He doesn’t know how she could possibly know that, but when he looks inside, what he finds is a cheese sandwich and a bottle of orange juice. Sealed, so it would have been goddamn hard to hide a USB or whatever it is Pekka wants out of the country inside.

“Who sent you? Pekka? Ferry Bouman? Sonny Castillo?”

“Are those the only things your mind goes to?” Now the girl just sounds annoyed.

“I’m not in the habit of beautiful girls meeting me in police precincts without having some other angle they’re working. So what is it? Who do you work for?”

Beautiful girl. He didn’t mean to say that. He’s a lot of things, but a flirt isn’t one of them. Yet even in the yellowy light of the precinct, he can tell that's what she is, with her heart-shaped face and the fan of her oil-dark hair.

“Eat your damn sandwich” she says, and is gone before he can say anything else.

--o0o--

“Don’t get too involved,” says Zoya.

“The job description is guardian angel, ergo, I guard.”

--o0o--

Organised crime. Really. Perhaps not in the highest echelons, and it’s fucking Amerstedam, but still, organised crime.

Sometimes she really doesn’t think he’s organised enough to get mixed up in organised crime.

--o0o--

“Genuine Givenchy. Also got Rolex watches, Hugo Boss shirts-” he offers the middle-class housewives out on a girl’s trip to Amsterdam. The back of the florist’s he’s operating out of is packed with genuinely decent-looking fakes. It’s also on Sonny Castillo’s territory.

“Best space brownies in Amsterdam,” he promises a group of tipsy Erasmus students from Manchester with a smile that’s the image of sincerity. The coffee shop is on Ferry Bouman’s territory.

“Now this is a real Vermeer,” he tells the new-money-oil-don looking for a bit of old-school, Cultured, flash for his new penthouses in Dubai and London. The art gallery is on Pekka Rollins’ territory.

--o0o--

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Inej tells her boss.

--o0o--

“You think I can’t smell a rat, Brekker? You don’t fucking think I can’t tell when some bastard ratfuck tries to fuck me over?”

There have been many points during which Kaz thought his ass to be well and truly cooked. Almost drowning in the harbour in Rotterdam when he was twelve was certainly one of them, but it was also far from the last.

But now he’s got a gun to his temple and there’s no more talking he can do, not one more trick more trick up his sleeve or one more secret he can leverage into five more minutes, ten more minutes, another day to make things right.

There’s just him and a dark alley at the edge of the city and the freezing rain, pelting down and soaking him to the bone. And the angry hands slamming his face into the alley wall, over and over again, until blood runs down his face and chest and the rainwater tastes salty.

“Please. A week. No, a day, I’ll make it up-”

“Like last time you promise me, huh? Promise me twenty thousand? And then I find out you shelling out ten thousand Euros to Ferry Bouman to keep selling on Pekka Rollin’s turf. He ain’t gonna forget this, boy-”

“Ten thousand. I can get you ten thousand, you know I can-”

He sees the flash of a gun being raised, can almost feel the air change as the man pulls back the trigger, and then-

Like a flash of lightning, the moment after the fireworks go off. Light everywhere, the snap of sound of thunder, condensed, and then-

In the moment after the light, Kaz can’t see a thing. And then he can: the three grunts Pekka sent after him, lying in an alley, and the remains of several guns, incinerated to crisps. And the flash of something, a person maybe, going around the corner.

“THE FUCK ARE YOU?” He screams into the pouring rain, but no response comes back.

--o0o--

Sometimes, Inej wants to scream at him so loud he can hear it.

“And what were you expecting, exactly? Why can’t you just. . . .” she thinks of the words she hears people using, these days, “stay in your darn lane? You waste your mathematics scores dealing. You waste your German scores on conning tourists. You just . .. you waste your life.”

He’s had the pinched face of a businessman, and an older man, since his parents died. Since his brother died, and he spent his youth pinballing between foster homes and getting increasingly involved in things that the Korps Nationale Politie tend to take a rather dim view of. In all that time, though, she’s rarely seen fear on his face like this. She almost wants to reach out, across the train, tuck the edges of his carefully slicked-back hair back behind his ear, but she doesn’t.

“Why couldn’t you have just . . . stuck to selling overpriced marijuana to tourists or designer knockoffs from behind a tulip stand? Forging Vermeers? Stealing actual Vermeers?”

--o0o--

It’s only when he gets off at Utrecht Centraal that he notices an unfamiliar weight to his jacket pocket.

A neatly folded wad of cash. He flips through it gingerly. Twelve thousand euros.

--o0o--

“You can’t save his ass every time. Otherwise, he’ll never learn, and he’ll go beyond the point where you can save him.”

“But if I don’t save his ass now, he’ll die before he can learn.”

“Ah. That’s the eternal conundrum, isn’t it? Of the teacher and of the guardian angel.”

--o0o--

It’s not a particularly big country, but every time the train ride seems to last all day, and stretch into the night. Inej, at least, doesn’t need to buy a ticket. He buys flowers at Amsterdam Centraal. Changes trains at Maastricht and then again to a rural line, until he gets off at a station that’s nothing more than a strip of concrete alongside the track in a rain-soaked wheat field. There’s no taxis, no buses, only a long road through the countryside and the remainders of a life he’s tried to forget about at the end of it. He unfolds his walking cane and gets a move on.

On a hill, on a farm where the apple orchards have gone to seed and the roof of the house fallen in:

Annemarie and Jawad Rietveld. And a scratched out stone for Jordaan Rietveld.

He leaves the flowers, not particularly giving a fuck about the fact that he could be shot, right here and now, by Pekka Rollins, because this is Pekka Rollins’ land, even if it was Jawad Rietveld’s land first, and then Albert Rietveld’s land before that, even if, on a day so far removed from Kaz’s present life that it feels like someone else’s life entirely, Kaz thought that it would be Jordaan Rietveld’s land in the future.

He feels, in a way, her presence before he can see her.

“I know you’re there.”

She sighs and makes herself visible.

“It’s you. The girl on the train.”

“I don’t think so-” she says, taking on a heavy Flemish accent just in case he remembers her from the police precinct in Groningen. “I’m from Ant-”

“You. Your face.” I could never forget you face, he thinks. The police precinct, and then the train to Utrecht Centraal. A rare sunny day in this pit of gloom and rain, and the way that the sunlight hit her lashes, the curve of her cheeks, the splash of her dark hair, made him think that it was impossible there wasn’t something divine and benevolent in this life, and this world. “Police precinct up North. Gronigen. Train. Amsterdam. Everywhere i go you’re always-” He thinks about pulling the shiv from his pocket. Anyone so interested in following him certainly has ulterior motives, and yet-

“What are you? Why are you always- there?”

“I don’t think, Mr. Brekker, that your . . . theological opinions would permit you to believe me when I tell you what, exactly, I am.”

He shrugs. “Grandson of lapsed NHK’ers and Javanese Sunnis. No god helped them a whit. I don’t think God, if they ever existed, ever looked at this drowning spit of dirt.”

“I think there are many who wouldn’t disagree with you. Some of them, like myself, being of a divine persuasion.”

“Why are you here?”

She doesn’t answer, just turns towards the graves. A light rain has started to fall.

“Do you think you’re following the path they’d be proud of?”

--o0o--

“You know I count as a fucking mature student? Mature.”

Even she has to laugh.

“I’m fucking twenty three. Twenty three. I got carded trying to buy a beer yesterday.”

“But now a student.”

He flashes his new, shiny plastic student card at her. The photo on it still looks like a mugshot.

“What are you studying?”

“Politics. International Relations. How different can the European Council be from the mob, really? Common Agricultural Policy, pay off Europol, work some backroom deals to get shit done.”

Inej resists the urge to burrow her forehead in her jacket sleeves. There are, it turns out, many, many ways for a human to get themselves killed, on this world.

[tabithacarlisle]

*OFF THE RECORD: Part 6

by Jo ( @tabithacarlisle ;)

What happened back at The Palace while Liam and Maxwell went camping

*Catch up on OFF THE RECORD’s previous chapters parts 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5 here at the OTR Masterlist

OTR Part 6 Notes & Disclaimers:

Word Count: 3378

Pixelberry Studios owns these characters, not me! I just have fun playing with them :)

Pairings: Drake x MC (mentions: Liam x MC | Drake x Liam | Drake x Liam x MC | Maxwell x MC)

Warnings: 18+ NS*W, 🍋, marital angst, SMUT/erotica, polyamory, swearing, jealousy and blunt discussions of sexual behavior.

*Author’s Note: any time you see text underlined, it’s a link to screenshots from Pixelberry’s Choices TRR scenes, or other chapters referenced from *OTR- click them!! :)

OTR Part 6:

......

*Hungry*...

Why am I hungry?! It’s - (checking the clock) - 1:30 am? Ughhh...

She must have tossed and turned at least twenty minutes before giving up on trying to go back to sleep. The attempts to ignore her rumbling stomach were in vain.

Tabitha didn’t want to bother the Palace night shift staff to have to bring her something to eat at such an ungodly hour. She tied on her robe and made her way down to the kitchen.

This particular kitchen had a separate sub zero refrigerator that was completely stocked with nothing but Lemon flavored Greek yogurt. It had been the only food Tabitha could keep down at the very early stages of her pregnancy when “morning sickness” was still plaguing her. Liam had rather comically overreacted & had the kitchen stocked with what seemed to be a year’s supply of Lemon Yogurt for her once they had discovered it was the only thing she could eat. There was still quite a bit left.

She stepped gingerly on the tiles and opened the fridge with a spoon ready at hand.

“What are you doing up so late?”

“Aaah! You scared me!”

“Sorry Carlisle, wasn’t expecting I’d have to announce myself to anyone in the kitchen at this hour.”

She grabbed the yogurt and pulled off the foil top. “I’m up because this baby doesn’t understand anything about proper meal time hours yet. Heh. What’s your excuse?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and this was empty.” He held up his flask. “I came down for a refill.”

“Predictable. I should‘ve guessed. Why can’t you sleep though, what’s on your mind?”

“If I told you, we’d be up all night.”

“Ok then, maybe later. Drake, you’re practically family to me now too, you know? You can tell me anything, I’m here when you’re ready.”

“I... I do know. Thanks, Carlisle.”

“I mean it. Since you’re not ready to vent to me right now, can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“How upset was Liam after I told him about stopping the pill before I slept with Max? You know, he left for Davos without speaking to me after I told him.”

Drake took a sip from his silver hip flask and winced. “He was pretty messed up.”

“How bad was it though? Did he ever question you about us?”

“Of course.”

“So what did you tell him? That except for that one time you only ever—”

“Fucked your tits and ass?” “Yeah, I made that pretty clear.” He took another long sip, his eyes locked on hers.

“And, what did he say?”

“He said he wished that Maxwell would have had my ‘good sense’.”

“Ha! Really? ‘Good sense’?” Well that’s rich, coming from Liam. He was the one who gave me that damned pass in the first place. Not even a week after he made clear how important it was for Cordonia’s security that we start trying for a family right away. What did he expect?”

“You don’t need to convince me. I’ve hashed out this argument with him enough already. He feels guilty.... He— he thought that, you would have chosen me.”

There was a long, awkward silence after Drake spoke.

“Drake...”

Drake spat over his shoulder into the sink behind him. “I’ve had enough talk. I’m gonna go shoot some darts.”

He stopped at the kitchen door with his hand on the doorframe, tossing the empty flask carelessly into the waste bin before he spoke over his shoulder.

“You coming, Carlisle?”

“In my maternity robe and night shirt? I should probably go change first.”

Drake smirked, “I’ve seen you play in less than that.”

“Touché, Walker. You’re on then.”

......

They had played a couple rounds of darts and Tabitha lost them both, horribly.

“It’s the robe! These kimono sleeves are ruining my game!” She nearly doubled over giggling at her attempt to make an excuse as she pretended to beat up on Drake’s (non-injured) shoulder. “Can’t throw for shit in this! I told you I should have changed!”

Drake laughed back at her as he swatted away her fists. “For a Queen, you sure don’t know how to lose gracefully. Just admit defeat!”

“Hmph. I’m gonna just take it off then. Best three out of five?”

“No don’t—”

Tabitha hoisted herself to sit at the edge of the pool table, loosening the ties of her robe. Holding his rapt attention, she continued slowly unbuttoning the top buttons of her nightshirt.

“What?”

He swallowed hard at the sight of her on the edge of the wood framed green felt billiards table. It triggered memories of the last time they had been in a game room alone together; that night in Paris after she had come back from going to the Opera with Liam. They nearly would have gone all the way right there if not for the Hotel staff coming back to lock up for the evening. At the time, it was the closest he had let his inhibitions go with Liam’s favorite suitor. Drake remembered later having to wait for the telltale sounds of Maxwell snoring on the bunk above him in their shared train car before he could finally jack off and relieve his horrible case of blue balls.

Tabitha’s mischievous smile revealed that she knew exactly what she was doing on that pool table in front of him.

“Remember this?...”

“Do I...”

“We had some good times, you and me...”

“What‘re you trying to do to me, Carlisle?”

She smiled with satisfaction before her face became more serious.

“Have you talked to him more about... y’know...?”

Drake shook his head “He’s still dead set against it...“ He held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling, “Don’t give me that look, Carlisle! It’s not like I haven’t been trying!”

“But you still want to, right?”

“... Absolutely.”

“I thought if anyone would be able to convince him, it’d be you.”

“You know as well as I do how private Lee gets... he told me he doesn’t like the idea of having to ‘share’ us.”

“I think I have a solution. Let’s even things out for, symmetry’s sake? I want to make it a party of 4. Let’s bring Max.”

“No. God, no. NO. I never signed on for that.”

“Four heads are better than 3?”

Drake scoffed,

“—said no one, ever?”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it!”

“Jeezus, Carlisle. This was never a part of the plan. He... just. no. It’s just not going to work. Maxwell? That’d be total boner kill for me. Not gonna happen.”

“Drake, I love Max. You of all people should be able to understand what that’s like. We’re all in this together now, for better or for worse.”

Drake’s disproval continued to manifest bodily as he shivered with disgust. “Listen, Liam loves both of us and he’s still been dead set against a threesome with you & me. What makes you think that he’s say yes to that now including a fourth... ‘head’?”

“If you were able to get Liam to come home from the Davos Summit, when he was so angry at me before, you can use your powers of persuasion on him again, Drake. I know it.”

That look in her eye she gave him gave him butterflies. It always did. He let out a low growl “God, Tabitha, how can anyone say ‘no’ to you?”

“Well, you just called me ‘Tabitha,’ I must be good”

“Yeah, you are...”

Drake slowly stepped closer to Tabitha. Her magnetic pull turned them all into satellites in her orbit.

“Drake, I’ve missed you. I don’t think I can wait for Liam to make up his mind to have you again. We both have someone else, but tonight, it’s just you and me. You told me to let you know whenever I needed an escape. I want you, now.”

Her legs spread out before him and she unbuttoned her nightshirt below the open robe, leaving little to the imagination. His eyes lit up at the sight of her and he walked over with a mischievous smirk on his, face shaking his head. “As much as I‘d like to, I’m not gonna fuck you tonight Carlisle.”

“Why?” she pouted

Drake kept walking closer to her, a smolder in his eyes. Their faces were mere centimeters apart. He whispered to her in a hoarse voice

“Because, this...” never breaking eye contact, he pushed aside the lace crotch of her underwear and smoothly inserted two fingers inside of her, simultaneously rubbing her g-spot in a ‘come hither’ motion and brushing his thumb against her clit in a combo move that made her shiver so hard, she had to grip the edge of the pool table to hold steady, “...belongs to Liam.” Drake pumped his fingers in her a few more times, making her mewl softly and need to close her eyes to savor that pressure and keep from falling off the edge of the pool table. He leaned in to purr in her ear “jeeezus, Carlisle, you are so . fucking . wet.” Drake withdrew his fingers and held them up now glistening for her with an invitation in his eyes, cocking his eyebrow and biting his lower lip, waiting for her command. She batted her eyelashes at him and seductively enveloped his fingers with her mouth all the way down to his knuckles, letting them slip out slowly from her lips, and making his cock involuntarily twitch in his pants at the sight.

Liam had warned Drake ‘Anything but....’” But he must think I’m a damned saint to have to restrain myself around her.

“Your cunt feels... different? Guess it’s ‘cause you’re been ‘rearranging the furniture’ in there” His hands caressed her pregnant stomach in wonderment and his throat caught as he spoke.

“You... you remember how I felt? After all this time?”

“Carlisle, you are extraordinary. I could, never, forget anything about you.”

He could almost sense the wheels turning as she weighed the meaning of his words by the look she gave him in her searching eyes. Driven by raw instinct he bent down and angled his head to the right, wanting to feel her lips on his again for the first time in what seemed like so long. He stopped himself when they were close enough to share the same breath, and instead dove behind her ear to suck at the sensitive spot below the hairline on her neck.

Tabitha surprised herself by how loud her guttural moan was as it rose from her mouth. “Drake,fuck me, please...”

A wolfish smile crept across his face as he shook his head slowly again. “I said I can’t fuck you... but, I’ll watch you fuck yourself.”

::pant:: “Fine, you can watch,... but I want to watch you, too. it’s only fair.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

......

The intimacy of locking eyes with someone you care about while you both touch your own genitals was something that was almost too overwhelming for Drake. It was not his first time ever with anyone, he had jerkoff sessions with Liam countless times, and especially when they were younger. His dick was rock hard and red from all the pounding. It was unbelievably hot to watch her do the same. His trance was lost when she broke eye contact and closed her lids, bending back slightly on the pool table and letting out a soft moan.

Wait a minute, who is she thinking about right now? The veins in his neck began to protrude in a mind-meld cluster-fuck of arousal and anger. He had to break her private rapture that no longer seemed include thoughts of him.

“Who’s bigger?” He panted, still jacking off at open throttle.

“Wh-what??”

“Who’s... bigger... me?... or Maxwell?”

“Don’t ... don’t do this to me... right now... Drake?... you’re gonna... ruin it... for both of us!”

“I... want... to know..:”

“::gasp:: But... why does it matter?”

“I...want to know... what... you ... see in him.”

“::tchh:: who? Liam?!”

He growled at her “‘ofCourse not Liam!... Maxwell! Why... did you choose... him? Is his dick... that big?”

“Wh-wh-That... that-doesn’t-matter to me?! Where—“

“Bullshit!” he snarled, “...Just... tell me...”

There’s no good way to answer this that will make him happy... she snapped her retort back to him as her fingers began to rub angrily at her clit.

“I... plead ‘the Fifth’”

“Ha!” He shook his head while still pumping his cock at full speed “You’re not on Manhattan any more... Cordonia doesn’t ...have a Fifth amendment... Or... if we did... it’s... ‘probably some... ridiculous law about... fuckin’ Apple harvests or... something?!”

Tabitha stoped pleasuring herself. This was getting unbearable. She squinted and groaned in exasperation, her natural high almost completely gone now. Scoffing incredulously she whined back at him in a low whisper:

“Damn it, Drake?! What’s gotten into you?? Making me laugh is not going to make me cum!”

“Just tell me then for fuck’s sake, Tabitha?! Whatdoyouseeinhim?!?”

Drake rarely called her by her first name but whenever he did let it slip, it was almost always because he had let his emotions get the best of him.

She responded back to him through her own gritted teeth, “Listen here, Walker. We’re not going there tonight. Max’s... anatomy, is not the reason why I fell in love with him!! And I’m insulted that you would even suggest that! You know me too well for—“

Drake pinched his face in a hurt scowl as if to call her out with his disbelief

“Yeah, I do know you well...”

“Well you should know then that it’d never be the only reason!... Ok, maybe one of many! I resent you not respecting my judgement and I refuse to give you any private details right now because of it. I expected us to both go to sleep soundly in our beds tonight, completely satisfied. And I’m not going down this irrelevant, juvenile ‘rabbit hole’ of “who’s bigger?” with you; So you’ll just have to wait to find out when you can finally convince Liam to join the three of us for our tryst. I’m changing the subject now!”

“To what?”

“To what I usually imagine when I’m alone in my bed at night, when you take Liam away from me. Come closer and I’ll tell you. Let’s start over.”

“So what do you think about?”

“That first time I walked in on you with Liam. I was shocked but I was so turned on by watching you both kissing. I saw your tongue go in his mouth and thought it was so hot.”

“Mmm... go on...”

“And it caught me by surprise, but really, really what I wanted to do was join both of you, and be in between you while you made out and dry humped each other in the library at the gala.... And then I imagine us all going to the bedroom, and the two of you lubing each other up while I watch...”

Drake groaned and increased his speed pistoning up and down his cock, his fist rubbed against her own hand as she continued whisper dirty nothings at his ear

“And we’re all naked and sweaty and you fuck my ass while Liam takes my pussy,... and you both are grinding your hips into me back and forth, and back and forth, like you’re a saw blade I’m the fucking tree... and all we can feel is each other! and we kiss and neck and i can’t tell whose lips and hands are whose and—“

“Nghhh... fuckk!”

His inhale stuttered and caught in the back his throat before he muffled a groan, letting his breath explode heavy against her forehead. Drake came undone in thick ropes of cum over her mound, up the slight lower curve of her belly, and falling down into her lace panties that still clung precariously about her knees.

He heaved still short winded and smiled sheepishly giving her a hard kiss on the neck, and smoothing her hair before stepping back to pull his pants back on.

“... Did you...?”

She sighed breathlessly, pouting, “not quite. I don’t do well with stopping and starting.”

Drake pulled his pants back on, zipping up the fly. “Shit. My bad. Sorry?”

Grabbing for a clean bar towel just within his reach, he handed it to Tabitha, who promptly threw it on the floor, while she stared back defiantly at him.

“Drake, Liam asked you to take care of me while he was gone... You promised him.”

She gave him that look.

“You’re right,” he admitted. Then Drake got closer. He twisted a lock of her hair out of the way, all the better to whisper with a growl in her ear

“Who am I to deny my king?”

“Drake...”

Drake crouched down to kiss between her breasts, pushing open her robe and already unbuttoned nightshirt as he squeezed them. His sucking and kissing progressed lower, past her navel, tasting the tart combination on her body of his cum made mixed with the salt of her sweat. Tabitha grabbed a handful of his hair and bucked softly beneath him as he made his way lower, mopping up her landing strip with his tongue. She bucked harder and he gripped her thighs tight to keep her from falling as he painted with his tongue in slow swirls, down to her clit before he began to suck on it.

“Drake...”

The friction he created sparked electricity lighting up and down her spinal column, causing her back to arch. Drake’s fingers sunk deeper into her hips to brace her as he hunkered down, increasing the speed of his mouth. A minute or so more of attention was all that was needed before her legs began to quake. Tabitha fell backwards onto her elbows on the pool table, panting heavily. She smiled, “I forgot how good you were at that.”

Drake wiped his lips off with the back of his hand and smirked with an eyebrow cocked, “...better than Maxwell?”

“Oh shut up, you’re impossible!!” They both laughed. “You’re lucky there aren’t any billiards balls left in the pockets or there’d be one in your face right now, Walker!”

............

Drake didn’t sleep much that night. After he walked Tabitha to her room he headed straight for the Palace Library to sketch out some plans, keeping him up for an hour or so more. The next day, after finally waking up around half-past noon, he dragged himself out of bed to walk to Liam’s office, a roll of drafting paper tucked underneath his arm. Liam, who had just arrived back at the Palace with Maxwell not long before, was now alone, reading through some documents at his desk. He looked up at Drake and smiled.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. Good trip?”

“Yes, actually. It was, very productive? We’ve come to an understanding now, Maxwell and I.”

“Good to hear. I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh?”

Drake shoved aside some of the binders on the desk and unrolled the paper for in front of Liam.

“What’s this?”

“Plans. For that private cabin Carlisle’s been asking for on the estate in Valtoria. 4 bedrooms/3 baths. A hot tub, sauna. And the best soundproofing money can buy.”

Liam surveyed the plans and looked up at Drake quizzically. Drake propped both of his fists on the desk and stared directly at Liam, grinning at him with a wicked glint in his eyes,

“Lee? We’re doing this.”

............

Click Here to Read on >>>> OTR Part 7

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