#eating has always been tedious at best

[eldritchmochi]

its absolutely hilarious to me how much of coping skills involves feederism as a kink considering how much i personally hate eating

[wordbunch]

a/n: to all my moots and friends, no you didn't see me post this and yes im still your comfort lotr girl!!! to all others, hello & welcome to my newest obsession yes I have been corrupted. ENJOY!!!!

emperor Geta headcanons

warnings: toxic behavior obviously lol, mild nsfw-ish mentions, this man should be taken with caution by all means

this man loves like he was starved and then brought to a feast - he inhales and devours every inch of you, every texture, scent, sound, personality trait, quirk, he will eat you UPPPP in every sense of the word; he wants his senses full of you and he can't ever get enough

he is definitely a very obsessive and possessive person, observant, sharp, witty. also when it comes to prayers and sacrifices, he means business - he dead seriously prayed for a wife who was headstrong, intelligent, passionate and fearless; someone who could match him in every way, whom he could verbally spar with, word for word, but also someone who'd have his back unconditionally as he doesn't really have many people to genuinely rely on. he wanted an equal, and he was also hoping for someone either his age or even a bit older - he was afraid of having a childish partner who wouldn't properly fill in a tremendously important role

he is 110% a switch and it fully depends on what kinda day he'd had and the mood he's in

contrary to many interpretations and rumors, he isn't horny 24/7!!!! like yes he IS insanely attracted to you, but his days can be so impossibly draining and tedious so sometimes he would just rather lie down with you and have you close, than do anything else. also, he doesn't do quickies or anything of the sort; he likes to go all in and take his sweet time with you, or let you have your way with him. he enjoys being dedicated and not distracted in bed with you. all in or nothing for this man. and yes he is vocal.

one thing that makes him feel absolutely AMAZING (and you realized quite quickly thankfully)is when you draw him a bath - yes it must be YOU specifically who does it - and then either give him a shoulder rub or wash his hair, or both. he will become putty in your hands and relax more than he can explain in words. pamperrr him sometimes 🥹😭 he finds it so thoughtful that you do this for him at the end of a taxing day; after all, there is nothing in the world he wouldn't do for you.

speaking of, when Geta notices something is off with you, he won't ask if he can make you happy again somehow, he will ask you to name what you want him to do, and he will do it. you are the only person with that effect on him.

most definitely is turned on by someone who is smart and witty and perceptive. also he has very keen eyes and he can read even your slightest signals, even in a crowded room, especially in a crowded room, and he also appreciates when you can read him without him having to verbalize anything to you

the most Protective Person of all time, God forbid someone looks at you wrong!!!

showers you with gifts

you will LOVE this - he likes when you match in some subtle, or obvious, way, like the same pattern on your robes, the same gems on your jewels, anything that shows off your bond and shows that you belong to him and he belongs to you completely. 🤍

almost weekly he has night terrors and horrible dreams either about his childhood/how they were treated by their father, or about something awful happening to you. you always do your best to comfort him, knowing that you're the only one who can do that and the only one allowed to see him in such a state

so you whisper sweet nothings to him, like promises you would never hurt him in any way and that you will always do your best to protect him and love him

touch starved, touch obsessed, cannot sleep without you in the bed, cannot sleep when you are on a journey somewhere and misses you terribly; can barely wait for you to return and then grip you in his arms and just breathe you in

obsessed with your scent

very often you are his impulse control and you just have the power to center him when he's losing his grip on a situation

he is so used to being in control (or having to be), that he will really spiral when a situation is getting out of hand and he feels not powerful enough to stop or change something. he is really bad at holding it together when shit is going down, and half the time he seems to be two steps away from a breakdown. honestly, sometimes you just have to let him rage, panic, and vent it out in whatever way, and he will come back to himself- and to your embrace-shortly.

he needs your approval and appreciation like air. if you don't think he is doing a good job, if you don't think (and show) he is smart, capable, if he isn't the center of your universe, nothing else matters at all

he will combust if he doesn't have at least a hand on you at all times

sometimes he still can't believe how you love him - people who touch him usually either want something from him, fear him, despise him, or all those - your gentle touch is an unfamiliar, yet welcome sensation; he can't get enough.

let's be real he can get anything he wants from you when he looks at you with those gigantic brown eyes, but somehow he seems unaware of that (and you already give him everything anyway)

if big gatherings and constant celebrations aren your thing, he will not let you out of his sight and, as much as you need him there to comfort you, he needs you on his arm to feel happy, safe and fulfilled. you just complete each other. 💛

as much as he enjoys every single loving nickname you give him, especially if you call him 'your' anything - your love, your darling, your heart, your pride and joy - but even more he will melt if you just call him by his name, as one of the very few (if not only) person who utters it with love, softness, adoration...unlike many who spit it out hatefully like poison

Geta feels veryyyy smug and proud of himself when he does an act of service for you, such as giving you a massage or bringing you a drink - look at him, he gets served things left and right, but he remains SO devoted to you only.

well, was that something? leave it to me to humanize the worst (actually historical) person ever and give him some PROPER FLUFF🫠

[everythingspokenfor]

─ ・┈ ・ ─ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ─ ・┈ ・ ─

Being best friends with Bakugou has been one of the best things for you. He is a good hero, but a greater man. He cares even tho it may seem he doesn't.

Occasionally, complimenting the way Kirishima used he quirk, because he knows, how insecure he is about not having a "flashy" quirk. Pulling aside Kaminari, when he knows that overdoing his zaps, his brain fries. Looking out for Jirou, because he knows she stays quiet and sometimes overthinks things. Helping Mina design things for her agency under the disguise that he doesn't want it looking sloppy. Setting Sero straight when he knows he has gone off track.

Overall Bakugou looks out for his friends in a very subtle way. You notice it tho, you have been noticing it for few years now. Sharing an apartment with Bakugou has shown you a new side of him, you suppose. When he cooks beef, he makes 3 servings because the extra gets packed for Kirishima. When he makes brownie he makes a separate batch to send back to U.A. for Eri and co.

The cutlery he buys, always have to be in sets of 12, for when there is a family and friends dinner (even tho he jokes he doesn't like inviting extras).

He has a spare bedroom always equipped with new sheets and toiletries just in case someone wanted to crash in. His bathroom cabinets holding a container filled with extra brushes.

You know he cares. So you care for him too. You cook for him even tho your cooking skills aren't that good. You do his laundry separating the whites and blacks even tho you find it tedious. You dust around the house every once in a while too.

Hoping that may Bakugou figures out that you care for him too.

Tho you know he cares for you how he cares for everyone, cooking you food because you share an apartment and the responsibility that comes with it. Carrying a spare jacket because he knows, you desire to be fashionable will be taken over by your desire to be warm.

You wished he cared for you differently, perhaps it's selfish on your part to ask for more than what you are already given, but you can't help it. Especially when you know, how Bakugou cares when he loves someone.

You know she works at his agency, on the 4th floor, with pr department. Bakugou told you that. The day his team hired, you didn't thing you would loath someone you didn't even know back then.

Initially she was just a name, an employee then she became someone that was clumsy and funny. Then Bakugou told you, she smells like bakery and has a tendency to eat brownies during work. So the 2 brownie batches became 3. 3rd one being packed in pretty yellow boxes and taken to work the next day while you cleaned the brownie pans.

You suppose your jealousy subsided when you saw how happy he was. Meticulous Bakugou that woke up at 5 am to workout became Katsuki who woke up at 5 am and stood at his balcony giggling on the phone till 6. Beef servings became 4 because Kirishima told her that Bakugou cooks more then just sweets.

Always coming back home around 6 pm Bakugou turned into "I'll be staying at her place tonight" Katsuki.

Get togethers with friends became slightly suffocating because everyone talked about how happy she made him. Bakugou ducked his head and blossomed red till his ears. You teased him for it, throwing you head back and laughing. You knew he deserves happiness and you where glad she makes him happy.

It wasn't long before you met her. She was pretty, infact quite beautiful. Clumsy just like Bakugou told you, no wonder he found her endearing. She talked easily, always including everyone in the conversation. Despite that you felt like you were intruding, like it's not your apartment and as if you should look at the clock and bid farewell and leave.

You knew that apartment you moved in together after high school wasn't really a permanent home.

But you didn't realise you would want to move out so soon.

─ ・┈ ・ ─ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ─ ・┈ ・ ─

[r0ttenhearts]

wasted on you

idol! scaramouche x reader

sypnosis: after an argument with scaramouche he has to perform for a show. the show must go on, despite his mind being anywhere but the present

warnings: angst, arguments, no comfort

“scara, we’re on in 5!”

“i know, i know. just give me a minute.”

scaramouche fumbled with his phone, typing a hasty response and sending it to you. it had only been a few hours since you last spoke, or fought. your angry voice still ringing in his ears, the harsh words left between you two as he left you there. alone.

it was eating at him, the way you looked so defeated. so done.

but you’d still show up for his show, right? you never missed one. even after bickering with him you’d always show. that smile on your face as he met you backstage after every show, embracing you while you praised him for a job well done.

he hoped that would be the case as he stood next to his friends, ready to perform that tedious dance routine heizou had choreographed for the group. painted nails adjusted his mic, a wide smile plastered on his face as he moved with his friends in sync.

his dark eyes scanned the crowd, looking for your usual spot he’d get you tickets for. the memory made him smile, your complaints of not getting the best view when he’d given you a different spot.

his smile faltered for a moment before perking back up as he realized you weren’t there. that comforting presence he’d always find when he felt the most nervous about his ability to perform wasn’t there. the one person he wanted to watch him wasn’t there.

“if you’re going to keep whining why don’t you just leave?”

“do you mean that scara?”

“i can’t even bother to look at your face right now. archons, don’t you see how lucky you are to have me? i could have anyone but i chose you.”

“maybe i shouldn’t have.”

his blood ran cold, recalling his words to you. he hadn’t meant it. he only said it in the moment because he was so angry. so angry about you pestering him. so what if your third year anniversary was on the same day of the concert? you knew how important it was to him, right?

more important than your relationship.

the rest of the concert droned on. he felt like a zombie, the same strenuously practiced choreography being repeated once more to a crowd of thousands of fans. the same songs he’d practiced with the group leaving his lips until they left the stage, heading back to their dressing rooms backstage.

he hoped, prayed, that you’d be there, sitting in his chair and ready to give him a hug. but you weren’t. he was greeted with nothing but an empty room, his makeup on the dresser left the way he had abandoned it. scara swallowed thickly as he pulled out his phone, opening your chat. his heart dropped seeing the “delivered” notification missing.

a dry laugh escaped his lips, almost collapsing at his dresser chair. his fingers tapping on his screen harshly.

scara: (y/n)? did you really block me

scara: this isn’t funny

scara: don’t be like this please.

scara: i didn’t mean it, you know that

he could feel a lump well up in his throat as the “not delivered” notification popped up. his phone was just acting up, right? you didn’t leave him. you couldn’t have. you promised him you’d always be there for him, especially after his mother left him.

it seemed cruel, the way he checked all of his social media accounts to see that you had blocked him on every single one. your bio now missing a ring emoji that you both once had on your profile.

tears welled up in his eyes, fist slamming on his dresser as he thought back to the argument. the very thing that had led to this.

to say he had been stressed was an understatement. with both the concert and your anniversary coming up he was faced with the decision to pick between the two. it almost seemed too easy, but he couldn’t forget the way your face fell as he told you he was still planning to attend to the performance.

you understood, didn’t you? perfect little (y/n) always waiting for him. watching him as he played out his part in the career he enjoyed. he could make it up to you after the concert, anyway. your anniversaries would always come again, but he couldn’t leave his friends high and dry for some relationship.

they needed him! it wasn’t even a question when it came to the two.

but if you knew that, why were you so angry? why did you shout at him that you wanted him to pick you instead?

“i’m sick of this, scara! i want to feel important to you! i don’t want to come second to none for the things you care about!”

“what are you bitching about now? you say this like we haven’t already done something for the other two. stop whining.”

the angry tears in your eyes as you shoved him was not something he was used to seeing. he didn’t think you’d be so upset at the news. even through your anger, your silence scared him more.

“i just thought.. i mattered to you, scara. i guess after three years i still don’t get the memo..”

“don’t be stupid (y/n). if you behave after we can do whatever you want for this stupid anniversary. you’d like that, wouldn’t you? you’re like a dog. threatening to bite but wagging your tail if i give you a crumb of a promise. it’s pathetic, really.”

“i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean it.” he whispered to himself, eyes glued to your profile that now had him blocked.

“i wish you wouldn’t—“

“are you gonna keep bitching?”

that was the last night he saw you, the last night he ever called you his. he sat alone in that dressing room, his red eyeliner smeared as he cried into his hands. it wasn’t like him at all. he hadn’t realized how much he needed that bond, that intimacy he craved as he’d been lacking in it since he was a child.

maybe then he’d learn to cherish the things he had, before he pushed them away. he’s made a nasty habit of that, hasn’t he?

a/n: i got the idea to throw this together after the ask from @magica-ren so thank you!

part II

taglist: @samarill @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @ayameei @aqualesha @msdevilis

[merakiui]

So how would red riding hood Vil go about training wolf reader into being a good puppy

Someone totally not into pet play ur crazy

>:) so many thoughts for training!!!

Firstly, he’ll have you wear a collar. It’s a pretty thing, study and well-made, aesthetically pleasing craftsmanship. Perhaps it also functions as a shock collar as well or, if Vil is determined to use methods that are not so painful or risk ruining any part of you in some cosmetic way, then maybe the collar just emits a noise that sounds like a shock. You’ve no idea what to expect and maybe you’re already so tense with the threat of that hunter that you don’t even realize you haven’t been shocked. You still flinch all the same, your hands flying to your neck, but Vil clicks his tongue at you. You’ll be tricked into thinking so the more times you hear that crackle as it fools your brain with nonexistent shocks.

He dresses you in very nice clothes. He’s quite selective when it comes to fashion, and he has a very good eye for choosing based on what suits you best. Therefore, you’ll wear things that flatter your body type, that match your preferences and style (while also incorporating some of his as well), and that show off certain assets. You’ll wear lots of things with a low neckline so that your beautiful collar can be seen.

As for training, I think he starts with the house first. Teaching you proper etiquette and whatnot. You must never eat so sloppily. He’ll teach you what each utensil is for and where to arrange them on your plate once you’ve finished. These lessons are so tedious, but they’re simple enough to follow. If you’re smart enough to simply abide by his teachings, you’ll breeze through any and all of his house training. There’s just two things you loathe: the fact that Vil insists he be the one to dress you and the fact that Rook is always the one to help you bathe. Apparently, Vil has yet to see any indication from you that you’re trustworthy, so until he can trust you you’ll be supervised by either him or Rook. Or both if you’re unlucky.

You’re not sure which is worse: this demanding Red Riding Hood or that creepy hunter. >_<

If you happen to fail or refuse to comply, Vil is very simple with his punishments. You’re cut into with harsh criticisms, and they’re all the truth. Vil does not go out of his way to lie or sugarcoat when he offers his criticism. This is all meant to help you for the better. Also, he’s no fool. He’s tailored his lessons to help work on your weaknesses. He knows you’re very intelligent, perhaps too much for your own good when you try and fail to outwit and charm him or Rook into letting you go. You’re very clever. He’s merely assisting you where his assistance is needed most.

Usually, you’re given x-amount of spankings for however many minutes you refuse to cooperate. So if you remain locked in your room for fifteen minutes, to the point where Rook needs to break in to get you, you’ll be bent over the knee and spanked fifteen times. One for every minute of disobedience.

Sometimes Vil will take you outside his house in the woods and allow you to roam, but not beyond the boundaries he’s set. It’s all a test. You fell for it the first time and took off running, and Rook captured you within minutes. When it’s Rook, he’s not exactly one for punishments like Vil. He recognizes the abstract beauty in that, but he prefers to praise you for your efforts, failed though they were, instead. Scrubbing you clean from the tussle he had with you in the woods, calloused hands running down your soft skin, fingertips pressing into your shoulders to massage you, reaching to pet your ears or admire your tail. All while he rambles about how beautiful the chase you gave him was. It’s not your intention to cry out when he brushes over a bruise, nor do you mean to sound so erotic. What happens in that bath remains an easily uncovered secret, but Rook will come out of it with scratches and bites littering his forearms and throat and you’ll have a hole stuffed full of cum. >_< your every bite is like a addictive, disastrous kiss, he tells you, so it really doesn’t faze him. ;;;;

The only reason you’re not muzzled and treated more like a mutt than a person (wolf) is because Rook insists upon otherwise. And Vil agrees because, troublesome you may be, you are full of potential that he couldn’t dare stifle by demeaning you anymore than he already has.

[cosmic-slumber-party]

Training with Sanemi Shinazugawa

As his tsuguko

CW: Swearing, mentions of injuries

💨 As his tsugoku, you go through many hours of very tedious training. Of course, you can take it though, Sanemi would not have chosen you if you couldn't. This doesn't change the fact that you are always exhausted by the end of the day. Some days you don't even finish until morning.

💨 He is very hard on you, to the point you think he may hate you sometimes, but he just wants you to survive. If at the end of the day you come home, he has done his job.

💨 Sanemi is the hardest on you after he comes back from a mission, as he is reminded just how ruthless demons can be.

💨 When you get back from your own missions, Sanemi makes sure that you get the best care at the butterfly mansion. He will go a little easier on you after you have recovered, but it doesn't last long. He doesn't want you to keep getting injured by demons, so he needs to go even harder on you.

💨 If you come home completely unscathed, he becomes very proud. He doesn't show it though.

"No injuries this time? Must have been a weakass demon."

You know this means he's relieved.

💨 He may have a little say on what your next assignments may be. If they are ever suspiciously easy, you just know it was that stoic and aggressive Hashira.

💨 If you ever come home very injured, he beats himself up thinking about where he went wrong with training. As you get better, he comes up with different methods to help you defend yourself better. At first you thought he was punishing you for not being good enough, but with time you learned that this was his way of protecting you.

💨 You have had a couple Hashira come up to you asking if you want to be their tsuguko instead. Like Mitsuri and Tengen. Whenever Sanemi hears this, he immediately gets pissed off.

"Oh come on L/N! Come back with me and be my tsuguko. We can eat sweets together. I promise I won't be mean to you like Shinazugawa."

At the Love Hashira's words, Sanemi scowls. "Like you could train a tsuguko. L/N needs training not sweets. What are sweets going to do to a demon?"

You continue training, but do notice that the next day someone has left some red bean mochi in your room.

💨 Going on assignments with one another is always fun and stressful. He knows he can let you do your thing, but he always keeps an eye out for you.

💨 Overall, he is a great trainer and person. After some time, you both consider each other close companions. Both putting your own lives on the line for the other.

[vilsoo]

𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑩𝑶𝒀 ⌇LEON KENNEDY

ghost!leon kennedy x fem!reader || WC: 5,832

𖤐 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. after a dreadful divorce, retreating to your secluded lakehouse by the woods was all you needed. as you seek solitude, you may feel alone, but are you really alone…? especially when an old friend of yours has been haunting you?

𖤐 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. mentions of stalking, slight ooc leon, angst, hurt/comfort, haunted vacation home, voyeurism, murder, paranormal activity, sex with a ghost, gentle → rough smut, mirror sex, switchy!leon, 1980s setting.

𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑫/𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

[ANNOUNCER] Your attention please! Horrorland is now opened for all guests. We hope you enjoy our exciting attractions and parklands this year, such as the new parkland Teratophilia Woodlands and the return of Horrorland’s famous parkland, Sex and Horror City! Please remember to be mindful of other guests making their way through and abide by our safety rules. Thank you for coming to Horrorland this Halloween!

[HAUNTED HOUSE ANNOUNCER] You are now entering the Living Dead Boy live venue. This haunted house attraction depicts scenes of violence, intense loud audio, special effects, and content warnings posted. For a fun and safe experience, please follow our code of conduct: no touching live performers and decorations, no flash photography, and no eating. Do not block passageways, or this will result in expulsion. Smoking and drinking are permitted for our haunted houses only. We hope you enjoy.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

There was something about the shadows of your lakehouse, knowing every move of yours, beckoning and unhindered. The feeling of the meadows outside watching you, eyes hidden in the blossoming flower buds. Though this may be spine-chilling to some, you felt odd comfort in this foreign presence looming within the air you breathe…

You were a newly divorced woman living alone in the woods by the lake. This place was meant to be a surprise vacation home whenever you and your now ex-husband felt like traveling out of town— a place that you and him could also move in as you grow old together. But it was lucky for you that you never revealed this surprise for him ‘till this day. This was now a safe haven for you to start your healing journey and live the life you’ve always wanted outside of your dreary marriage.

Your ex-husband was a loving man, you must admit. Marriage is like a lush garden where the both of you must tend to it in order for it to grow; but the day when your ex-husband fell tedious about his love for you, the slow death of your marriage began. And there you were, trying your hardest to blossom that same spark you felt when you first fell in love. Trying your best to save your relationship and live the lavish life you both wanted. But it was no use in the end, resulting in this divorce.

Trying to forget your mundane husband who fell out of love with you, you decided to pursue your hobbies and interests. One of them was something that reasonably unsettled your husband; your strange and peculiar interest in paranormal activity. It’s human nature to be drawn into what can’t be easily explained, like supernatural occurrences and intriguing ghost stories. You’ve even heard about different cultures and their folklore about several spirits and theories of the afterlife, perpetuating your fascination of the paranormal.

You’ve always wanted to try to summon a ghost. And since you now lived alone, you could do whatever you want without your ex criticizing you.

It was your first night alone in the lakehouse and you were already in bed. All your tears have finally dried up and were soaked into your pillowsheets. As you close your eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, you didn’t realize how touch-starved you really were; after several weeks without intimacy and passion that you used to share with your ex-husband, you couldn’t take it.

Without shame, your hands travel down to your pajama pants as your arousal stirred erratically. You chafed your finger against your panties, feeling how wet you were, craving not only for an orgasm; but yearning for a better partner out there… Someone who knows how to take care of you and satiate your desires. You’ve never felt so alone, but it’s human nature; a psychological need for intimacy and connection.

This has been your next few nights alone in your new place, masturbating yourself to sleep and trying to forget the life you used to live. All while finding solitude and comfort in being alone.

But if you only knew that you weren’t really alone.

Somewhere in the silhouettes of your dreamscapes, there was this reoccurring man that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. But he was oddly, vaguely familiar— and he wouldn’t leave the synapses of your brain, haunting the corners of your mind like a vagrant thought. A man with brown hair with fringes on each side and deep brown eyes. Why couldn’t you recognize him? Was he a figure from a past life? Is he the foreign body that’s in the air you breathe and the gust of wind that hugs your skin every morning?

Your gut feeling was growing stronger every day; somebody was, in fact, watching you.

Haunting you.

Sending messages in your dreams.

Dreams where he’s murmuring to you words that you cannot make out, as if they were a distant echo. And when you’re awake, you started to notice slight differences inside your home. Candles mysteriously going out, lights flickering, unexplained noises, temperature drops, and decorations in the house being misplaced…

Piqued with such curiosity that you couldn’t stand it, you finally went out your way to try to communicate with the spirit world. There were various popular methods to summon ghosts, such as a seance ritual, a summoning circle, talisman charms, and the latest invention of the ouija board that you’ve been hearing many thrilling stories about. But you decided to do this the old-fashioned way.

On the floor, you carefully arranged sacred items on your living room floor by the fireplace to start the seance. With a circle of salt, dried herbs, incense, and most importantly the harmony of your soul. Everything in your environment must be quiet in order for the lurking spirit to appear, and you meditated for a few moments just to put your mind at ease with the intention of allowing them in. Then, you murmured softly:

“Are you here with me, spirit?”

“If there are any spirits in the room with me right now, please let me know you are here.”

“You are safe here.”

You kept your eyes shut as you murmured towards the spirit to reveal themselves. You even recited some pure affirmations or mantras just to resonate them into a safe and welcome environment. That’s when the temperature suddenly dropped again and the cool air drizzled your skin with goosebumps. Shivers began to crawl down your back that the hair in your arms and neck all raised. And when you slowly open your eyes, a translucent figure materialized right before you; the same vaguely familiar man with brown hair and skin as pale as moonlight, that’s been living in your dreams was not other than your ex-husband’s best friend:

Mr. Leon Kennedy.

The same man that was your husband’s best man on your wedding day.

A very close friend of yours as well.

Before the ghost of Leon could even utter your name and try to calm you down, many emotions were already stirring in your head that your heartbeat expelled all of the air from your lungs at this bewildering, obscure sight. You were frazzled from confusion, horror, and shock. And it wasn’t just the sight of a real ghost that utterly scared you— the fact that a man you’ve known for years and grew close with, who you thought disappeared from your life with no explanation after the divorce, was actually dead.

How long as he been dead?

Was he the one that’s been watching me all this time..?

“Leon..!?” you sputtered, your vision suddenly blurry from tears welling. “You’re… you’re—“

“I know. I know.” Leon sauntered closer to you with caution and got on his knee to reassure you, feeling his heart sink when he sees you crying. “You deserve an explanation. And I tried my best reaching out to you in your dreams, but I didn’t think it’d be that difficult.”

“How long have you been… gone?” you sniffled. “I tried calling you several times after Wesker and I were through, but you never picked up. I thought you took his side and never wanted to speak to me again—“

“No, no! It’s not your fault. That’s not the case at all,” he reassures. “But now that I’m here, I’m going to tell you the truth and only the truth.”

“The truth? What truth..?”

Leon swallowed thickly as he stood up, averting his numb gaze to the wooden floor. You’ve never seen him in such a lifeless, emotionless state. You wanted to give this poor man a hug, if only that were possible that you can physically feel him one last time. All you could think about were the memories from years ago where you would laugh at his silly and awkward jokes, inviting him over for barbecue where he’d bring the meat for your ex-husband to grill, or even help out in the yard.

It made your chest tighten, the way your heart sank deeply in sorrow for not reaching out to Leon one last time. For not cherishing your final moments together. When you reflect on your memories with him, you recall how he always remembered small details about you that your ex-husband wouldn’t even remember. How he was helping you with housework, trying to brighten up your day with his jokes, wanting to play bingo together, or even going as far as taking your side when you and your ex argued.

He was always there for you. Always. And you couldn’t believe that he would show more support for you than your ex…

“The truth is… I was murdered. By him.”

Such daunting words you would’ve never imagined a day in your life to be uttered out of somebody’s lips. The more your confusion paralyzed your coherence, you weren’t able to retain or process anything. How did it all come to this very moment? Why would your ex-husband, a close friend of his from childhood, murder him just like that? Why would he go out of his way to kill an innocent man? Leon could see the distraught expression on your face; finding out that the man you married and loved was a killer. But the moment your mind didn’t doubt it at all was what was utterly terrifying about this situation.

His gaze traveled towards the window, staring absentmindedly at the trees outside as he began to explain. You wanted to comfort him the best you, getting up from your knees and standing beside him to stare at the window together.

“A couple of weeks ago before your divorce finalized… Wesker invited me to go hunting with him. We traveled to the woodlands together and brought our guns. But when we separated just to find some deer, I thought I was alone until he snuck up behind me and he— he swung an axe at the back of my head before I could even turn around.”

You eyes widened in horror, feeling your gut wrenching from such a traumatic memory. It was a shame that the deceit you've engulfed yourself with now became your truth; your husband had underlying sociopathic tendencies. He was a murderer. You thought he was just anti-social at times and would lash out at you over nothing, making everything your fault. But it was all him. He was the problem.

You were lucky you managed to leave him. But Leon, unfortunately, wasn’t. His soul might be trapped, possibly cursed to haunt the human world forever until the act of freeing his soul from an unfinished business. More tears trickled down your face as he continued his story.

“Suddenly I woke up alone in the woods. I thought it was all just a dream or a hallucination— but the first thing I thought about was you. I ran all the way to your house to make sure you were okay. I wanted to tell you that Wesker attempted to kill me— but that night when I made it to your house, you couldn’t hear me knocking on the door. Knocking on your windows, calling out your name as you were doing the dishes and listening to the radio. It wasn’t until I tried to open your front door that my hand phased right through it. When you couldn’t see or hear me, that’s when it all came to me… I was dead. I’m a dead man.”

“Oh, Leon,” you confided, sniffing and wiping your tears. “I— I’m so sorry—“

“Please. It’s not your fault,” he murmurs softly, his translucent hand gently caressing your face that it felt like a tickle. “I always knew you had a thing about ghosts. I thought maybe you could try to summon me or something like that. Maybe feel me in the air or in the wind, but I’m glad that some messages I sent to you went through. And now I’m here. With you.”

You chuckled. Leon was always the one to cheer you up with banter whenever you told him you were having a bad day. “I just— I kept seeing you in my dreams but I couldn’t recognize you. But just feeling your presence in the house was… comforting for me. It’s like I knew there was a ghost here, but it wouldn’t threaten or harm me. As if you were… protecting me.”

Leon held his breath from the soft gaze in your eyes, taking in him like he was traipsed in a spiderweb. Just like the same feeling he always felt when he was alive with you, the infatuation spread in his limbs— he always adored you. He always admired you. And he did, incandescently, love you. He knew it was unrequited. He knew there would never be a day he would profess his love for you; he would rather take that secret to his grave. But now that he’s a half-dead man given one more chance to see you again, he didn’t want to hold back anymore. The beautiful connection he had with you was what he cherished for the longest, something so special that he would never want to lose again.

“I’ll always be here to protect you,” he murmured fondly. “Because, I…”

There was this sweet sensation interwoven, burning every molecule of desire in your bodies. Leon has been aching to caress you, to hold you safe in his arms, to touch you in places that sends you right over the edge... Even in death, even when he doesn’t have a body or bones or a heart, he can still feel himself burning with agitation and anticipation; he's never been in such a tense moment with you, especially alone together…

The way you looked into him. Taking in his face. His curious gaze attaches onto yours, like he was being traipsed into your hypnotic mystery, willingly surrendering himself to you this time. For the first time, he could see a hint of vulnerability in your longing gaze that he’s never seen before. And it wasn’t just infatuation or adoration; together, the both of you were consumed by this untamable desire floating in the air.

“I… I’ve loved you ever since I met you. And I wish I told you sooner—“ his voice trembles, shaking his head in desperation— “I wish it was me that you were marrying when I saw you walking down that aisle, I wish it was me living together with you as your husband— God, even in death I still wish that I could have you as mine—“

“Leon,” you spoke softly, inching closer to him. “I’m already yours. I’ll always have you in my heart. Because I loved you, too.”

Just hearing you profess your love for him from those sweet lips of yours, which he believed would be unrequited until he died, made everything feel surreal. He felt alive again. He felt his entire soul rejuvenate. Death was no longer a barrier for his blossoming, fond love for you.

“I wish I could kiss you,” you continued. “If only I left Wesker long ago, I would’ve been able to feel your lips on mine already.”

Leon felt the way your soul was yearning for him, resonating right through him that his gaze suddenly drifted to the body mirror behind you. You turn your head and see only your own reflection— but when Leon lightly touched your shoulder, his inexplicable sensation made you flinch. As if you could physically feel him, a cold, unseen caress brushing against your skin.

“How— how is that possible?” you gasped, eyes still attached on your reflection.

A small smirk stretches on the corner of his lips. “If I remember correctly… you told me before that mirrors are a conduit for ghosts to make contact with the human world. I can touch you, but… you can’t. Can you feel me when I touch you like this? Is this alright with you?”

A deep sigh falls from your lips when Leon’s broad chest is pressed against your back, breathing softly into your neck and continuing to caress your arms. This tingling, blossoming sensation was something you’ve never felt in your life that it made your own blood freeze. You were rendered docile to your tantalizing effect; a state that your ex-husband rarely had you in when you were intimate together. Your breathing grew heavier and the knots in your stomach became contorted.

Never in your life have you ever crossed the thought of having sex with a ghost. You didn’t even think it’d be possible. But this ghost— this spirit looming in the air you breathe— was a man you deeply adorned, a man that passionately loved you before his life was robbed. And being touched like this, being caressed and the way Leon caresses every inch of your body as if he was worshipping you, was just saccharine of all things. Bliss, euphoria, passion— passion is the word to describe your rapport, to describe how well you fit together in the most vulgar ways. This was Leon’s everything. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, he couldn’t have been happier now that he finally has you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this to you—“ he softly kisses your neck, “—for so long… Day and night, watching you play with yourself to sleep… It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’d jerk myself off to you fingering yourself like that. Is it alright if I touch you like this?”

His nonplus words slipped your mind completely; in fact, you were slightly amused by Leon being a total pervert as a ghost. You let out a whimper from his ghostly hand slowly traveling down your body, eyes never leaving the mirror.

Leon took in everything that makes of you in cold calculation. You were trapped in a bliss, faintly moaning from his caresses that dissolved you. It was almost bewildering to see your own nightgown ruffling by an invisible force in the reflection, lifting the seam to reveal your panties. Your body writhed as he glides lower and lower, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin when his fingers are chafing your swollen cunt…

“Oh, Leon,” you moaned softly, “please kiss me. I need to— It feels so good—“

“You don’t have to ask me twice, beautiful.”

When your head slanted back, Leon’s lips pressing onto yours felt intangible, yet oddly palpable. Such beautiful lips that possess a cold, ethereal softness, almost as if you’re brushing against a whisper of frost. Both of you were too enraptured by this that the kiss fades from soft to sloppy, collecting your breaths every few seconds then finding your lips back on his. The way he kissed you as his fingers rubbed on your clit— your mind went crazy over this tender and hauntingly ravenous moment of consuming each other right in front of the mirror… How you needed him, how you craved for him, even in death.

“I’ve always wanted you this way… To make love to you like this,” he cooed in your ear. “Let me love you, Y/N. I’ll make you forget about that man. I’ll fuck you and make you come in ways he couldn’t...”

You were soaked, completely drenched that your arousal trailed down from your cunt to your inner thighs. All you could do was whine in such carnal heat. Who knew that a man like Leon could render you as a needy, deprived slut? You and your body obliged to his desires, surrendering yourself to his ghostly presence as he toys with your cunt in front of your mirror. He takes his cock out, feeling his tip brushing the folds of your cunt and coating it with your juices. As he slides it between your thighs and rubs against your pussy, you’re already wrecked— and he’s not even inside you yet. It was a hot sight to see in yourself on the mirror losing your mind over an invisible force teasing you like this.

“Need you inside me, please,” you beg to the ghost. “I can take it all…”

Your jaw slackened, throwing your head back in pleasure when Leon slid inside you, the white-hot waves of sensation coursing in your bodies. “I’ve dreamed of this every night,” he whispered, the husk in his voice filling your ears. “I’ve always dreamed of what you felt like… Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

Your heart was racing like wildfire. His affect on you was like roses of desire blossoming in your limbs, growing and spreading to all parts of you so intimately. With your inhibitions tossed away, nothing didn’t matter to you anymore except for this moment. You only needed Leon to fulfill the insatiable hunger you’ve both been hiding ever since the day he comforted you when your ex couldn’t.

The feeling of him being inside you, clenching harder on him and hearing your fervent moans made his mind raw and twisted. Leon’s mouth buried into your neck, your darling aroma filling his nose. You could hear him groan and pant heavily against your ears, a rush of heat coursing through his blood like wildfire that it drove him from passionately making love with you to relentlessly fucking you right there.

You were desperate to grasp on something, bending yourself over just to grip onto the frame of the mirror as he thrusted hard into you. Leon loved the way you smiled at yourself, loved that you were enjoying all of this.

“I— I’m not gonna last much longer,” he panted out. “You— you just feel so good…”

You arched your back further for him to show your ass off, feeling him gripping it with his large hands as he bucked his hips and fucked into you much faster. “Please— please come in me, Leon,” you pleaded as your eyes fell half-lidded.

“Fuck. I’ve been dreaming to hear you say that to me, too. You’re so fucking hot when I fuck you like this…”

Such filthy, lewd sounds you made that you never knew were possible with Leon’s translucent body were echoed off the walls of your lakehouse. You could feel him raking against your insides as if he was molding your cunt to hug his ghost cock perfectly. Electric sensations skyrocket through you before you could even register it all, your glossy eyes welling with tears and your face all ravished and wanton beyond comprehension.

It was a fleeting second after you realize your orgasm had already washed over you, your hips stuttering like a riptide from this delirious torment. He really told the truth— Leon fucked you way better than your ex did that you were completely drunk by your own orgasm. His cock pulses against your soaking walls, his balls aching to be emptied inside you. A few more thrusts and he's letting out low groans with hot, sticky strings of his cum flooding into you.

Hot breaths fill the air as the two of you calmed down from your intense orgasms, feeling your rapid heartrate slowing down. After a moment when everything fell quiet, you turn your head to check on Leon, who suddenly had a tumult, concerned expression on his face.

You frowned, turning around to stand before him. “Are you okay, Leon?”

His gaze was attached on the floor, then steadily drifted back onto your face. “I’m fine, it’s just—” he holds your hand again, glancing at the window. For some reason, your heart started racing again, as if there was another confession that Leon might’ve been hiding...

“…I need to show you something.”

The both of you walk along the trunk of the woods, following suit behind Leon while the leaves crunch beneath your feet. You weren’t that far from your lakehouse, but something about him not telling you where you were going made your stomach cave into your spine. It felt as if your gut was telling you that you were about to uncover a dark and morbid secret lying in the heart of these woods, something so ghastly and lurid for the human mine to comprehend. It was strange to endure since you’ve known every inch of these woodlands for years.

Unfortunately, your gut feeling was correct.

Leon refused to say anything. Instead, he looked away from the macabre sight before you. He had a solemn, grim expression on his face as if he was ashamed of this, or culpable of everything that lead to this point. Tears once again started welling in your eyes, covering your mouth when you sobbed in such anguish. This was all too much for you to endure.

It was his rotting, dead body. Abandoned, forgotten, never found by anyone. The axe was nowhere to be found, but his old, dried blood was still spilled everywhere from his head. Suddenly, you were hit by deja vu, as if your dreams that Leon was sending you messages through were trying to lead you to his body as well.

“You were— you were not that far from the house,” you sniffled. “I should’ve— How did I not see your body!? If only I ventured further down here, I could’ve found you a long time ago and your body didn’t have to rot alone like this—“

“Y/N, no. Again, all of this isn’t your fault,” Leon protested, trying to cheer you up with his ghostly embrace. It reminded him of the time you cried in his arms before from a bad argument with your ex, and he comforted you just like this.

“But I just can’t leave you rotting like this! I need to call the police— You can’t just be left alone after how long ago you were murdered—“

“Look, I appreciate you for wanting to give me a proper burial, but… there’s one more thing I’ve been needing to tell you for so long.”

“Oh god— what is it now, Leon? How many secrets did you take to your grave?!”

He held onto both of your shoulders, swallowing thickly before he confessed; “I was supposed to kill Wesker.”

You blinked rapidly, frazzled once again with confusion when your brain fully processed his words. “Wait— supposed to? What does that mean?!”

“Shh, shh. It all makes sense— why I’m stuck being a ghost in the human world and that I can’t go to the afterlife. Wesker, he— when we went out during the hunting trip on the last day of my life, he was suspicious of us. I don’t know why, but I guess his jealousy got the best of him and that’s why he killed me. But little did he know, I was planning to kill him that day, too. I hated the way he treated you. It made my blood boil. He was a horrible husband and we both knew that. I was ready to kill him, but—“

“—you were too late,” you muttered weakly, another tear trickling down your face. “Leon…”

“No, it’s fine. You are justifying angry and upset about this whole situation. And I know— resorting to murder would’ve just made things worse. But that’s— that’s all that I wanted to tell you. I’m just happy that you left him instead and didn’t end up in danger.”

“Happy? How can you be happy when he’s still out there walking freely like he didn’t murder you?” you exasperated. “You have unfinished business. That’s why you’re stuck here. It’s not fair.”

Leon’s eyes widened in horror that he had to take a step back. “Y/N. Are you saying—“

“In order for your soul to be put to rest… we’re gonna kill my ex.”

This was the most diabolical request that Leon has ever heard from you, but he didn’t stop you at all. This was, after all, a plan he was originally supposed to carry out long ago. The days you’ve opened up to him about how he was a horrible husband to you was when it all started. All pent up from underlying anger, rage, and jealousy. But if only Leon protected you back then by keeping distance from you as his wife without leading to suspicion, none of his would’ve happened.

When nightfall came around, that was when the plan started. This wasn’t a murder that was going to take days, weeks, or months to plan; it was all happening tonight. And all you had to do was call him one last time at a phone booth on the street, giving him the location to a diner that was a few miles away by your lakehouse. Pleading to him that you wanted to talk things out one more time with him, begging him to come back, and promising that you were going to be a good wife for him again.

It was a good thing he fell for it. And once he said across the line that he was on the way, it was Leon’s turn to carry out the plan.

If you remembered correctly, the street that heads straight to the roadside diner also passes by the woodlands you stayed at. The road was dark as it stretches into the distance, flanked by the dense and overgrown trees that cast long, eerie shadows across the pavement. When your ex’s truck passed by alone, Leon’s ghost stood in the middle of the street. Struck with terror, he lost control of his car as he slammed the brakes. His truck ended up drifting off the road and into the woods, crashing into a tree trunk.

Sadly, the bastard was still alive.

But he knew what he saw; the ghost of a man that he swung his axe on, literally bashing his brains out and leaving his dead body alone in these woods. Wesker got out of his smoking truck, frazzled and dazed from the crash as a small drop of blood was streaming down his forehead. He was pissed as well.

Leon observed him diligently from a distance he blended in with the shadows, hearing Wesker fuming and cursing at himself while also kicking the pile of dead leaves on the forest floor. He didn’t have his phone to call for an emergency and the phone booth you used was still a few miles away. Of course, because of his injury and his head still pounding from the impact, he knew he couldn’t make it…

“Not yet,” you whispered to Leon as you were hiding behind a tree nearby. “I think he has a concussion. He can’t walk straight.”

“I think we should lure him deeper into the woods away from the street,” he suggested. “If we want this to make it look like an animal attacked him, he shouldn’t be out here.”

“Alright. Let’s fuck around with him, then.”

Wesker’s eyes became bloodshot, each throb in his head reverberating and pulsating through his entire being. Because of his rage and distress making him more disoriented, he felt as if the world around was blurring.

“Wesker?” you called out from a distance, a faint echo in the back of his frazzled head.

“…Y/N?” he slurred, his speech now slow and garbled. He furrowed his brows and squeezed his eyes shut trying to block out the pain, all while he tries to follow the sound of your voice.

Deeper and deeper he treaded weakly into the dark forest, trying to find you despite his injuries. He kept mumbling words to himself that you couldn’t make out. His knees began to feel like marshmallows, losing his balance, stability, and his sense of direction like he was this helpless, pathetic zombie. But he wasn’t going to be the only dead man stalking within these woods from now on….

It wasn’t until Leon stopped him in his tracks, standing menacingly a few feet away from your disoriented ex. And even though he was still bleeding and his thoughts were all mush and incoherent, nothing could’ve prepared him for the horror of seeing the ghost of the man he murdered in cold blood.

This was all merely an illusion. A nightmare. A hallucination. He was in a coma. He’s been asleep for years. Leon isn’t real. Leon is dead. His wife never called him. His wife never wanted to come back.

It was all just a dream, just a very bad dream.

All of this isn’t real.

“Hey, pal. You find any deer for us, yet?”

Before Wesker could ever inhale his last breath, before he could even register anything, you stood behind him with your axe raised high, the blade gleaming wickedly in the moonlight. You then swung it down with terrifying speed, catching him off guard with such a brutal impact. A sickening thud as it struck the back of his head, embedded right into his flesh and knocking him right onto the ground with parts of his brain and more of his fresh blood spilling out, splattering onto your face and clothes.

If only you did this sooner. Housewives poisoning and murdering their idiot husbands have been a big thing on the news, lately.

When everything died down and your adrenaline soothed in your veins, you dropped the axe as Leon ran over to check on you. But you couldn’t help but press your lips on his again in urgency, those sweet, ethereal ghost lips that seem to hypnotize you. He kissed back and held onto your face, the silver veil of the moonshine peaking through the leaves of the trees from above and shining onto him. Even after you had just killed someone, the way Leon makes you feel was so tender and ephemeral. You really loved this man so deeply and passionately...

“I really don’t want you to go yet,” you lamented as you pulled away from the kiss, caressing his face even though you couldn’t feel him. “Please tell me this isn’t goodbye. I can still see you, right? If I summon you through seance?”

He kisses your forehead in reassurance. Your melancholy gaze drifts off to the twinkling sky, trying not to cry again from the thought of Leon’s presence not accompanying you anymore, especially when you had just reunited with him tonight. Never have you been this emotional after everything that had just happened.

“You know that I’ll always be with you,” he promises. “I’ll be in the air. In the grass. The trees. The flowers in your garden… always looking over you. Just as long as you live your life… for me. Will you promise me that?”

You nodded slowly, your nose flaring from trying not to cry again. “I’ll love you forever, Leon. I won’t ever forget you in my heart.”

For the first time, Leon shed a small tear, as if you made a vow from your soul onto his soul. He knew this farewell would be bittersweet, but with the promise of your souls being intertwined in life and death, you will always find a way back to each other. A beautiful, transcending connection that would never be broken; this was another dream of Leon’s that was fulfilled, allowing his soul to finally rest in peace.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐎 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. do not steal, plagiarize, translate, or repost/share any of my works on any social media where minors have access. will be cross- posted on my ao3 soon.

𖤐 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @gloomiigloom @cloudi-eyes333 @shintax-error @oneyedwillie @st0nedbitch @alittletiredcry @ghoulette @imkrul @salems-trial @jnoppy @awkward-platypus @ggukiespace @migueloharacumslut @writtenbyawoman @colortheoryrocks @dvafoxxystrashcan @bigg1ow @doestalker @ghostlvmi @deftoneslut004 @yongi-lee @mostamazingpersonevr @isfleur @satxoru @

[ghostybat]

Omg I'm begging you to write the Bed Chem thing the previous anon asked 🙏(bless you previous anon) I'm going feral over here, you would write it so well 🙏😭

No for real, bless that anon, cus thinking about that au while listening to bed chem has me screaming 😭

But you 🫵 personally have so much more confidence in me than I do in myself. Like I believe my writing is subpar, it's okay at best there's so many other writers that could do this au so much better than I can and I think that they should go ahead and do it I would eat it up in a heartbeat! They most likely understand the characters better than I do too 🥲.

But! Because you believe in me more than I believe in myself I went ahead and wrote the longest thing I've ever written so far. I used so much brain power. Took me two whole days just to end up with 19 minutes of reading material writing is hard 🥲

So here you go! For you anon!

Bed Chem

“How much longer until this thing is over?”

Stephanie checked her phone, seeing that it was only 9 PM, and let out a soft groan. “Four more hours…” She had a look of utter boredom on her face.

“Great.” Damian sighed, taking a sip from his third champagne glass of the night. Damian wouldn't call himself a drinker, but these galas tended to be a little easier and go by faster with some alcohol in one's system. He had his first glass an hour into the event, his second two hours after his first, and now his third. He made sure to drink plenty of water in between—he wanted to feel lighter, not drunk.

Stephanie was sitting at one of the many tables while Damian leaned his weight against a pillar next to her.

The gala had been for some charity event—it always was, and of course everyone had to attend despite their lack of enthusiasm.

Damian and Stephanie decided to retreat to a quiet corner as they watched Bruce mingle with his many business peers, Tim getting interviewed for the fourth time that night already, Jason and Cassandra sticking by the dessert table playing judge, seeing which dessert was the best, and Dick himself was on his fifth drink talking and mingling among the rich, with Barbara at his side already deciding that he had had enough for the night.

“So,” Stephanie started, “how many interviews have you done so far?”

Damian took one more sip of his glass before putting it down. “Three, and I hope it stays that way.”

It was relatively normal for the Wayne kids themselves to get interviewed at these events. They get asked about their opinions and current ventures. Damian had already been asked multiple times about his art gallery that had been open for a month and if he had plans for any new pieces to be added. And as much as he loved talking about his art, it did get tedious having to answer the same questions over and over again. He would never understand how his father and Tim did it.

About another hour in, Damian had taken a seat next to Stephanie, watching her play some absurd mobile game on her phone when he decided to scan the crowd one more time, and his eyes landed on someone who looked to be a bit out of their element.

From what Damian could see, the man was tall, somewhere between his father's and Jason's height. He looked broad, though it could be the suit he was wearing giving that illusion. Damian hoped for the latter. His hair was curly, and despite the large frames on his face, it was easy to tell that he was handsome. All that being said, the man looked rather flustered despite the friendly smile on his face.

Damian was interested. Which was a rarity in itself.

Damian hardly ever found himself being physically attracted to people, good-looking or not. So, on the rare occasion that he did find himself physically drawn to someone, it just so happened to be a random, what seemed to be an overly friendly reporter trying his best.

Damian supposed that he simply found it cute watching the man get a hold of his bearings in what seemed to be a new environment for him.

He'd, of course, never say any of this out loud, though.

“Who's that?” Damian asked, pointing his chin in the direction of the curly-haired man who was now interviewing some socialite about who-knows-what.

Steph looked up from her phone, following the direction of Damian's eyes. “Oh him? That's… Jonathan… Kent!” Her voice raised as she remembered the name. “He interviewed me earlier, asking about my recent performance with the Gotham Orchestra.” Stephanie had gotten into a prestigious music college through her piano skills, landing her a job with said orchestra. “He's new, I think? New here anyway.” And she was right; neither she nor Damian had ever seen him before, and they tended to remember which reporters were regulars at these types of events.

“Why are you asking, by the way? Do you like him?” Stephanie gave a playful grin, turning her attention back to the younger man.

“Please, I just learned his name.”

“So you can be attracted to someone and just know their name.”

“Hm.”

Oh, and in that moment, Stephanie knew exactly how she was going to spend the rest of this night. Because despite how hard Damian tried to hide it, she could tell he was interested in the good-looking stranger; he wouldn't be asking questions otherwise.

“He has an accent, you know,” she scooted herself closer to Damian. “It's southern… or at least I think it is… I actually don't know if I'm being honest with you.” And she really didn't; all she knew was that there was definitely a twang in the other man's voice when he interviewed her. “All southern accents sound the same to me, but it’s definitely country!”

Damian continued to eye the man, watching him try his best to get one interview after another.

‘An accent…’ he thought.

‘I'd like to hear it…’

And Damian decided that was enough motivation for him to get up from his seat, take one last sip from his glass, and make his way toward said reporter. “I'm gonna go talk to him.”

Stephanie watched as Damian straightened his clothes and made his way across the room to where a flustered reporter stood. She took that as her opportunity to stand up herself and make her way to the dessert table where Jason and Cassandra had pretty much planted themselves for the night.

“Guys! Look…” As she got closer to Jason and Cass, she made a spot for herself right between them and focused their gaze onto Damian.

“Damian's gonna talk to that new reporter,” she said, grinning.

Jason and Cass, who had been enjoying their time eating the different desserts and getting out of interviews—with Cass simply giving one-worded responses and Jason just flat-out refusing—followed Stephanie's line of sight to where Damian was, in fact… talking to a reporter… willingly.

“Damian doesn't talk to reporters unless he has to. What's his goal here?” Jason watched, confused more than curious.

Stephanie rolled her eyes.

“He's going to flirt.”

Great, Jason was even more confused now.

“Damian flirts?”

“Sometimes. He knows how.”

“Why, though?”

And Stephanie groaned because it really should be obvious.

“'Cause the reporter's a good-looking guy, and it's better than sitting around at this stupid gala being bored!”

Jason supposed that made sense.

“Fair. Guess we can see if he gets shot down or not.” He chuckled at the possibility.

“Oh please,” Stephanie snickered. “Damian's not gonna get shot down; he has the charm of his dad and the looks of his mom—he could have everyone in this room wrapped around his finger if he wanted to.”

And that was true; Damian's looks alone could command a room. The soft and delicate features he had inherited from his mother were a sharp contrast to his already somewhat standoffish personality. It made Damian the perfect mix of pretty and mysterious. In fact, most of the time, he didn't have to go out of his way to charm people at all, but there were occasions where Damian knew exactly how to use that Wayne charm to his advantage.

Whether this was one of those times, however, was hard to tell.

As Damian made his way through the crowd, it quickly became clear just how tall this reporter was the closer he got. He was definitely around his own father's height—6'2” if Damian had to be exact. He easily towered over Damian's 5'8”.

Damian stopped himself right behind the reporter. He could tell he was fiddling with something.

His badge?

Notes?

It wasn't relevant.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh!? I'm so sorry!” There was a quick nervous turn around before Damian was finally able to be face-to-face with this reporter, and the moment he was, Damian took everything in all at once.

“I didn't see you there—”

Oh, there is definitely a twang.

“Damian. Damian Wayne.”

Damian held his hand out for the other to shake, and the moment he did, Damian took immediate notice of how big his hands were compared to his own.

“And you're Kent, right? Jonathan?” Damian said with feigned ignorance, as if he hadn't just heard the name moments ago from Stephanie.

Jon let out a deep breath immediately—embarrassingly. Half out of nervousness and half because the instant he had taken Damian Wayne's hand into his, he noticed just how small they felt, how soft they felt.

Jon, of course, knew about Damian Wayne; he knew about all of them. Who didn't? He also heard that they were a relatively attractive family, blood-related or not. Damian, however, seemed to be a different case. He had only ever seen Damian through videos and pictures, but being able to actually stand in front of him, it was so easy to tell that Damian Wayne was far more beautiful in person.

Jon took immediate notice of Damian's soft and delicate features, long lashes around beautiful green eyes, and slight, lithe frame with what seemed to be an average height of 5'7”? 5'8”, maybe.

He couldn't help but notice these things. It was hard not to, especially when he was a journalist!

‘These things mattered’—is what he told himself.

“You've always been a sucker for a pretty face.” The words of his mom echoed in his head. And she wasn't wrong. She hardly ever was.

So excuse him if he was a bit distracted.

So Jon composed himself, stood tall, gave Damian a genuine smile, and shook his hand before letting it go.

“Yes, Jonathan Kent, Daily Planet.”

Oh,

And how he was handsome.

Almost stupidly so, and the glasses Jon wore did nothing to hide that, much less the blue eyes and freckles that were behind them.

'Blue... Such a nice color,' Damian thought. And it wasn't like he hadn't seen blue eyes before; his father and most of his adopted brothers had them.

But on this man.

On Jonathan Kent.

They were stunning.

~~~

“The Daily Planet?” Damian questioned.

“I believe my father owns that, doesn't he?”

Jon nods and smiles, taking a sip from the plastic water bottle he had been fiddling with earlier. He couldn't seem to get the cap to close right.

“Yeah, he does.”

Damian decides that he likes Jonathan's smile.

“And how are you liking the event so far? It's your first time at a Wayne Gala, isn't it?” Damian stares up at Jon with curious eyes.

At this, Jon's smile widens a little more. ‘Damian Wayne's cute…’ he thinks.

“It's been lovely so far; you Waynes really know how to throw a party.” Jon chuckled, the slight hint of his twang coming through.

Damian couldn't help but wonder where it was from.

Couldn't help but wonder how his name would sound with it.

“It's definitely a lot more than I'm used to… If it wasn't obvious enough… Was it obvious enough?” Jon worries.

This whole event had been a really big deal for him, his biggest event so far since he started working at The Daily Planet with his parents. He was both excited and nervous, and so far, he had only gotten a handful of interviews that actually mattered.

But the night was still young, and just as luck would have it, a Wayne approached him.

“Well, if I'm being completely honest, you'd stand out whether you were nervous or not.”

“So it was obvious.” Jon sighed.

Damian shrugged. “Like I said, you'd stand out either way. I mean, your suit alone for starters is what... a rental?” He snickered.

Jon rolled his eyes. “My dad's. Men's Wearhouse, I think.”

“Well...” Damian took the opportunity to eye Jon from head to toe. “I still think you look rather handsome, Mr. Kent, if that helps ease any nerves.”

And surprisingly, it did.

Jon also took quick notice that he didn't mind being called Mr. Kent if it was said in the same smooth way Damian said it.

(He wondered if that was on purpose.)

“Hm.” Jon hummed.

And Jon grinned. Just a little, because Damian Wayne had just called him handsome.

“It does, actually. I mean, getting called handsome by someone as pretty as you, Mr. Wayne, is sure to boost anybody's confidence.” And then Jon beamed.

A genuine, sweet, charming smile on his face, the kind of smile a child would have when playing with friends or getting a hug from their mom.

“Thank you, Damian.”

Damian's breath hitched a little at that.

Especially after hearing his name said with that accent he was desperately trying to place in his head.

He wasn't used to receiving a smile like that from someone who wasn't Dick, or Stephanie, or his mother and father. He was so used to the grins and smirks he'd get from people around him simply because he looked nice; he knew how to handle those.

But a smile like this from someone he genuinely found attractive was so different.

Damian thought that if this was Jon's way of flirting, then it was cruel.

“Metropolis is where you're from then, I assume? Considering where you work,” Damian said while taking the opportunity to carefully move himself closer into Jon's space.

Not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough of an invitation to be friendly.

Jon didn't notice, though, not right away, because what he did notice instead was the light flush that appeared on Damian's face after Jon thanked him for calling him handsome.

‘Really cute…’ Jon thought.

“Yeah, Metropolis is where I live and work,” he stated.

“Then where exactly is your accent from, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Oh! I grew up on a farm in Kansas, actually."

Damian slightly perked at the word “farm.”

Jon took notice.

It wasn't a secret that the youngest of the Waynes was an outspoken animal lover; Jon actually found this fact to be rather endearing when it came to Damian.

He had read countless articles about the proclaimed Prince of Gotham (Jon did his homework) and how, despite his many talents and beauty, he was written as the most aloof and unapproachable out of all his brothers.

It made Jon wonder if he was ever lonely.

So finding out that the small prince had a soft spot for animals gave Jon peace of mind that they at least had one thing in common.

“My family moved to Metropolis when I turned 10, so that's where the accent comes from.”

A farm, Damian thought.

A farm boy from Kansas.

A farm boy with pretty blue eyes and freckles he wanted to trace.

“I like it, Mr. Kent, your accent,” Damian said.

“I especially like it when you say my name with it.”

Damian spoke that last sentence with a rather alluring tone, causing one Jonathan Kent to go a bit hot in the face at the realization that Damian Wayne—

The supposedly most unapproachable Wayne—

Had most likely been flirting with him this whole time.

Jon couldn't help but let out a little bit of a laugh.

“What is it?” Damian asked with a bit of confusion. Maybe even a hit of annoyance.

“Nothing,” he composed himself with a smile still on his face.

Jon then leaned forward enough so that Damian was the only one that could hear him.

“I honestly just never expected you to be a flirt, Mr. Wayne. I'm flattered.”

The pride that immediately washed over Jon as he watched the soft flush of pink grow on Damian's cheeks was enough to make his entire night.

And as much as he was flattered, and as much as he should have noticed what with the way Damian had been looking at him with big green eyes and standing so close, calling him handsome, Jon was here on a job.

“Well, Mr. Wayne,” Jon decided now was as good a time as ever. “Since I have you here in front of me, do you think I could ask you a couple of questions myself?”

~~~

The two had made their way to an unoccupied table mainly so they weren't in the way of other guests but also for a sense of privacy.

Jon sat himself across from Damian, pulling out what looked to be a notepad and setting his phone flat on the table, ready to record.

Damian, in the meantime, had decided he wanted to remove the blazer he had been wearing for most of the evening.

And so underneath said blazer revealed that he had been wearing a sleeveless cheongsam top, showing off lithe and toned arms.

Jon didn't think it was possible to look erotic while taking off a blazer. Yet there Damian was, sitting across from him, proving his point wrong.

‘Red looks good on him…’ Jon thought.

The top was red.

Jon needed to focus.

Almost in an instant, Damian noticed the shift in demeanor. What was once a nervous and slightly flustered Jon was now someone who had confidence and understanding in what he was doing. He sat with his back straighter and with a more intense look.

Damian couldn't help but also find this attractive.

“So, Mr. Wayne, I've heard you're opening up an animal sanctuary,” Jon looked at his notes, most likely reviewing pre-written questions. “An exotic animal sanctuary, to be exact, and you're even going back to school to get a zoology degree. Now, it's pretty well known that, among many, you are quite the animal lover; you're even a vegetarian, and you've already had such a successful career as an artist, even recently opening up your very own gallery. I imagine it must be a bit nerve-wracking to move on from something you've known most of your life to proceed with something new.”

And that is what did it.

Because if Damian wasn't attracted to Jon before, he was certainly attracted to Jon now.

Something about that whole question—if one could even call it a question—seemed so genuine that, bizarrely, it was enough for Damian to want to sleep with this man. Forget the fact that Damian had already found Jonathan Kent to be undeniably handsome; this, in itself, just added a whole other layer to it.

Immediately, Damian acted on that primal feeling.

“You know, Mr. Kent…” Damian moved from his seat across from Jon to the one right next to him in a lithe and smooth motion.

Jon noticed it immediately, the way Damian moved his body in a graceful, fluid, almost sensual way just to get closer to him. “You're the very first person to ask me about that tonight,” Damian said in a low, soft tone.

“Really?” Jon swallowed.

He was so close to him.

Damian was so close to him, looking up at him through long dark lashes and gorgeous green eyes.

Green might just become Jon's favorite color tonight.

“Mhm,” Damian hummed, flickering his eyes from looking into Jon's to down at his lips and then back to his eyes again.

Goddammit.

Jon was here for a job.

Jon was here to interview people.

Jon was not here to be given bedroom eyes from Bruce Wayne's youngest son in the middle of an open gala.

“You've always been a sucker for a pretty face.”

And by God, had his mom always been right. Because when Jon sat down and thought about it, the absurdity of it, the fact that someone like Damian Wayne was giving him the time of day.

How could he not flirt back?

In fact, Jon could flirt.

Jon could easily flirt and do his job at the same time.

He took a breath, adjusted his glasses.

“Well, if that's the case…”

Jon leaned in close enough for only Damian to hear.

Close enough for Damian to feel the light brush of Jon's lips near his ear.

“I'm glad that I'm the first. Especially seeing as it gives me the privilege of being this close to you tonight.”

Then Jon pulled back.

Pulled back to take off the jacket of his dad's borrowed suit.

Pulled back to roll up the sleeves of the white button-up he was wearing underneath.

And Damian stared.

Damian stared because it wasn't an illusion.

Damian stared because Jon really was that broad. His arms really were that big.

And in that moment, Damian wanted nothing more than for Jon to kiss him.

Wanted nothing more than for Jon to pick him up like he weighed nothing.

Wanted nothing more than for Jon to simply have his way with him.

“I'm also sure you hear this a lot,” Jon said with a stupid soft smile on his stupidly handsome face.

“But you really are so much more beautiful in person.”

[pincushionx]

Oh I just had an evil thought about the Ghoul AU

Belos uses food as a main manipulation tactic for keeping Hunter "efficient and successful" on his missions. It has not been revealed where that meat comes from (if I'm not missing or forgetting anything).

I would totally believe that since petrification is admittedly rarely done if at all in the present day, Belos would feed him the meat of prisoners. Maybe he would amputate them and use those removed limbs to simultaneously feed Hunter less and still keep the meat fresh---objectively, it's being efficient with resources and punishing him for underperforming.

How fucked up would it be if (assuming that the ingredients required to create Grimwalkers are reusable and that the process is worth the time investment) Belos feeds him other Grimwalkers. What if he had tried it previously with the bodies of failed specimens? Would they have been able to tell the difference?

Sorry for the ramble, I just woke up from a nap and had a brrrrrr brain moment

Correct for the most part! The Emperor coven is already known to have secret petrifications of Wild witches so it would make sense for some of them to be executed in different ways for reasons. I don’t think he’d be bother to have limbs amputated, rather why not just kill them if he’s already fine with doing that.

Though the idea of “reformed” wild witches(aka those forced into covens) leaving the conformatorium with missing limbs and being told that’s just punishment is all sorts of dystopian. Though, I always like the idea that the most wild of witches would just “disappear” and the rest, lesser ones would be forced into covens or kept imprisoned. They all get arrested but have different fates depending on severity of their crimes.

After Hunter carvings arise, Belos has a select few witches hanged and taken to the morgue where they could be butchered by him or Hunter (a form of punishment) for food privately.

I always saw Grimwalkers being a limited product due to having very limited sources. I mean there aren’t many palistorm trees, selkidomous are rare, stonesleeper lungs where already limited at the start and might degrade over time, and the galdorstones are difficult to obtain. Realistically, I think Belos could only have a max of two grimwalkers at a time since he’s reusing parts.

Also the horror that Hunter’s body parts had been reused multiple times for past Golden Guards is too horrific to pass up. I think Belos harvests the corpses for these parts after killing them, all besides the bone since that’s too tedious for what it’s worth. So as much as he would like to make Hunter cannibalize other grimwalkers for experiments, he can’t do that unfortunately without further degrading a limited source.

(I think he would have had more sources in the past where he would have been able to do experiments on the grimwalkers until these materials eventually became unusable and he had to be more cautious on what he used his remaining materials on, much to his dismay)

So the best he could do is make Hunter eat the bones. Yes our boy eats bones, plenty of carnivorous animals do and it’s a good source of calcium. Though he can’t survive off them, thats an incredibly deficient diet. Since Hunter is actually consuming something that’s the same species as him, this is genuine cannibalism and it makes him incredibly sick.

Hunter is unaware of this of course, assuming it’s some random witch bone that tastes weirdly gross and is also a bit aged for his liking(not like he has the option to be picky)

Like I said, it makes him sick. Like he’s been poisoned sick. Through these are just bones and who’s to say that Belos doesn’t have grimwalker organs and flesh, preserved somewhere in storage. Might explore that possibility in the future.

[heavenly-garden]

I got a job working in a bakery. So far its been going pretty good, it always smells nice and isn't too hot an environment to work in. I enjoy being able to eat an occasional donut or cookie at the end of my shift. I also enjoy giving children a free cookie or donut before I put all the donuts in 6 and 12 pack boxes for discount. I also feel appreciated for my efforts and have made new friendships, All in all its been a positive experience. I only made one error my first night alone without my supervisor there and it was minor thankfully. For the most part it's straight forward work, such as packaging, cleaning, fixing messy shelves, do shelf refils. I know to some it is considered tedious work but for me I have found many positives in this job because now I'm making better use of my time, I'm socializing, I'm exercising, I do stretches and drink more water than ever. I also take cake orders and clean dishes during my shift. I prefer to remain hydrated and I'm determined to keep this job so I'm giving it my all. I am a lover of fresh baked goods and appreciate delicious foods so maybe I'll get to decorate cakes or pastries one dsy. This job has also helped my mental health a lot. I was unable to work for 10+ years due to a disability I was born with but now I'm feeling more confident because of this job. I appreciate going home and seeing my husband even more now. I'm so much happier and I'm getting more confidence and learning new skills. I pray often at work, in my mind as I work, for me it's very helpful. I'm developing mental toughness and fortitude which feels good. I'm no longer depressed like before and I've managed to let go of my demons, finally. I'm so grateful because I prayed for a year that a opportunity like this would present itself. To have a job I can physically do. I work 4 hour shifts. 3 to 4 times a week, it changes every odd week. I feel so blessed.

I hope you all are well. Wishing you all the best. Thanks for reading. I don't often post what's happening with me in my personal life but this is something I had to gush about.

[nocturnesmoon]

Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

Wordcount: 6.8k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious trauma, PTSD, Hallucinations, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: You ran from it all for a reason, it's easier to disappear when everyone thinks you're dead, but what happens when someone wants to bring you dangerously close to your past, the one you've been trying to run from for so long?

A/N: Trying to not panic over the fact i'm finally releasing this- Hope you enjoy it!!

[Next Chapter]

Through all your problems in life, your most prominent ones always seem to have a connection between the weather, and unnecessary questions. Since the dawn of time people have had this annoying notion of being very nosy.

There aren’t many places in the world you've been to where it's different. They can deny it all they want, it's all the same no matter where you go. Simultaneously the weather has never quite agreed with you. It makes your nonstop travel tedious, a draining task that often takes more time than you'd like it to.

Even here, with the amount of time it took you to get here in the first place because of the weather. It's an ironic turn when only a few days after your arrival, the sun turns the concrete into a fire from hell. A stark contrast to the storms and rain, that kept your flight delayed, again and again.

The heat makes you want to never leave that little flower shop, with the big fan in the corner. If it wasn't for the sharp floral smell, and the continuous buzzing of the thing, you could even have considered working here. It's not prone to traffic of many people, and those who are here are usually in a hurry, so they don't engage you in too much meaningless chatter, while you would work.

Unfortunately, you rarely have that luxury, every turn and twist in your day-to-day life, threatening you with the underlying feeling of being caught, of being known.

A loud sound erupts from the back, when the old man drops a pair of scissors. Children squeal outside the shop, as soon as the ball goes into the hoop placed above the window. It's a disaster waiting to happen. However, it kept the children happy and busy, in the early hours of the morning, when there was nothing to do yet, and the heat wasn't high enough to spoil their activity.

The quiet sound of snips continues soon after, the man continuously giving you odd looks from your request. You don't pay it any mind. Your hands nervously clutch at your wallet, the ache in your knuckles barely noticeable anymore.

One of the kids outside pick up the ball again, launching it at the hoop but missing by an inch. The ball bounces back, and you realize it before you see it. The silence between the kids is almost comical, the squealing and happy yelling gone within an instant.

A little streak of crimson runs down from the kid's cheek, the bruise already forming with unnatural colors. The other kids flock around them, fuzzing about with caring tones and careful touches. One of the older ones finds a rag to gently dab away the blood.

You wonder if it would still be warm to the touch, metallic in taste, an awful sign of life.

The kid's eyes keep staring ahead, through the window. You could pretend that they're looking at the pretty flowers, but you hold their eye contact with purpose. They look defeated in their shock, too big of a reaction for a little accident in your flawed opinion.

You could've stopped them, prevented it before it happened, they wouldn't have gotten hurt.

They continue to stare you down, a frown settled on their lips. Do they really think that you could've stopped them. The kids would've laughed at you at best. The eyes multiply tenfold when the other kids notice the injured one's staring. You keep it up, not backing down despite the uncomfortable feeling of too much attention on you. You've been too exposed today.

You've had eyes in the back of your neck ever since you left your room this morning. Not the usual way either, this time it's been from an unknown source.

You don't miss the man leaned up against the wall to a clothing boutique. His hood raised up, his lips moving to speak every now and then. He's doing a good job at pretending to watch the kids have fun and play.

The old man clears his throat. He's already arranged the flowers beautifully, they now rest on the counter, waiting for you to pay up.

You put down your payment in coins, ignore his grumbling in favor of grabbing the flowers and getting out of there in a hurry.

The café has been your only place of respite. A quaint little space you found when you first came to this place. It sits open to the streets, while still managing to feel packed away. Behind those old curtains, and dainty accessories adorning yellowish walls, is the best coffee you've had in years.

Ding

A pleasant little sound fills your ears every time you open the door, and step down in the lowlight place. As much as you liked it, every time you were here, you'd be fighting your instincts to make the sound again and again and again. Your own mental oblivion urging you forward.

Coffee is already placed on your table. Steam rising from the little blue cup, the one with a chipped side, unofficially assigned to you. The little corner is always free when you come in. There was always the question of whether the little spot was unpopular, or if there were other external factors for its lack of use.

It was hard to tell, by the already general lack of customers and patrons, but the little seat was always there for you.

Confined in your own little corner, you would spend the mornings of the past month sipping coffee, and looking like you belonged in a prison cell. With the amount of paranoia your posture exuded, it's impossible to not think you had something going on.

Luck has a tendency not to follow you in places like these, so you refrain from interacting too much with anything. It leaves you looking a bit like a social reject, but you comfort yourself in the knowledge that in a month, none of these people will see your face again.

At least people don't ask questions here.

You walk over to the counter and place the bouquet of spider lilies down next to the registry. Being careful not to disturb the beautiful order the nice old man had put them in. Your eyes linger for but a moment.

A meek old woman owns the place. Elena. She took a quick liking to you the first you arrived here a few weeks ago. She seemed to understand you in an underlying way, she never asked you the hard questions, she accepted your secrecy in a way only a mother who's seen the worst can do. It freaks you out.

You still feel bad about lying to her.

Had she been someone else, you might've been more inclined. To let the woman know who -what- you really are, would only put her in more harm’s way than necessary. That would even be before she could get a chance to hate you, for the things you've done to stay alive.

The wood protests when you settle into the chair. You pull back on the urge to wiggle in it. The old woman was nowhere to be seen, but the little rustle of pots and pans in the back gave you clear indication of where she is. There's always the fresh smell of newly baked pastries in the mornings, just before everyone wakes up for their daily hustles.

Not many people would come this early, making it a regular occurrence for you to spend that time here. Little hole in the wall only really served the continuing patrons, most others took to the more populated places.

A flash of light shines through the thin curtains, illuminating the dust swirling around in the air, as well as the colorful pillows carefully placed in each chair. They felt out of place to everything else in here. Newer. You quickly learnt a lot of things about the mentality of the people living here, you had to if you intended to blend in inconspicuously. Something you found out the hard way, was that the old woman tended to take things personally.

It didn't matter how much you meant it positively, negatively, no meaning at all. One little comment a faint evening, and the next day the pillows were all replaced.

You squint your eyes from the raging orange and put your focus back on the coffee. It's no longer steaming as much as before. You hadn't originally picked this place because it would provide you cover. In all fairness, if the place wasn't as cozy on the inside, it would likely be shady enough to be conspicuous, from the odd looking outside alone.

Yet still, it serves as your little paradise.

You find your brain goes quiet when you're in here. You can sip your coffee in peace, unaware of the shadows creeping in the corners of your eyes. It's numbing. Your little respite away from the danger outside, the danger within, and with Elena's nurturing soul, it makes you not want to leave.

Ding

Unfortunately, fate has a funny little tendency to give you the middle finger. It has never been on your side, and you doubt it is ever going to be.

Your little paradise is about to be invaded. With lingering smells of gunpowder, and blood so thick it will stain your soul. Patches of blonde and black hair, one making its way to your corner, and the other stationary at the door.

You take a sip of your coffee. It tastes wrong.

The blonde woman pulls out the chair opposite of you. She takes a moment to get comfortable before leaning in, her arms neatly folded on the table. She's playing on your domesticity, your familiarity, you know her too well to expect anything else. You don't doubt if you were look up, you'll see those blue eyes full of desperation, ready to ask you to move heaven and hell for her.

She's a few years too late.

Much to your surprise she keeps quiet when you take another sip. How kind of her. It doesn't last long. As soon as you put the chipped cup down, and acknowledge her, she opens her mouth to speak.

"No" you intercept her.

She closes her mouth, opens it, closes it. "You haven't even heard what I have to say," a small smile plays on her lips. It seems innocent enough. You know her better. She has blood on her hands, the same way you have blood on your teeth.

"The answer is no."

"I wouldn't come to you if it wasn't serious," her folded hands tighten, "You know that." She's honorable, as far as you know, but you're not ready to get back into your harness, so she can pull on your collar.

The next sip burns your tongue. You bite down on it, choke the yelp deep down in your throat. "Laswell..." you speak her name with urgency. The quicker you can shut her up and get her to leave, the quicker you can get back to making your plan to move.

"I need you to just hear me out alright?" she pauses, "it's in your best interest."

She's not letting you leave this place unless you agree.

Your eyes dart over to the man standing at the entrance. There's more than one way to get out of here, the one he is blocking is the least convenient. But you suppose you do owe it to Laswell to hear her out.

If you narrow it all down to the dirt and bones, she is the only reason why you're sitting in this café alive, while remaining dead to the world.

Your would-be grave is far from here. Dug and scraped with your own charred hands and broken nails.

Crack crack, bury the sin beneath blood and bone.

You can still hear it when you unfocus your brain, they won't let you forget.

"It's him, he's back" the words soil your throat, and they didn't even come from your own lips. "He's brought his group back along with him, and they're causing a bigger disturbance," It's sickening that she's even bringing this up.

She continues despite your grimace, "I would have pulled out every other resource I could before coming here, but you're the only person I can rely on to see this through."

She wants you to go back.

Go back, Go back, Go back.

"You're the only one I know that has both skill and cause."

Your eyebrow twitches, and you bite down on your tongue to not retaliate. You can taste the metal before you relent. The last thing you want to do is cause a scene in here.

The old woman doesn't deserve this.

"I understand your apprehension to this, but you know how important it is that we put a stop to him, you should want this more than anyone else."

The chair screeches as you push yourself to your feet. Your palms connect with the table, and it in turn rattles. The man who was standing stationary at the door breaks form. He reaches behind him, and let's his hand settle on something.

Not that you thought she would come here unarmed.

Laswell calls your name, bringing your attention back to her. She's a lot calmer than her jumpy backup. "It's just a talk, nothing more for now," it's all lies is what is.

"Bring attack dogs to all your family meetings?" you don't settle back into the chair. You were done with this place the moment Laswell and her soldier set foot in it.

She spares a single glance back at her friend, something reassuring in her face, it makes him ease back up to form. "Fine, there's no going around it with you," she wants it to all be lighthearted, to ease you in, you won't fall for it again.

"I am cashing in the favor, you'll be properly paid of course, and you can settle a score, does it really sound that bad?"

"Yes."

You stare into her blue eyes. She smells faintly of smoke. Her eyes won't leave you, but you see the contemplation in them, the searching of your figure. She's looking for the right bait, looking for the best way to sink her hooks into your ribs and drag you along.

"I don't want to have to do this to you..." her voice is quieter. It almost surprises you, but you know what she's talking about. She's in a bind herself.

She's not going to wait forever for you to say yes, and she needs you. On paper you are the perfect candidate for whatever she has planned. Though you doubt your mental profile lives up to the required standards. Certain things can be overlooked in desperation, you suppose.

"I'll hear you out," you start "somewhere else." The determination in her eyes border hope. It's pitiful that she thinks you'll have so much influence on her mission. You're really not all that.

You have the basic training, but also enough history to disqualify you, from any position within the military ever again. Laswell let's out a sigh of relief. Was she really that worried?

"Everything alright petal?" your eyes snap to Elena, a pot of something steaming in her hands that she places on the counter.

Laswell's backup twitches, seemingly surprised that the place wasn't as empty as he thought it was. You give the old woman a curt nod. It's enough to make her go about her day as normal, and you silently thank God that she isn't one to question.

"Always pick the jumpy attack dogs?"

Laswell stands up, breathing in harshly. If she doesn't like your resistance, she can pick someone else. "The squad is still weary from the last op." She explains.

You nod quietly in response. At least that's one thing you can sympathize with.

"Come, I'm not going to wait around for you to change your mind."

You hope Elena likes the flowers.

You feel like an idiot. Not even an hour out of the town you resided in, is an off the map military base. You are disgusted, appalled, shocked, disappointed. Every word in the book they could find.

You had prided yourself in being able to outrun anything. When Laswell helped you fake your own death, it was even easier. The amount of preparation you had to do when moving from place to place, was to put it mildly, extensive.

Somehow you completely missed this place.

It has your head reeling. Not even the rumbling of the car, or the passing outside, is enough to distract you. You catch Laswell eyes in the rearview mirror. She was first to get behind the wheel, which is a...choice.

Allowing out a soft sigh, you let your head rest against the window. The base is out past the middle of nowhere. You'd go crazy if you had to count all the corn fields you've passed by now.

Oh look...a cow.

"Nervous?"

The man next to you startles you out of your thoughts. You spare him a glance, not allowing yourself to linger too long at a time. He's casually dressed, his weapons hidden cleverly beneath layers of clothing.

If you remember right, Laswell called him Gaz. Odd nickname but not like you can judge, you've been called way worse.

He's got a good build, even with the blue hoodie you can see how his muscles fill it out. You don't doubt he could deck you fast if he wanted to. There'd be very little you could do about it, so out of form as you are. Occupied with everything else and staying out of sight, you haven't much time to keep yourself excessively fit.

Laswell picks her attack dogs well.

How sweet the sound of his bones breaking beneath your boot would sound.

You shake your head, grimacing at the thought. The little cracks that fill your ears are deafening.

"Don' worry, Cap's nice enough"

You don't doubt it, you just can't find it in yourself to care. Promises can so easily be broken; at the end of the day everyone wants something. That something has a tendency of putting you in danger, so you're not particularly excited.

"Gaz..." Laswell looks through the rearview mirror, making brief eye contact with the sergeant. Does she really think you that unhinged to not handle a simple conversation. A bit insulting.

"What...jus' making conversation," Gaz mumbles and turns his head to the side, subsequently joining you in looking out at the passing cows.

How much would she even tell Gaz about you. He couldn't know much, over half the things you're included in would be classified, and he's but a sergeant. His standoffish stance in the café was likely just to assess the danger, but the switch up is kind of freaking you out.

He seems nice enough overall, but you can't decide whether or not you actually want him to be. In a way it would be easier if he wasn't. You're not here to cultivate new friendships, you're here because you don't have another choice.

Whatever conversation he tries to make, dies out for the rest of the ride.

As soon as the car is put in park, Gaz jumps out. Gone within a blink of an eye, which you came to expect. The rest of the way was spent in awkward silence, and as much as you'd rather have silence, it was bad even for your taste.

Laswell takes it upon herself to lead you through the base. It's hard to ignore the looks and glares you get. You're an unknown variable, and without Laswell, you likely seem like an outright danger. It's a bit uncanny, to think that you once stood on their side, shoulder to shoulder with a sibling made of war.

She doesn't talk to you as you walk through base. You rely on your prior knowledge of the layout of UK military bases, to know where your exits would be. She parts with you in front of the "captains" office, a small throwaway promise to come get you once she has talked to him.

You don't question it, but it does make you raise a brow. Has she even told the captain you'd be coming? He would be the one supervising you when Laswell wouldn't be there, it's a pretty big thing to leave him in the dark about.

As soon as she closes the door, you let out a frustrated gust of air. This was already turning more complicated than you wanted it to be. Why didn't you resist a bit more, protest a bit more, you didn't even negotiate better terms with her. The shock alone, of seeing her again so soon after everything, rendered you unable to think logically.

At least the hallway is relatively empty.

Shadows start to creep in the corner of your vision. Thousands of little things hide there, occupying the otherwise empty space around.

You read the inscription on the door; Captain John Price.

The captain wasn't completely unknown to you. Though it all stems from rumors you heard, when you were a recruit. A few of your teammates had spoken about him in quiet whispers. Back then he didn't have the rank of Captain yet, nor a whole taskforce to command. He's come a long way.

Could they be similar?

No.

No one else could be like that, not that far. Especially not an old Idol, that would just be cruel.

"Kate you can't be serious...have you seen their file."

You perk up when you hear the slightly raised voices from inside. They're talking about you. You tilt your head closer. A grumbled brass voice sounds out, it reminds you of that of a dragon, most likely one belonging to the captain. You try to put a face to the name, but you can't remember any of the old pictures you saw. Every vivid image in your mind is distortedly different.

"You asked me to find extra help, this is it."

You'd laugh in her face if she was out here. There are much more qualified people than you, even with dealing with a group such as this.

"You could read one line in this and know they should not be handling a gun; much less be sent out in possible high-pressure situations."

You nod along for no one to see. You've done this song and dance trying to get reenlisted, twice before. More for the protection aspects than anything else. It would’ve been a lot easier getting your hands on weapons that way, instead of the unconventional way you've resorted to in your time away.

You did give yourself a bit of credit. Despite everything you had fared quite well for yourself, without Laswell's extended help. It came with strings, so you had turned it down.

At least you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere, which to be quite fair, you wouldn't put it past you for it to happen.

"John..."

"Kate..."

You start to wonder if Price would look like a dragon in human form. He already has the voice to match. Maybe he has a fiery beard, a tone that commands the respect of thousands. Would he hoard his possessions, to a disturbing extent?

The door scrapes against the floor when its opened. The sound makes you want to tear your ears off.

"Come on in" Kate waves you inside, making sure to close the door behind you. His office is simplistic, no personal touches around, only the standard issued items rest on his desk. From what you remember, he's used to moving from place to place often, it's likely that this office won't be his anymore by the end of the week.

"This is Captain John Price" She introduces you, and you offer him a nod of hopefully mutual respect. It's not reciprocated.

At first glance you notice two things about the captain.

One.

He stands tall. You don't doubt no matter how many meters you have in you, the man has ways of making you feel small.

He has a beard, beautiful eyes too, when you find it in you to look past the serious expression. It tells you all you need to know about him. At least he's not incompetent, he knows you shouldn't be here. Anyone would know after a single glance at you, even if Kate seems to think otherwise.

And two.

Price doesn't look like a dragon.

You don't know why it disappoints you. You knew very well he would not, and still, you find your heart sinking just little at his dismissive look.

It's a fantasy.

You stopped dreaming years ago; you have no intention of starting the childish notion again. You see enough things that weren't real, why add to it.

Price let's out a long sigh. His frustration with you is clear, but Laswell is steadfast in her opinion, no matter the resistance she wants you in this. The look she's sending his way, does as much as a firm set of words would. He folds his arms over his chest, looking back at her with as much determination as she is.

The quiet is...intruding.

You feel like you're witnessing something that you shouldn't be. The type of conversations, that your boss would have about you in private, to decide what to do with your behavior. You feel a need to say something, to break the silence and remind the two in the middle of a staring contest, that you're still here.

"Fine" Price concedes reluctantly, "but if there is anything-"

"There won't be any problems," she assures him "right?"

You freeze up the moment she refers to you. What were you supposed to say to that. You didn't want to be here, it was only out of obligation to her, to pay the blood debt you owe her.

You shrug your shoulders, finding a spot in the floor to stare at. The stain morphs and changes, subtly getting bigger and smaller, wider, and thinner all at once. It bleeds into the tile. You try to place a shape to it, but it changes too fast for you to decide on anything.

"Right then," Price moves over to his desk and pulls out a folder of multiple files. "You're going to want to know who you're going to work with," he slams the folder down on the wooden table. It creeks. You fight back a flinch.

"Kate has promised me you're going to be able to help," he doesn't sound convinced, "we'll see what you can do."

Laswell gives Price another glare. It would be comforting -her protectiveness- if it wasn't shrouded in obligation. It's laughable how much she believes you can solve her problem.

"You'll be accompanying the 141 in this, they've been working on this for the past month." Laswell chimes in as Price gets out the files of each respective member.

"I thought you needed my help immediately."

"I told you I was going to pull out all other resources before bringing you back into this." There's something pitying in her eyes, it makes you feel sick.

You were always going to be in this. No matter how much you hated it. It has been a part of so much of your life, there's nothing you can do to peel it off your skin. Lord knows you've tried to.

"Yes...We've been gathering as much information as we can on the group," Price leans his hip against the table. "We haven't found much, like the last time they were around, their efforts are very secretive, but we know where they're grouping. We have received reports, threats, missing persons rapports, all the signs the same group gave a few years ago, it seems very possible they have the same leader as well."

"The Divine Principle" you dig your nails into your palms. Your eyes catch the captains, now suddenly more attentive of you.

"You-"

"That's what they call themselves. I've hunted them before; I thought Laswell said." You don't bother looking towards the woman on your left, this is between you and the captain. He didn't seem to be quite convinced of your knowledge or skills. You didn't blame the man. You couldn't prove your skills worthy just yet, so your knowledge had to suffice.

You don't know why you suddenly feel the need to prove it to him, but there's something about his presence that makes you want him to like you. It's a rare feeling, the last time you felt like this you-

"She did, but she did not explain much about you, other than what's available in your file."

"I know enough to know they aren't good people," you switch up your stance, mimicking the way he was standing when you first came in. Your attention catches on the files again. You wonder who they could be, what their skills would include, if they would collide with your own.

You weren't used to working in groups like this, it was going to be different.

"Then you also know how important this mission is, they've done irreparable damage in the past, we can't have it happen again."

Price pushes one file towards you, holding the other three files in his grasp. "Gaz, who you already met as I understand it." You nod, thinking back to the man. Part of you had expected to meet him again, you should've realized he likely already was in the taskforce if he was accompanying Laswell.

"There's Soap, he'll be enthusiastic having a new member on the team I'll assure you that." Price places his file for you to see, giving you a moment before moving on. John MacTavish, Scottish by the looks of it, and an interesting hair choice of a mohawk. You're almost surprised they let him keep it.

"Lastly Ghost, and myself" he puts down the last file. It has no attached picture, but that isn't what initially grabs your attention as out of place as it is. What settles deep in your bones, is his name.

Simon Riley

Simon.

That Simon.

Your brow furrows as you read his name over and over and over again, gradually wishing he had a picture so you could confirm it for yourself. You hadn't seen or heard the name in years, not since you left Manchester. Was there really a chance it could be him.

"There's no picture," you pick up his file, as if reading his name closer would bring clarity to your adding questions.

"Never is," Price observes your hesitance the way you give Ghost's file more attention than the rest, "Do you know each other?"

"Might, it was a long time ago though, I doubt he'd even remember me."

He observes you for what feels like forever, trying to look past your carefully crafted mask, to gouge out the state of the relationship. "Well, it'd be good to have some familiarity on the team," he shrugs "can make the transition easier for you."

Yeah, if he doesn't despise you still.

You don't feel the need to tell the captain of your possibly declined relationship with the man. There's still a chance it's not him. You don't know why you're trying to fool yourself that it's not. You knew even back then that he wanted to join the military, that it had been all he ever wanted.

He's a lieutenant now. Despite everything you can't help but feel a little proud of him for making it this far, even if it's tinged with sadness.

"Will it be a problem?" Laswell brings your attention to her. Her voice layered with a sense of supposed knowledge that she is not supposed to have. It's hard to not get a little irritated, at this point you have no idea how much information the woman has in her skull. Information that you'd love nothing more than to erase from her memory.

"No, it will not" she isn't expecting any other answer. It's not like she's suddenly going to let you go if you do. Worst case scenario she restricts your workspace to avoid a conflict, and if she so desperately wants you to do this job, then you need your space.

"Make it quick, yeah?"

Gaz comes to a stop in front of the door to your little motel room. He makes a quick glance down each side of the hall. Deeming it clear, he leans back against the yellow tinted walls. Too bad he can't see the shadows breathing down his neck.

Though you'd never experienced anything shady or violent, you knew there was a rising criminal activity in the motel. You just never really spent enough time here to witness any of it.

"Yeah yeah," you grimace fumbling with your keys. You really should get rid of some of them, most of them didn't have a purpose anymore. Though like with most things, you had a hard time letting go.

The inside of your the little room you rented is exactly as you left it. Dresser door broken and splintered, curtains half closed, shadows looming in every corner and crevice.

Home sweet home, or something to that effect.

It's not a lot, but you don't complain, you've certainly lived with worse. Not staying in one spot for more than a month at a time didn't leave many options for work, so you had made do.

As much as you trusted Laswell's skills, and her promises, you had your own wariness to battle against. This way was the only one that actually made you feel like you had an advantage, against those that meant you harm.

The duffel bag with most of your belongings, had been hastily shoved into the dresser the morning prior. You find it uninterrupted in the same place, as expected. You glance towards the window and mark your possible exit. Should the man outside turn for whatever reason, the window would be loose, and you could break through the rusted glass frames.

For now, though, you had to trust that this taskforce you were to temporarily join, didn't actually want you dead. Yet.

Your variables are changing, and fast. There isn't a bigger part of you that enjoys this, and meeting up with Simon again could only prove trouble. He probably still held some resentment towards you, there's only the small hope that he keeps things professional.

You look down into your bag, rummaging around in the sealed pocket to locate your pile of papers. Years old and stained letters, some answered, some not. It was your only means of communication for a time, until it all stopped. You don't think he ever found out why, he would've contacted you if he did right? Or maybe he had decided then and there you weren't worth his energy.

Pushing the thoughts aside proved a much harder task than normal. You had gotten used to putting all into a tightly sealed box in your brain, but now that you knew for certain it would all come flooding out, it proved it harder to contain overall.

There isn't much to collect from the room itself, most of your things were already packed and ready for an easy go. You pick up an extra set of shoes and stuff them in before venturing to the bathroom.

You had to give it to this place, they had some of the most uncomfortable bathrooms you'd had the pleasure of occupying. The mirror is stained and dirty, the tile an ugly brown color, and not even to talk about the toilet itself, or the odd smell. Though the latter could be explained by you and your own ministrations.

Your eyes land on the cross tossed into the tub. Little thing on a chain, the same one you had worn for years at a time. Dried blood still gives it that discoloration.

Your knees click when you reach down and place it in the cup of your hand. To think that this little thing carries so much of you. It has seen it all, witnessed your greatest heights making you feel light as a feather, and watched all your sins unfold, burning like hellfire against your chest.

You've never hated a thing more.

Slipping it around your neck is a thoughtless process. The muscle memory in your fingers do the work for you, securing the chain on the back of your neck, like reattaching a leash.

You stand up straight and walk to the sink. Your toothbrush has fallen, it's green hue so faded it's turning white in some areas. You really should just get a new one.

Your reflection catches in the mirror, and you make the mistake of not looking away. Your face turns to a blob of colors and bleeding effects. There's nothing to tell and nothing to see. Your eyes cave in, your nose splitting apart, your ears fuse with your hair and your fingers are too long dragging off your skin.

You barely recognize yourself anymore. You know it's in there, begging to come out, but it'll only come worse than before if you let it.

It all morphs together. A thousand different shadows standing behind you, their long digits running over your arms and shoulders, beckoning you forward. They lean into your ears, fester in your brain, in your eyesight. The shadows in the corners are always the worst in front of mirrors.

It's your fault. You know what you did. You know that they would've still been alive if you hadn't done it. Why are you still here. Why do you think you can hide? You always go back, it's your place, it's ingrained on your skin.

There's never been an out for people like you.

You grab your toothbrush and exit the bathroom.

"You really been livin' in here?"

You clasp a hand over your mouth, masking the shriek you would've let out. You thought he was going to stay outside.

Gaz looks into mirror hanging next to the dresser with the broken door. He inspects his reflection, rubbing a thumb over a smudge of dirt on his neck.

"It was a temporary solution," you tell him as soon as you get your spiraling mind under control. You walk over to the duffel bag on the bed, throwing in the rest of your dwindling belongings.

You can feel his eyes on you, likely judging you. At least he has the decency to keep his mouth shut. You couldn't afford nicer in your current situation, and moving as frequently as you were, this was the least costly option.

"For how long?"

He walks over to the bed, glancing into your bag once before continuing his move around your room. You didn't truly know the answer to that question yourself.

Very long, too long, as long as you can hide like a coward.

"As long as necessary," you answer him while zipping up your duffel bag. It slings around your shoulder, fits neatly against your back. It's a familiar lightweight. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, you were planning your move anyway.

He gives you a curious look, waiting for you to elaborate. You don't. His shoulders sag a bit when he seems to realize. "Hurry it up," he says and walks to the door, "don't got all day, we have a plane to catch."

He leaves you alone in the hollowing room. It turns a shade darker when the sun shifts outside the window. The shadows consume more of the room. Millions of little eyes watching you in secret.

You walk over to the wall and kneel. It feels wrong to do. There's so many little dents and scrapes hammered into it, the pattern of the wall hiding the little room perfectly. You bang on it once and quietly. Moving the cutout piece out of place, you reach inside to find the gun.

You check it, still fully loaded, and put it down amongst what little clothes you have. It's only for necessity of course, nothing vicious yet.

Come come come.

Your head tilts towards the window, the curtains managing to flow ever so slightly. They bleed into the background, the murky watery color splitting with the patterns on the walls, and the greenery outside.

All of it dark and gloomy. Threatening.

Your legs carry you there. The sun has disappeared behind a set of clouds, leaving dark promises of rain and thunder. The whispers are always the loudest when you're alone. They're not always saying anything. Sometimes they're shaming you, reminding you, other times it's incessant noise.

Occasionally they take shape. Shadow figures with creepy smiles, wide bloodshot eyes. It hides down in the forest behind the motel, to watch you through the window to your room. It's crooked grin bleeds and oozes. You forcefully blink a few times, trying to will it away, but you know it won't disappear until you get distracted, or it wants to go.

You don't hear it; it merely mouths it to you.

He'll find you.

And the scariest part is, you know it's right.

There's never been anywhere you could hide.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Lark and Hunting

Sometimes, hunting is a necessary evil.

It’s not fun, to be so close and connected to nature, and have to take a life from it to further your own.

But there’s a cycle.

And that cycle must not be broken.

Perrine does all the hunting.

Cole downright refuses to hunt animals. They’ll eat them, but they won’t kill anything.

Clémentine, bless their heart, tried. They really did.

But when they stared down the arrow at the tender face of a doe, the way she almost seemed to resign to her fate when she saw them standing there, they just couldn’t bring themself to shoot.

Perrine told them not to personify the animals. They know not of human emotion- not really. Thinking about their family won’t help you survive.

But they still couldn’t do it.

They broke down into tears, apologizing to both the unslain deer and to Perrine.

And they haven’t tried again since.

Kingsley simply isn’t allowed to touch a weapon.

So, it’s Perrine’s job.

Perrine hunts with a bow and arrow. Because guns aren’t whimsy.

The kids (read as: Perrine) own two bows- one that Perrine bought, and one that Perrine made herself.

There will be days where she’s gone from sunrise to sunset, just crouched somewhere in the woods, waiting.

Sometimes she’ll climb up into a tree and perch there. Other days she’ll sit in a bush for hours.

Hunting is tedious and long and boring, but it needs to be done if she wants everyone to be fed.

When you’re out there, you don’t really have anything but your thoughts. And it’s best to put any demons to rest before you go out.

Perrine has a lot of time to think.

Too much, in fact.

She wasn’t raised to engage in bloodsports. It’s unbecoming of her.

She’s a kid. She shouldn’t have to be doing this.

And yet, she is.

She gets used to it, over time.

Or so she tells herself.

But, man, did she cry the first time she ever killed her first animal.

It was a rabbit. A tiny little thing that wouldn’t even be enough to feed the whole group.

And she wept over it.

Even now, she feels bad for every animal she hunts. Despite what she said to Clémentine about not humanizing the animals. She’s a hypocrite who can’t take her own advice.

After every kill, she’ll kneel by the body and just give it a moment of silence, paying her respects.

Despite this, though, there’s something calming about hunting—when her thoughts aren’t as loud as a roar, of course.

She feels so close to nature when she’s out in the wilderness. It’s just her and the trees and the animals.

So it isn’t always so bad. And she doesn’t always hate it.

BUT ALSO.

It can be frustrating.

Waiting out there for hours, and then coming back empty-handed, either because she just didn’t find anything or because she messed up her chances somehow.

Because the slightest slip up can ruin everything for you.

Slightly shifting her weight and causing the grass beneath her to just barely crunch, sneezing, breathing out just a bit too loudly, and suddenly the animal she’s been stalking all day is gone.

Perrine has exploded into full screeches of rage and chucked her bow over this.

Kingsley, to the others, hearing Perrine’s howls of fury echo all the way to their house: it sounds like it’s going well!

Perrine mostly hunts foxes, birds, and small game such as rabbits and squirrels. Deer and wild boars are a little harder for her to take down.

Plus, deer are quite big, and she is a preteen. So it’s always difficult to get the deer back to the cottage. Because they’re hard to carry, and she doesn’t want to drag them because that’ll ruin their hide. She usually ends up carrying them on her back, though.

She once carried a boar over her shoulders because it’s the easiest way to transport animals, and she got fleas from it. She was so pissed.

She doesn’t hunt moose.

Of course, being out in the woods is dangerous for a kid her age.

She once encountered a bear in the woods. It was a black bear. She managed to scare it off by making herself as big as possible while shouting, but it was still a terrifying moment. She didn’t risk pissing it off by shooting at it.

She also once got attacked by a wild boar. In her opinion, those things are more dangerous than a bear. Meaner than one, too. That little bastard attacked her for no reason!

She got charged at by a buck in rut before.

Another time, she shot a deer, and it bolted straight at her. It plowed over her, and when she reached back to feel where she had been struck by its antlers, her hands came back bright red. She thought for sure she had been impaled and was bleeding out, and she started saying her final prayers, but luckily, it was just the blood from the deer. She did have MASSIVE bruising all over her back, though.

Perrine beefs with other hunters.

She hates people who hunt for sport. In her head, if they aren’t going to at least eat the animal, it’s senseless killing.

Her most prized game was this gorgeous ten-point buck. His rack literally had her awestruck- she had never seen antlers that big and beautiful before. (He was a pain in the ass to haul back to the cottage, but it was worth it, both for that skull and for the meat he gave to them).

She tries not to kill doe, just in case they have a baby somewhere.

Alongside hunting, Perrine also handles the grisly task of skinning and gutting.

And she sometimes resents the others for not swallowing their nausea and helping her, giving her a goddamn break from all this work, but there’s no point in complaining.

Gutting is…well, gruesome, to say the least.

It’s not only physically taxing, but emotionally taxing, too.

Something about digging your young, shaking hands into the hot viscera of something that was once living, something that you stole the life from, something that you killed, takes a tole on your mental wellbeing after a while.

But it needs to be done.

A necessary evil.

There’s a general rule to not bother Perrine when she’s gutting unless absolutely necessary.

Perrine strongly believes in using every part of an animal.

The meat is obviously eaten. If she doesn’t immediately cook it, she’ll preserve it by curing it for another day.

The guts are also eaten, especially during the winter when money is tight and food is even tighter, what with their garden being pretty much dead. The others are less than thrilled about having to eat liver and heart and brains, especially Kingsley, who will complain, and Perrine has simply stopped telling them that they’re eating guts. Where’s the harm in lying?

And then the guts that aren’t eaten get chucked into a bin and are used to attract flies, which then make maggots, which are then used for feed for their quails (because additional hc: the kids raise quail because i think it’s cute).

Sinew is used to make cordage, but the process is aggravating.

Fat is used for a variety of things, such as butter substitutes, candles, soap, and salve. Clémentine and Cole both enjoy making candles and soap together!

Bones are also used in a variety of ways!Sometimes Perrine will use them as decorations, carving them to make chimes or other little trinkets. Or they’ll be crafted into weapons. Or they’ll be used for food, though Perrine is the only one who actually likes the taste of bone marrow. Or, if she doesn’t want to do any of that, she’ll grind them down to make fertilizer. And, of course, she keeps the skulls for herself.

Antlers are used for weapons. Or Perrine just keeps them for decoration.

Fur is, of course, used for clothing and decoration. Fleshing can be tedious, but it’s worth it in the end. Perrine will keep her favorite hides for herself, just to display in her room. Sometimes she’ll sell the hides to make some extra money.

Once, some hides Perrine left out rotted because they got too damp outside, and she had a full mental breakdown over it. It had been a bad week to begin with, and that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Overall, it’s a grisly job. Every part of it. Even the good.

But it’s necessary.

[blue-slxt]

Smart Mouth

*Request: If you are still taking requests, here's one! Reader is Ao'nung's meaner twin sister, maybe she's known for being an amazing warrior and hunter. But Lo'ak knows it's a front, because with him you aren't like that, he knows how submissive you truly are, especially when he has you under him.*

I have no clue how this turned out this long lmao I kinda just rolled with it. But I love this kind of trope. So I hope you enjoy this one. All characters are aged up.

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Smut under the cut

The talk amongst the clan about you seems to never cease. For one reason or another, your name was always on the tongues of other people. Many praised your strength. Able to stare down some of the most feared creatures in the wild without so much as blinking. You never backed down from a fight. In some respects, that was admirable. But it hurt the egos of the males in your clan when you would best them in a sparring match. Swinging them and tossing them to the ground with ease and grace.

This led to the talk amongst the people about how difficult it would be for you to find a mate. What kind of man wants a woman who could and would best him? Some looked down on you for it. Others had pity on you feeling that your beauty and status as the daughter of the chief was going to waste. As far as you were concerned, there were plenty of fine men your age in the clan that were plenty strong, but they simply lacked the nerve it took to break your spirit. If someone stepped up to the challenge, you would be more than willing to give him a chance, but no one ever did.

“I mean seriously, am I really so scary?” you would ask exasperated and frustrated beyond belief.

“Of course, you are.” Ao’nung would say without missing a beat while sharpening his knife next to you.

He flinches when your quickly smack him upside the head. Most of the time, the two of you were perfectly in sync, but on occasion, he could annoy you like no other. The pros and cons of being twins.

…

At dinner, your parents force you and your siblings to sit with the Sully kids in an effort to make you all get along. This had carried on for weeks now. Progress was slow going, but it was there, nonetheless. Tsireya took an instant liking to them which was perfectly in line with her personality. She could find the joy and love in any situation. You and Ao’nung were more reserved, though. Always have been. Seeking comfort in each other rather than connections with other people. But over time, the two of you would join in the conversation from time to time.

The Sully kids weren’t necessarily bad, but they weren’t made for reef life and trying to teach them your ways was tedious and irritating. The one who got on your nerves the worst? Lo’ak. He was the only one that gave you trouble with a never-ending string of back talk. He knew how to grind your gears and he did it all with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

“Your diving has gotten better lately.” Tsireya beams at them. But you scoff and roll your eyes.

“Do not lie to them Reya. Your forms are still sloppy. It is a wonder how one of you has not been washed away by the current yet.”

She bumps your shoulder and you just shrug as you were simply stating a fact.

“What? It is true. If it weren’t for us being there and keeping an eye on all of them, they wouldn’t last 2 seconds out there.” You say the last part while looking directly at Lo’ak. The rest of his siblings look annoyed or dejected, but he just turns his nose up at you with that same damn grin. “Is that really what you think?”

You narrow your eyes at him in a silent challenge, but he just cocks his eyebrow at you. You stand from your spot, “Whatever, I’m over this conversation. I’m going for a walk.”

Ao’nung and Tsireya give each other a questioning look watching you leave. It was unlike you. Normally, you never shut up in an argument. What was different about tonight?

You’re about 10 minutes into your walk on the beach when you stop to lean against a large rock on the shore. You just stand there and listen to the waves crashing against the sand.

“You do not seem to be doing much walking to me.”

There’s that voice. “What do you want, Lo’ak?”

“Well, as far as everybody else knows, I came to check on you and make sure you’re okay.” He saunters over towards you until his chest just barely brushes against yours when you breathe.

“So why are you actually here?” annoyance laced your voice and he just laughs lowly to himself.

Suddenly, his hand finds your jaw holding it firm and making you look up at him. “Because, clearly, we need to do something about this smart-ass mouth of yours.”

You do your best to hold his gaze, but it gets hard to focus with the heat pooling in your body. “If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was say so.” He speaks while pressing his body closer to you and essentially trapping you between him and the boulder. “Or maybe you want more than just my attention?”

You want to squeeze your thighs together to relieve some of the building pressure, but his body is too close. Your body squirms under him, but it just makes him hold you tighter. “Say it, tíyawn.” His fingertips tease at the strings on your hips holding up your loincloth. Your body is growing hungry and desperate.

“I want it.”

His hands hold your hips and turn you around to face the rock. One hand massages and gropes at your breasts while the other dips under the front of your loincloth and teasingly flicks at your clit.

“I don’t know. I’m not really convinced yet.”

“Lo’ak…” his name leaves your mouth more as a whine than a warning.

“Use your words, baby. You had so much to say earlier.” His fingers rub light circles around your clit without any real pressure behind them. “Be good for me and I’ll let you cum.” For just a second, his fingers press into your clit and your knees buckle. Your mind is growing hazy from the teases of satisfaction he gives you.

“Please, Lo’ak. Please fuck me. I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise!”

You can feel his lips ghosting over the skin of your neck, “There’s my good girl.” His lips kiss up the length of the back of your neck while his fingers on your clit finally give you that pressure you craved.

He loved this game you played. On the outside, so tough and proud. No one would dare to stand against you. No one would even so much as hold your gaze for too long. Sure, you were intimidating, there was no debate about that. He was sure you could probably skin a palulukan with your bare hands if you wanted to. But you were also beautiful beyond measure. You carried yourself with grace and confidence. Lo’ak knew from the moment he started training with you that you needed a challenge. You wanted a challenge. And he decided that he was going to be the one to give you everything you wanted. And in turn, it would turn out like this. You turned into a submissive begging mess under him. And you loved it.

His hand moves from your chest to untie both of your loincloths and let them fall to the ground. The length of his dick rested on your ass and a drop of precum falls onto your lower back.

He stands and spreads your ass to watch how your pussy drips in waiting for him. He bites his lip in restraint. Two of his fingers run up and down the length of your slit to gather your slick. He holds them in front of your face, “Open.” You obediently open your mouth for his fingers and swirl your tongue around them. At the same time, he lines himself up with your opening and pushes inside you. You open your mouth, but his fingers push further inside your mouth making you choke on your own moan.

Once he bottoms out inside you, he wastes no time giving you hard, deep thrusts. He pulls his fingers from your mouth to hold your hips for better leverage. Your hands brace yourself against the rock to keep yourself upright. “Oh, fuck! Lo’ak!”

“Yeah, this what you wanted? You wanted me to fuck that little attitude out of you?” A sharp sting lands on your ass when he smacks it.

“Fuck! Yes! Yes!”

Your legs almost give out from under you, but Lo’ak’s grip on your hips keep you on your feet. “Shit, so tight for me.”

Your body is screaming for release. “Ah! Lo’ak, I’m close!” Just as your feel yourself half a second from going over the edge, Lo’ak stops. “Nooo…” Your hips fall back onto him trying to take back your orgasm that he ripped away from you. You can hear the low chuckle he lets out as his hands hold you place. Your head falls forward against the rock in front of you in frustration as tears prick your eyes.

“Lo’ak…please…”

His hand falls on your ass again in another sharp slap. “Who?”

“Please, sir! Please let me cum! I promise I’ll be so good!” You’ve never felt a need like this outside of your heat and he revels in the power he has over you in moments like this.

“Good girl.” He continues beating against your cervix and your head falls back in ecstasy. A hand finds your hair and grips it holding your head back farther. Your eyes almost get lost in the back of your head as they roll trying to meet Lo’ak’s eyes.

The knot in your core tightens again while you climb back up to your peak. “Ah! I’m…g-gonna…” you struggle to get your words out, but you don’t even need to finish your sentence.

“That’s right, baby. Be my best girl and cum on my dick.” His words push your mind over the edge and your body violently trembles under the weight of your orgasm. Lo’ak nears his own high feeling your pussy clench around him desperately trying to milk him deep inside of you.

“Oh, shit, just like that. Take it, baby.” His thrusts get erratic as he fills you with his seed. He holds his hips flush against your ass holding himself inside of you while you both come down.

When he pulls out of you, your legs fully give out. You almost fall to the sand, but Lo’ak catches you and scoops you into his arms. He carries you out into the water to help wash you off. You nuzzle your face into his chest while he holds you and carefully runs his hands over your body. He tenderly kisses the top of your head and the two of you stay out in the water just floating together until you’re ready to return.

…

The next day, everything is back to business as usual. You and Ao’nung are out fishing and he scrunches his nose up at you.

“What? Why are you making that face at me?” you ask finally fed up with it.

“You smell odd. What is that?” disgust drips from his words.

“One more word about it and I will skin you!” you say pointing at him. He rolls his eyes at you, but you know that this won’t be enough to make him stop asking.

Meanwhile, Neteyam and Lo’ak watch the two of you while practicing their breathing techniques.  

“She’s kinda…intense, right?” Neteyam says lowly to Lo’ak hoping that you won’t hear him and turn your rage on him.

Lo’ak simply looks at you and shrugs his shoulders. “Not really.”

[lightparty-fullparty]

Oh, would you look at the time? It's me having thoughts about Zenos O'clock.

This time, I want to break down what I think the central concept of who and what Zenos is. And why he lives in my brain rent free.

At his core, Zenos is a character who does not understand, nor is himself understood by other people. I don't think that's a very controversial or even new thing to say. It's repeared and reinforced at several points during the narrative, across multiple expansions. Lyse does not understand him at the Royal Menagire, Varis does not understand him at Garlemald, Jullus does not understand him at Camp Broken Glass.

They do not understand who Zenos is as a person. What he values, or what he cares about.

Zenos is shaped by absence. An absence of purpose, motivation, drive. An absence of connections, friendships, love.

Let's break it down.

The Absence of Purpose:

This is his boredom. What fuels his need to find a challenge. That spark of something, anything, to break through the utter tedium of his daily life. The short story claims that he has always been incredibly gifted. Learning and absorbing information with little effort and incredible speed. Before his new swordsmanship instructor, Zenos has never found anything difficult to do. He has not been sufficently challenged. Nothing has managed to retain his interest because he has mastered it too easily. He is a child, and he is tired of his life.

The encounter he had with the Corvosi tutor/assassin was the first instance where Zenos failed to achieve something immediately. Where he had to exert mental and physical effort. Where he developed a desire to overcome repeated instances of failing.

This is why he is desperate to recreate that feeling of challenge. Why he thinks that combat is the only available source he has. Because nothing, absolutely nothing else up to this moment, has done what his instructor did. Made him fail. Made him feel.

What this does to his outlook is narrow Zenos' world view. It gives him a single desire to recreate the feeling of motivation and drive he had towards finally besting his instructor. This is why I think Zenos was content to go along with the Empire's conquest of Eorzea and the rest of Hydalyn. Because it gave him the opportunity to battle. To test himself against other warriors who maybe, just maybe, would give him the same feeling his instructor did.

Nothing else mattered because nothing else made Zenos feel much of anything. It was all the same. Tedious. Bording. Easy.

To Zenos, the pursuit of a person's goal doesn't require any greater justification other than "It's what I want to do." You do things because they serve your greater purpose. You eat to keep yourself alive so you can train, so you can be strong enough for combat. That's it. There is no enjoyment, no pleasure, to be found in the daily living of life. The only moment of catharsis is finally reaching the end.

Zenos does not care about why the Empire is conquering the world. The Emporer simply wants to, that's it. To Zenos, all of the reasoning of "making the world better" of "spreading the glory of Garlemald" does. Not. Matter. Because it does not change the core belief that people do things because they want to.

Jullus asks him why? Zenos asks him why that even matters. People do things because they want to or because it allows them to achieve the thing they want. That's it. That's all. There is never a greater meaning than that. No dressing it up in philosophy or politics. It won't change the outcome of the actions. It doesn't affect anything at all. The dead are still dead. Zenos still wants his fight. Garlemald still wants its glory.

Jullus here is confronted by Zenos' nihilism. The realization that there is no justification. No meaning. Not for Zenos. Not for Garlemald. Not for anything. The reason is meaningless because the reason doesn't change a single damn thing.

And yet. How can we say that the reason never matters? Never changes things? How can we look at FFXIV as a story and say that this is right?

Reason is everywhere. Reason gives context and produces empathy. Understanding. Of course, you resent the outcome less when you understand that the problem was caused by someone trying to help. To make something positive. That it was a simple mistake instead of a purposeful act of harm.

This is where the second absence comes into play. This is where tragedy lies.

The Absence of Connection:

Zenos has no friends. No family bonds. No companionship. No understanding of other people. He sees people only in terms of his own goal. Weak and boring. Or strong and interesting. His emotional range is severely restricted. Fluctuating between bored or frustrated. Anything else only comes to the front after his encounter with the Warrior of Light. Where a faint hope is sparked that this person might just be the one to challenge him. This blazes to life at the Royal Menagire, and Zenos spends the rest of the game chasing that fading comet.

The short story shows us a bleak view of Zenos' life as a child. His mother is dead, and he has no memory of her. His father is absent, dismisive, and uncaring.

The servants and staff around are mere robots to Zenos. Implying they have little to no personal interaction with him. Or are so chained by the rules of Garlean High Society that they can not interact with him or risk punishment. On top of this, I believe that Zenos was also being taught due to the war propaganda, that these servants (possoble taken from conquered nations) were lesser. Were not people. Were to not be seen and not be spoken to.

His tutors were boring. Since lessons were easy and rote. Other children held no interest because Zenos was so far beyond them mentally. I imagine that given his genius that the average child his age must have seemed like a toddler to him. Zenos has never had a peer. Someone of equal standing. Someone he could connect with or was able to empathize with. I highly doubt that anyone else around him found lessons and training to be so easy. Who found living itself to be dull.

Zenos IS an island. Zenos IS alone. And this affected him deeply. He has never learned what a healthy connection with someone else is. His emotional development was so utterly stunted and warped that it left him unable to empathise. To Zenos, his life has been so empty of warmth and care for him that he is unable to feel that towards other. Due to this, he can not understand motivations outside of his own narrow scope. To Zenos, life has never had any meaning, outside of his pursuit of challenge. Whereas others around him, who struggle, who fail, have always had this deep rooted purpose of striving to improve and succeed. Their dreams and goals pushing them forwards because it doesn't come easy. So here we have this isolated, empty, genius. Who has never struggled, has never managed to connect with anyone. Chasing desperatedly after the one, singular person in his life who managed to change that. it's so important that he called the Warrior of Light his 'First Friend'. The first person Zenos has been challenged by, who has sparked insterest. Who he has connected to. I do believe that, as least for the 'cannon events' of FFXIV, the Meteor Survivor Box Art timeline, the Warrior of Light does have things in common with Zenos. The enjoyment of a good fight. A want to face tough opponents, to seek greater and greater challenge. Zenos sees this, and for the first time in his life, he is able to in part understand someone else. He is only able to return this gift of purpose and connection in the same way he recieved it. By throwing himself at the WoL in combat. To try and recreat that spark he felt. This is also the reason, I think, that Zenos didn't change his approach after he resurected into EleZenos. I don't think he ment to come back. It was an accidently biproduct of the Resonant. Zenos was suddenly faced with the possiblity that he was now immortal, and I think the implication that his life of utter tediom would never end drove him to chase the WoL all the harder. He needed something to give him meaning and purpose, or be faced with a bleak eternaty forevermore.

This is what Alisiae is able to see. Past all of Zenos' outward neutrality and boredom, she saw that desire in him to keep that connection with the WoL. That's why she called him out on it, becuase Zenos did not understand himself and his emotions enough to idenitfy what it was he really wanted. A friend.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

All the reviews I try to watch (without spoilers) all come down to people saying ‘oh they have to say this’ on positive ones and then complaining about ‘not being how Dragon Age is’ on negative ones in the comments (and I know I know, don’t read the comments but… yeah.) and it’s… frustrating.

Dragon Age has always been an evolving franchise that has vastly moved away from its ‘Baldur’s Gate Successor’ state.

I never liked DAO combat, but then I’m a story person. I want a good story that’s intriguing and fun to play, which I hear is what is happening so far. That’s one thing even a die hard combat fan reviewer said is good. The story was interesting so far. And I’m excited for it. I want a good story. I want to have fun with the game. But even then, my brothers who both enjoy combat, call Origins mid. It’s not a great combat system for them and they find it kind of annoying that’s there’s so much that just doesn’t matter.

How many people actually use the poisons and the traps in game? How many of the specializations are that useful? Not many. And acting like Origins was flawless and ‘all the games should have been like it’ is just a bunch of elitists who can’t get over the fact the games rapidly change and grow over time. The franchise has always been a very fluid one. Inquisition wasn’t like Origins at all and half the diehards who complain about nothing being like Origins hated it despite Inquisition being one of the best selling BioWare games.

Then the comments on ‘what’s the play length’ are just as frustrating. Game play length is one of those things that honestly are hard to gauge anyway! ‘It has over hundreds of hours’ can be said about so many games. But how many are actually enjoyable hours?

I’m sick of open world bullshit where it’s the same 50 fetch quests in an area. I want to run around, have fun in a linear mission sense and have fun. This is my prefered game. Even the OG Mass Effect was more mission focused even if you could fuck off to run around planets for a while. If you focused only on the mission, I legit will say it took me three days to beat the first Mass Effect. And that is counting sleeping, eating and tedious tasks like a social life. I like those games where there is a mission and some side quests. I don’t want to have to run around a giant area full of nothing again.

Inquisition sucked in that regard. How many of us actually bothered with going to the Hissing Wastes more then once or bothered with the Shards more then a couple times? Fucking few I know.

So I’m excited about it being linear. I’m excited about seeing the combat. I’m excited about the story.

Everyone complaining lashes out about the combat, the art style and it being woke. But Dragon Age art style has always been fucking weird (let’s be real) and the combat has always been something to complain about.

And then the people going ‘oh you can just change names and it’s not Dragon Age’ you can do the same thing with Baldur’s Gate 3. Change the setting, edit a few D&D things and boom- same game. Same with Skyrim. Same with Call of Duty. Same with ANY game.

Also NGL- it’s telling a lot of the people I see do the most complaining are cis heterosexual white dudes. I legit have seen a couple ‘I’m not to sure’ comments from women but nothing to the level I see from the dudes.

Just putting it out there.

[quailxcrossing]

For whichever characters most inspire-

🍳 "Are you a good cook? Do you enjoy cooking? What's your favorite thing to cook?"

📖 "What kinds of books do you read? Do you have a lot of time to read?"

🥂 "How do you celebrate you accomplishments?"

tehehehehe hi!!!! thank you so much for the questions oh man, these have been such a joy to think about as i lay around

i thinkkk i'm gonna answer these from the POV of each of my main comic guys bc i think that would be so cuteeeee they're on my mind :3 always....always on my mind

🍳 "Are you a good cook? Do you enjoy cooking? What's your favorite thing to cook?" Caius - caius is the most utter dogshit horrible cook in the entire world... he finds cooking really boring and tedious, he hates just about every part (prep, the Work, waiting, and cleaning). He also has a very small palette, he tends to stick to the same couple foods that are very easy to make and safe to his flavor profile. mostly pastas, commonly involving cheese Etcetera - meanwhile Etcetera is the exact opposite, he's the only one who uses the kitchen! he really enjoys cooking and experimenting, he loves really crazy flavors and trying out weird alternatives to ingredients. he has a hard time making the same dish twice! he was gladly the main chef in the house, and did his best to make sure it was something all three of them could enjoy! Imogen - imogen is a weird little organism. she doesn't really need food, she gets her energy in a way that is almost electrical and almost photosynthetic, but she likes eating! she can consume things and they will get consumed, just differently. her biology aside, imogen mostly eats etcetera's good cooking, but gets crazy excited over caius's easy sweet treats because she's too spoiled off Michelin Star meals Kennedy - kennedy CAN cook, but chooses not to most of the time, as they're rarely home. but the thing is, they can really only make breakfast food, so just try to impress people with omelets over and over again. makes french toast for dinner and hopes people dont notice. misses waffles the most

📖 "What kinds of books do you read? Do you have a lot of time to read?" Caius - he'll read anything, i think reading is like a calming repetitive thing for him to do, you could place just about anything with words in front of him and he'll read it. he writes a lot too, always taking notes in his journals, then reading them back! has a nice little personal library of his favorites- of which are mostly nonfiction, high fantasy, and memoirs Etcetera - has a super low attention span, too low for books, and words get swimmy and itchy to look at too long, so he's not much of a reader! he kinda hates this, he really wishes he read more, trying to get into audiobooks, but he appreciates the tactile-ness of a book. likes caius's high fantasy stories Imogen - xenofiction of COURSE. of course she got extremely into animal fiction which i think would be even more popular/mainstream here! but she also really liked realistic fiction, coming of age stuff, stories about girls going on middle school adventures, even though she's near college age, she still goes back and rereads these sorts of books they're very comforting..... Kennedy - reads mostly non-fiction topical stuff like magazines, but they have a lot of time to kill rn, so they'll begrudgingly read anything and pretend not to like it. mostly realistic fiction tho they really like...

🥂 "How do you celebrate you accomplishments?" Caius - self care night (stay inside, sit on couch, dim lighting, book, no contact, white noise machine going) Etcetera - talk about it to everyone she knows :3 probably make something delicious or go out with friends depending on what exactly the accomplishment is Imogen - her dads would always always hype her up, she'd usually get a little treat like going out for ice cream, maybe if its REALLY good (like a good end-of-year report card) she'd get to go down to the shops by the beach and get like, $10 and buy herself a little trinket Kennedy - BENDERRRRRR