#and i've always wondered. what could happen

[dilf-docs]

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: I/II

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

[mameillieureennemie]

crawling back, slightly ashamed, slightly desperate... if u could spare any sort of vi taking care of u after work... i know I was just very freaky and rough, but gentle.. gentle 😭🙏🙏🙏 ON MY KNEES PLEEEASE I BEG (no rush, duh, but I jus... have back pain and need some vi idc how HEHAHA)

babes, i feel you so hard on this because my back also hurts, and i hate this time of the month for real. but i gotchu, honey, and here are my thoughts. 😩

vi adores looking after you when you come home. she's always counting down the minutes from when you send her the message that you're heading home. once she receives that message, vi instantly on the move to make your homecoming as perfect as possible.

the thing is—you two have been dating for a while now. a few years of a romance that never stops being whirlwind, even when it simmers into that comforting flame old lovers carry. with years under the belt, some might think that the effort doesn't need to need to continue. that it shouldn't be a pressure to uphold because you know each other, what more is left to discover? what more is left to impress?

vi would rather eat her own fist than allow that to happen. she'd rather kick herself than allow herself to slip up in any way when it comes to you. because you are the very air she breathes, the very reason for her existence, and nothing can ever make her feel differently. so she'll treasure you like the gem you are, ensure you're well-cared for and attended to with the utmost respect.

sometimes, she believes that is why she's here—to cater to you.

so regardless of the years, vi still treats your homecoming with the grandeur it deserves. she's already started dinner an hour ago, has laid your lounge wear (pajama shorts and always one of her shirts) on the bed, and has gotten a bath running five minutes before you're at the door.

when she hears the keys jingle in the lock, vi is instantly at the door with open arms.

then the best part comes—seeing your face.

you look exhausted, eyes heavy with tiredness and mouth downturned by a frown. you seem annoyed today, maybe something happened at work. you'll eventually tell her, you always do. but the second you see her, all of that melts away like the winter's chill driven away by the sun's warmth.

your downturned mouth is flipped upside down; you're smiling, soft yet brilliant, and you fall into her arms with a grateful sigh. vi is prepared, forever ready to catch you, and holds you close with solid arms tight around your waist.

"hey, princess," she murmurs, pressing sweet kisses into your head. you react beautifully, leaning up into them like an eager cat depraved of affection. "rough day today?"

you let out a tiny grunt, nuzzling deep into her neck, before you say softly, "yeah, but i'm home with you now. that's all i care about."

vi's heart instantly turns thunderous in her chest, her love for you too overwhelming. she may just squeeze you until you squeak because it's so hard to control herself around you. but she does, barely, and pulls you back a little so she can look at your lovely face.

you're still smiling, so adoringly too, and vi might very well melt into a puddle.

"i've got dinner simmering on the stove," she says, gently taking off your coat. you allow her, going limp as she tenderly manhandles you. "and a nice bath waiting for you, so go jump in and relax."

you nod happily, eyes fluttering half-closed, as you reach for her hand. you entwine your fingers, walking around vi so you can pull her towards the bathroom.

"join me?" you ask sweetly, hopeful, and vi wonders how you'd ever think she'd say no.

"of course, sweetheart."

[unclearblur]

You know what I've been thinking about?? Matthew Michael Murdock who's been sexually confident and cocky for years but it all had to start with someone right?? RIGHT??

And you're the girl from college who he lost his virginity to. Who made him a whimpering, shaking mess. It's your pussy that had him crying out in ecstacy. It's your lips on his cock that had his eyes rolling back. It's your soft hands that left him trembling.

His first time with you, with ANYONE, had you teasing him until his hands shook when clasped yours. Had you on your back guiding him into you as he fumbled kissing you. Had you smiling on his lips as he choked on gasps and -

"Oh fuck- oh holy shit you're everywhere"

And Matt. Poor, poor Matt has been obsessed with you ever since.

Your scent around campus drives him wild. Has him hard and leaking in his pants. Has him lifting his head like a starving dog scenting a treat. Has him dazed and stumbling in search of you.

It leads to the two of you coincidentally running into each other often. It leads to study dates late into the night. Of hot chocolate and delirious jokes about your eccentric professors. Hesitant hands stroking wherever they can touch. Whispered confessions over the phone in the dark.

It's soft and sweet and everything either of you could ever want. It's reassuring and grounding and vulnerable.

Matt's never felt this way before. Never rolled over and exposed his soft underbelly like this before. Not until you.

And when your application to your actual Dream University is accepted? And all of your dreams are within reach all you have to do is wait until the end of the semester?

And Matt overhears your plans to move? To leave.him.behind?

Oh Mathew is devastated.

It brings his abandonment issues all rushing back. Of course you're leaving. Of course he's not enough for you to stay.

Why didn't you tell him? Why didn't you tell him you planned on leaving? Were you ever going to tell him?

So Matt self destructs.

He didn't need a soft love. Trembling hands and choked whimpers weren't for him. Soft secrets in the dark under your favorite blankets were just a lie. The taste of hot chocolate in the twilight hours is now bitter and acrid on his tongue.

He breaks things off. Doesn't give you a chance to explain it's an exclusive summer program. A bootcamp really - for all the aspiring professionals to make connections and maybe score internships. Yes there's a chance to transfer to your Dream University but that's not what this program is for.

But you can't get a word in. His voice, always so soft and caring with you, turns dark and growling. He's so angry and hurt, you can't get him to listen to you. Can't get past the walls he's built so high up you don't stand a chance of reaching the other side.

Of reaching him.

So the semester ends and you leave for your summer program brokenhearted. Not understanding what happened for him to switch like this on you.

But your broken heart makes you hyper focus on your program and you astound everyone. You're offered an internship that you couldn't have even dreamed of before this. And the professors at this program and the working professionals offer to write you a recommendation to actually transfer to your Dream University.

And you wonder.

Why not?

What's holding you back at this point? You don't have Matt. Did you ever have Matt, an insidious voice murmurs in your ear. Were you even important to him if he could throw you away so easily? He didn't let you defend yourself, explain and soothe away his hurt and anger to save what you both had together.

Yes. Why the fuck not.

So you accept. And you transfer and you think you move on and before you know it years have gone by. When you look in the mirror there's barely even a hint of the brokenhearted young girl that left for that summer program and never came back.

But you do go back. To New York, that is. And you find yourself near Hell's Kitchen. Your new apartment isn't quite within the boundaries but it's close enough to explore.

Close enough that you hear about the new legal practice that takes on cases no one else will. Nelson & Murdock.

And you think about your friend Foggy, who has been quietly but enthusiastically cheering on your career and your success from afar. Who was sad to see you leave but so fiercely proud of you. And who you've been emailing and texting often enough throughout the years that he's aware you moved back. So you text him to meet him up for dinner.

You spend the dinner catching up with the little odds and ends you don't think to mention over email or text. You laugh over shared memories of goofy professors. You reminisce on concerts and albums. And you resoundly avoid asking about Matthew Michael Murdock.

Foggy is kind enough to not mention him either.

The night runs long and the both of you are decidedly tipsy. You both promise to meet up regularly for dinner or coffee now that you live a lot closer to each other. Foggy tugs on his coat and helps you with yours when you fumble.

Foggy gives you a hug, and you bask in the warmth of a friend. You haven't seen each other in so long but the friendship picks right back up where it left off. He drunkenly rocks you back and forth in front of the restaurant and makes you promise not to be a stranger or he'll show up at your apartment at inopportune times like he used to in college. You laugh helplessly because Foggy really did have a knack for knocking at your dorm room when you least expected it - when you're taking a nap, when you're having a meltdown about your midterms, when you have Matt's cock so deep inside your pussy all you can hear are his hitched breaths and whining praises.

And you go to bed happy to have met up with an old friend from college. You definitely don't think about the boy who's hand shook when he brushed your hair back, or who's smile made your heart beat so fast you didn't notice his smile turn bashful.

What you didn't anticipate, couldn't have known really, was how drunk Foggy got that night. How he completely forgot to put his laundry in the wash, or the dryer. How Foggy woke up so hungover and late for work the next day he grabbed the first articles of clothing that were still clean.

But the only coat that was still acceptability clean was the coat he wore to dinner with you last night. The coat that was soaked with your scent after spending hours at dinner with you. The coat that he gave you that long, friendly hug in.

So when Foggy makes his way to Nelson & Murdock that chilly Monday morning?

Matt feels like he's going insane.

He can smell something in the periphery, something winding it's way closer and closer to his office. It's awoken something in his hind brain, wiggled something to the forefront that he can't quite parse out.

It makes something in him quiver.

It makes his hands shake. His breathing gets a tiny bit more labored. His chest hitches. There's an excess of saliva in his mouth like he's been starving and there's something he can devour nearby.

So when Foggy finally makes his way into the office, grumbling about how he's hungover as he shakes his coat off, Matt can't fucking breathe. His every sense is honed to a knife's edge on Foggy's coat. All he can smell, all he can taste is the scent that's slowly overtaking everything else.

And it all comes flooding back. The whimpers in the dark. Soft, reverent hands tracing over his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His voice cracking and begging for you, for more, for salvation. The taste of hot chocolate and something uniquely you on his tongue.

The taste of your bitter tears when he left you before you could leave him.

Matt opens his mouth and sends a quick prayer that he doesn't sound as wrecked as he feels. "Good morning Foggy, " he clears his throat. It feels simultaneously clogged and dry which he never thought possible but there are a lot of things he never thought possible before he met you. "What did you get up to last night?"

Foggy's hands pause while he tries to straighten out his paperwork for the day.

Then he starts rambling.

He never says your name. Doesn't even hint at it. But he talks about meeting up with an old friend that he hasn't seen in years. How he's kept in contact through emails and texts but he hasn't had the chance to meet up in person until now.

Matt replies in vaguely interested hums, not enough to show he's caught on but enough to keep Foggy spilling his words. Matt knows he's not being fair because he can still smell all the alcohol Foggy must have drank last night underneath the sharpness of mint from Foggy's toothpaste. But Matt has suddenly realized he's starving and he just can't help it.

Foggy, always excited and proud for his friends, goes on about your accomplishments. About how successful you've been in your field. About your awards and your colleagues that love you.

And there's an ache in Matt's chest because he knew, he knew you'd be great. He always had faith in you. Always knew you'd take the world by storm. But it still hurt that it took you leaving him behind to do it.

But then Foggy starts talking about how in college he squealed on the phone with you about your summer program that started it all. About how the summer-long bootcamp was intense but it's what propelled you onto your path. About how you never intended to stay longer than the summer at your Dream University.

How you made the decision to stay towards the end of your program. Months after Matt had left you confused and crying, trying your hardest to get him to just stop and listen to you. To please stop, that you love him and you didn't want to leave him.

Then why were you leaving him? Why didn't you tell him you were transferring? Going somewhere he couldn't follow?

The sounds of Foggy's voice and the papers shuffling fade out of Matt's concentration. He can't hear anything but the sound of your voice brought back in striking clarity. The sound of your heart beating truth.truth.truth. to everything that you're begging him to listen to.

All he can think about is how close you are to him now but how he feels so much further away. All that confidence and cocksure attitude he's hoarded falls away in the wake of Foggy's revelations.

And Matt's hands shake.

~~~~

Ok I read this blurb from the lovely @jeffbuckleysconvent and I got so inspired because you NEVER SEE VIRGIN, PATHETIC MATT. AND HES SUCH A TREAT SOMEONE AGREES WITH ME.

[undomesticated-animal]

Honestly, body euphoria has done WONDERS for my ability to keep a physical self care routine, and I keep thinking back to Young Domi being so fucking OVERWHELMED by the thought of having to haul myself through the daily gauntlet of mirrors, lights, smells, self-shaming, and dysphoria inducing body modifictions made in a desperate bid to feel worthy of my skin. The idea that this could ever be anything but NEUTRAL AT BEST was laughable to me, so much so that I didn't even realize how terrified I felt by the possibility it could be real.

I can't go back and tell Past Domi all the things I understand now that I know would have mattered so much, but I can say them on the internet and maybe someone gets to learn them faster than I did.

Body euphoria isn't just for trans and intersex folks. And I mean this more than just "oh cis people should get gender ephoria too" (it's true!) because I also mean that the idea that body euphoria/dysphoria is neatly segmented up into little slices of life with no crossover is unrealistic and painful for everyone. Thinking that I was only allowed to care about my euphoria around gender actually made it REALLY hard to recognize I was having DYSphoria around my gender at all. After all, I avoided thinking about that in exactly the same ways I avoided thinking about the dysphoria around other aspects of my embodiment! I must just be bad at body positivity, "it's always easier to do for others than for myself 🤗 teehee" was a go to blow off for me when people asked me to confront how visibly uncomfortable I was in my body.

Because the thing is, it ISN'T easier to do for others than yourself. It really isn't. The part that's easier is avoiding the shame we feel about it. But once we confront the shame, loving your body is the easiest thing in the world. <- this is gonna be where Past Domi went "oh fuck this noise" and bounced but HEAR ME OUT

A body you cannot live with is a body you cannot care for, and a body you can't care for is a body you will almost always struggle to live with. This feedback loop is the CORNERSTONE of body dysphoria for a lot of people. It's a chicken and egg situation where it's nearly always going to be impossible to know what came first, but once either is present, the other will kick into gear to really hunker down in your psyche.

The feedback loop works the other direction too though. This is why people tell you to find the little things that make a tiny difference. They are (usually) not telling you that it'll be enough on its own, but every one of those you find uncovers new ones, and little by little you start feeling up to bigger pieces of self care because you've recovered enough to start putting int the front-loaded work for the worthwhile outcome

When that upwards feedback loop clicks? It's night and day. Like I genuinely don't know how to describe what it's like to just sort of.....wake up different. But it happens all the time, and it KEEPS happening. And you start to realize you're not "waking up different" you're just....getting to know yourself without feeling so uncomfortable with what you're learning that you shy away from yourself

I dunno man, I don't have a point here, but I've been processing old grief lately and the grief of how long I spent viciously hating myself and truly believing that's what neutrality feels like.....Little-Domi deserved better, and so do yall

[enchantedchocolatebars]

A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human Chapter 6 : Deal?

Written by 💕 enchantedchocolatebars 🍫 (me, lol).

Ao3 version.

Commission cover art.

Cover art poll.

Chapter titles.

Fic playlist 🎵 💕 🎶 ✨️ <3

Cover redraw.

Enjoy!

October 31st, 1630

Dear Journal,

Caleb hasn't been fine or himself since the trial ended days ago. He tells me that he is, but I can tell that he's fibbing. My brother isn't exactly the best liar, though he thinks he is.

I have a slight suspicion about what's been bothering him and causing him so much pain and grief, but why would it? It's been troubling my mind a great deal as well, admittedly.

I just want my brother back, the old him.

The one who would always smile when we went witch hunting together and would cheerfully carve birds and other fantastic things, instead of the one that I have now who I have to make feel better almost all of the time, and who eats less, and who lies in bed all day crying, and--

Philip paused his penmanship on parchment mid-sentence as he sighed, shifting his gaze to his brother while sitting up in bed.

Caleb was lying silently in his bed, his head on his pillow while wrapped woefully in his thin covers.

Even though Caleb's face was turned away from Philip, the brunette could instinctively tell that his spirits were tremendously low.

...

The time of day was night as the front door of the Wittebane household in the woods flew open with great force.

With tightened jaws, lips, and flaring nostrils, Philip stormed inside, his mind exploding with more and more rage as he thought about the sinful happening he had just witnessed tonight.

Rushing to his room, he wasted no time going over to the head of his bed as the brunette slipped a hand under his pillow, retrieving his trusted journal.

Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, Philip began flipping through his book for a fresh page to start writing in.

Finding the desired page, he pulled out a pen from behind his back and began to pour out his emotions on parchment.

September 28th, 1630

Dear Journal,

I've completely had it with that ****** !

Caleb, wearing his vest and boots, wanders through the woods after Philip heads to school, eventually reaching the deep, dense forest while walking with his pitchfork in his hands.

He was on a determined hunt to capture and turn in the hooded figure, rumored to be a witch, who had been spotted in the woods outside of town.

Apparently, her hideout was somewhere in the forest, but Caleb was having trouble locating it.

Suddenly, in the corner of his brown eye, the blonde caught a flicker of red dart past him with lightning speed.

A cloak was worn by the fast-moving figure as they hurried away.

They seemed oddly familiar to Caleb, and without hesitation, he pursued the person.

As he chased the figure, he soon saw it run into a clearing and finally caught up with it, causing the person to pause as they turned to face him.

Caleb halted as well.

He was taken aback when the hooded figure raised her carrot-colored fluffy bangs that covered the entirety of her eyes with her hand, which were widened with surprise and shimmered, in order to get a better look at him.

She also wore a double-bitted key around her neck with a skull-shaped button on its bow.

Her eyes...

Caleb has never witnessed a color this brilliant inside someone's irises before.

The gold was shiny and... looked oddly gorgeous on her.

As Caleb continued to stare, somewhat in awe at the girl, she shined him a small, uncomfortable smile, pointing a finger at his pitchfork, silently asking him to please put it down.

Quickly obliging, Caleb placed the pitchfork on the ground and gave the girl an apologetic grin while scratching the back of his head in slight embarrassment.

The girl, seemingly amazed that this human boy had heeded her request, flashed Caleb a mischievous grin as she pushed back her hood enough to reveal her ears, which wiggled adorably.

Caleb's eyes widened with wonder as he saw the pointed tips of her ears.

His eyes followed her hands as she created a small, glowing circle from which a flame sprang to life, dancing on her palm, which spelled the name '******' before vanishing.

Caleb let out a small gasp. He couldn't believe it, his eyes shining with amazement and disbelief. This was no regular girl. This was a witch, and her name was ******.

After the shock of speaking to an actual witch faded away, the blonde finally spoke, giving ****** his name.

Suddenly, Caleb felt a sense of guilt rise in his stomach, his face growing somewhat pale.

****** didn't look anything like the witches he would help condemn at the pyre.

Did that mean...?

Caleb shook the dreadful thought away.

No, that can't be the case.

****** must be an advanced witch of some sort.

It's probable that the others were ordinary witches.

Just as Caleb was about to tell ****** that he was a witch hunter, she gave him a knowing, yet kind smile.

She already knew that he was one (his pitchfork was a dead giveaway), but something about Caleb in particular seemed different and not like the other hunters.

The children where she came from were much more scarier than him and could make one break down in tears with their words alone.

No, Caleb seemed soft.

Not weak per se, but soft-hearted.

Besides, if he were like the other humans, he would have either killed or captured her by now, but she was still there with him.

With a somewhat flirtatious but also still really friendly smile, ****** decided to give Caleb a wink, which caused him to blush before letting out a chuckle.

Caleb then decides to shoot ****** with some flirty finger guns and blinks both of his eyes in an attempt to wink one.

This results in the witch snorting into her hand.

Poking its head out of ******'s hood was a black bird, soon revealing itself to be a raven as it flew towards Caleb before making a landing on his shoulder.

Both Caleb and ******'s eyes twinkled in amusement at the bird, mainly ******'s.

Her Little Rascal, quite literally his name, didn't like anyone except for her.

She watched Little Rascal rub affectionately against Caleb's face as he outstretched his finger for the raven to hop onto, which he did so without the slightest bit of hesitation in his eyes.

Both boys began to stare fondly at each other, with Little Rascal letting out a cheerful croak at Caleb.

He let out a laugh.

****** found herself smiling tenderly at this adorable interaction, her bile-sac skipping a beat within her chest.

Caleb truly was different.

Wondering where ****** found such a terrific raven from Caleb learns that ******'s raven, quite like herself, wasn't ordinary.

He was her palisman, and he soon flew back into his owner's hood after she whistled for him to return.

Just as Caleb was beginning to wonder what a palisman was, it was time for ****** and Little Rascal to leave as neither wanted to be spotted by any other humans.

However, ****** saw the eager expression on the blonde's face, and with a sly smirk, she expressed for Caleb to meet her in the exact same location tomorrow night.

She planned to teach him more about palismen, as well as a few other things from her world.

With one last wink and a small wave, ****** ran further into the forest.

While waving goodbye to his new friend, Caleb felt a soft smile start to brighten his face.

Caleb's dopey grin remained on his face throughout the rest of the day as he eagerly awaited for tomorrow night while doing his daily activities, and Philip couldn't comprehend the reason for his brother's overly merry and upbeat demeanor.

The next day, as evening turned into night, Caleb anticipated Philip going to bed so that he could see her again. Ah, ******. Like a breath of fresh air in his lungs. What a wonderful name for a girl. Caleb kept repeating it over and over again in his mind.

After receiving a good night from Caleb, Philip went straight to sleep, which gave the eldest the opportunity to quietly slip out of the house and race outside in the woods, his heart pounding with excitement as he got closer to the forest.

Finally arriving at the clearing, Caleb saw ****** waiting for him.

With a sly smirk, she motioned for the human to sit beside her in the grass.

As soon as he happily did, ****** twirled her finger, and in a flash of colorful light, images started appearing over their heads.

As Caleb watched, his eyes widening in wonder, ****** showed him illusion after illusion of her life.

She showed him how witches conjured up magic and where magic came from, what palismen were and their purpose, strange plants, her favorite shops in Bonesborough, a town in the Demon Realm that she lived in, and the spot in the garden that she loved to use for naps when she was a little witchlet.

****** then showed Caleb a few images of the massive library she worked in, and then she showed him a scene of her winning some sort of magical battle with a demon who had tried to pick a fight with the wrong witch, and then some scenes of her with a small but boisterous family, and finally, she showed him her most treasured memory...

The time her father had flown her and her little sister high into the air to show them a beautiful sunset over a corpse-shaped island, the corpse of the Titan.

Caleb stared at the images, his imagination running completely wild.

Once ****** had finished telling her story, it was time for Caleb to share about his life.

He did so but only mentioned the parts he was most comfortable with.

He spoke about his and Philip's childhood but did not linger on the passing of their parents.

After learning about each other's lives, Caleb and ****** continued to gaze into each other's eyes, warm smiles making their way on their lips as they slowly reached to hold hands. They then shifted their gaze to the star-filled night sky.

Caleb, with his peaceful visage brightened under the moon and stars, asks ****** if she'd be willing to take him on a trip to the Demon Realm someday as it was a place bursting with beauty and culture that he wanted to witness and experience himself.

Turning to Caleb with lidded eyes and a soft look, ****** answers him with a nod and the two continue to view the colors of the bright night sky.

Since meeting her, she has only been a nuisance and a major inconvenience...

In a recap of chapter 5, Philip walks home after the book signing event at sunset...

He steps inside his home and hears giggling in the kitchen...

Philip freezes in shock upon seeing Caleb cooking in the kitchen with a witch girl...

The brunette goes to charge at her in an attempt to attack her, but Caleb prevents it.

This girl, who looks to be the same age as Caleb, is introduced by the blonde as ******...

... And is clearly leading my brother down a path of deceit and damnation.

Later in the evening, after ensuring that Philip was fast asleep and snoring in his room, Caleb silently joined ****** by the fire with a smile as the two shared a comfortable blanket together and sighed in unison.

As the fire slowly burned down, Caleb drifted to sleep, curled up next to a sleeping ****** as their peaceful faces were illuminated by the flickering light of the fireplace.

Meanwhile, eerie, bright blue eyes that glowed with anger slowly disappeared behind Philip's bedroom door as it silently closed.

I don't even want to go into the specifics of what I witnessed Caleb and the witch doing tonight for my own sake. It was utterly horrific.

When Philip returned home, he observed how dim the interior was, which puzzled him since he believed ****** would come over for a visit.

The fireplace was not on, nor were there any candles lit or any signs of a shared supper made for two on the table.

Philip found himself smirking in triumph as he let out a 'hmph!'.

Perhaps the witch had opted to disappear forever and never return to their (his and Caleb's) home or lives.

As Philip continued to reflect on the nice thought, he noted the dead silence of the house but assumed it was because Caleb was asleep.

He would be if ****** wasn't there, after all.

After letting his hair down, he went upstairs and opened his room door, only to discover that Caleb was not there.

A sudden rush of panic swept through Philip's mind.

He knew Caleb was drifting further and further away ever since ****** came into the picture, a lingering fear that he couldn't let go of.

He was going to lose Caleb. Caleb was going to abandon him. Or worse, the witch would take Caleb away, and he would be powerless to stop her.

An uncontrollable rage rose within Philip.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

He wouldn't.

And so, with a surge of determination and adrenaline, Philip dashed down the stairs and out the door into the woods to reach the forest.

The brunette had a hunch that Caleb and ****** would be at the clearing since he had observed them there several times before while spying on them from inside bushes and shrubs.

While running, Philip focused his enraged gaze on the floating lights in the distance between trees.

'Magic', he thought to himself.

And he knew exactly who was responsible for it.

As they stepped onto the last light glyph, Caleb and ****** lost themselves in the slow dance they were sharing under the stars at the clearing.

The world remained silent as they held each other in a moment that felt like an eternity.

Caleb, with the help of a delicate yet shaking hand, gently brushed a lock of ******'s hair behind her ear, and as if guided by a force greater than theirs in a sudden moment, their lips pressed together in a breathless and beautiful kiss as a tidal wave of teenage emotions washed over them.

The kiss was a symbol of both defiance and love.

And although the love between a winsome witch and a happy human could lead to their demise if discovered, it didn't matter at this moment.

The only thing that mattered was them and their emotions.

However, Caleb and ****** were unaware of the shadow lurking behind them.

As he stood still and horrified, Philip's eyes were filled with an unimaginable amount of hurt, concern, betrayal, and fear.

As Caleb held that witch in his arms, his sole focus was on her and only her.

He and the wench were smiling.

Caleb was... smiling …

Philip wanted badly to call out to him, to keep Caleb safe and prevent him from making, in his eyes, the biggest mistake of his life.

But it was too late.

As he watched the soon-to-be couple move their faces closer to each other, he couldn't think of a single word to say.

As their lips met, Philip felt the heavy weight of reality descend upon him, shattering his fragile heart into tiny fragments as if it were made of glass.

It had all been right there in front of him this entire time.

Why was he unable to see the most obvious signs before?

Caleb Wittebane, his beloved older brother, was in love... and not just with anyone... with a witch.

As Philip sniffled, a tear slipped down on his parchment page before more quickly followed suit.

Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Philip continued writing with a heavy heart while trying his best to control his crying, his nose now stuffy.

... I need her gone. Out of our lives. For good. I will do what I need to protect Caleb. To protect Gravesfield. I am certain that the next gathering at the pyre will be an eventful one. One that will be remembered for a considerable amount of time. All I need to do is reach out to--

Matthew Hopkins took a suave stroll down the busy town market the next day, his confidence evident in every step he took while wearing his brand new coat along with a new pair of boots and breeches.

The witchfinder figured some new clothes would turn a lot of heads in town since he was undeniably attractive, which was, of course, a factual opinion.

Other townsfolk seemed to agree with this truth as just about everyone who Hopkins quietly passed by quickly placed their focus on his fine features that were framed by the afternoon sun.

The men wanted to be like him, the single women wanted to be with him and run their hands through his hair, and most of the married women had thoughts about him while bathing, but never told their husbands.

Hopkins slipped on a smirk as he witnessed the sizeable sight of flushed admirers gazing at him as a small chuckle emerged from his throat.

He then turns his attention to the male quail that was settled on his shoulder.

Watson, Matthew's pet and feathered companion, shifted his eyes to his owner as he soon began to bob his head.

"You'll have your feed once we arrive home," Hopkins promised quietly to the quail in a reassuring voice.

"You have my word."

Hopkins never faltered in his honesty towards Watson, always keeping his word to the bird.

For a long time, the two had been together, and their bond was unbreakable.

Watson, chirping with understanding, stopped bobbing and continued to observe the marketgoers focusing on his owner.

...

'I have to save Caleb. I have to save Caleb. I must. I will. Caleb, I will save you,' were the purposeful words that Philip repeated in his head as he arrived at his destination, a small doorstep.

After knocking on the door, his blue eyes glittered with glee as the door swung open, but luckily, he was swift enough to take a step back without being hit.

Philip found himself under the "heroic" gaze of his hero.

"Mr. Hopkins!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"That's me...," Hopkins slowly replied as he raised a confused brow at the boy.

Although he appreciated the youth, he didn't usually receive knocks on his door from them.

Typically, when he answered his door, he expected to see either the town minister paying him a visit or one of the various women from town coming to sing their praises for him or gift him with bird seed for Watson.

What did this teenage boy whom he's never met before in his entire life want from him?

"Look, if you want my signed signature, can it not wait until tomorrow?" Hopkins requested, assuming that's what the boy wanted.

"I was just about to feed my pet quail, Watson."

Upon hearing his name from inside, Watson let out a chirp.

"Who's at the door?" Hopkins turned to answer him before looking back at Philip.

"Oh, just some boy from town. And he's ... clearly got an eye problem."

Those last five words were muttered out by the witchfinder, referring to the visible sparkles of elation shining in Philip's eyes.

They were far too big and bright as he squinted.

"I do apologize for the disturbance, Mr. Hopkins," Philip said, his eyes returning to their normal state as he took on a mature demeanor. "But I didn't come here for your signature. I came for a more serious matter. A witch matter."

"A witch matter?" This got Matthew's attention, his eyes flickering with interest in what the boy had to say.

"That does sound quite serious. Very well then. Come inside, young...?" Hopkins paused, not knowing the boy's name.

"Philip!" Philip quickly answered, his enthusiasm shining once more.

"Philip Wittebane! Mr. Hopkins, I'm not sure if you remember, but we've met before," the brunette politely informed.

"We have?" Hopkins tilted his head some, taking in the boy's appearance.

Did he seem familiar?

Philip nodded. "Yes, at the library! Your book signing event was held there! I approached your table!"

Hopkins proceeded to blink. Tons of people approached his table that day.

"You... sighed my book?" Philip quietly stated, hoping that would jog Mr. Hopkins' memory.

However, it didn't as the general continued to stand there with a puzzled expression.

"Oh!" In a swift motion, Philip quickly whipped out his copy of "The Ways of a Witch Hunter" from behind his back and opened the book to its title page.

He pointed to the poorly drawn horse next to Matthew's initials.

"You drew this for me!"

Hopkins studied the artwork beside his name, slowly recalling it.

"Ah, I see. Now I remember..." His memory was primarily of drawing the horse, with a brief memory of speaking to Philip. "Very well then, young Philip."

When Hopkins said his name, Philip was close to exploding, but he held it together.

"Come inside."

Philip nodded as he stepped inside Mr. Hopkins' home.

...

After Hopkins had given Watson his feed of food, as he had previously promised during their stroll, he walked over to the table where he had instructed Philip to sit at.

The general couldn't help but smirk when he saw the boy's captivated reaction to his interior walls.

"Impressive collection, isn't it?" Hopkins asked with a chuckle, taking a seat at the table.

Philip, taking his gaze off of the display of mounted 'witch' skulls on the walls, looked to Mr. Hopkins.

He nodded. "It is," Philip agreed. "Are they... real?"

Hopkins let out a boisterous laugh, a prideful smile playing on his lips.

"Of course they are! I certainly wouldn't have them if they weren't. I've preserved the skulls of every witch I've condemned as a way to show the devil that I mean business. I refuse to let him or his followers poison our great town with their treachery."

Aspiration to be just like Mr. Hopkins shined in Philip's eyes, his smile growing immensely at every word the general said.

He, too, wouldn't allow the devil or his followers to poison Gravesfield.

After chuckling inwardly at the dark thought in his mind of one of the heads on the wall being ******'s, Philip beamed out, "Mr. Hopkins, you truly are a godly man."

Hopkins chuckled outwardly at the compliment. "I have to agree," he said.

"Now, about the witch matter, if I may ask what made you decide to come to me about it? I'd assume the first person you'd want to discuss this with would be the town minister."

"Well," Philip began. "You are the greatest witch hunter in Gravesfield," he told Hopkins.

"And the greatest who ever lived," Hopkins quickly added with a conceited look on his face.

Philip gave a nod at that fact.

"Yes, and I know Mr. Town Minister has been awfully busy writing the extra copies of this week's sermon for the hard-of-hearing members of the congregation..." Bless his soul. "So I didn't wish to bother him."

"I see... So, about the witch matter?" Hopkins desired to know every juicy detail about it.

"Yes, about that...," Philip mumbled, trying to think of what to say. He knew that he had to be wary of his words to prevent getting Caleb in trouble.

The blonde would probably still face minor consequences, but Philip needed to make sure that ****** the witch was the one to face death and meet her maker, Satan, in the afterlife by the end of all of this.

"Well?" Matthew asked, crossing his arms as his raised an impatient brow. "Out with it already."

Philip took a deep breath. "Do you know about the witch who's been running around town in a hood?"

"I do," Hopkins replied.

"Well, Caleb, my brother, h--"

Hopkins' eyes broadened as he suddenly slammed both his hands down harshly on the table, startling Philip as he flinched and quickly zipped his lips.

"Is he the witch?!" Hopkins demanded to know in an aggressive tone.

"Huh?!" Philip quickly shook his head, shaking his hands sideways. "N-No, sir!" he said, quickly rejecting the idea.

"Oh...," Hopkins quietly went, settling down some. "My apologies then." He cleared his voice, motioning for Philip to continue.

"Caleb is... having relations with her," Philip confessed.

"Oh, he is, is he?"

Philip felt instantly frightened by the dangerous glare on Matthew Hopkins' face and began to defend his brother the best he could.

"He is, but please, Mr. Hopkins, it's not Caleb's fault! The witch was the one who committed immoral acts! Caleb was charmed by her! Bewitched! Bewitched by a pointy-eared temptress who--"

"Stop."

"Huh?" Philip stopped speaking after being told to do so.

"Did you just say that this witch that Cain--"

"A-Actually, it's Caleb, Mr. Hopkins," Philip gently corrected, hoping he wouldn't get scolded for it.

"Yes, Christopher. That's what I said. The witch that he's been seeing... her ears are... pointed?" Hopkins asked, wanting a confirmation.

"Yes, sir. They are," Philip confirmed.

"I see...," Hopkins said with an intrigued expression. "Witches with pointy ears are far more dangerous than ones with so-called human ears."

"They are?!" Philip questioned with a shocked expression upon learning this.

Hopkins nodded. "They are."

'I knew it!' Philip thought to himself.

His brother truly was in grave danger.

"Young Philip, how's about we make a deal?"

"A deal?"

"Yes. A court date for this pointy-eared sorceress will be set for October 25th."

'That's the end of this week,' Philip noted inwardly.

"If you're somehow able to convince your brother to bring her to court, I'll have a talk with the minister. At the very least, his punishment will involve unpleasant questioning along with public repentance in order for him to rebuild his reputation. It's also probable that he'll have to spend a night or two locked in the manure pit."

As a sight gag, the scene pauses to display a set of blackletter words on screen that state: 'Side note: the manure pit is not an actual pit but rather a very old outhouse in Gravesfield that no one in town goes near due to the horrendous stench.'

Once the gag ends, the story continues.

"As long as we can break him out of his spell, Caesar will certainly keep his life."

Philip sighed, slouching a bit in relief.

At least Caleb would get to live.

A hand then clasped Philip's shoulder.

He looked to see Matthew Hopkins now standing beside him.

Silently, he gazed at the man he looked up to like a son would his father, his eyes gleaming once more.

"You are being very brave, young Philip," Matthew told him.

Philip's chest swelled at the praise.

"R-Really?" he managed to stammer out, slight flush appearing on his features. "You really think so?"

"Oh, I know so. Now, do we have a deal?" Hopkins proceeded to hold out his hand for Philip to shake.

Philip looked at the hand for a bit, then at Mr. Hopkins. His face brightened immediately as he stood up from his seat.

"Deal!" The brunette vigorously shook Hopkins' hand.

"Wonderful. Now, before you take off, I'd like for you to have this." Matthew Hopkins reached a hand down his holder and retrieved a dagger.

The weapon's blade was unusually sharp and had a crooked appearance.

Philip gasped. "M-Mr. Hopkins! You're giving me--"

"Yes. A gift from me to you." Hopkins handed the dagger to Philip.

He had plenty of other daggers that looked exactly the same on the wall of his room.

"Protect yourself against any wild witches you might come in contact with," Hopkins spoke passionately, putting on a bit of a show as he clenched his fist.

He smiled a cocksure smile seeing Philip eat his behavior up.

Philip held the hilt of the weapon, admiring it fully.

Matthew Hopkins, the greatest witch hunter of all time, was giving him his dagger... as a gift?!

Philip could faint.

He wasn't going to, but he could have.

The brunette swiftly nodded. "I will! Oh, Mr. Hopkins, I am truly honored to have this!"

Hopkins chuckled.

This kid was something else.

"You should be," Matthew said, his lips curling into a smug smirk.

After waving Philip off, Hopkins went over to Watson, who had just cleaned out his small bowl of bird food.

"Did you hear that, Watson? A witch with pointed ears," Matthew stated as he took the empty bowl.

Watson chirped before flapping his wings to move up, landing on Hopkins' shoulder.

The general chuckled briefly at his companion's response, stroking beneath his neck with care.

"I know, I know," he spoke gently. "It's been forever since we've last seen one..."

A sense that one could describe as nostalgia trailed in Hopkins' voice.

...

As Philip traveled down the center of town, he was in a state of contemplation, thinking of ways to persuade Caleb to take his beloved (bleh) witch to court.

He knew his brother was far too deep in a state of bewitchment by her love spell to do it willingly. So what ways could he employ to convince him to do the right thing?

While continuing to ponder, within the bustling crowd of townsfolk moving to and fro, Philip quickly spotted a hooded figure heading forward... and she wasn't alone, nor was she with Caleb.

She was with--

A small gasp escaped Philip, his blue eyes widening slightly.

Swiftly shifting his direction to an empty stall so that his back was turned as ****** and the human boy she was holding hands with passed by, Philip slowly turned his head to watch them.

'That's Miss. Doughberry's son...,' he whispered inside his head in genuine surprise.

'What's he doing with that witch?'

Philip took note of the fluttering looks the two gave each other as they approached the storefront door of the bakery.

As the son of Miss. Doughberry gently lifted ******'s hood down, he revealed the set of human ears that she now had.

Philip narrowed his eyes at the sight of this.

'She clearly used magic to fake those ears. Those aren't really hers,' he spat out in his mind.

'Conniving witch...,' he growled, continuing to view the interaction.

With a glowing look of love in her eyes and a soft smile, ****** leaned in close to the son.

A gentle grin crept onto his lips as the two shared a short but meaningful kiss before stepping inside the bakery together.

Witnessing the display of affection caused Philip to feel a surge of unbridled anger, accompanied by a scowl of disgust on his face.

'THAT DEPLORABLE WENCH!!' his internal self literally roared out, Internal Philip's head growing and his mouth opening to expose several rows of deadly sharp teeth in a fearsome sight gag.

He was just about ready to rip ******'s head off.

With a sharp turn, Philip quickly darted in the direction of home.

'Caleb has to know about this,' he told himself in a steely tone.

...

As the evening progressed to night, Caleb gave a suave twirl, turning to face the full-body mirror in his bedroom with a smashing smile.

Holding a simple wood carving of two swans with their necks craned together like a heart, the blonde took a breath before smiling and saying with confidence, "Oh, hello, love! I didn't see you there! You're looking quite divine tonight."

Caleb proceeded to hold up his carving to the mirror. "What's this? It's a swan carving! I made it for you."

Pretending as if ****** had wordlessly complimented his carving, Caleb gave a bashful chuckle. "It's beautiful? Why, thank you! I don't think it rivals your beauty, though. Nothing in this world ever could."

After another light-hearted chuckle, Caleb rubbed the back of his neck shyly. "Um, love? I have a question. Is it alright to... kiss you?"

The blonde smiled softly, pretending to have received a silent yes from ******.

"Very well then." Slowly, Caleb leaned forward, pressing his puckered lips against the mirror's glass.

Upon pulling away, a warm sensation of true love was felt in his stomach.

"Oh, beloved, your lips are as soft as rose petals," Caleb told no one with softened eyes.

With a motivated grin on his face, he took another breath and nodded. "Alright," Caleb told himself. "I think I'm ready for my date."

"Are you?" asked a familiar voice.

"Eee!" squealed a surprised Caleb as he jumped, his swan carving nearly slipping from his grasp.

Turning swiftly, he saw his younger brother standing at the entryway of their room with an unamused expression on his face.

"Ph-Philip!" Caleb squeaked, his cheeks flushing dark red. "H-How... how much did you... see?" the blonde quietly asked.

"Oh, only all of it," Philip answered in a monotonous tone as he entered the room.

Caleb noticed the gruff and bothered expression on his brother's face, a look of concern soon crossing his own.

"You look troubled, Pip," the eldest reached out, placing a hand on Philip's shoulder before continuing. "Is something the matter?"

After remaining silent for a while, the youngest exhaled a sigh. "It's that witch...," Philip muttered out. "I saw her in town today. She's..."

The brunette paused, searching for the right words to convey the news to his brother.

"She was with Miss. Doughberry's son. They held hands and..." Philip took a breath.

"Caleb, there's no easy way to say this, but... they shared a kiss. That witch is being unfaithful."

Hearing out his brother and taking in his words, Caleb frowned.

"Philip," the eldest began, a sense of firmness in his voice. "I understand that you don't like ******, but it's not acceptable for you to fabricate tales about her."

Fabricate? That word struck a nerve within Philip. "Are you implying that I'm a liar?" Philip growled lowly, lowering his brows at his brother.

"No, but I'm certainly not calling you a truther, either," Caleb simply stated, lowering his brows as well.

Philip stomped his foot, harshly hissing out, "YOU SHOULDN'T EVEN BE HAVING ANY RELATIONS WITH HER AT ALL!"

"Shh, Philip!" Caleb quietly and quickly hissed out sternly, placing a finger on his lips. "No shouting in the house! You'll wake up the neighbors!"

Philip stomped his foot for a second time. "WE DON'T HAVE NEIGHBORS!"

"We do, too," Caleb calmly argued, referring to Mr. Kookman and his wife.

A frustrated groan escaped Philip. "It's all that witch's fault. She's the reason why we're even having this argument. Vile snake. This is precisely why I told Mr. Hopkins about her!"

"Oh, you did?" Caleb rolled his eyes. "Wow, Philip, I'm so surprised."

Philip's face displayed a great deal of irritation at his brother's sarcastic tongue.

"I have a question, Philip. This Matthew Hopkins. You hold him in high regard, but how do you know that he isn't a witch himself? I mean, have you ever seen his ears before?"

Philip's blood started boiling. "Shut up!" the brunette shouted.

"Don't talk about him like that! He's not a witch, ****** is! You're just jealous because Mr. Hopkins is more of a man than you'll ever be!"

"You're right, Philip. I'm not a man," Caleb stated flatly. "I'm an exhausted teenage boy who's been caring for you for years and works his tail off every day to ensure we have enough food and money to live a decent life."

Philip huffed. "Don't tell me what I already know."

Caleb narrowed his eyes. "Then don't yell at me," he told Philip.

"I can yell at you if I want to!" Philip barked.

Not appreciating the tone of voice that Philip was using to speak to him, Caleb sighed and rolled his eyes once more.

"I don't have time for this," he said, deciding to walk past his brother and head downstairs to the front door.

Frowning, Philip followed after him.

Upon his arrival at the door, he opened it and witnessed his brother already heading in the direction of the forest.

Philip felt his body shake with an unfettered rage as tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

With venom in his voice, he viciously shouted, "You're a terrible brother!" before slamming the door with all his might.

Caleb halted and looked back at the house, sadness starting to fill his stomach.

He couldn't deny how hearing those words from Philip's mouth had a negative impact on his soul.

It genuinely broke his heart.

He would have to patch things up with Pip once he returned home, but right now, he had a date waiting for him in the clearing to get to, and he was already so late.

Sighing deeply, Caleb continued forward.

...

The next morning, Caleb struggled to shake off the memory of the fight he had with Philip last night, the words 'You're a terrible brother', still ringing nonstop in his head.

Was Philip's statement a result of frustration, or was he truly a bad older brother?

Did simply falling in love with a witch as kind and faithful as ****** make him a monster?

Caleb thought about it for a bit before breathing out a saddened sigh. He was unsure at this point as he got up to get ready for the day.

...

Making his way downstairs in his work attire, which consisted of a pair of brown overalls over a white top with brown boots, Caleb turned into the hallway before entering the dining room.

Upon seeing Philip, his lips curled up in a proud smile.

"Wow, Pip! You made those on your own?" Caleb asked, referring to the scrambled eggs sitting on the frying pan that Philip slid onto his plate. "They look good!"

"I only made enough for one," Philip answered coldly as he took a seat.

"Oh..." Caleb could detect the hurt that Philip was trying to mask in his voice, taking a seat as well.

The blonde smiled sadly. "That's fine! I wasn't really hungry anyways."

Silence reigned at the table between the two brothers for a bit, with neither speaking to the other.

The only sound that could be heard was Philip chewing his food.

Caleb sighed, being the first to break the silence by asking with a low-spirited smile, "So, Pip, I was wondering, after I return home from work today, would you perhaps want to play a game of witch--"

The chair that Philip sat in suddenly screeched.

"I have to go," were the only words that Philip said as he stood up and walked toward the front door.

"Oh? Leaving so soon? You hardly touched your breakfast. Where are you going, Pip?" Caleb tried his best to hide the pain in his voice as he asked this.

"Anywhere but here," Philip spat out as he left, closing the door behind him.

"O-Oh...," Caleb utterly out quietly, turning his saddened gaze to the barely eaten plate of eggs.

He sighed once more, taking the plate to finish the food himself.

...

After completing his day's work and receiving payment from the herder who he had helped herd his various dopey kids (baby goats) down a fertile grassland, Caleb expressed gratitude, said goodbye to the herder, and headed towards town.

While walking, the eldest went into a train of thought, trying to think of ways to make his brother happy with him once more and repair their relationship.

Initiating an apology would be a good start, but Philip would always breathe out a vex huff and walk away sharply before Caleb could even get one out.

Still thinking, Caleb took a downcast gaze at the small, bronze-colored pouch of coins he had in his pocket.

Although not much, it was certainly enough to buy a...

The blonde then began to notice that he was nearing the bakery before smiling, his eyes gleaming with an idea.

Philip Wittebane had the biggest sweet tooth known to man, and his brother could confirm this, which meant that not even he could say no to a sweet baked treat.

Stopping at the shop's window, Caleb began to view the various pies on display.

Apple, pumpkin, sugar cream custard, meat pies, pear pies, ah-ha!

Caleb's brown eyes spot his and Philip's favorite flavor of pie sitting prominently in the center of the display, with a label beside it that reads 'Maple Buttermilk Pie'.

A wave of nostalgia hits Caleb instantly, as he recalls with great fondness his mother always preparing maple buttermilk pie in the kitchen along with the meal for the evening.

The dessert was a family favorite in the Wittebane household, and every time Patience Wittebane presented it to her husband and two boys at the table, she would do so with a tender smile of a loving mother.

Caleb's thoughts drifted back more and more to his mother and father, his smile slowly going down as he sighed.

Their disappointment would be evident if they were to see him and Philip in the present day, given that their relationship seemed to be hanging on its last thread.

Being the caring parents that they were, Cadman and Patience would want nothing more than their boys to come together and reach a compromise, and Caleb knew this.

The blonde kept his gaze fixed on the pie while pondering.

Perhaps buying Philip a piece would help him realize that as well, even if the pie probably won't have the same maternal sweetness as their mother's.

Just before Caleb could make his way into the shop, he saw a familiar figure whom he loved dearly in the reflection of the window.

She walked past without noticing him with her hood down, her ears round and human, as she held hands with one of the boys who assisted some of the merchants and tradesmen in town.

This freckled face boy had short brown hair, along with a white top, cream-colored breeches, dark brown boots, and a big flirtatious smile dancing on his lips.

****** and the boy seemed to be leaving town as they headed towards the woods.

Now, unlike his brother, Caleb was not one to jump straight to conclusions, but he did raise a confused brow at this.

'That witch is being unfaithful,' Philip said in Caleb's mind, his words echoing in his head.

Caleb quickly dismissed the thought.

Although he didn't want to believe what his brother had previously said, it... also wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on the two.

Walking away from the bakery, Caleb secretly follows the pair out of town and into the woods, taking small steps while keeping quiet to avoid detection.

'You're not spying on them,' Caleb tried to convince himself, but guilt and worry were evident on his face as he continued.

'You're just...' He took a small breath. 'Keeping a watchful eye on them because you're curious, that's all.'

Once ****** and the boy reached the clearing together, Caleb quickly dove into the nearest, non-prickly bush, poking his head out to observe the two.

They took a seat together in the grass, the two face-to-face with their legs crossed, and the boy began to talk at length to ****** about his day as she regained her pointed ears once more with magic.

****** showed interest in the boy's story, especially when he added a sense of humor and a touch of good-hearted sarcasm to his words, as she smiled and giggled affectionately at him.

Once the boy had finished talking, ****** held out her index finger and whistled out to Little Rascal, who soon came gliding down from the sky, landing precisely on the boy's head.

This surprised both ****** and the boy, amused looks now crossing their faces as they watched Little Rascal open his curved beak before giving a light yank on a strand of the boy's hair, causing both him and ****** to laugh cordially at the raven's silly antics.

Once he felt at ease enough to do so, Little Rascal flapped down and settled himself in the small open space inside the boy's crossed legs.

The boy smiled at this as he began to give soothing rubs against the back of the black bird's neck with his hand.

Little Rascal opened and closed his beak in fondness at the soft touches, letting out light croaks.

****** viewed the tender interaction with a soft smile and decided it was the perfect opportunity to introduce the two to each other.

Upon witnessing ****** and the boy's friendly behavior towards one another, Caleb couldn't resist smiling along with them.

The sight of his beloved making friends with humans was truly a delight to see.

...

When Caleb gradually woke up from his sleep, he proceeded to let out a yawn and slowly noticed his right cheek resting against the green shrubbery of the bush he was still in.

As he turned his gaze towards the sky, he saw stars glowing against an inky, black abyss and soon realized that he had been asleep for quite some time.

Before he could step out of the bush, Caleb caught sight of a floating light passing through the leaves of a nearby tree.

With wide eyes, he quickly darted them in the direction of ****** and the boy... and the blonde's heart instantly dropped, his entire form frozen seeing... Caleb blinked twice, genuinely baffled.

His gaze laid on the sight of ****** and the boy being close. Their hands were on each other's backs as their cheeks flushed bright red. They moved slowly to the rhythm that only they could hear in their heads as they stepped on light glyphs with each spin of their dance.

The light glyphs surrounding them took on the shape of a large heart and ****** and the boy felt their smiles grow. They grew closer to each other.

"No...," Caleb whispered in pure shock, blinking back the tears that were forming inside his ducts.

Before he knew it, he witnessed the two slowly lean in towards each other before sharing a breathless kiss.

A small gasp escaped from Caleb, the blonde covering his mouth with both hands as he shook his head in disbelief, tears pouring down his cheeks.

The pain he felt was indescribable and something he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He couldn't believe it... His brother was right... ****** truly was unfaithful to him.

Caleb took a few steps back, not paying attention as he nearly tripped on a vine before taking off through the forest, silently sobbing to himself.

Both ****** and the boy's dance were interrupted as they heard the rustling of a bush along with the crunch of footsteps on the forest floor, but when they both turned around, whatever had been there was gone.

...

"Her eyes... shared the same color as copper ...," Philip narrated to himself in a gentle tone, noting that very significant detail as he began to add it to a blank parchment page in his journal using a quill with brown ink.

The brunette was sitting at the dining room table, with an oil lamp sitting on top of it, the lamp illuminating the area enough for him to see his work.

He also had an assortment of colored ink bottles on the table that were gifted to him by his brother on his birthday, but he hadn't found the time to use them until today.

Philip felt the need to provide more detail about these stunning copper eyes.

He soon said, "They were like infinite pools of beauty, and undoubtedly warm and inviting."

Recently, Philip had been dreaming about a girl whom he had developed feelings for and thought that she was the most exquisite girl in the world.

In his dreams, the girl would appear to him like an angel from heaven.

Her smile was pure and kind, and she would always offer him her hand to take, but whenever Philip reached out to take it, she suddenly dissipated, and the dream abruptly ended soon after.

Luckily, Philip was able to capture and remember enough of the angelic girl's appearance before she vanished.

He wished that he had been able to learn her name, though, so that he could properly address her.

As he continued his narration, he sketched and colored what he described as his heart skipped a beat, with his words being vivid and flowery.

"Her skin tone was sun-kissed by the sun and heavens. Her glasses were rectangular and fit her adorable, round face perfectly. Her figure..."

Philip gave thought to it for a bit, heat quickly rushing up to his entire his face as his stomach rolled.

"Full and unique." There weren't any girls his age in Gravesfield with such a pretty body shape.

"Her hair was long, dark, and had waves like those of the ocean. Her lips were full, and her smile..."

It made Philip grow a soft one of his own. "Was unforgettable."

After completing the details of the girl's wedding dress, Philip looked at his finalized work with a glow in his eyes.

If he could and was old enough, he would definitely make her his betrothed, and as her loving husband, he would always love and cherish her for the rest of their days together.

He would kiss and hug her non-stop and would always be there for her and act as a provider for both her and their lovely little family (he was already turning beet red at the thought of them having many children together).

He would also make her soothing tea on sick days and lean over and kiss her forehead and...

Philip's mind was filled with a multitude of sweet and wholesome thoughts. He's never felt such happiness before.

His parents made him very happy when they were alive, and so does Caleb... for the most part, but this happiness was on a whole other level.

It was different... and very special.

As he picked up his journal, Philip held it in front of his face, his attention still on the girl of his dreams.

Despite already knowing, he looked to his left and right to ensure he wasn't being watched.

Philip soon shut his eyes and puckered his lips, trembling slightly as he began to lean forward.

His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were merely centimeters away from touching the page.

Suddenly, a faint knock came from the front door.

Philip squeaked, dropping his journal immediately as flush covered the entirety of his face.

After taking a few breaths, calming his racing heart down, Philip soon frowned, knowing exactly who was on the other side of the door.

Walking over to the front door, he swung it open.

Philip huffed, crossing his arms together.

"I'm still not talking to y--" Philip went immediately silent as his eyes fell upon his brother standing there, his entire being seemingly consumed by an overwhelming amount of sadness and heartbreak.

The youngest also took notice of the eldest's wet eyes, which were red from a relentless amount of crying and held a great deal of pain in them.

"C-Caleb...?" Philip whispered in surprised, genuinely concerned for his brother as he tried his best not to panic, though it was evident in his visage.

In response, Caleb's lip began to quiver as he quickly rushed up to Philip, collapsing into the brunette's arms, as he began to sob violently, his entire body shaking with emotion.

"Oh, Philip," Caleb began woefully, his tone broken. "Y-You were right about her. I-I'm..." He stopped to sniffle intensely before continuing.

"I'm so sorry for ever doubting your words when you told me the truth that day. I'm... I'm just so sorry for being such a terrible older brother in general, Pip. W-Would you ever be willing to forgive me?" Caleb pleaded desperately, unsure if forgiveness was something he even deserved at this point.

Philip's heart shattered into pieces at the sound of his older brother's voice.

He was sad, yes, but also very scared.

While it's true that he has seen Caleb cry and be sad before, it was never to this extent.

This vulnerability of Caleb's was new to him.

As Philip, still stunned, began to wrap protective arms around his brother, he couldn't lie.

His inner self was displaying the greatest smug smile on his face.

Inner Philip urged his outer self to tell his brother that he told him so.

That he was silly and naive for even thinking that a witch of all things could ever be faithful, but Philip had to suppress that inner voice, as such words would only heighten Caleb's hurt.

Right now, what Caleb needed was strength, and Philip would provide that strength for him to the best of his ability.

"That's not even a question, Caleb," Philip expressed in a gentle murmur, holding his brother. "Of course I forgive you."

Caleb's sins were never a factor in Philip's willingness to forgive him repeatedly.

The eldest has forgiven him plenty of times before, so it was only fair for him to do the same.

After all, neither brother was perfect, and they both had a lot to work on.

"I'm sorry for calling you a terrible brother. That's not true at all. You're a wonderful brother who does his best every day." Philip wouldn't trade Caleb for anyone in the entire the world.

"Also, you are not to blame for this plight, Caleb. You were simply bewitched. Bewitched by..." Philip's brows furrowed as he scowled. "Her...," he mentioned, grumbling angrily under his breath as he thought about ******.

"I hate her...," Philip growled lowly. "I hate her so much. She needs to be taught a harsh lesson and face cruel judgment."

Philip gave his brother some intense eye contact, his cold, blue eyes burning with vengeance. "Caleb, you must turn her in."

"Turn her in?" Caleb sniffled as he looked at his brother with an uncertain gaze. "I mean, I could, but..." The blonde paused, thinking a bit before sighing. "I don't know, Philip...," he spoke, his tone tentative.

"But Caleb." Philip's lips formed a small frown.

"She betrayed and hurt you without any concern. She took your trust and discarded it for her own personal pleasure. She's vile, an unfaithful wench. The feelings she had for you were false and all a part of her hex. She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will."

This cold, hard truth hit Caleb like a hurricane, his thoughts drifting to the times that he and ****** spent together.

...

The first time they met in the clearing and formed an unlikely friendship soon after.

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

Their first night together. ****** showed Caleb illusions about her life, while Caleb shared a bit about his life afterward.

They then gazed at the star-filled sky together while holding hands.

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

The evening when Caleb curled up and slept next to ******'s side as the fireplace flickered with light and warmth.

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

The slow dance they shared that fateful night... and the kiss they share--

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

...

Caleb soon shuts his eyes, tears slipping down from them.

Those memories, while dear to him, are now in the past.

Suddenly, Caleb heard a dark chuckle escape him, and a slowly but surely malice smile played on his lips.

"Fine, I will."

"It's what she deserves, dear brother." A cold chuckle escaped Philip, the younger pleased by his older brother's decision.

Meanwhile, his inner Philip was brimming with excitement as his eyes shimmered.

He was quite literally bouncing off the walls in his mind because of how cool Outer Caleb now appeared.

Perhaps he should be thankful that ****** chose to be unfaithful since it awoke the vindictive witch hunter in his brother.

"And I know exactly how you can do so."

While whispering in Caleb's ear, Philip shared his plan for how Caleb could turn ****** in before revealing the deal he made with Mr. Hopkins.

As he listened, Caleb nodded along to what he heard, grinning darkly.

...

The next day dawned warmer and brighter for ****** the witch as she, with her hood up, spent her morning near the forest's lake, happily hunting for the sparkliest stone she could find in the water.

Rumors have been swirling in her world that human stones may contain garnets.

Suddenly, ******'s eyes were shielded from behind by warm hands.

"Hmph?" she hummed faintly in confusion, a question mark appearing above her head as a sight gag.

"Guess who?" chimed a cheery voice with a British accent that ****** was all too familiar with as she giggled.

Once the hands were taken from her eyes, ****** turned around and saw a smiling Caleb standing before her.

"Hello, my love," he greeted as an elated ****** beamed, attempting to give Caleb a kiss on the cheek, only for the blonde to take a swift step back.

"Hmph?" ****** tilted her head at her beloved's decision to back away from her.

"Uh, love," Caleb began, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

He tried his best to keep eye contact with ****** as he asked, "I have a question. Have you perhaps..."

A hand reached up to scratch the back of his head as he continued. "Oh, I don't know, met with any other humans besides my brother and I? Any at all?"

Brown eyes shifted swiftly to the right before looking back at ******.

Caleb's smile weakened when she shook her head and smiled innocently at him. "A-Are you sure?" he asked again, his tone uneasy, almost heartbroken.

After ****** gave him another shake of her head, Caleb sighed and shut his eyes, deciding to proceed with what he had planned to do. "Very well then."

****** continued to smile.

She wanted to keep the other two humans she met a surprise and have them meet Caleb later today.

After shooting ****** an unreadable look, Caleb reached behind his back, retrieving a black blindfold as he soon tied it around ******'s head to cover her eyes.

The witch hummed a second time in confusion, tilting her head once more.

"Oh, why are you blindfolded, you ask?"

Caleb chuckled calmly, almost too calmly.

"Simple, love. I wish to take you somewhere special. It's a surprise, though. You like surprises, right?"

****** gasped. A surprise? For her? Eee! She vigorously nodded.

"Splendid! Let's get going then. I'll be your eyes and lead you there safety. You have my word."

Taking ******'s hand, Caleb took lead, treading through the forest.

During their walk, they pass a tall tree that Little Rascal is perched on a branch of as the raven watches them from above.

He doesn't think much of seeing Caleb enter the woods with his owner since they are on good terms.

After a small croak comes out of him, he decides to shut his eyes and drift into a small nap, half asleep and half awake.

...

With each step she took, ****** heard the crunching of twigs and plant debris cease as she now walked down a fresh new path.

Despite being unable to see it, her feet felt the familiarity of it.

"We're getting closer, love," Caleb informed her as he led her into town, ****** letting out a quiet squeal of excitement.

A sudden roar of applause came from the various townspeople in the marketplace as Caleb walked down with, from their standpoint, the guilty temptress who's been wreaking havoc in their sacred town.

Shining an anxious smile, Caleb kindly gestured with one hand for them to bring their cheers down a bit.

After all, he wanted ****** to be unaware of the fact that he was essentially leading her towards her death.

Her death.

****** ... dead.

'Turn back,' a soft voice of reason that sounded much like his own pleaded in the back of Caleb's head. 'Turn around. Don't go through with this. Please. It's not right. This isn't you. ****** doesn't deserve it.'

Caleb bit his lip but quickly shook the voice away, trying to shift his high anxiety into something more austere.

That voice was incorrect. This was indeed him. He was a witch hunter, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

...

"... You can sit down now," Caleb instructed in an unfriendly grumble to ****** as she abided, having a seat at... wherever she was.

Where was she exactly?

A shop? A store? Inside a home?

Regardless of where she was, she knew that she and Caleb were not the only ones present, as the atmosphere was filled with the tension of others.

****** heard whispers and hushed voices coming from all angles of, she assumed, the room.

She also felt not one, not two, not even three, but several sets of eyes on her.

****** soon sensed her blindfold being untied, and when the piece of black cloth fell, she opened her squeezed eyes and blinked, taking in... they immediately widened in disbelief.

She tried to feel her hands, only to see that they were bound.

The witch's form turned frozen as she was now stuck in a state of shock at what she saw, dread and panic rushing through her veins.

She felt her upper belly grow sore and her pale face got even paler.

****** slowly stood up.

She was... in the center of... a human courtroom? Yes, a courtroom. But... why? Why would Caleb take her to here of all places? Was... was this the "surprise" location that he was talking about?

****** felt her heart break.

Her nerves were causing her bile sac to not work despite her desperate desire to disappear and escape the room.

As she slowly viewed the court, ****** observed Caleb sitting with his brother at a round table to her right.

To her left, she saw a human man with a hat and beard who had the biggest look of triumph on his face.

His ears were also tucked and hidden beneath his hair.

Mr. Town Minister, sitting on the judge's bench, began to speak, his voice loud and commanding as he asked, "Witch, state your name for the court--"

Matthew Hopkins acted quickly, wasting no time in briskly standing from his seat to intervene.

"Objection, your highness!" The general crossed his arms, frowning a childish frown. "We don't care."

The gallery was filled with whispers of agreement, with some nodding in line with Hopkins' statement.

"Hmm...," hummed the minister in thought for a second before agreeing. "He's right," he said, taking Hopkins' side as he continued. "We don't care."

Hopkins sent an antagonizing smirk towards ****** as he stuck his tongue out at her.

The witch wasn't afraid to send him a glare, fiercely furrowing her brows at him.

Mr. Town Minister turned his gaze to Caleb.

"Caleb Wittebane, please step forward."

Caleb slowly stood, walking towards the center with a pacing heart and a head filled with certainties and uncertainties.

One part of his mind argued that he had to proceed with this. The opposing side asserted that he didn't.

The townsfolk in the gallery watched as the blonde stood next to the accused.

Caleb adjusted his gaze slightly to concentrate on her and started to stare.

'Wow,' he thought to himself, his inner self flushing some.

'Even when she's likely to come face-to-face with death today, she still looks so pretty and radiant.'

Wait... why was he thinking that?!

When ****** looked at Caleb briefly, their communication was silent.

His stare turned sour meeting hers, his gaze mixed with anger and hurt, meanwhile ******'s gaze was shattered, silently questioning Caleb why he was doing this.

His look huffed, 'Don't play dumb. You know precisely why.'

Mr. Town Minister cleared his voice before speaking. "You have been summoned to speak about this witch who has been consorting with the Devil's work throughout our great town. Is it true that she not only bewitched you but is also an advanced witch?"

Caleb looked over to Philip, who smiled encouragingly while his eyes looked worried, pleading for the oldest to say the right thing.

He then looked to Matthew Hopkins, eagerly awaiting the exposure of the witch.

Finally, Caleb gave once last glance to ******.

With tears nearing her eyes, she wordlessly begged the blonde not to do this.

This isn't you, spoke her eyes under her bangs.

Caleb sighed as his gaze returned to the minister.

Despite his guilt, he stood firm, refusing to let his emotions dictate his decision.

He's not sorry.

Taking a breath, Caleb revealed, "Yes, Mr. Minister. That is true. She... did bewitch me. And..."

Caleb looked to Philip again, who gestured for him to pull ******'s hood down.

He sighed once more. "And... she is..." Caleb's hand went to yank ******'s hood off her head, exposing her pointed ears to the court. "An advanced witch."

An audible gasp escaped those in the gallery as they directed their shocked eyes at ******'s ears.

Fathers were forced to cover their children's eyes (although they tried to peek), as mothers had to soothe their crying babies.

Matthew Hopkins also gasped, in the most overdramatic way, of course, pretending to be shocked by the reveal. "And a collective gasp fills the courtroom," he narrates with a sly smirk.

The Minister's nose scrunched up immediately in disgust at the sight of the unnatural shape of the witch's ears.

"You may be seated," he told Caleb, who nodded before walking back to his seat.

Sitting down, he tried not to give any attention to the tears rolling down ******'s cheeks as regret clawed at his chest.

After a loud bang from his gavel, Mr. Town Minister said sternly, with not a hint of empathy in his voice, "Nameless witch, based on the reactions of today's trial, this court finds you..."

The minister held his words in the air for about 20 seconds, even though everyone knew what he was going to say.

"Guilty for the crimes of witchcraft and being an advanced witch, as well as causing the infants in the courtroom to cry. You are condemned to be burned at the stake. May your soul slowly decay in Heck with your creator."

The trial comes to a close as the minister hits his gavel again.

...

Present day sees Philip approach his brother's bedside, standing there with a sad, sympathetic expression on his face.

"Caleb," Philip spoke, a sense of gentle care and worry in his voice. "You must stop being sad about that witch. It's not beneficial for you."

...

Upon the last faint glow of the sun over the horizon, the entire town gathered in the square with eager anticipation of the death that was about to occur.

The crowd roared with cheers as three townsmen led the guilty ****** to the wooden platform, some shouting insults towards the teen witch.

Standing on said platform, Caleb was alongside Matthew Hopkins and other witch hunters, with the town minister coming to take a stand.

As he watched ****** being tied to the stake, the blonde made an effort to suppress any sympathy he felt.

Following the minister's proclamation and Hopkins' self-absorbed speech, Caleb was presented with a torch by the minister, who honored him with the task of sending the temptress where she belonged.

Fingers closed around the torch's handle hesitantly as Caleb turned to face ******, appearing cold and unsympathetic.

Tears streamed down the witch's face as she silently begged Caleb to show her mercy.

She did not wish for him to do this.

She loved him.

'Her tears are deceitful,' Caleb told himself. 'Just like her.'

His mind screamed at him to light the pyre and end this, but his body refused to comply.

At this point, Caleb was uncertain about what to do.

Is it better for him to listen to his head... or his heart?

"Oh, give it here!" Matthew Hopkins snatched the torch out of Caleb's hand, who was too occupied with glaring daggers at ****** to react.

He huffed. "You're taking far too long, Caius."

Hopkins lowered the torch and ignited the wood beneath ******'s feet in a matter of seconds.

Afterward, the flames roared, consuming the witch completely, and she screamed an agonizing scream from the burning fire.

As the fire rose, ****** felt herself cook in the flames.

During her last moments of life, she saw the boy who brought so much happiness and joy into her life look at her with anger and tears.

The human beside him just smirked, bidding her goodbye with a small wave of his hand.

Philip stuck out in the crowd like a sore thumb to ****** as he stared directly at her.

As her eyes slowly closed, she witnessed the brunette giving her a chilling smile, his blue eyes bright and glowing with contentment.

...

"Oh, Philip," Caleb quietly choked out, still faced away from his brother as he was unable to fight back the tears that soon poured down his eyes.

He sniffled. "You just don't understand..."

Philip furrowed his brows at Caleb's statement.

"And what is it that I don't understand, dear brother?" the brunette questioned in a smart aleck tone, sounding almost offended. "That you played a role in the witch's death? Because I do, Caleb Wittebane. Caleb bane of witches."

Caleb's anger started to rise as he swiftly rose up in bed, staring at Philip.

"You take that back right now!" Caleb growled.

Philip only smiled darkly and shook his head, refusing to take back his words.

"No," he retorted, making Caleb visibly more upset as he sighed.

"Oh, Caleb. Talking about that witch always brings out the worst in you, doesn't it?"

Caleb swiftly jumps out of bed.

"Hey! What are you...?" Philip watches Caleb rush over to his bed and swipe his journal.

"Oh, Philip, lookie what I have!" Caleb taunted with a massive grin, wiggling the book in a teasing manner.

Philip clenched his teeth. "Put my journal down now, you dumb witch lover!"

"Then take back what you said," Caleb commanded as he started flipping through pages.

"Never!" Philip shouted.

His older brother stopped at a particular page in his journal and stared at it for a bit.

It expanded his smug grin.

He showed it off to Philip. "Ooo, who's this, Pip?" he asked, referring to the drawing of his dream girl. "Your imaginary girlfriend, I assume?"

Philip's face immediately burned red with rage and embarrassment.

"At least I have one!" he spat. "Unlike you...," he mumbled with a huff.

"I'll give you one last chance to take back what you said, Philip, otherwise..."

Caleb shined a bold, playful grin. "She'll be mine."

He held the dream girl near his lips to show that he was serious with his threat.

"No. she. won't!" Philip hissed out in unbridled anger.

Caleb noticed that Philip had something in his hand and turned his attention to his left hand to see a crooked dagger that was tightly gripped.

The blonde's eyes widened as he lowered the journal and took a step back, alarm on his face.

"A dagger?" Caleb took a cautious step back, keeping a close eye on the weapon.

He gently set the journal back on Philip's bed.

"Philip, what are you doing with a dagger?"

He usually saw Philip with one of his old carving knives, but never a dagger.

Philip was taken aback when he saw the dagger in his left hand.

He hadn't even realized that he had instinctively pulled it out.

Putting it away, he mumbled out, "It was a gift."

"A gift? From who?"

"None of your business, that's who!"

Caleb shook his head with a tired and heavy sigh, pressing his fingers against his temples.

He was far too distraught about ******'s death to even contemplate the knife his brother had.

Trudging to bed, he stood near his bedside and collapsed over it.

His sadness quite literally weighed him down as his sulking began.

"******...," Caleb whispered her name regretfully, his face pressing into his bed, making him sound muffled as he continued his mourning.

Philip merely rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatics, his face dour.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry." Caleb shook his head in despair, his voice trembling.

"Your infectious smile, your wonderful laughter, all gone. It's all gone... because of me. Unfaithful or not, you didn't deserve the faith that was dealt to you. I... I..."

He sobbed. "I didn't even get to see the Demon Realm with you."

"Demon... Realm?" Philip raised a confused brow at what his brother was whining about. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's where ****** lives. Well, used to live now," Caleb sadly explained with a sniffle.

"To get there, she used a special key, the one she always wore around her neck, that unlocks a magical door. Although I was never able to witness her use the key, she told me that's how it worked."

Caleb began to ponder whether or not he should have revealed that information to his brother.

Demon Realm...? Special keys...? Magical doors...?

Philip narrowed his brows at his griping brother, speaking sharply to him.

"Caleb Wittebane... this entire time, you knew of a realm filled with advanced witches existed... and yet you didn't decide to tell me?"

"Well, now you know!" Caleb cried out, his voice cracking with emotion as he tried to cease his shaking.

Philip rolled his eyes once more.

"Furthermore, what did you mean by when you said you didn't get to see the Demon Realm with her? What? Were you going to leave me here forever to go be with her?" Philip hoarsely asked.

"Leave you forever?" Caleb lifted his face from his mattress to look at Philip. "Of course not," he answered truthfully. "My sole intention was to visit for a day."

Philip did not appear to accept Caleb's claim.

"Caleb...," Philip began, his voice so gruff and serious that it made a shiver run up the eldest's spine as he listened.

Blue eyes suddenly flashed in a blaze of excitement.

"We have to go find that key! We simply must! Imagine if we did!? We'd look for that magical door next and open it. Once we're in the Demon Realm, we would go on a witch massacre, obliterating every witch in sight. I even say we should wipe the realm in its entirety. Once we do, we'd return home and show everyone in town our accomplishment! We'll be heroes, Caleb! Heroes!" Philip cheered.

The brunette swiftly rushed over to the closet door, opening it as he grabbed his most favorite jacket.

"I'm certain ****** still has that silly key around her neck."

Philip continued.

"She was probably tossed and buried in some unmarked grave in the town burial ground."

A twisted chuckle left Philip at the thought, slipping his jacket on.

The very thought made Caleb's stomach drop.

Philip soon began tying up his hair before suggesting determinedly, "Let's go dig her up and rip that key right off her neck! It'll be fun, Caleb, and it might even make you feel better."

Caleb highly doubted that would fix his heartache as he sighed. "Philip," the blonde began as he stood up, walking over to the closed window curtains.

"You know what happens every October 31st in Gravesfield," Caleb informed with gentle sternness, opening the curtains while still looking at Philip, not reacting to the two pale-ish green specters that used to be humans, accused of witchcraft, shambling by.

Their eyes glowed red, their skin was ashen and blotchy, and a deep bruise radiated out from their throats.

A sight gag commences, the scene pausing to display a set of blackletter words being written on screen in ink that reads:

'Every October 31st, during the night, the Puritans who were accused of witchcraft and hanged for their 'crimes' come back from the dead to seek revenge on the living. This is a curse that has a negative impact on the town of Gravesfield. Everyone is told to stay indoors until the next morning during the invasion, as that's when it ends.'

"It's too dangerous to go out there," Caleb frowned.

Philip simply chuckled in overconfidence, his brave face being genuine.

"The undead don't frighten me, Caleb. And besides, I have this!" Philip whipped out his dagger before dashing out of the room.

His footsteps were heard as he ran downstairs.

"Hey!" Caleb exclaimed, rushing to the closet to grab his jacket as he attempted to put it on while chasing after Philip.

"Don't leave the house without me!"

...

Philip and Caleb cautiously walked through the town burial ground, carrying shovels in their hands and keeping their distance from the undead that staggered around.

Caleb experienced a feeling of numbness as he inhaled the cold air before exhaling with a sigh.

Was this a horrible idea?

Of course it was, Caleb acknowledged in his head, yet the oldest Wittebane would continue onward with his brother.

"We've already dug up four unmarked graves so far, but ******'s body wasn't in any of them," Philip whispered to Caleb in slight frustration.

"Where could that witch be?" he wondered aloud.

Caleb sighed once more, his brown eyes surveying the area for more headstones without names.

Suddenly, gazing forward, he spotted a familiar black bird clinging to a stone that had no name on it.

The raven's posture was drooping, and it seemed to be mourning for the person who was below the ground.

Little Rascal...

"She's there." Caleb pointed to the bird and tombstone.

"What?" Philip glanced in that direction before returning his gaze to his brother. "Caleb, how do you know?"

"I...," Caleb paused before sighing. "I just have a gut feeling she's there," he explained before grinning mischievously.

"Let's take a look." He made an effort to show enthusiasm and interest for his brother.

Grinning back at Caleb, Philip nodded and followed his brother to the tombstone.

Little Rascal, taking note of the two human boys who were approaching, adjusted his posture and took a defensive position as he produced a harsh sound at them.

He was aware that both of these wicked witch hunters were responsible for his owner's demise as he witnessed her last moments from the sky, and he would not permit either of them to come near her.

The aggressiveness of Little Rascal's trill brought Caleb to a halt, as he felt horrible, guilt written all over face while ******'s death replayed in his mind.

Her pain-filled eyes, her excruciating screams, the sight of her burning away...

"Shoo, shoo!" Philip swung his shovel wildly at Little Rascal but missed several times as the bird managed to evade his attempts to harm him.

As he continued to miss, Philip produced irritated grunts. He once again raised his shovel over his shoulder. "Stand still so I can kill you already, you stupid bird!" Philip screamed.

Bringing his shovel down, Philip managed to strike Little Rascal with the back of the blade, knocking him down.

Caleb let out a small gasp, covering his mouth with his hand as he watched in shock the raven slowly taking in air, a green essence leaking from the small crack in his body.

When their eyes met, a pang of pain throbbed in Caleb's heart as Little Rascal gazed sadly and weakly at the blonde, disappointed in the human.

Rising slowly to his feet, wincing slightly at the pain, the raven gently spread his wings, flapping them as if he were a fledgling, as he took flight into the night sky.

"Caleb!" Caleb took his guilt-ridden gaze off of Little Rascal to look at Philip.

"I can't do this alone. Help me dig!" Philip was casually smiling as if he hadn't just injured an innocent animal.

"Oh! ... R-Right," Caleb replied with a weak smile as he began to help his brother shovel out the soil of ******'s grave.

Following the removal of all the dirt, the brothers saw ****** sleeping eternally in the hole that was made for her.

Philip grimaced at her appearance, pinching his nose with his index and thumb, while Caleb gazed softly at her with a melancholic expression on his face.

Her pale skin was now a sickly, blotchy green color, with scars and blisters from her burns covering her from head to toe.

'Even in death, ******...,' Caleb spoke softly to himself, words of genuine love and deep regret spilling out in his tone.

His hands slowly reached towards ******'s neck. 'You still look like an angel...,' Caleb said, removing her key necklace from off of her.

Slipping it into his pocket, he smiled a faint yet gentle smile down at the corpse.

Wherever ****** was, be it Heaven, Heck, or in-between, Caleb hoped that she was at peace and the happiest she's ever been.

Happy...

If only he could--

Whack!

The blonde jolted at the impact sound, turning to look at Philip.

His brother had just delivered a sharp blow to ******'s face with the back of his shovel.

Caleb's eyes narrowed at the youngest. "Philip!" he angrily hissed.

"What?" Philip chuckled with an innocent smile, shrugging his shoulders. "She's already dead," he tried to justify.

Caleb huffed as he gave a roll of his eyes, shaking his head as annoyance started to consume him.

With his shovel, Caleb removed some dirt from the pile that he and Philip had created and deposited it back into ******'s grave, ultimately returning all of it.

She was completely concealed as Caleb sighed out a little white cloud.

"Alright, Pip. Let's go h--"

"Uhhhhggghhh..."

Caleb swiftly turned his gaze to Philip, shooting him the stink eye. "Philip, that's not funny," he sternly stated.

"Uh, C-Caleb...," Philip stuttered in fear, pointing a trembling finger behind his brother.

"Th-Th-That wasn't me!"

"Huh?"

"Uhhhhggghhh..."

"Uhhhhggghhh...!"

"UHHHGGGHHHH!!!"

Caleb froze. He didn't dare look behind him, but when he slowly did, he saw...

His pupils dilated.

"AAAAAA!!!" screamed both Caleb and Philip in unison, waves of cold adrenaline flushing their bodies as they clinged to each other for dear life.

Now surrounding the Brothers Wittebane were a horde of the undead, the rotting beings releasing horrible hisses from their throats, craving human flesh.

The zombie in front of and closest to the boys opened his mouth, his yellow and decaying teeth on full display.

"AAAAA!!!" cried the boys once more, their grip tightening as they shut their eyes.

The zombie mob stumbled ahead, eager to savor their prey.

The nearest zombie leaned forward towards Philip and Caleb, opening his mouth wider as blood dripped down his non-existent lips, ready to take a significant bite out of the siblings.

That is until...

(Oh) I am the Candyman

(Oh) Comin' from Bountyland

(Oh) I am the Candyman

(Oh) Comin' from Bountyland

The unexpected, bubblegum dance-pop song ["Lollipop (Candyman)"] playing so suddenly and without warning in the background as a random gag acts as head shots to the zombies, with them moaning and groaning in pain, covering their ears.

Some even fall to their knees.

Sensing the absence of zombie bites on their bodies, Philip and Caleb slowly opened their eyes to see the zombies being physically enfeebled by... the strange music playing out of the blue?

I wish that you were my lollipop

Sweet things, I will never get enough

If you show me to the sugar tree

Will you give me a soda pop for free

Hearing it, they were equally confused as they slowly turned to look at each other.

However, they noticed that the song impeded the zombies from attacking them, and a knowing grin soon crept onto their faces.

Instinct kicked in as they formed a wordless plan and nodded in agreement to it.

Come with me, honey

I'm your sweet sugar Candyman

Run like the wind

Fly with me to Bountyland

Bite me, I'm yours

If you're hungry, please understand

This is the end of

The sweet sugar candyman

Both brothers proceeded at the same time, with Caleb moving to handle the zombies on the right and Philip moving to take care of the undead on the left.

One zombie was met with the back of Caleb's shovel to the face, his head being knocked clear off of his body as a colorful and dazzling explosion of hearts, rainbows, glitter, and blood shoots out the top of the zombie's headless neck.

Philip's shovel came crushing down on a zombie's head, and the same colorful and bloody essence came forth from her as she fell.

Oh, my love, I know you are my Candyman

And oh, my love, your word is my command

Oh, my love, I know you are my Candyman

And oh, my love, let us fly to Bountyland

Caleb and Philip's shovels remained effective in striking and bashing the undead, their strikes timing with the beat.

Caleb turned his gaze as he spotted a feral grin on Philip's face.

His clothes were stained with blood and rainbow glitter, blood splatter smeared across his cheeks.

Caleb, noting that his clothes and cheeks were in a similar state, smiled broadly at his brother, who smiled back at him.

Philip's glee was impossibly contagious, Caleb thought.

It's been a while since the two of them had such genuine fun like this.

...

The light of early morning was brought into the sky by dawn as it rose.

The undead, similar to the night, began to die down, resulting in the moving corpses becoming motionless once again.

One zombie, quite literally hoping around on its last leg as it faltered, was swiftly brought to an end with one powerful down strike to the head by both boys' shovels, with the song ending.

Caleb, looking to Philip, who shared the same smile and mischievous gleam in his eyes as him, gave his brother a playful ruffle to his hair.

Philip absorbs the affection, his aura brimming with confidence.

After a freeze frame captures the two brothers, the show transitions to an art nouveau style and displays Caleb and Philip's list of hobbies alongside them in blackletter.

At the end of their list of hobbies, another hobby is added with an invisible pen, this hobby being 'dismembering the undead'.

...

As they were walking home, Caleb and Philip reminisced and joked about the zombie battle, sharing their favorite parts with each other.

Upon reaching the front door, Caleb opened it, and both him and Philip stepped inside before freezing.

They were taken aback, even though they shouldn't be at this point, by the person they saw in their sitting room.

"Oh, hello!" Mr. Kookman turned to greet the boys with his usual smile, waving a hand at them that held a bar of soap.

His attire and some of his face were covered with the same blood and glitter that came from the zombies.

Henrietta let out a cluck, giving her feathers a gentle flap as she fluttered in the barrel bucket filled with soapy water.

"I hope you boys don't mind me giving my Henrietta a bath in here. She doesn't enjoy receiving baths during the invasion," Mr. Kookman told them.

Henrietta proceeded to cluck again.

That was Mr. Kookman's cue to lather her feathers. He turned back around to do so, even adding salt to the bathwater.

"Uh...," Caleb blinked twice. "N-Not at all," he answered politely, attempting not to sound befuddled as he motioned for Philip to follow him upstairs. "Just make sure to close the door on your way out."

The two were terribly tired after last night and needed some shut-eye.

They would clean themselves off after a long nap.

...

A boisterous family of witches hurry into their cottage, making it just in time before the boiling rain starts pouring down.

All of them sigh with relief, but sad looks soon appear on their faces.

One of the members of their close family has gone missing, and they've been looking all over the Boiling Isles for her for months.

She was a good daughter, a sweet sister, a fantastic student, and a wonderful witchlet.

She was ******.

[companionjones]

Days, Weeks, Months, Years (9/10)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Fandoms: MCU, Marvel

Warnings: Coma, Cursing, Implied almost self harm

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10

*******

In the days you were gone, I mean physically there but mentally gone, the compound was at a standstill.

The only person who didn't understand it all was Valentina. She had expected to be interrogated and grilled. Maybe even tortured or maimed by Bucky or someone, but she was just locked in a room and fed three times a day. It was like she was already in prison. Which didn't make sense to her because no one knew why she did it.

****

The Avengers took shifts being in that room with you, but Bucky never left. He slept with his head on your bed and his hand holding yours. Sometimes, he was convinced to eat, but after a certain point, it was to keep himself from passing out during the day.

The Avengers took shifts being in that room with you, but Bucky was also given some time alone with you. When it was just you and him, Bucky would pray like he never had before, which he hadn't, not since the 40s, anyway. Bucky would talk to you, too.

"...Everyone...Everyone always talks to people when they're in your position. But...I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, doll...Not just for not being able to s-save you, but for...for not being able to be with you...Really with you. Like you deserve.

"When you first got here, I knew I was in trouble. You were everything. Smart, beautiful, badass, sexy; I barely knew what to do with myself around you. So, I did what I always do. I shut down completely, and I waited for you to go away.

"But you never did. Wherever I went, you were always there at my side. At first, I found it annoying because I could never be at ease around you, but soon, that all went away. Soon, you were you and I was me and there was nothing that could keep us apart. And...that scared me.

"Then, that first night happened. We were alone, watching that cheesy movie you love, and I...I couldn't help myself. God, that night was perfect. You were perfect. I mean, you're always perfect--But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Despite how amazing everything was that night, I don't remember being more scared than that morning after--excluding the past few days, of course.

"I woke up that morning, I looked at you, you were still asleep, and all I could think about was fucking this up--fucking you up.

"God, I am such an idiot. I preach about how much I don't want to hurt you, yet that's what I've been doing all this time. God, why can't I just get my shit together--" Bucky's hands were shaking as he flexed them in front of his face. It looked like he was going to hit something, maybe himself.

"Stop." Your voice, barely audible, told him. You gently touched his hand that was closest to you, your weak a hand a stark contrast to his strong one.

Bucky gasped when he heard your voice and felt you touch him. "Y/n?" He wondered if you were really there.

He saw your eyes barely open to look at him.

"Hey," he softly greeted, took a big breath, then repeated, even softer, "Hey." Bucky adjusted himself accordingly to get closer to you.

The smallest of smiles appeared on your face. "Missed you."

Bucky let you take his face into your hand. He whispered, "Missed you, too."

*******

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

*******

Tag List: @sidraaaaaaaaa // @dontworryboutitsweetheartxx-blog // @mayusenpai666 // @onceithough // @greatenthusiasttidalwave // @shadowzena43 // @ampersam // @sebastians-love // @cjand10 // @silentwhisper666 // @superaveng // @vicmc624 // @ltsaradharkness

[usoppinggg]

100% agree on zosanuso couple to throuple being goated. The question is which variation is your fav? You could have established zosan, zosopp, or sanuso. I like them all but i dont think ive ever seen established sanuso bringing in zoro. I like the idea of zoro being blushy and stoic and insisting he "didnt want to intrude"

I have fic recs for the other two variants though its likely youre familiar with them as a fellow avid zosanusoer

Hope you don't mind but I'm gonna use this as an excuse to throw out some ideas on this topic that live in my head and/or partially on (virtual) paper bc I’m actually insane about them!!! It's all under the cut cause this is going to be long.

TLDR; my favourite couple to throuple dynamic depends on how much ~drama~ I'd like to indulge in. I think they're all fun and I'm happy once they're all together, because ZoSanUso is one of my favourite OP ships. I think I've read all the fics of them on ao3 multiple times :P I'm very curious into what version of the dynamics others enjoy!

SanUso -> ZoSanUso

I also haven't seen any established SanUso bringing in Zoro and I think that's a crime!!! SanUso who are very happy together but let's face it, Zoro is hot, and they both enjoy poking fun at him, they both revel in having his attention. It's not easy though, as they both have their reservations. Sanji's a little skeptical at the thought of intimacy and vulnerability with Zoro, and Usopp is terrified Sanji will discover he loves Zoro more than him--or worse, they'll come to love each other and not Usopp. But SanUso talk through it until they're confident it's what they both want, and if it happens, they can work through it together, and with Zoro. Zoro, for all of his stoicism and idiosyncrasies, is a reliable and dedicated problem-solver.

They know that with Zoro, actions speak louder than words, so SanUso make their move. Usopp's always been touchy with Zoro, but he lets his touches linger, presses with more intention. When their words come to blows, Sanji grins when they fight instead of snarling. And they're both flirty with him, smiling and giving him eyes.

It continues until Zoro can't take it anymore. They've been driving him crazy. He doesn't think he's misreading their signals, but without them explicitly stating their feelings, he's left confused. Zoro corners them and asks why they don't just say anything outright, making him guess and wonder. Wonder if they're teasing him.

SanUso of course, feel terrible and quickly assure Zoro that they do like him, and it wasn't their intention to make fun of him, but rather, express their feelings. Zoro shares that actions are important to him yes, but it's in combination with words that gives him the confidence to build trust and move forward.

So! Enter Zoro into the relationship! He's a bit awkward in the beginning, unsure of how he fits in their new dynamic and embarrassed to express his affection. SanUso are happy to close the gap, continuing with their flirty words and touches until Zoro's comfortable enough to lean into them and reciprocate in his own more low-key manner.

A relationship with three people is different, of course, and more than a bit terrifying, but it's also exciting and fun and they all look forward to seeing where it takes them.

ZoSopp -> ZoSanUso

Established ZoSopp is drama. Lots of silent pining on Sanji's part because he refuses to intrude, and doesn't feel like he deserves to impose himself on them. Doesn't want to mess things up for them by inserting himself. He tries to suppress his feelings, tries to will them away, but it doesn't work. So in his usual self-sacrificial manner, he pulls away from them, denying himself even their friendship so he won't yearn for more.

Then there's Usopp, who realizes that he's actively crushing on Sanji despite being in a committed relationship with Zoro. He's happy with Zoro and loves him a lot, but he knows that he's falling for Sanji and it's wrong, so he does his best to push his feelings down. But then Sanji pulls away from them and he thinks it's his fault for being too transparent with his feelings. He's terrified that he couldn't keep it together and is going to lose a friendship and a relationship.

Despite Usopp's denials that something is wrong and his refusal to talk about what's on his mind, Zoro knows what's up. He's not dumb, and he knows both Usopp and Sanji very well. He can see clear as day that they have feelings for each other. And when he thinks about it (while Usopp refuses to be honest and talk to him), he thinks he'd enjoy having Sanji as part of their relationship.

Zoro eventually gets to his last nerve because both Usopp and Sanji are annoying when they try to deny themselves what they want. When they won't even talk and try to fight for what they want. He confronts Usopp first, reminding Usopp that he doesn't have to go through his feelings alone. That they can't work through things if they aren't honest. So Usopp spills everything, all of his hopes and fears and doubts. And Zoro assures Usopp that this is something they can want and have.

Convincing Sanji probably isn't easy because as we know, he doesn't let himself have good things. But he's up against Zoro and Usopp, who are infuriatingly stubborn and blessedly patient. Romantic as he is, he can't possibly stave off his affection when they display it to him so obviously. He soon agrees to enter the relationship and is guarded at first, but with explicit permission to care for them and having them care for him in turn, he inevitably settles into the relationship which continues to thrive with his addition.

ZoSan -> ZoSanUso

In general, I’m only a fan of romantic ZoSan if there’s at least one other member of the EB5 in the mix. Despite the trust they have in one another, I don't think they'd stand the test of time in a monogamous relationship. But add Usopp (and/or Nami and/or Luffy) in the mix and I think it's much healthier all around.

I do have a couple AUs for this situation though because I think it can be lots of fun!

In my favourite one, ZoSan are in an established, but open relationship. They meet Usopp individually—Sanji meets him when Usopp comes to fix the oven at the Baratie/All Blue. Usopp’s his usual funny, charming, reliable self and when he’s done the job, Sanji asks him out. At the same time, Zoro chooses Usopp to do his latest tattoo after coming across the tattoo and piercing shop he works at. It’s a large piece that requires multiple sessions, and Zoro’s thoroughly entertained during each one. Cue them dating.

So both Zoro and Sanji are dating someone else, but neither knows the someone else is Usopp, and somehow, he never gets name-dropped. That is, until one day they're at home, Sanji twirling and humming to himself as he flutters about the kitchen and prepares a batch of treats. When Zoro asks what's got him in such a good mood, Sanji swoons and gushes about the date he's going on tonight, how he longs to see Usopp's dazzling smile, and the swordsman is in disbelief. Because there's no way they're both seeing Usopp, no way he's been unknowingly sharing Usopp with the damned waiter.

But they both know a good opportunity when they see it and try to figure out how they can proposition Usopp without scaring him away. They realize there's no possibility of him not freaking out in some capacity, so when Usopp invites Sanji to his friend Vivi's party, they know they have the perfect chance.

Usopp is, of course, petrified beyond belief at the sight of his boyfriend approaching while he's cuddled up under his other boyfriend. Especially considering that both boyfriends are terrifying in their own right. Before he can truly freak out though, Zoro comes over and explains that he's not angry, reminding him both he and Sanji are polyamorous, and it just so happened that they were both dating Usopp. They invite Usopp into the relationship and he happily accepts.

A lack of communication is definitely an issue here. Still, overall, it's the best possible outcome for Usopp, who's ecstatic that not only can he keep both his boyfriends, but they'll all be dating each other. And Sanji and Zoro never could've predicted how good Usopp is for their relationship--able to bridge the gap between them.

As for which one I like the best, that depends on what kind of mood I'm in. Today, I'm enjoying the ZS to ZSU timeline, but tomorrow it may change. I'm interested in knowing which dynamics everyone else enjoys and why.

Thank you for this and sorry for going a little overboard but like I said, I really enjoy the three of them together!

[auguryofjellyfish]

random day 25 thoughts let's go

another otherwordly Tetro Friday? what's with chap 4, I swear, so far it's been a stream of endless bangers.

first of all, I hope Hiroaki and Tamba had a good day 😭 it was strange to not see Hiroaki at all....

[Oyasumi]

is that a goddamn Omori reference?? naw, it's not, but that's where everyone's mind went first and mine as well lol.

Oyasumi, oyaaasumi, close your eyes and you'll leave this dream....

normally something like this would make me worried, but honestly? i'm not. because Wada is not going to die. I'm not even considering the possibility. he's going to be okay. he might suffer but he's definitely going to make it. i'm not even scared of his death at all cause it's not gonna happen (except if they kill everyone in endgame). if he survived chapter 3, he can survive anything.

either way....such a sweet episode <3 loved the amount of focus Wada is getting like, THAT'S MY GOAT!!! I LOVE WADA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! please give him all the love and hugs.

HE'S NOT EATEN FOR 3 DAYS!! ?!??! Wada...i thought he'd not eat one day at a time, but, three...? no wonder he's crashing again. if the starvation motive hits, nnnnn holy shit but no he's going to be okay. trust.

I still need time to fully process [Bruise] but good lord, while watching it made my chest feel so heavy it felt like it was caving in. fucking concave. just. Mai. Ojima. it was so painful and so heavy but, i was overflowing with pride for them both. they're so incredibly strong. i love Ojima sm....

[Refulgence Post Mortem]

he loved Kamimura. he loved him. he didn't need to say it at all. i just knew from the way he talked about him. the way his voice went soft, the fondness, the light amusement... how Kamimura was stubborn, argumentative, funny, smart, kind... he made him sound so special. he painted such a lovely picture with his words.... and he had so much to say about him. he thought and worried about him a lot, Kamimura was interesting to him (!!!!!) ..... I hope Kamimura at least could tell that Ken really really liked him...he probably did.

he didn't always care about what Ken was talking about but he cared enough to pretend, always...this just...just. Kamimura cared so fucking much too.

on one hand, this is kinda nice, because Ken would never say all of this to Kamimura, so if he were alive we'd never hear Ken gush about him... but jesus, I'd rather have him back....

he was worried about Kamimura because of his suicidal tendencies, and when it seemed like he wanted to live again, he was just so relieved... the depth with which he said that, I just. wow. I know... I KNOW!!! I KNOW HE WAS GETTING BETTER! I know, Ken...!

Ken was so proud of him. so happy for him, so moved. HE WAS TURNING HIS EYES TOWARDS THE FUTURE!!! he tried to end it so many times because life was an unchanging never-ending hell BUT the instant he felt like he might not be doomed forever after all, that he could have people who love him, that he could find a place for himself in this world once more, he wanted to try again, he wanted TO LIVE.

and then she took him away.

...what the fuck. what the fuck, it's not fair...it's not fair. i can't get fucking over this, i can't, i can't. i can't. fuck. me. fuck...i hate this...

...I've seen a lot of discussion on whether Ken is gonna die this chapter. it's still a little too early to say for sure, but in my opinion, nah. he doesn't seem like he'd be a victim right now. he is a little vulnerable, but frankly in these people's place I would be scared to go at him cause he's tall, strong and has nothing left to lose.

as for whether he'd kill...mmmnnnneehhh.......no...? not in chap 4 at least. he is in a really bad way, and that "she destroyed....everything." was so good, it sounded really dark and wrathful, but, yanno. i'm mostly just side-eyeing the "everything"...

if okazaki was somehow still alive i would def be concerned about him going for her head but lol. that's taken care of already. i guess it's not impossible for him to find another outlet for his anger, COUGH watari COUGH but still, he is more depressed than angry.

he said "there's nothing left." he still has his family but he can't even take them into consideration right now. that's what he truly feels- utter desolation. how could he have the motivation to plan a murder in this state? when he "lost everything"? i'd be much more worried if he continued with his total isolation arc but with this episode, he's not too far gone. just feeling overwhelming malaise. doesn't help that he's off his meds.

then again, we might be going back to unintentional murders, so it's not out of the question. it would just be weird for Ken to try to kill everyone on purpose??

also he won't try to kill himself people 💔 he won't. although.

i was 100% sure he wouldn't before this ep, and now i'm just a little less sure. 🙁

everything is gray now.

the biggest thing i took away from this week's episodes...I really...really don't want anyone else to die...I really don't. none of them. not Ojima. not Hayashi. not Hiroaki. not Wada. not Hasegawa. not Watari. not Tamba. not Yanagi. not Hama. none of them. i really don't want anyone to die anymore.

[gullwrites]

a bar called safe house

summary: Maybe asking a friend to help you with your work isn't always a good idea, especially if a guy who secretly hates your friend shows up. Now, after asking her new associate she had gained through work to help hide something that happened, including her friend Tobias and this coworker deemed as 'knows too much', Klara is told to go to a specific bar with her still-a-bit-shocked friend to wait for the associates' people to be done at the apartment.

a conversation of a specific event in their early relationship/friendship i've been thinking of abt lately. idk. happens twenty years before cynosure events btw.

warnings: mentions of killing someone in self-defence, self-destructive thoughts, mentions of blood, mentions of murder

"I think my mom took me here a couple of times..."

Klara turned to look at it quickly, surprised at it suddenly saying something after a silent walk here. Not like she was completely surprised about its silence, it's not every day someone like Tobias could experience something like... that.

They were in a dim-lit cafe-bar thing called Safe House, making Klara wonder how literal the name was. She was told to take it here, while the people who worked for Birch took care of the... problem.

1:56 AM, barely anyone outside and no one in the cafe. Except for them. Only some people knew it was open at this time, those who were allowed to know, and the owners didn't seem to be keen on telling that to anyone they see on the street, either. One of them sat behind the counter, reading a book - Klara couldn't tell what, exactly.

"At a normal time, I hope?" She asked.

"Haha, no. Insomnia runs in the family, it seems," it replied, staring at the menu, "At 2 at night, I think. Maybe a bit earlier once. She knew someone who knew someone who was friends with the lover of the owner."

Klara wondered what kind of people its mother knew to know about this place. "God, didn't you live at, like, Medford or something?" She said, imagining how long it would take to get here from there. They must've had a car. "Gonna order the same thing now, too?"

"Oh, no no no, no, I've had enough of lemon iced tea in Miami. Never again." Tobias stepped closer to the counter and leaned on it. "Pomegranate spritz, non-alcoholic, please."

"Anything else?" The voice behind the counter asked, and it glanced at her, awaiting for her order.

"Oh, um, hang on, I haven't checked the menu myself yet," Klara said and stepped closer, cursing the dim light and small font in her head - and forgetting her glasses. "I'll pay, you go find a cool table to sit at," she said to Tobias, who stood still by the counter.

It looked around, then walked closer to her, clearly not wanting to be alone. After a moment of Klara squinting at the menu, it said, "You're an iced coffee enjoyer, why not order that? They had cold brew, too."

"Hmm... Yeah, I'll take that," she walked to the counter to pay, but the owner didn't seem to notice her as they just kept working on the drinks. "Where's the reader?"

"The payment was taken care of already by the person who told you to come here," they said, and motioned them to go and pick a table.

--

They picked the table by the window, by the wall. Klara watched Tobias slowly sit down, and how it took off its leather jacket to place it near the wall, like a makeshift pillow. She thought about sitting next to it for a moment, to maybe try and offer some comfort, or to just be close, but ended up sitting on the opposite side of the table instead. Maybe that would help her with less thoughts about 'being close'. Maybe. "You okay?"

"Hm, fun question," it said quietly, leaning on the table, "Maybe? I don't know. I guess you could say yes in a 'I'm alive' way. But everything else, a big question mark. Although, I do feel awful about what I did, you know? Or, maybe not awful, just- uh, I don't know, sorry."

"Nothing to apologize about, it's very normal."

It glanced at her, a frown on its lips. "What's normal about this situation..."

"Your reaction's normal. I mean, that must have been shocking, so of course it makes you feel weird."

"I wouldn't use 'shocking' to describe killing someone, but yeah, I guess," it sighed and covered its face with its hands, mumbling, "Oh my, what have I done..."

The owner brought their drinks, not paying any attention to what was happening. Klara wondered if they just didn't care, or if there have been weirder things happening here before.

Klara watched them leave, and then looked at it. "May I remind you that it was in self-defence. We already talked about this before." She hoped that its bathroom was soundproof enough.

Tobias opened its mouth to answer, but closed it quickly, reaching for its drink instead. To hold it, twirl it around slightly, not to drink - something idle to do while lost in thoughts. Klara watched the dark red liquid move in the glass, wondering what it could see in it. Looked at its fingers around the glass, still noticing some blood under its fingernails. Thought about the two big wounds she had taken care of on its left side, sitting on the floor in its bathroom, its smooth skin warm under her hands - she stopped herself for a moment, wondering if it's normal to think of something like that. At that moment it seemed to only care more about what body cream it could use after a shower. It ended up choosing vanilla, and Klara could feel its faint scent across the small coffee table, finding it interesting how much it seemed to care about something like skincare.

Maybe it was just thinking of something that wouldn't let it think of what was happening outside the bathroom, Klara thought, Not every day some people who work for a guy you don't know come help clean things up.

Suddenly, Klara realized she's been staring at its face the whole time as she was lost in her thoughts. She leaned back and picked up her glass of cold brew, hoping the paper straw hasn't melted yet.

Tobias didn't seem to be fully here, either. Its dark brown eyes, almost black in the cafe's poor light, seemed unfocused, and it seemed to barely move. Its hand was still holding the cocktail, thoigh it didn't twirl it around anymore. She fought the urge to place her hand on its. Didn't want to bother it.

"I think, um... I think I learned something. About myself. Or, well, um, I don't know," it finally said, its voice trailing off at the end, as it placed the glass down and leaned on the table.

Klara sighed, readying herself for it to call itself an awful person for what it had done, once again, or whatever it could've thought of. And thought of what to say to it about that, again. Maybe something like 'if you were, you wouldn't feel bad about it'... like some of her coworkers. "And what would that be?" She asked.

"I, um. This might sound weird, I guess, but. I don't think I would've acted like this before," it paused, as if looking for right words, "I mean, um. I think I would just, uh, give him what he wanted. Wouldn't care about him killing me. Maybe I'd even be okay with it. Or...something more positive, even? Anyway. Would've done that half a year ago. But now? I... I think I realized that, well, there are things for me to live for. Things to work towards, people to talk to, helping others... People to live for," it said, glancing at her for a moment as it said the last sentence. Klara thought if it was an accident, or just a reflex, or something. Surely it didn't mean anything by that. Did it?

Before she could reply, it continued, "I'm not trying to say what I did is right. It isn't. And I'll live with that my whole life. But, at that moment, fighting for myself seemed like a good thing..."

"And it was," she said, "said it yourself, many times, you didn't mean to. It was literally the first thing you said when I arrived."

It shrugged, looking down again. "I don't know, I- Ugh. I feel sick about it... but also, uh, free? In some way? Is it wrong?"

"No."

"Pfft. It feels like you're saying that only so I would feel better."

"Didn't you call me straightforward person?"

It smirked slightly, looking at her with its soft, brown eyes. "As a compliment. Um. I mean... It's a good trait to have. Along with all the other good traits you have, and, uh," it picked up its drink and took a sip, as if to stop itself from saying more.

"Then you know I'm being honest," she said and leaned closer. "Nothing wrong with defending yourself. Besides, guy was a complete asshole. And, well, a murderer. Imagine how many people he had killed before, both for work and for whatever he was doing on the side."

"Hmm," it looked at the glass again, its shoulders seeming less tense. "I hope none of my, uh, whining sounds weird or offensive to you, by the way. As in-"

"As in me being a corporate agent and doing all the shit that role brings with itself? No, don't worry about it. That's the hole I digged for myself."

"Should get you out of there and have you sipping iced coffee while looking at gulls on the beach."

"Hah. That would be fun, yeah... Though, only if you're there doing random commentary about things happening around us," she chuckled, thinking of the 'research trip' two days ago. How its laugh and stories seemed to fill her memories of that day.

"Oh, gladly," it said. "I, um. Thank you, Klara, for being here. And for all the help back at the apartment, too. For everything. It's helping... a lot. Means a lot."

She froze for a moment, thinking what to say. "I mean, technically it's my fault you got into that situation... If I didn't ask you to help me out with work, Pierce wouldn't have even know you're here."

"I'm sure he'd found a way to try and kill me in one way or another. Probably dreamed of it since the end of the project. Don't blame yourself."

"Only if you won't blame yourself for what happened, either."

It didn't say anything, staring at the drink its glass, yet she did notice it smiling more widely. Good, that's good, she thought, though failing to explain to herself why it was good.

She leaned back and looked out of the window. "I should ask if they're done with your apartment. You need to sleep, maybe write that you'll take a few days off as 'sick leave', calm doen before going back to your courses and work... and your thesis..."

"Yeah, uh. Oh, fuck, the thesis... Uh. Just remembered that Pierce destroyed all my data drives and my laptop while trying to get rid of all the information I had for your work."

"You don't have any copies left? Of your thesis, I mean, not the stupid work files. Fuck them."

It shrugged. "I, uh, fucking hell. Um-" it paused, finished its drink, and sighed. "You know what, I'll figure it out later. You're right, maybe I meed a break."

"Hm, you sure do," Klara thought about taking a few days off herself. Just to keep an eye on it, make sure it's feeling alright, she thought to herself.

She opened her phone and noticed a message from one of Birch's people, saying that the apartment is free now and that they'll contact her later about the next steps and updates. "You can go home now, it seems," she said to it.

"Did they, uh, clean up everything there. Where that happened, that is."

"Yep. Based on what I've seen before, they do a good job, so don't worry about it. It will all look completely normal." Except that you won't be able to forget about it, she almost added, wondering if it could move out despite the year-long agreement it had.

Tobias nodded. "Uh-huh. Um. How much do I owe this guy, by the way. Surely nothing he does is for free..."

"Actually, about that. Weird thing, but when I mentioned your name, he said it'd be for free. No, don't ask why. I don't know either."

"Huh. Um. Okay." It stood up and put its leather jacket on. "Weird question, but can you stay over? I, um, I know nothing's going to happen anymore, but-"

"Being alone doesn't feel right, huh? Understandable. Of course I'll stay with you."

"...Thank you."

[marzipanandminutiae]

Dear Giles,

It's good to hear from you again, as always. But how many times will you ask me before you accept that I can't give you an answer?

Did that really happen? It's a matter of public record. I've told you that before. The marriage, the death, the murders. You could look up the newspaper articles, if you went to Buffalo or New York City. It may have even been in the Baltimore papers; I've never checked.

But the rest of it- the ghosts? Was that real? I don't know. My mother thought they were, but my mother thought a lot of things. As I've told you before, she was- changed, in many ways, by her ordeal.

She thought the ghosts were real. She also looked at me sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, like I might be one.

I wonder if you can fathom what it's like, to be the bomb your own mother fears might explode?

Sometimes it all seems so ridiculous. She was born for a different world, my mother, a glittering citadel where everything somehow meant so much more and yet seems ridiculous to think of now. Sometimes it seems remarkable that she didn't die sooner, that she could have ever coexisted with supermarkets and Alka-Seltzer commercials, with Sputnik and Levittown. Some part of that world lived on in her, I think, even as the whole thing foundered and fell on the killing-fields of France and the skies above Germany. And it taught her how to relate to me.

Her daughter. His daughter, too, and that was the problem.

She loved me; I know she did. She tried not to fear me. But when all your life is a Gothic novel, what are you think about the seed of a murdering Byronic villain? I half-suspect that, if analysts had been as popular then as now, she would have had me on the couch every week from the time I could talk. As it was, she handled me a little gingerly, a little too much concern in her eyes, and I never knew why until I was old enough to read her book. To learn what I had sprung from.

You ask me if the ghosts were real, every letter, for years now. I don't know how many more we have left, so I don't want to waste time repeating myself.

I don't know. But her ghosts were real, and they haunted her until she passed them along to me and left me to walk with them alone.

Best,

Enola [scribbled-out word] Cushing.

if I spoke about it (ficlet)

“…it humbles my heart, for you are everywhere.”

The buzz and snap of fluorescent lights rushed in to fill the silence that followed his words. Humming quietly, two washers in front of them whirled fabric into colorful cyclones.

Two washers, side by side. Two people, ditto, watched them.

The woman’s lips twisted slightly. She pushed a gray-brown curl back from her face.

“That sounds like my mother.”

“It’s Rumi,” the man hastily supplied. “A great poet. Just great. Nobody wrote like him, before or since. Such beautiful words…”

“My mother was a writer, too.” She didn’t look at him, seemingly transfixed by the spinning suds. “She used to say that love drove us all. I don’t think she meant that as a good thing.”

“It’s good for some of us.”

The woman pressed on as if he hadn’t spoken. “She was unlucky in love. My father died before she even knew she was expecting. They weren’t married six months. My aunt, too. And my grandparents had both passed away, so she had no-one in the world.”

At last, the man glanced at her. “Were they very happy, though? For those six months?”

She looked at the floor for a long moment. “They loved each other.”

“My friend…” He seemed to briefly lose his words. At last, shaking his head, “…she was very happy. Incandescently happy- and that’s a word I use advisedly, incandescent. She was practically glowing.”

“It sounds like her lover certainly was.”

“Bioluminescent, I believe they call it. There’s algae like that, too.”

Rain pattered against the enormous front window. Outside, a truck sped through a puddle, splashing a young man who shouted curses after it. One of the washers spun to a halt and buzzed loudly. The woman stepped forward, loafers quiet against the linoleum, and began pulling out damp clothes.

When she finally looked at him, a wry smile didn’t quite reach her blue eyes. “Well, she found happiness, as you say. Love didn’t steer her wrong.”

As she opened a dryer and dropped in one garment after another, the man shrugged. Scratched his head. Squinted at her behind his glasses.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

“That’s alright; I didn’t give it.” She straightened up, extending a hand in his direction. “Enola. Enola Cushing.”

He shook her hand. “Giles Douglas. That’s a beautiful name, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Enola’s smile, this time, was genuine. It deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth, the ones that seemed to be waiting for it even when her face was blank. “Thank you. I’m named for a friend of my mother’s.”

Nothing more passed between them, in the half-hour Enola’s dryer took to bake  the water from her clothes. But, once she’d loaded up a drawstring bag and slung it over her shoulder, she paused, turning back to him.

“Here.” She held out the book that had carried her through the last thirty minutes, reading silently in a wobbly-legged plastic chair. Its jade green cover was cracked and threadbare, but the crimson crest and title stood out vividly all the same. “My tale for yours.”

Giles took it, leafed through a few pages, and frowned at her. “What’s this?”

Something flickered behind her eyes, a flash of uncertainty. At last, she wetted her lips with her tongue and replied, “A story with love in it.”

[bixiaoshi]

and when my father dies, will i be relieved or will the endless guilt be heavier

[egophiliac]

the lovers, reversed

(aka I'm still freaking out about Jou)

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[potahun]

dug a little deeper in my memory and here is the tally of times furuya responded truthfully to kazami and those he avoided responding to a direct question from kazami about himself:

(ztt anime only) kazami asks him if furuya has ever failed before: ODIOUS AVOIDANCE. JAIL FOR FURUYA. he responds "let's see... for example...for example...um" and kazami tells him it's enough. i've always wondered, i think hiro's death is his biggest failure, but....that's too raw for a nomikai to cheer kazami up huh. it could also be that he genuinely...doesn't remember his failures....but that's pushing it a bit. responding with a real failure would make him look uncool to kazami either way, though.

kazami asks him why he's going to the vet: TRUTH CARD ACQUIRED. furuya answers truthfully he's going there to get some vaccinations done.

kazami asks him what happened to him / how did furuya get injured at the curry shop: TRUTH CARD ACQUIRED. furuya answers truthfully "it's something from yesterday". it was. he didn't go into details, and kazami didn't inquire further, but it was the truth

kazami notes furuya looks preoccupied with time, and asks him if he has plans later: TRUTH CARD ACQUIRED. furuya answers he's going to play a game (he was!) and asks kazami not to repeat this to his PSB colleagues. he looks miffed that he had to reply, but he didn't have to? he chose to reply?

kazami asks if the doggy is doing well: TRUTH CARD ACQUIRED but it's not that impressive since it's a benign question and kazami knows about haro anyway. but furuya does add "he probably misses you" which. hinting kazami should come over sometime? or....

kazami doesn't really ask, but hints a question by saying "survival class? you told me you were on another mission" when furuya got trapped in a basement and had to ask kazami to rescue him: ODIOUS AVOIDANCE. JAIL FOR FURUYA. furuya hits him with his usual curveball of "a lot has happened". it's not exactly a lie though. i mean you could consider it the truth...actually maybe it is a TRUTH CARD ACQUIRED. hmm. but yeah, going into details would have made him look uncool

kazami asks him if he was showering just now (...kazami.): TRUTH CARD ACQUIRED. furuya responds truthfully with "yeah". then again, it's more a thing about why is kazami asking this? than why is furuya answering, since it IS a benign question, but also kazami, you don't have to ask

kazami doesn't straight up ask but he hints pretty heavily that he'd like to know about the makeup remover in furuya's bathroom, and the hairpins...and the toothbrushes...and the hair...: TRUTH CARD ACQUIRED. (WHY! HOW!) furuya takes him through each of the items, except the make-up remover, to prove he hasn't brought a woman home (because that's what kazami cared about) and even goes as far as to check with kazami if he had "any other unclarified doubts". ok

kazami asks furuya if he was at haido shopping mall the other day, cuz he tried to call out to furuya but furuya didn't reply to him :( : TRUTH CARD ACQUIRED. furuya basically lays out his whole doppelganger problem to him.

kazami asks furuya what exactly he is investigating by blowing on a train window: ODIOUS AVOIDANCE. JAIL FOR FURUYA. furuya hangs up before having to reply, and does say "sorry" and "thanks" for the help. a situation where replying would have made him look bad in kazami's eyes

kazami asks furuya what he's looking at in the basement of hatoyama farm (the shoji piece) cuz he's been fixated on it for a while: TRUTH CARD ACQUIRED. furuya shares what he knows (which is not much).

kazami asks furuya why he's fixated on kid all of a sudden: ODIOUS AVOIDANCE. JAIL FOR FURUYA. furuya even spins a lie about how he's concerned for the queen but oh! lies! jail for furuya! he just needed kazami's help because he has no friends!! but he can't tell kazami that. it would make him look bad in kazami's eyes. however, even so, he adds truthfully that "he has a good reason he can't lose to kid now". which is objectively wrong, cuz his reason is shitty and petty, but to him, it's a truth. so there's that.

all in all, 3/4 instances of jail for furuya (depending on how you look at the answer), and pretty much only in situations where telling the truth would make him look uncool in kazami's eyes. kazami's record of "make furuya tell the truth to him through direct questions" is still very high, considering the character that furuya is.

I just love kazami asking questions away like "why are you going to the vet?" "do you have an appointment after this or...?" "what are you looking at?" "i found make up remover in your bathroom (why is it there?)" to furuya with no thought for whether it could be linked to a confidential mission that he's not privy to. it's in his space and scope of vision so he's gonna ask. if furuya didnt want him to ask maybe he shouldnt be having him in the "able to notice and to ask" vicinity

[thatonesubwaypenguin]

Ingo bought a Pumpkaboo Spice latte and a Taro Milk Bubble Tea for Chandelure during his coffee break! ☕️🧋

Chandelure enjoyed the drink, but, she looked like a bowl of punch afterwards! 😅