#i hate it when people call him ugly under the mask he's not )+. he's not he's so handsome.

[caracello]

i think he's so beautiful under the mask i really do kicks a can down the street... he looks tired. sniff.

[revelboo]

bruh these requests are wild, Metroplex, SUNDER??? SUNSTORM????? at this rate they're gonna start asking for Beast Wars characters and you'll somehow write a beautiful saga of getting isekai'd to prehistory so reader can romance Dinobot.

People have been asking for Beast Wars, but I never actually watched that one. It was on when I was a kid and I remember trying to like it because ROBOTS, but never getting past the ugly, early CGI to watch it. Every time I tried, I cringed at the art 🥲

18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

You (Don’t) Know Me Pt 4

Insecticons x Reader

• Head tipping to watch you writhe against Kickback’s mouth, Bombshell vents deeply, scenting you as your fingers find one of Kickback’s antennae and tug, body arching on a gasp and Shrapnel lifts his head, glossa sliding over his sharp denta to watch you buck against Kickback’s grip. Head thrown back as you cry out, that sound stirs every predatory instinct. Watching you squirm and make those needy sounds, he’s secretly pleased with Kickback’s choice even if he hadn’t been completely on board to begin with. Their hunt had been cut short, but he fully intends to finish it. Wants the satisfaction of properly chasing and claiming you.

• Trembling as you come apart, you can hear the wet sound of the one between your thighs, Kickback they’d called him, lapping at you. Shivering every time he tunnels his glossa inside you before he finally lifts his head and you let go of his antenna. Thighs falling open, you struggle up onto your elbows. That needy haze still buzzing through you, feeling that empty ache as Kickback retreats and the one with the mask stares down at you, head tipping. Skin prickling with awareness under his scrutiny as his attention drifts over you to linger on your spread thighs. And then he shrinks like the other two had. Becoming smaller, but still so much bigger than you.

• Antenna lifting as Bombshell’s biolights flare to draw your eye, Kickback’s own spike is aching. Wanting, but knowing he’ll be last to claim you. Hissing softly, Bombshell drops to his knees between your spread thighs and frees his spike. Sharp servos curling around his length, stroking himself as his biolights pulse. “Ready for your coronation?” Bombshell growls, hips lifting to show off what he’s offering. Asking. Kickback tenses waiting as your eyes dart from Bombshell’s face to his spike, glancing at him then Shrapnel as they both kneel and display themselves. Singing softly for you to draw your eye as his own biolights cycle and rocking his hips when you look at him. Not sure what Bombshell will do if you refuse them, but afraid you’ll become a meal instead of a mate.

• Coronation? Still floating in that post climax warmth, you keep staring at those pulsing lights. At the intimidating jut of their spikes. One of them is making a soft clicking sound, another almost chirping again, singing softly. Wanting them even though the logical part of you knows they’ve done something to you. Something that’s left you wanton and desperate, achingly empty. And they’re all waiting, watching. Not taking when they easily could, not touching, but asking permission. That’s what makes you give in, feeling that heat and need stirring. Wanting them. “Please.” Reaching out and the bigger one snarls and shifts to cover you, a big, clawed hand bracing near your head. Feel his hard length slide against you. Find you and drive deep, the burn of him stretching you as you arch on a breathless moan.

• Hates to admit Kickback was right, but sinking inside your tight, wet heat, Bombshell gives a hissing groan of pleasure. “That’s it, take all of me,” he growls. Aware of his brothers shifting closer, but keeping their servos to themselves for now, but patience has never been their strong suit. Hips rocking against you, he begins to move in earnest. Head lowering to rub the battle mask covering the lower half of his face against your cheek and throat, scenting your skin as he braces himself over you. Feeling when you begin moving to meet his deep thrusts. When those soft hands catch at his chassis, fingers digging into seams and encouraging him take you rougher, hips snapping against you. “That’s right. Claim what’s yours.”

• Almost overwhelmed with him, his big frame caging yours, his thick spike stroking relentlessly, you hear the faint click. Catch a glimpse of his lower face no longer hidden as that haze of white hot need starts to ebb to be replaced with alarm, then his mouth covers yours, glossa stealing inside and tangling with your tongue. And the uncertainty shatters leaving only molten need again. Hips bucking as his mouth brushes from the corner of your mouth over to your jaw and you cry out as you shatter. Feel him moving faster against you, snarling. His sharp denta grazing your throat when he releases inside you.

• Servos flexing as he watches Bombshell’s hips rock against yours before his brother slips free, Shrapnel hisses softly. As soon as Bombshell moves clear, he shifts to cover you, servos tangling in your hair to tip your head back. “You’re going to be a good, little queen, aren’t you, you?” He croons, glossa sliding against the delicate line of your throat. Mouth stroking against yours, he groans when you open up for him without hesitation. Submitting to him. Lifting his head when you whimper, he hooks an arm around you to flip you on your belly. Hissing when you lift your hips for him and he covers you, burying his spike deep with a venting groan at how tightly you fist him. “So good, good.”

• Pushing back to meet his frantic thrusts, it occurs to you that you only know one of their names. That that should bother you. That everything about this should bother you, but as soon as the thought slips in, it’s gone again, washed away with the need. The wet sound of his spike driving inside you, your moans, and his snarling groans. His servos tightening on your hips as he ruts against you, those claws scraping against your skin. So close to that peak again, but then he’s shuddering, a palm slamming down to brace himself as he comes inside you leaving you behind as you whimper.

• Singing softly as Shrapnel pulls out of you, his and Bombshell’s excess on your thighs as you stay sprawled on your belly breathing raggedly, Kickback pulls you into his lap. Bumps his helm gently against your head, mouth brushing your neck as his servos slide against you. “Knew you’d be a good queen for us,” he whispers, shifting you to straddle his hips, lifting you and spearing you on his spike with a groan. Hears your soft moan, hips bucking in his grip. Laying you back, hips up in his lap, he begins to move against you, aware of Bombshell leaning over you. His brother’s servos sliding under the back of your head before his mouth claims yours. Thrusting lazily inside you, savoring the way you feel around his spike as Shrapnel stretches out on your other side so you’re caged by them. One of your hands cupping Bombshell’s head to you as Shrapnel guides the other to his spike, his bigger hand covering yours, guiding you to stroke him as he groans. “Such a good little mate,” Kickback groans, optics half shuttered as he watches you writhe under him. And they’re not nearly done with you yet.

Previous

Next

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Part 3 of butcher!Simon I've got two lovely anons in my inbox and seeing people liking butcher!Simon really made me want to put more of my thoughts about him into words. Thank you two! I hope this doesn't suck too bad. < Part 2 | COD Masterlist | Part 4 >

It’s Friday. That fact is the only thing that keeps Simon from turning himself into minced meat. Friday means you’ll come and get your ugly mutt meat. That means he’ll get to see you and hear your pretty voice and if he’s really lucky and plays his cards right, maybe he can make you laugh again.

So when some Karen complains that his meat went bad after she left it on the porch for a week (Jesus what did he do to deserve customers like that) he swiftly throws her out of the shop and tells her to get her meat elsewhere if the quality isn’t satisfying, instead of getting into an actual fight (Would you be proud of him for that? Call him a good boy?).

He doesn’t want to be occupied with some silly argument when you come in. You deserve his full attention.

When he sees you through the window he feels like a wife that has been waiting for years to see her husband come back from war (hah, the irony of that thought), and immediately straightens up brushing his apron down and adjusting the mask.

This time you only hesitate a second before you open the door and step in with your dog. Simon grins a bit behind his mask. He’s so proud of you for doing what makes you more comfortable that he almost murmurs “good little lovie” under his breath but he manages to bite it back. Thanking god for the self-control to hold that in because that would have weirded you out for sure.

You smile brightly at him and he wants to steal you away and chain you up in his home so no one else but him gets to see that.

When did he turn into such a fucking creep? He shakes his head to rid himself of those thoughts. Seeing you smile like that makes tension he didn’t even know he had bleed out of his shoulders.

“Hi, Simon.”

He almost shudders, hearing his name being said by you again. And instead of greeting you back, like a normal fucking human, he is so flustered by your smile that he only manages a vague grunt as hello.

He’s reverted back to cavemen days, it seems. He’s already made a fool of himself and you’ve been in the shop for barely a few seconds.

You step up to the counter, looking at the meat while your dog eyes Simon. At least he doesn’t seem to hate him which he counts as a big achievement.

Simon nearly groans again when he sees the adorable way you purse your lips and furrow your eyebrows in concentration. Yeah, Fridays and Tuesdays are his favorite days of the week for sure.

He watches you pick out your meat and carefully bags it for you, making sure that you have the best pieces.

“Not the usual?”, he questions and watches you nearly jump from suddenly hearing his voice.

Why is he so bad when it comes to making you feel at ease? You shake your head.

“Want to give my boy options so I know which ones are his favorites.”, you explain and pet your dogs back who promptly begins to wag his tail.

Damn, Simon would wag his tail for you too if you deigned him worthy of getting to feel your hands.  He could swear your dog is grinning at him victoriously when you stop petting him to pay and get the meat from Simon’s hold.

The mutt gets all nosy with the bag and slyly tries to take it from you. You turn your full attention to the dog.

“Down, boy.”, your voice is stern and immediately the dog settles, looking up at you with big innocent eyes. “That's my good little pup.”

Simon grabs onto the counter, blood rushing to his face and other places. God he really wishes he was born a dog.

[ghosty-writes-23]

Incorrect COD Quotes Part. 1

WARNING: Suggestive (Slightly spicy) & dark humored content.

A/N: some of these might be a little suggestive, so you have been warned, Also V is my own female OC but can be read as x reader if you prefer that.

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

----------

Ghost: *see’s Soap and V do something extremely dangerous and sighs* “God give me patience for these two.”

V: *overhears him* “don’t you mean strength there sir.”

Ghost: “if god gave me strength you both would be dead.”

Both Soap and V: *gulp*

----------

König: *gives V a beaded friendship bracelet he made* “so you can have a part of me, when your on your mission”

V: *is on the verge of ugly crying under her mask as he placed the bracelet on her wrist* “I will protect this with my life.”

----------

Alejandro: *pats Graves on the shoulder giving him a knowing look* “I hate seeing you like this.”

Graves *has a confused look on his face* “Like what? I'm not upset.”

Alejandro: “no in person, I hate seeing you in person.”

*Dead silence*

V: *covers her mouth to hide the fact she is laughing under her mask and fails terribly*

----------

V: *does something idiotic and stupid that Ghost warned her not to do.*

Ghost: *sees V get hurt* “I don’t care, I warned her that if she hurt herself I wasn’t going to help her.”

Voice over: “but ghost did really care as later that night he made sure her injuries were too serious and lightly scolded her before giving her one of his hoodies to wear and played with her hair until she fell asleep*

----------

Ghost: *takes off his mask revealing his face in front of everybody*

Price: “It's good to see you again, Simon.”

Soap: *lowkey checking ghost out*

Gaz: “not what I expected.”

V: “Why is everybody in this group so goddamn pretty, it makes me feel like a trash gremlin.” 

Ghost: *puts his mask back on*

Soap: “don’t worry V, you will always be our trash gremlin.”

----------

Price: *walks into the briefing room looking for V* "can I have my sweater back"

V: *looks at him innocently* "only if I can have my virginity back"

*Cue whole briefing room goes silent*

V: *laughs before sliding his hoodie off and hands it to him* "here you go sir"

----------

Soap and V are at the pet store, looking for collars for the new squad dog teddy.

Soap: “Okay we got everything, let's go already, wait where is V?”

V *is in the collar section, looking for a choker chain*

Soap: “why are you looking at choker chains, you don’t have a pet?”

V: “how do you know that sergeant” *smirks slightly under her mask and grabs the one she is looking for and places it around Soaps neck before giving it a slight tug*

Soap: *grunts and stumbles forward* “What kind of dog is it?”

V: *giggles soft before taking it off and grabs another in the same size* “ones that need to be house trained, now let's get out of here before Price rings us and asks why we are taking so long”

*Bonus*

*later that week in training Soap see’s both König and Ghost sporting what looked like dog choker chains around their necks*

----------

*The 141 men + V are in the common room, relaxing after training.

V: Spread me apart, lick me with your tongue, grab my sides, and eat my cream and that is how you eat an Oreo cookie.”

Soap: *chokes on his drink* “bloody hell woman.”

Gaz: *is laughing at soap’s reaction* 

Price: *gives her the disappointed dad look* “Really V.”

V: Oh come on captain it was funny.

Ghost: *is cleaning his gun but does chuckle at her joke*

----------

Gaz: “does anybody else notice that people that liked to be choked, hate being tickled.”

V: *feels slightly called out and starts sweating and nervously laughing* “haha, that's oddly specific there Gaz.”

Gaz: “It's like they are completely fine with you cutting off their oxygen supply, but as soon as you try to tickle them, they will kill you.”

V: *looks at him dead serious* “Maybe some people hate being tickled.”

----------

©Ghosty-writes-23, 2024. all rights reserved. Do NOT translate or repost my work, or make AI Bots without my permission.

[snottertooder]

Why this red hood design is bad for Red hood as a character

My 2 cents on how this red hood design is harmful for his character and falls into the stereotypes that are put on him (aka Classism aka Angry Robin reckless Jason ) I will be looking at this from a logical stand point as an artist so if you like smth about this design power to you. A characters design is supposed to be both realistic AND fit the characater aesthetically which neither do here. (Ex: Superman wearing neon red undies is not realistic but it’s his trade mark)

1) Domino mask

Quick and easy, making the eyes of the Domino mask red instead of white intigates anger, literally screams “I see red” really drives home “pitmadness jason” “angry Robin jason”

2) Muscular Build

We see muscular builds in characters who are brawlers, who are more strong than smart, heros, crooks, henchmen,villains. Jason falls into none of those Categories, It makes him out to be more of a brawler type like the hulk rather than someone who uses weapons (or guns 🙃 like he should be)

I don’t see any point of him having muscles on his arms as he’s more like Nightwing, he trained like dick and fights similarly to him. I’ve seen people say he’s the least athletic Robin which? I’m just going to assume it’s because of this design choice of him having bigger muscles because Bigger = Slower.

The addition of the muscles also makes him look older which takes away the real tragedy of Jasons story which is that he’s so young, he died young, he fought Bruce at the age of 18. Making him look older takes away his “innocence” (aka the tragidy of his character). Basically Adding muscle isn’t beneficial for his skills set + paints a different picture of his character at first glance (he looks like a brawler rather than a duelists + he doesn’t look agile + he looks older)

3) Clothing

Bandages- he looks like a brawler, or a boxer type character, again focuses more on fighting red hood than his actual character: a planner “I’m 5 steps ahead of you” under the red hood Jason. It screams Reckless Jason who throws punches first asks questions later, and paints him in a different light (also they are SOOO UGLY with his gloves)

Vest- looks really cheap and thin, literally looks like something you would find at a Goodwill bins but drop immediately from the weird texture. Your telling me your a trust fund kid with a Billionaire daddy and a Mother figure who’s a princess but can’t get a proper vest?? Also the hood is soo on the nose, just because he’s called red hood doesn’t mean he needs that. Bring his helmet back.

Pants- it doesn’t look like it in the picture but 99.9% of the time they are drawn as sweatpants and sometimes they’re even adidas like he’s being sponsored to wear them. Again very cheap and he looks so goofy next to other hero’s who have proper gear on. It’s giving I woke up like this. Give him proper pants.

Symbol- this is more personal opinionated but I hate him having a symbol, the current one looks weird and what is that even supposed to be??? Why would he put that on his shirt?? It looks like a the Red heart on converses expect like possessed and angry (weird choice making the eyes look like that but okay….) I prefer him having no symbol at all, I genuinely think he’s popular enough to live off his red helmet alone, let it be his symbol, or a simple R like in three jokers (also nods to his Robin costume) but lowkey im grateful bc seeing the other options this was definitely the best……

Final synopsis: this design leans into the caricature Dc likes to put him in but also has some Fanon Jason todd mixed into it. He looks angry, stupid, and poor. looks nothing like who he is at core and strays soo far from his og design (again a brawler rather than a dualist) he looks lazy in it and it genuinely looks like he picked up his outfit at the nearest Walmart. I am not against seeing Jason in new costumes and played around with his design but when it strays so far and makes his character look completely different I don’t see the point of changing it in the first place.

Anyways save me Under the red hood Jason and Three jokers Jason 🙏.

[immediatebreakfast]

Dear Lanyon,—You are one of my oldest friends; and although we may have differed at times on scientific questions, I cannot remember, at least on my side, any break in our affection. There was never a day when, if you had said to me, ‘Jekyll, my life, my honour, my reason, depend upon you,’ I would not have sacrificed my left hand to help you. Lanyon, my life, my honour, my reason, are all at your mercy; if you fail me to-night, I am lost. 

Sir Henry Jekyll, admired scientist of your time.

“It is well,” replied my visitor. “Lanyon, you remember your vows: what follows is under the seal of our profession. And now, you who have so long been bound to the most narrow and material views, you who have denied the virtue of transcendental medicine, you who have derided your superiors—behold!”

You are a hypocrite beyond comparison.

How could he? How truly could he dare do this? I ask, and yet the answer lays on Hyde's words, and Jekyll's intentions.

Lanyon's letter is the beginning of the end in this mystery. It is the ugly truth coming to light, it's looking at the horror directly, and wondering why are you witnessing this.

How arrogant of Jekyll to play with his disturbing discovery like this in front of his old friend. He wrote such moving letter, so well written and so desperate, to lead Lanyon to do what he wanted. Yet, in his desperation to prove his theory, Jekyll killed Lanyon.

Remember how they fell apart, a dispute about crimes against science, probably trying to do magic, and call it science. Then neither can see eachother, leaving Utterson in the middle, and in all of that time Jekyll was preparing this while Lanyon was none the wiser.

The chase, the instructions, Hyde coming to Lanyon's house specifically, all of it was planned.

Now that I truly think about it, maybe this is why Hyde had such despicable aura, and how he as mask ends up becoming "stronger" than Jekyll despite him being a fundamental part of the gentleman. Hyde's whole being, one of the pillars that made his existance possible was Jekyll's emotions towards Lanyon. All of that pettiness, the hate, the rage, all of them boiled inside Jekyll then exploded in Hyde.

Hyde is not only Jekyll with a mask, he is Jekyll's ill intentions made physical to the point that the first thing people notice about him is that negative miasma that makes them hate him. Hyde was born out of hatred!

And what Jekyll did was inflict that traumatic transformation upon Lanyon... Because Lanyon rightfully called his endeavours "unscientific balderdash." An unscientific balderdash that ended up killing him from pure terror.

This whole horrifying display of defying the laws of nature was just the pettiest way possible for Henry Jekyll to finally prove to his old friend Hastie Lanyon that at the end he was the better scientist.

[the-priestess-of-dawn]

thinking abt ur validar post because i actually thought about that a little in my stupid werewolf fic. I had to really sit down and be like "what the fuck would people even FIND attractive about this guy enough to have a baby" and I didnt wanna just use the occult angle and it hit me that Validar isn't self-caring because he hates he's not the vessel he wanted and yeah he definitely IS the equivalent of That Parent. You know the one. What I'm saying is maybe there's a commentary to be made here abt how the Plegian people and him in turn felt so dehumanized in general after a point even the extremist sects of Grimleal were better bc well, if you become food for Grima/BECOME Grima's body then you're useful and good and righteous. What gets me is Plegia isn't poor, either, but its poor in sustainability outside the ocean... idk, a lot of food for thought with Validar here. I didn't expect to think abt him in FEH so deeply but here we are.

Honestly it's kind of embarrassing how much I HAVE deeply thought about Validar. I've been wanting him to get into FEH for a long time now. A lot of his lines in Awakening are so poorly written that it's hard to make sense of him as a person. But even though you can't really argue that he's in any way sympathetic in the text... For me at least, there's no such thing as a completely unsympathetic villain, and I can't help feeling sorry for both him and the other members of the Grimleal...

I mean, yeah, when Aversa explains that Plegia suffering under Gangrel was useful because it drove the people to worship, I think we ARE supposed to feel bad for the common people. But I think it's easy to fall into a trap of trying to distinguish those ordinary citizens from the evil, manipulative leaders like Validar just a little bit too much. Aren't they all trapped in the same vicious cycle, in the end?

Over the course of the game, we occasionally fight some Grimleal enemies who are... really just nasty, and not supposed to be given a second thought at all. But I can't help but be moved that they call out to Grima with their dying words... "Master Grima... my life force... is yours..." (Chalard, Chapter 8). "Lord Grima... Rain down... retribution..." (Jamil, Paralogue 6).

The Grimleal... love Grima. Even Validar loves Grima. Aversa says he's everything she knows of love, but she also doesn't presume he loves HER, so of course it's his devotion to Grima that she sees. Notably, it's this form of love that makes her content to die for him.

So I end up feeling deeply moved, even though (or more accurately, BECAUSE) the entire philosophy behind the Grimleal is so horrific. The deep despair these people must feel in order to see salvation in the form of humanity's destruction... It's NOT just "hee hee powerful dragon will make me powerful" because these people, including Validar, do not presume that they are special and going to survive. Even the leader of the Grimleal is nothing. Grima alone is everything.

And... okay I talk a lot about the symbolism of Grima's name meaning mask, which I love so much, but lately I've also been thinking about the meaning of their Japanese name, Gimurei—from Norse, Gimlé, referring to the place where the righteous will dwell in happiness after Ragnarok, which will stand "even when both heaven and earth have passed away." So... yes, I do think that for the Grimleal, giving their souls to Grima is a way of becoming righteous. The world is cruel and ugly but Grima will make it right :::)

(Of course, because they believe Grima is the only answer, no one does anything to make the world they have any better. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. One that Grima is drawn into as well. When this is what they wake up to, what are they supposed to do? If they don't destroy the world, they will be letting a LOT of people down.)

[tobiasdrake]

The Jataro boss fight!

Fresh off of Taichi's death, Komaru isn't having it. He was a good key and she's mad that Jataro broke him-- I mean, the heartbreaking death of this character who was definitely important and definitely left feelings to be felt is still fresh for her. She's in a state of absolute Fuck These Murderous Kids.

Komaru's moved out of the insecure phase and into the vengeful phase. She's going to defeat the Warriors of Hope with the power of friendship and this cool gun Byakuya gave her!

Traditionally, the audience is meant to agree with the hero. The villain drives the plot while the hero sets the tone. The hero is the lens through which we experience the story, and we are meant to more or less be in-line with their interpretation of events.

If the hero says, "I believe there's still good in that person," then we are meant to believe that there's still good in them, even if all we've seen is that character being a total monster. Conversely, if the hero says, "You are a monster and I will never forgive you," then we're meant to take away that the person they're talking to is utterly vile, beyond any hope of redemption - at least, according to information that the protagonist has at this time.

However, this is not always the case. Some protagonists are designed to, themselves, be an unreliable witness. Someone whose opinions and perspectives are more communicative of their own warped personality than of the events and people and things they're commenting on.

And, more relevantly to this particular moment, sometimes the audience is aware of key pieces of information that the protagonist is not. Information that drastically changes the circumstances that the protagonist is trying to understand. This is what's called "dramatic irony", where the protagonist must react in the moment based on limited information and is lacking key details that we already know.

So it goes with Jataro's initial confrontation. He explains his particular trauma, how he was forced to wear a mask because his mother hated his guts and verbally abused him. How she made him wear the mask to atone for being born ugly - And we're already starting to piece together that there's probably nothing wrong with his face at all.

But Komaru doesn't care. These kids are monsters and she just wants to take them down. She's making a lot of sense, too. And. Then. He drops the bombshell.

Three words: Big. Sis. Junko.

These words fly right over Komaru's head. Like water off a duck's back. They mean less than nothing to her. She's never even heard that name in her life.

But we have. We literally just came from a game about deprogramming the victims of Junko's cult-like influence. We're now seeing layers to this conflict that Komaru can't possibly understand. In this moment, the coalition between protagonist and audience fractures.

We know. We know that this isn't as simple as "The evil children must be destroyed." This is Junko Enoshima. This is another round of her sinister games continuing to haunt us from beyond the grave. This isn't a war; This is a city-wide Mutual Killing Game. When we saw those images of global violence in DR1 and wondered what she could possibly doing to the Earth, this is the answer. This is what the Tragedy is.

Too bad Komaru was shackled under a rock for a year and a half and doesn't know a single goddamn thing about it. All she can think right now is "Defeat the bad guys."

She is on the road to despair.

[stephaniebrownslover]

Annual Duck Competitions With Pastas And Tons Of Other Shit[Crack]—Part 4

Anas means duck in Latin.

Guys please give some reaction and tell me my mistakes and your opinions!

Also sorry if this chapter is bad but I'm ill.

There was silence in the atmosphere for a while. This was more reminiscent of the calm before the storm than a peaceful silence. 

As a matter of fact, that's what happened with Cody's intervention.

“Right. This is the worst thing I've ever heard."

Clockwork, with a rather serious expression, placed her left hand, which didn't has a wand around her waist.

"And your face is the worst thing I've ever heard."

"How dare you!"

Hoodie didn't even deign to break his calmness as Cody stood up angrily. This was a situation that he was very used to.

“Really? Is that the only thing you notice here?"

"Oh, you're right. Thanks, Hoot-Hoot."

Hoodie grimaced from under his mask at the nickname he heard, he really hated this stupid boy. And just when he thought he couldn't do anything even more stupid, Cody misled him once again.

"How dare you call me ugly just because you've heard some bullshit and not even bother to look at my face!"

"I give up."

Hoodie slightly scraped up the cloth face mask. He put his hand in his pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes, not caring that they were in an enclosed space. He first offered the package to Masky, then he himself took a branch of cigarette and placed it back in his pocket.

Clockwork knew that the inside would be covered by smoke, but she did not want to further distract the matter, which was already too drifted away.

“Fine. Before we get back, does anyone want me to explain why Cody's face is ugly?"

Or did she want to?

Of course, she was not surprised when she saw that no hands were raised from among the crowd.

"Good."

With a long stick in her hand, she pointed to Cody, who was sitting among the audience, crossed his arms around each other.

"When we look at Cody's face shapes, we see a unicorn vomited on it."

Cody just yell when he heard what was being said to him, he had learned by experience how passionate Toby's girlfriend was about arguments.

"Hey!"

And Jeff shouted from somewhere backstage, towards to Clockwork.

"And that unicorn is also a troll!"

"Yes!"

After hearing this, Toby muttered with using a tone of voice that only people sitting next to him could hear.

"I think we sho-uld bre-ak up."

"What, no! You guys are so cute together!"

When Nina suddenly shouted, Clockwork was very curious about what was going on. She certainly didn't like the fact that she wasn't in control of the situation.

"Hey, you two! What the fuck is going on there?!"

Nina got up from her seat and went near to Toby while she was talking., who was sitting at the back.

"Tobes and I were planning your birthday party, nothing important!"

Just as Toby opened his mouth to speak, Nina pressed her hand hard against his mouth.

"I said, mmphf-"

Clockwork raised one eyebrow in the air and posed the best question that could be asked in response to the strange sight in front of her.

"Why are you holding Toby's mouth?"

"Uh, because- Because he's hungry! I let him chew my hand until dinner!"

Toby slackened wearily under Nina's grip; he showed no further resistance. Instead he licked Nina's palm to help his silent rebellion.

"Um, okay."

Nina calmly made a sign to Cody to get up from his seat. Cody, who understood the signal instantly, got up and sat down in the vacant chair next to Jane.

"You're doing great, honey, keep talking!"

Nina and Toby were also sitting down; Nina's hand was still over Toby's mouth.

Clockwork pointed again with the stick in her hand to the heart-shaped Masky drawing she made just before their presentation.

"Jeff, put the love-boy-Masky-paper away."

"You can also buy it in auction later!"

After Jeff took the drawing in his hand, instead of placing it on the edge, he grasped it together with both hands and raised it above his head.

"We're not doing an auction."

He pressed the drawing to his own chest as he took it down.

"That's why no one came."

"I'm leaving."

Clockwork, who was annoyed when she saw Helen get up, addressed him.

"I'd sit down if I were you, scumbag. I wouldn't want my baby face ruined."

Helen was clenching his fists while trying to control himself to stay calm.

"Take back your words."

"Make me."

Liu put his hand on Helen's shoulder. Looking into his eyes, he shook his head from side to side, gently squeezed her shoulder. 

When Helen sat down, Liu was the one who spoke this time.

"Brother, can you finish this meaningless presentation as soon as possible please? Unlike you, some of us have quite busy lives."

Clockwork gave a rather short answer to this question, as if it had been addressed to her.

"Shut up, nerd."

"No one can call my brother nerd except me!"

When Jeff shouted angrily this time, winds of chaos began to blow around.

"Enough!"

A figure in a blue mask standing up from the audience caused both of them to stop.

"Oh shit, Jack was here?"

Jeff was surprised to see the creature he described as his friend. He thought that hhe didn't have time for this kind of work. Moreover, Jeff had told Masky not to insist because he knew that he was uncomfortable with crowded environments.

Jack pointed to Jeff with one of his long, gray fingers.

"You, immediately cut this stupid behavior."

Then he turned his attention to Clockwork.

"And you'd better finish this damn presentation soon."

As he pointed at him again, Jeff was startled by the black gaps under his mask.

"Or your dumb friend will have a punch in his pumpkin like face."

Instead of making a deal, she preferred an option that would cause a fight again.

"Try me."

"With pleasure. But I have things to do."

Jack was watching Clockwork with a menacing expression. It could not be said that he saw the surroundings exactly. More like he could distinguish shapes, but that was enough for him.

Zero shouted in a high-pitched voice from among the small crowd.

"Hey, nobody can punch Clock other than me!"

Clockwork took a deep breath with boredom, tried to use a calm tone of voice.

"You can't punch me too, Zero."

Zero used an even louder tone of voice this time, her voice almost resembled a battle cry.

"No one can punch Clock without me!"

Sitting in the corners of the middle row, Sally covered her ears, annoyed by the loud noise she was constantly exposed to. She also knew that this would not do any good, but she would prefer it to be a little quieter.

"They are very noisy."

Ben nodded, making it clear that he agreed with her.

"I know, Sally, I know."

"They are like a big baby."

Ben couldn't take it anymore and squeezed Sally's cheek.

"God, why are you the only sane person in this manor?"

Sally was holding her hands to her ears on the one hand, and on the other she was trying to distance herself from Ben.

She really hated being treated like a little baby.

"Silence in the court!"

"Yes, what Jeff said!"

Thinking that they couldn't do a job when Jeff and Clockwork just keep shouted, Masky threw his finished cigarette on the floor of the house; then he put it out with the help of his shoe.

"Everyone, go back to your seats, now!"

After a few seconds, the peaceful atmosphere attached to the cotton thread had been restored.

“Right. I'll keep the presentation if this shit is over."

Clockwork spoke again, looking at Jeff.

"Where was I?"

"Lover-kid Masky."

Ignoring Jeff completely, she turned her gaze to the audience.

"Oh yes, why we chose the ducks."

Using a rather serious tone of voice, she directed a question to the crowd.

"Has anyone attacked by a duck before?"

She was really surprised to see that no one raised their hand. She pointed with the index finger of her left hand at the smiling Jeff.

"No? Just this idiot?"

Clockwork used her stick to gently press against Jeff's chest while the crowd kept their stunned gaze.

"You told me that everyone was attacked by ducks!"

Jeff took a few steps backward, moving himself away from the pointy end of the stick. 

"Because they supposed to!"

Clockwork took a step forward and addressed the crowd again.

"We'll pretend this question didn't happen. Anyways, we chose to race the ducks because they are the most aggressive animals in whole world."

"And they can hurt you so badly!"

She didn't even turn his face to her when Jeff shouted from behind.

"Yes, Jeff, they hurt very badly. But the thing is, ducks have spirit's of true warriors."

This is the second time Ann has spoken out since the presentation happened. She really thought very contrary to Clockwork in this regard, and she felt the need to state it.

"Ducks are weak."

"No, keep your mouth shut, Ann. Ducks are awesome and they can kick everyone's ass."

Jeff called out from behind again.

"And they're very cute."

"What, no! Ducks are warriors of the wild!"

Clockwork shouted using an extremely harsh tone of voice.

"They even worshipped ducks in ancient Egypt because of their strong nature."

Liu could put up with Clockwork's nonsense for his brother, but giving false information to society?

This was an absolutely unacceptable mistake.

"I have to intervene, but I think this information is just mixed with another common belief. Did you mean a cat I believe?"

"I know what I'm saying, library-head. Jeff and I discovered an ancient Egyptian cult, which worships ducks."

Liu couldn't find anything to talk about because he was in absolute shock. 

He didn't know exactly which part surprised him more, that there was a cult that worshipped ducks, or that these two people had revealed the existence of such secret cult?

Of course, they could also be lying.

"Yes, they were very weird! I think they tried to sacrifice me to their goddess."

Helen murmured to himself.

"Good Lord."

Clockwork was eager to continue her speech as she had finally managed to reach the main important place.

"Yes, yes. This is all unnecessary, shitty information."

"I was fuckin' dying!"

"Maybe I should have just allow it. Whatever. The main thing is, this cult is still keeping up to their activity. They think they survived with the help of their holy goddess Anas."

Clockwork took the pencil that was on the in front of the board and began to make a drawing to make what she was saying sit better in their minds.

"This duck has been living for thousands of years and protecting them. And we need permission from their goddess for duck races."

When she finally finished the drawing, what appeared on the board was a three-eyed duck clothed in a rather fancy way. In addition, she pulled out several arrows and wrote these things;

'She Can Talk'

'Quite clever'

'She can Fly'

'Can spray fire from her mouth'

The crowd was so surprised by this situation that they didn't know what to say.

This couldn't be real, could it?

These two idiots must have been drunk or something, or they were just lying since it was too absurd to be true.

Other parts

When Jeff shouted in an enthusiastic tone of voice, a few words had come out of his mouth caused everyone to be even more shocked.

"And I stole their duck goddesses!"

[bewarethewolfarmy]

Rain In A Lost Heart

(Tonight on Erik's Crazy Life: He gets advice from someone he didn't ask the opinion of, realizes something, and gets told to take off his clothes. There's a cliffhanger which I apologize for but didn't want this getting too much longer

Masterlist

Chapter Ten: Music and Secrets )

It was cold and raining and dismal, a cloud of some darkness that covered the city that never sleeps and dug deep into the bones. Down below people walked the streets and sidewalks, aware of something inside that felt unsteady and cold but without a sense of what it could mean. For them it was just a day in New York, another day in which life went on and suffering was prolonged.

Up above a figure huddled in the rain, it's body barely protected from the freeze of the drops from the sky yet it made no move to try to get to shelter. It simply stayed crouched there, hood pulled down, heart heavy, and wished for the thousandth time in it's life for the release of death. The dream of something more, of love, of acceptance, of sunlight, felt far too unrealistic for it now.

Erik normally hated getting the messages about missions; he loathed Darius and his blackmail, and he loathed being made to be someone else's executioner again. But the missive offered a perfect opportunity when his world had crashed down around him to run, as far, as fast as he could; it gave him a way to get away when he didn't want to be seen or heard any longer, when he felt he could never face those two beautiful souls again. What he planned on doing after the mission he did not know, but that was a problem for future Erik and he was not future Erik; he was present Erik and he was full of pain and sadness and desperation. So the man opened his window and had escaped into the cold, dark afternoon, to the place he normally met up with the enigmatic Seer so that he could be made into a tool once more for someone's destruction.

But Seer was not there yet, as often was the case, and Erik's emotions were far too heavy for him to take standing. The rain felt familiar, a memory of even darker days before filling his mind as he curled up and let his own tears and pain melt into it.

The girls saw his face, the beautifully perfect goddess, the wonderfully kind librarian, the people who gave him a home, a safe haven, that for which he was willing to kill once again. But surely he could never go home to after what they saw; surely they would not want a hideous monster in their home, a inhuman abomination so ugly that even the most angelic of souls could not accept it. He wanted to of course, he desperately wanted to go home, back to the Library, back to the days before this one...no, the moments, because as terrifying as it had been, he had loved the sound of Nel playing the harp and had been looking forward to playing alongside her, playing with Tsuki with them, together the three of them making music. Even more of a home, even better of a place, but no, never again he was sure. Because they had seen the monster below the hood, no mask or wig to hide the true horrors, and it killed him inside.

“Specter what are you doing out in the rain?” That voice bashed against the wall of thoughts, insecurities and pain that surrounded Erik's mind and though he was aware of it, could hear it, it did very little to actually get through to him. Just made the man curl up more and think of how much he wished he'd been more aware, kept his hood from falling, kept himself from indulging too much. He'd never see Tsuki's sweet smile again, hear Nel's warm voice again, them calling out his name and reaching to take his hand and comfort him, give him a home, give him a place he could feel safe....

“Specter!” Oh that voice was insistent and this time was spoken with a strange sort of power that did drill through the wall to hit him.

Erik turned his head; Seer was standing a few feet away under an umbrella, their eyebrow raised in something similar but not quite a look of concern. He was not sure if he was happy or not to see them he realized, the dread of doing what he was there for finally and slowly creeping back into place from among all other emotions.

They had asked a question; he frowned and answered, turning away. “I did not have shelter to hide under up here.”

“And an umbrella was somehow out of the question?” Erik would not explain his situation to Seer, he would not allow this entity of the darker side of his new life to invade the good he had. Or had had perhaps; he remembered again vividly the girls looking at him, seeing what he truly was, and his running away. This may end up being the only part of his new life now; a small part reminded him he did this because Darius had effectively threatened Tsuki's life, and if he didn't go home, if he didn't involve himself with her any more, then did he truly need to worry about that anymore? Darius wouldn't go after her or the Library if he wasn't there anymore, if he acted like it wasn't a part of him anymore. If he acted like the ghost he was and just killed his feelings too.

So instead of an answer Erik gave silence, wrapping his arms tighter around him. The cold was starting to seep in and he was certain if he continued like this he would get sick, maybe die. Wouldn't that be a better way to go than continue to suffer like this?

From behind him came a sigh and footsteps and Erik was aware of the rain no longer hitting him though his body was still cold and shivering under his wet clothes. Seer's voice was strangely soft and insistent. “Let's go downstairs where it's dry. No point in having you do anything while like this.”

“I do not-” Erik started but a surprisingly strong hand gripped his arm and hoisted him up with what seemed to be little actual effort; he turned once more to stare at Seer, to try to figure out what just happened. The ever strange figure just looked back at him and started to drag them both inside.

An access way and a short trip down some stairs, the two were inside a quiet and dark building, standing in a hallway covered in carpeting and smelling faintly of disinfectant and cleaning supplies. Even here Erik felt the need to shiver and a sneeze shook his body, causing him to shake. Some voice in his head told him to take off his wet clothes, at least the soaked through hooded jacket but he refused; for all that had happened, everything painful inside him, the thought of removing that was impossible to him. Tsuki had gotten it to him, she had gifted it to him to make him comfortable, he would not willfully give it up even if he froze to death under it.

“I know we barely know each other, and we have only worked together a few times now,” Seer said, “But it seems to me that something is definitely wrong with you today; what's going on?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.” Erik pulled himself free of the figure, having no interest or care in leaning on someone he did not trust; Seer was perhaps the danger that Darius was but they were not a friend, they were not someone Erik could confide in. They were not Nel and they were not Tsuki and it weighed on him when he thought of how he had no one else; the Persian was not there and there were no Girys to act as his hand. In this moment he was truly alone and he felt the tears well up from within him, a deep dark sensation of loneliness unlike any other he'd felt. Not in the carnival, not in the labyrinths he had built for the Shah, not in the darkness of the house by the lake, nowhere had he ever felt so absolutely empty and alone as he did in that moment.

He wrapped his arms around himself again and fell to his knees, what did he care that Seer was there and watching? How many times could the horror of his birth, of the monster he was, take away every shred of happiness and warmth he could collect?

“Specter,” spoke Seer and it only drove it home.

That damned codename, a joke based on what he'd been before: the Phantom, the Opera Ghost, now even more of one. He had so loved the way Erik, the name he choose for himself, had sounded rolling off the girl's tongues and he thought of the way Nel had smiled and teased him over the harp, the way Tsuki laughed, how the girls made him feel so at home. And spoke his name, like he had a right to have one, to be human.

He felt someone try to touch him but he ripped himself away quickly, a shudder going through him at the mere thought of it. He didn't wish to be touched, he didn't want to be approached, unless it was somehow back before his hood had fallen and it was the girls. Not even Christine who for all his pain of that time he still loved so deeply and strongly, but the memories of a gentle touch from her were so few in comparison to the warmth of Nel hugging him the other day during the storm, or Tsuki touching his face so many years ago.

Oh god, what if this reminded her? What if she remembered? He was certain she didn't, couldn't possibly, but what if she remembered now and he felt new panic within him growing. Surely she'd be disgusted, that she had touched a monster so many times....

“Specter, say something.” He really hated that codename; he curled up more, trying to cover his ears but refusing to let his hood fall again. Couldn't this idiot leave him alone for once? Yes, he knew he was supposed to be on a mission but still all he wanted right now was to be left alone. And what did the Seer know or care anyway, were they not just supposed to work together to kill people, because as they had told him before they were the only one right now who could help him?

There was the sound of a deep sigh, filled with frustration that reminded him of the man who used to help him before, his old friend the Daroga; how often had he frustrated and irritated that long suffering man? Not that he regretted his actions in the least but still he remembered it and let him mind dwell on that for just a bit; better that than the things going on in his life now.

“I know you have no reason or probably any wish to trust me; I'm a part of something holding you down inside darkness which you never asked for after all. I'm not really telling you you have to trust me or anything, because I know that would be pointless, but I figure whatever you are agonizing over so much that you can't even get yourself together long enough for the mission, that should be allowed to come out before it rips you apart from inside.”

Erik frowned. “You say that as if it isn't already...”

“Yes well maybe if you let it out, it will feel better-”

“Don't talk as if you understand or care!” Fear and pain turned to anger so easily, especially in a broken heart. Erik's body still felt cold and shivered but he stood up, turning on Seer, his eyes blazing with rage, with pain, with sorrow so deep it made Seer step back a little from the blast of it. “You and I are merely unfortunate acquaintances in the depravity of the dark side, murderers and villains who must work together because it is required and because that monster you call Darius demands my cooperation! You are not my salvation, you are not my friend, you are nothing to me! Let my follies rip me apart, let me die the monster's death I deserve, slow and painful, because that is all a beast such as I deserve! The only lights in my poor existence, the very thing I accepted this evil fate in order to protect, will never again look upon me with the care and faith they did before because now they know my evil and sin that is sketched upon my face!”

Dramatic as ever, filled with emotion and hatred but a deep wish that Seer would leave, Erik tore the hood from his head, letting his face be seen, his horrible monsterous deformity. The skull exposed, the bit of barely protected brain, the wisps that were all he could ever truly have of hair, ruined skin, ruined lips, the cracks and crevices and rawness; an appearance a mother could never love, a face that had cursed him to darkness and hatred for decades. He hated to be seen, he hated to be known and he expected Seer to jump, to wince, to do something.

But there was...something in their eyes as they looked directly at him, unflinching, unblinking, that then turned to pity and that hurt Erik all the more. What was worse than hate was pity and regaining his composure from his second of madness he quickly pulled his hood back up, pulling it further down to cover his eyes as they welled up with tears. His voice was small but no less angry. “I am not destined for happiness or light, I deluded myself to ever think otherwise. Being a monster, being hated and reviled, having blood on my hands, that is all I am worthy of. But...please...allow me this chance to mourn for even a demon of the darkness can feel sorrow when they taste the light only to lose it.”

“It really is remarkable.” Erik winced. Remarkable huh, that certainly was a way to describe his face. Remarkably ugly he supposed, remarkably monstrous, remarkably disgusting. Remarkable he had lived this long when he should have had so many health issues to kill him but spite was a terrible thing and a powerful force to keep ones body going when he shouldn't.

“Remarkable,” Erik repeated under his breath and he was aware of Seer still looking at him, nodding in response.

“I was aware that there was magic upon the jacket but I didn't expect it to be so powerful when it seemed to be so quickly done,” Seer spoke and Erik felt confusion seep in; there was a light chuckle and the man looked up to see a tiny smile upon the figure's face, hand to their mouth, “Truly talented indeed.”

“What are you going on about?” Erik asked.

“The hood is enchanted to hide your presence...well, I suppose hide isn't the right word; it's really extraordinarily subtle. Rather it allows you to be seen by others but not really be seen, very much like a ghost that you can look at while not really noticing all the details of. I can look at you, I know you're there and everything but nothing about you really properly registers in my head beyond that you exist and some details about you. But your face is certainly not one of them; actually I find it a bit hard to focus on your face, as if some part of my brain says I shouldn't as long as you are wearing that hood up.”

Erik's eyes widened and he touched the hood. It seemed incredible, and certainly had to be such, a lie as to make him feel better but what point would Seer have to do that? Seer had no connection to him outside of these missions, and no reason to want to comfort him, no reason to lie to him. But if not a lie what? The jacket was enchanted, the hood was enchanted? He was tempted to wonder who but he knew who, he very much knew who; it could only be the same person who gave it to him, the person who always smiled at him. Seer said they couldn't look at him really but he knew that there were two people who always did, straight in the eye, without flinching, without fear.

“That's,” he said but was unsure what else to say, what could possibly be said; tears started to well up again and his lip quivered. What did it mean, what could it mean.

“For it to be so delicately woven into the fabric the person who cast the spell must have really wanted to protect you,” Seer said with some level of gentleness and a tiny bit of amusement strangely, “They must have known about your worries and anxieties about being seen.”

Known. The caster knew. They knew about his worries. They knew about...him. It struck him that she was the one who had said he'd been chasing the Phantom, she'd followed that line and it had given him peace in that moment because of how terrified he was of the truth coming out. But what if...what if...

He stood up straight, his heart starting to pound in his chest. She'd commented how it was okay how emotion could cause mistakes when they had been teaching him magic, she'd somehow knew the music room, the piano, would be of interest to him. There were little things, tiny things, that added up, things she'd done and said, things Nel had done and said, and in the moments he'd been so overwhelmed with his own emotions, his own thought and feelings, that never, never did it occur to him the truth, the fact in each of them. Of how they would know to do certain things, say certain things. And he, blind as he could be to the world around him, by choice and by fear, never put the pieces together. But his fingers brushed over the jacket and the words Seer had spoken filled his head. Because it was enchanted in a way that could only really be to help someone who had a reason to want to hide so surely, surely, she'd known. And Nel, who saw all truth, knew all truth, Nel had to have been able to see it all anyway.

“I must go,” he said his voice shaking though the emotion that rattled it was not fear or pain but something else.

“You know what I don't much feel like doing anything tonight actually; I'm drained from doing...stuff. Probably best we put off the mission for now; I don't want to do it anyway,” Seer spoke and Erik turned to look at them, seeing them stretch and yawn and crack their neck, “I mean seriously, who wants to do anything anyway on such a dismal night.”

The mission, right. Erik supposed that worked out if Seer didn't actually want to do the mission either; he nodded and hurried from the place, leaving the strange acquiantance to watch after him. Seer sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Oh sweet child, I do wonder why it took you so long to realize that Nelly and her cute little human have always known the truth. I guess what can I expect of the songbird whose never really been truly out of his cage; Artemis though will definitely laugh when she hears about this...”

Erik's head was full and it felt like it was trying to weigh him down but he ran as fast as he could nevertheless. The rain poured, the world drenched in darkness and coldness as deep as his own, but some shard of warmth kept the phantom's body going forward still. The truth, he needed the truth; the longer he thought on it the more his mind went back and forth; they knew, they had to know. There was no way they knew. The hood proved it, they had to know, but they never told him and why? Because he was sensitive and scared and he didn't really know but his mind without proper explanation was full of a thousand and one things that it could or couldn't be and an anxiety so deep and vast that he felt drowned more by it than even the ever pounding rain upon his body. Answers though would be found at home, he was sure of this, knew it in his heart pounding as it was and he continued, moving ever faster.

Without thinking he started to hum, a familiar tune, one that filled him both with sadness of things he'd done and lost, and a memory. Of rain before, of coldness and darkness and loneliness, and a girl reaching out to him in it. Did she remember it, that night so long ago? Did she remember it when she had found him in the cellar? That too he was unsure of; possibly but why not just say, why not just tell him the truth, that she knew what he looked like, she remembered meeting him, she remembered touching his face and the way she'd looked at him, the way their voices had mixed then. How could anyone forget a face such as his? Simple he told himself; as easily as he had forgotten eyes like hers, by dismissing it as a dream. And she'd been seeming to be dying then so maybe, maybe, she would have forgotten it all and just now come to think she met him. He wasn't sure what was easier on him, or what to believe or think. His mind was racing and screaming and all he could think of was how desperately he wanted to be home. Not the operahouse, not the house by the lake, but that strange beautiful magical place called the Library. He wanted to be home.

His window was still open and the room he realized for what felt like the first time smelled of warmth and care. There was silence, deep and penetrating, and his door was still locked from the inside; it occurred to him that they never once tried to invade his privacy, never tried to force what they wanted upon him. He was safe there, he had always been safe there, so how had he have never noticed before how safe he'd been? Because fear and the past clouded his mind; he remembered hugging Tsuki once, when she'd given him the room to stay in, and kissed her hand and the panic he'd felt. He'd wondered then how he had believed he had the right to that; he now wondered how he had the right to any of this and what it all really meant. Kindness, consideration, lies, secrets, everything and anything and he felt himself stuck staring into space and around the room as if to try to learn the truth if he only looked hard enough.

“Erik?” That sweet voice flowed from the other side of the door, followed closely by a small uncertain knock.

His feet moved quicker than even they had to bring him there and he unlocked and flung the door open to look down upon her, upon the young woman with the vibrant scarlet eyes that searched his face with all the worry and concern in the world. She always worried for him, she always was concerned for him, and she was always so gentle to him.

“Erik, why are you wet?” Her tone became even more concerned and he wasn't sure if he wanted to bundle her up in a hug, demand answers, cry or just continue to stare. Everything at once, every little thing, and his mind was unable to make any particular decision he realized because they all seemed equally as reasonable and acceptable as a choice.

Even words felt that they were failing him in the moment and Tsuki took the opportunity to press him, gently, back, finding him as easy to move as if he was made of nothing. He was wet, very wet, soaked to the bone actually; maybe the shivering of his body was indeed as much the parts of him that were cold and wet and as it was all the emotions roiling inside his frame.

“You need to get out of these clothes immediately; go take a warm bath, not hot that would just shock your system too much; did you go out into that rain? It's storming outside, you could catch your death out there.” So much worry, so much kindness, so much for him. He had no idea how to respond to it all but he started to cry nevertheless which only made her more worried. “Erik! Oh no, please don't cry, Erik. Is this about before? It's okay, I promise it's okay; please, just go warm up, get into dry clothes and then we can talk about it, you and I and Nel. You don't need to feel so panicked, I promise; I'm sorry.”

“Did you know?” The words came out small and scared, something he knew, he had to know; everything made sense if that did but nothing made sense if it didn't. But she needed to say it he realized, aloud and to him, for him to feel the tightness inside him to ever be able to unravel like he needed it to. She stared at him with a small frown. “What?”

“Did you know? About me, about my face? Do you know who I am? Do you know...do you know what...” He was shaking so much and he wasn't sure what else to do.

“Erik, you really need to-” “Just tell me the truth Tsuki!” That came out in an explosion, of emotion, of anxiety, of things he wasn't sure how else to express when he felt like he was going to explode at any moment.

“Go changed,” she said so gently but insistent and those eyes, those mesmerizing scarlet eyes, looked through him, to him, and held him in place for a second, “Take off these wet clothes, take a warm shower, get changed. Then we'll talk alright?”

“Please, I need an answer, just one small answer,” he whimpered, furrowing his brow, crying so quietly, “Please, did you know?”

She was silent for a second, her expression hard to read. Sad? Concerned? Upset? Scared? Tsuki bit her lip then nodded silently. He wasn't sure what to make of his own emotions; it felt like a mix, a collection he couldn't begin to unwravel. But he was so cold and he turned from her, rushing to do as she said. He did not want her to leave, he did not wish her to escape; he wanted to know, to get more answers, to start to understand what it was he felt that didn't feel like pain or relief or anything and yet all of those things all at once within his chest.

He was not ready to face both at once so one would do; grabbing whatever clothes he could before entering the bathroom and locking the door behind him, he did his best to get himself warm, dry, safe before what felt like it would be a far more draining event.

But he knew, deep down, he needed this. He needed to do this. And find out for once the truth.

[yanderefairyangel]

Sombron deep dive : why Sombron is actually a good villain

Alright it's time for Papabron analysis. So let's see if Sombron is actually a good villain or not. Spoilers alert. He is.

Sombron's name and design

Sombron is a corruption of his japanese name ソンブル/Sombre which means "dark" in french. Already linking it to darkness.

His design is relying on dark colors, Sombron' has dark and monotone colors, with black and dark crimson. Compared to the other dragons in Engage, only he in this non dragonic form looks like this : with purplish/gret skin, red pupils and black eye glob, abnormally long pointy ears, and as I already pointed out in this post, looking like a demon.

His design is particular : he looks absolutely monstruous. All other dragon in Engage looks more humas then he does, as Kagetsu points out in his support with Alear. This design is here to convey fear but also to reflects Sombron's soul : his purplish skin and demon like apperance are here to show the ugliness and immorality of his own soul, his skin and feature reflecting his lack of "humanity" if you will. Not only that but Sombron is also the biggest source of trauma to his kids and the way he is designed is meant to reflect that, that he is shaped like this because of the suffering he inflicts upon others. The Devil himself is represented based on what speaks to the human mind as scary, Sombron's design reflects how fearful his kids view him.

When Lumera speaks of Sombron to Alear for the first time, she mentions how Elyos lived in peace for ages until one day Sombron appeared and began to soar destruction on his path. Say whatever about Engage's art direction, but Elyos is portrayed as such a bright and light place + the white angelic design of Lumera and the inhabitants of Lythos really helps visually picturing Sombron's sole presence darkening the whole bright picture as its indeed is sole presence in Elyos that darkens everything. Now one thing about the word "sombre" is that it itself is an abriveged form of the latin word "subumbra" under the shade, therefore the word "sombre" originally meant "to shade, to enshadow, to darken". This perfectly fits with his role in Elyos, with his whole presence enshadowing the whole world.

Sombron has horrific and nightmarish powers such as being able to revive the dead which is definetely portrayed as a bad thing thanks to Veyle's characterization. For instance, Veyle hates her fell dragon nature due to how it never allowed her to have a peaceful life and is herself disgusted by this power as indicated by her dialogue with Alear in chapter 22, where she tries to convince them to give up on this idea has it means Alear will never regain their original state and remain in this state. The Corrupted are considered to be abomination due to their nature of being living dead and to their apperances, to the fact that most of them are showed to be incapable of thinking showing they lost their humanity and are stuck into that state lower then an animal, and even the Corrupted that sort of ressembled and acted the same way they did as they were human were still a bit off seeing how Corrupted Lumera became polar opposite of who she was alive. Now let's focus on the Corrupted more closely. In the JPN version, they are called 異形兵/igyo-hei/ deformed soldier, because of how their Corrupted state disfigure them and that they end up looking like "broken people with a black mask" as Alfred described them. Now, the fact that they are "deformed" shows how being revived by a Fell dragon robs people of their true nature to turn them into something of deformed, twisted from their original shape, which is why even when they are brough back in a elaborate way, they still feel unsettling to others. King Morion was in such a horrific state that Diamant wanted to kill him to let him rest in peace as a human rather then life any longer as a monstruosity used as a tool by Sombron and Hyacinth. Ivy and Hortensia, despite loving their father so much, ended up killing him because they though it was a better fate then to remain in that state and when Alear came back as a Corrupted, the Royals were quite warry of them due to this. That's where the "Corrupted" comes from to restitue the "Deformed" of the jpn version : by reviving them, Sombron corrupted the original nature of those people, that Sombron corrupts/deform everything he touches, as I pointed out before, the Corrupted are a material evidence of Sombron enshadowing everything he touches. What is more is that the way Corrupted are made are peculiar. Veyle and Rafal are shown capable of making Corrupted that are much alike to the way they used to be when alive, however, when Veyle corrupts Alear, she did it with the intention that Alear was just as how they used to be. So why does Sombron keeps creating lower grade Corrupted ? In the main story it's because he was too weak from recovery and need more blood to regain his full power, however another factor is that Sombron needs pawn. That acts and don't think, don't feel anything. That's how lowergrade Corrupted are, hence why Sombron prefers making this kind of Corrupted : they are obedient, they don't think, they are the perfect tool. And the word 兵/hei means both solider and weapon. The Corrupted aren't just soldier to Sombron : they are weapon. And I think the best case of showing how the Corrupted are Sombron deforming the original nature of his victims is definetely Corrupted Lumera. Compared to her usually kind nature, this Lumera acts very different. She was the one who told Alear they weren't a defect; Corrupted Lumera calls Veyle a defect. The Corruption may bring people back to life, but it's denaturating them, it's deforming them and turning them into weapon.

And this ties well with his dragon form.

While his design isn't as Lovecratian level of horrific compared to Grima's and Anankos, I think the choice of a Cobra and a royal one at that is fitting. Royal Cobra is one of the most dangerous and poisonous snake on earth, and the choice of the snake makes sense when you think about how they are considered to be the "Corruptor" and "Temptator" in Biblical exegesis because of their role in the Fall from Eden in Genesis, but also because the venom is represented in Engage by the Corruption, this process that denatured dead bodies while bringing them back to life, but Sombron in general corrupts people by his influence too and the snake is representing the highly toxic nature of Sombron and his own beliefs. Another example of this is how he corrupted the sky. In chapter 25, Lumera mentions how beautiful the sky is, and Alear vowed to protect it, echoing the many references to the sky in the Engage opening, and in the main game, the sky is distorted due to Sombron's action. He corrupts even the sky. And that is in a moment of the story where the tension is at peak.

3 characters are shown to have been influenced by Sombron for the worst : King Hyacinth, as mentionned by Ivy and Hortensia, who became obsessed with Sombron and ended up being betrayed by him, Zephia who stayed with him for more then 1 000 years and became obsessed with him because of her wanting to have a family and Veyle who was brainwashed into being the perfect daughter. He doesn't only Corrupts the dead, but the living as well. Everything that happens in Engage is solely because of his obsession with 0 emblem which I'll adress later. Another evidence of him Corrupting everything are the Emblems. In normal times, when summoned by Divine dragons, they radiate a bleu light and they are their personality. Summoned by a fell dragon, they radiate a red light, can't speak, are deprived of their free will and are thus denaturated as well, since this states reflects the Sombron's need : he needs obediance, people acting like tools to succes in his goal. The reason why he makes lower grade Corrupted and why Alear was the only child that survived this far a 1000 year ago considering they behaved in the same way as the red Emblem does, they are reduced to the same state.

So that was for the begining, Sombron's most monstruous aspect is being introduced by the fact he turns dead people into weapon. In fact, I think that it's precisely because Sombron view the Corrupted as weapon that he still made children to create his army of kids. Other then that, we know that his cult consist into dark and weird rituals involving human sacrifice and his believer offering his blood... and if you wonder why this doesn't exist in the english version, that's normal, they censored it for obvious reasons. Sombron is also a pretty competent villain : while Veyle and the Hounds did most of the job in the story and successfully so, he almost won !! In chapter 21, just when Alear finally managed to reunited all rings, he killed Alear even if it was Veyle he was aiming for, got what he wanted and was heading to the portals. Had Alear not motivated Veyle to not give up in the afterlife, Elyos would have been destroyed !! And in fact, he can actually win if you unlock the bad ending and enslaved his children once again.

But I think the best evidence of the absolute horror that is Sombron is defintely his children. It does progressively into the darkest level of horror when we discover more about him in the main story. At first we learn without more information that all his kids but Veyle and one other died in the war of 1 000 ago. Then we discover that he tasked Zephia with "fixing" his child he calls a defect, and Zephia's attitude towards Veyel already hints that Sombron is a bad father towards Veyle. Then in chapter 18, we learn more about his children : he had so many he doesn't remember them with the sole exception of the one he killed himself, Alear. This is already giving us the feeling that that Sombron's mistreatement on his kids wasn't limited to simply be mean towards Veyle, which will be confirmed later by Sigurd and then Mauvier once he gets to talk about how Sombron called Veyle a defect due to her kind nature, her weak power and refused to accept her for who she was. And in chapter 21, we saw him not even hesistating in trying to kill Veyle when she was resisting him. The only reason why he leaves her alone was because he got what he wanted. And not only did we just witness that, but the game present a cutscene where he and Alear are fighting and where turns out he was the one who inflicted upon them an almost deadly wound. But it became even clearer when we meet Past Alear.

Oh boi where do I even begin ? I think nothing can illustrate more the horror that Sombron inflicts upon his children. So when we meet Past Alear, I think everyone was chocked to learn how he killed his own children and to meet the broken Alear but let's take our time and focus on this, because this moment is even more disturbing then you'd originally though on a first reading. I might sound like a broken record while saying this, but it has to be said nonethless. In the japanese version of Engage, Alear and their past selves uses different alphabets : Alear using kanji, and past Alear using hiragana and as @dancerladyaqua explains very well in this post, young children are using this alphabets, in fact, in the fell Xenologue child Nil and Nel are shown using it. As they point out, the usage of hiragana is here making Alear devoid of emotions, however, if you have been following or sticking around with my post on this for a while you know that I already explained how the use of hiragana shows that Alear's mind is still frozen to the time they were a young child and that the dichotomy between their cold tone and their use of an alphabet commonly used by children shows how despite their lack of maturity in the inside, they have to put on a face and acts more mature then they actually are to stay alive.

The fact that they still speaks like that and are the only of Sombron's child to speak this way as Veyle uses kanji like current Alear makes it more disturbing as everything leads to the conclusion that Alear's mind was broken when they were a very young child and that was due to their siblings dead, meaning that they watched their siblings died when they were around the same age as child Nel and child Nil in the Xenologue. That is even more obvious when Alear is speaking with Lumera since their voice is more expressive, recreating the sentiment of an innocent child that they were at the time and the clash between those two impression is clearly showing the amount of damage Alear has been through. Moreover, in the begining of the game, Alear, especially female Alear, in the japanese version speaks with a slightly higher pitched voice and thus sounds more childish, and if you recall how Alear used to talk to Vander for the first time, their almost automatical politeness steems from that past state. What's more is that Alear describing their siblings death means they saw their siblings being killed in such awful way, but now I'd like to point out something. Alear and Veyle are currently only one year appart, and in the past she was much younger, however, to have his army quickly, it means that the age gap between each fell children was of only a few years, maybe 1 or 2, 3 at best. Remember that Alear saw their siblings drowned, burned, ripped apart by the Corrupted and dying on the battlefiel when they were around the same age as child version of the Fell twins. This means that their older siblings were barely older then child Alear when it occured. Same for the younger siblings, which were even younger then child Alear when it occured. That's not all. In those post 1/2 I mentionned how Alear's expression weren't limited from switching from hiragana to kanji, but that while Alear speaks in a more natural way when trying to convey their feelings to other, Past Alear does it in a way balancing between robotic and childlike. Now funfact, I have watched recently a video about bad dialogue vs good one, and the "on the nose" part of this video actually describes exactly how Past Alear speaks : they don't talk in a natural way, they state their feelings in a very cold way without a filter at the risk of coming off as very simplistic, like children do, but also in a way so deprived of emotions that they sound like a robot. The way their dialogue is written is showing that Alear doesn't think, that their fear of Sombron made them like the Corrupted, those deformed creatures robbed off their humanity, and the fact that this would normally be considered to be a bad dialogue but in context is showing Alear's broken mind properly convey how much Sombron broke this child. Add to that that unlike Veyle because she was too young at that time, only Alear still fears the Corrupted even in a state of amnesia and that in their bound with Tiki they admitted that seeing the Corrupted gave them nightmares, however Alear's nightmare were acknolwdge in the main story to be memories, meaning encountering the Corrupted triggers memories within Alear. But that is not all. After our meeting with Past Alear, we saw Past Sombron and Past Zephia talking about family.

This is actually the opportunity to see how twisted Sombron's mindest is and how he can so easliy corrupts other. Zephia tells him how much she envy him for having such loyal subordinates. Now, while it does reflects Zephia's own twisted mind as she is the one linking children with subordinates, however, Sombron treats his children lower then subordinates since he view them as he view the Corrupted : as pawns, as tools. And then Sombron simply suggest that she makes children. Now that is incredibly twisted because it's pointing that Sombron makes children only because he needs to, he needs them as pawns and yet he made so many kids he could adopt the behaviour of killing them at the first sign of failure, labeling them "defects" and killing them, leaving Zephia taking care of their dead bodies. But we know from Veyle that Sombron's mate might have loved him. That was the case of Veyle's mother. So it makes it even worse to imagine that Sombron approached those dragons and seduced them for no other reason then needing to create soldiers. He then proceeds and explained his definition of family.

···

That's how Papabron sees family.

General definiton : group of people closely related to one another either by blood, marriage, adoption.

While in latin familia means : a household , all persons subjected to the control of one man whether relations, freedmen or slaves.

According to my Gaffiot dictionnary, familia wasn't originally used to speak of what we call immediate family such as a mother, a father and their children, but to talk about a slave staff.

In Roman antiquity, the pater familias, the head of the household had the patria potestas on their wife and children and slaves.

Patria potestas means patrial power and this power was the right of life and death of any member of the household.

That is how Sombron is being portrayed right here. He consider himself to have right of life and death over his kid, but also his subordinates such as the Hounds. He goes on to mentions how his children owe him their life, love and absolute dedication. He links it to blood, because this one link, a connection that simply cannot be broken. Veyle and Alear says as much : they can't change the fact that they are Sombron's children, that they are is family bound by the link of blood. Moreover, in her support with Hortensia, Veyle reveals that her and her mother were persecuted for her connection with Sombron, and in her support with Merrin that she was being hated for simply be a Fell dragon. This is also confirmed in the main story where Veyle is blaming her heritage for being hated by Alear and their allies in chapter 15 which Zephia will try to use as a way of manipulating her. That coupled by how in the DLC, Nel and "Nil" are clearly hated for their very being shows that Fell dragon are hated, feared and therefore that they have nowhere else to go but to stay with Sombron. Even if they escaped, they could still be killed by humans, which is what happened to Veyle's mother. Sombron commited so many attrocities it owe him the title of Evil dragon and to the point that anyone closely related to him is immediately perceived as a threat that should be killed right away. And that's not over. His words are like poison as I mentionned several times in my Zephia deep dive since it's because of his defintion of family that a yearning for exclusive love Zephia will become obsessed with having a child of her own, and through blood since it's what is being considered the criteria to obtain undeying love and devotion without partaking with anyone else. And in fact, the reason why Zephia says by Sombron sides is because she is like his children : she has nowehere else to go, the Hounds are people who don't have any other place then by his side.

Then it is later revealed that he killed the entirety of the Divine dragon tribe with the sole exception of Lumera, who spend centuries maybe millenia fighting against him all alone, and having to keep up a good face before the Elyosian population. Keep in mind that in the Fell Xenologue, it is revealed that if all Divine dragon were to die, Elyos would collapse into ruins, all life would be dead without their blessings and that later, Sombron will use the dragon whose entire brethen he killed as one of his tool, denaturing her and corrupting her. His attitude to him may seems like pragmatism, but it's actually cruelty and disdain. He treats things as granted and once he doesn't need them anymore, he immediately cast them aside. That side of him has been consistently shown throughout the game, especially in chapter 21-22 since once he absorbed the power of the rings, he immediately throw them away, showing his most obvious flaw : his hubris, which is actually a terrible mistakes he commited since Alear would actually be reborn like hope.

Now about Sombron's character, the key component of his character is that his motivations are actually the same as Veyle and Alear. Sombron is at the same time very similar to his children and at the same time the exact opposite, so let's start by stating the differences he has with Veyle and Alear.

As I explained Sombron is an incredibly arrogant creature whereas Veyle and Alear are both modest, humble and sweets person. Alear's jpn name, Lueur, is the a synonynom of light and therefore an antonym of Sombron's name. As fell children, both Veyle and Alear were forced to repress their kind hearted nature. This was confirmed by Lumera, Marth and the fact Alear the dichotomy of Alear using hiragana despite their cold behaviour showing they are putting a face that is not theirs. This was also shown throughou the game that Veyle rebelled against Sombron in hope to lead him to a righteous path as her late mother wished. They are also shown to be uncomfortable with being honored. Several of Alear's support establishes that they would prefer to be treated as an equal by their allies and that they'd rather have a quiet average but peaceful life then the one they are thrown into. Veyle' s support with Citrinne shows she isn't confortable with that either as Citrinne's expensive gift reminds her of the offering Sombron's followers gave her, and I will remind you that the ritual dedicated to Sombron consistuted of them having to mutilate themselves sometimes... why...in comparison Sombron is fine with being worshipped since it's actively helping him in his quest for the rings, allowing him to have even more pawns then he'd normally have with the Corrupted and his children.

The fact that Alear was supposed to be born "light" and in truth are actually quite similar to the current Alear in terms of personality (bare the use of hiragana) is also very telling about how Sombron corrupts people : Alear's nature was deformed. Their usual polite nature in that state isn't politness, it's showing they are nothing but a tool and thus, in that context, those marks of politness delivered so coldly shows that Alear has embraced being treated like a tool, lower then an animal or lower then a Corrupted. They also are so scared that their usual kind nature is being deformed into someone using their strenght to hurt people and kill, without any dreams or project for tomorow, someone simply focused on not dying, without purpose, just obeying and acting like machine. This was more obvious with character such as Veyle or Rafal not acting as themselves, but it's even more striking with Alear when you think about it. The way they act not matching their name indicating a luminous nature, is already showing how Sombron corrupted them, which is fitting considering Alear will acknowledge their commong point with the Corrupted, but maybe they didn't even realized how much they were deformed.

Now, in the japanese version, Alear express themselves in a very polite way, using watashi + the desu/masu conjugaisons even if their seiyuu swallow the "u" syllab making them seems even more polite and using a lot of polite forms such as ありがとうございました。 when thanking people, those are to convey their politness and their kind hearted nature. In Veyle's case, she speaks in a more "childish" manner as she refers to Sombron as Papa which young children or innocent character in anime does, she calls Alear "oneechan" or "oniichan" depending on which gender they are while other character such as Alcryst and Hortensia refers to their older siblings as "onee sama" or "oni sama", Veyle also uses a lot of expression such as dayo/datte and nee, especially nee. This is likely to convey Veyle's innocent and sweet nature, and this contrast even more then when her evil self is speaking since this Veyle speaks in a more mature and arrogant way, much like Rafal, she is emulating Sombron but her speech is still different because Sombron's way of speaking is probably too unfitting for a female speaker. And by that I mean is that Sombron refers to himself as 我/"ware" an archaic prounon that is here to convey is arrogance, and a lot of "ga/zo" to convey this arrogance, especially as his speeches gimmicks are very archaic and when used in jpn media, it's for character that takes themselves in very high reguard. His arrogant and cold speech contrast with the kind and warm speech gimmickes employed by his children. I will also mentions how compared to Veyle and Alear who wear bright colors and white outfit, he is claded in black and that they look more human then he ever does from a design point of view, but that when they are shown to be under his influence, not only is the red color dominant, but they look more devilish, especially Veyle with her helmet. Being under Sombron's influence robs them of their own nature, just how he corrupts people, twist them into those deformed soldiers, he deforms Veyle and Alear's true nature of being kind hearted soul. This very obvious with Veyle considering he allows her to be put under a spell that twist her personality into a complete opposite of who she normally is, to the point of speaking in the same manner as Sombron does, while with Alear, it's through fear, while breaking them and it is shown to be even more detrimential to Alear. Lueur is by nature, as their name indicate, someone warm and kind, and under Sombron's influence, they are forced to repress it to the point of becoming " a faint light before it goes out" as Sombron calls them towards the end of the game, and it's more explict of how lethal to Alear this kind of life is : a lueur is a glow, if all in the dark and weak, it can extingish very easily, it's a weak source of light. Under Sombron's authority, Alear could have extinguish at any moment, which something that they themselves acknowdledge when talking about how Sombron would kill them sooner or later.

Sombron is also someone who refuses to admitt his mistake and would repeat them again and again as pointed out by Alear, unlike Alear he refuse to learn and instead indulge himself in his own pride. Therefore he cannot be redeemed anyway, since he refuse to correct himself into a righteous path.

As for the similarities now. Sombron reveals towards the end of the game that is goal is to reunite with 0 Emblem. In his world, Sombron had to face a war too, his entire family, his whole tribe died. Not a single member of his family survived and at the time he was just a child, and a scared one at that. He was exiled in Elyos because his enemy pitied him and arrived in a peacful land where he could have had a quiet life. But he took Emblem of Foundations with him, and in his days of loneliness, this Emblem was all that he had. This Emblem story as he explained what was helped him hoped to become stronger and survived, but it left when villagers took over Sombron who in despair burn down their village and swore to reunite with 0 Emblem. Now, we all recall that this backstory didn't caused any feeling of sympathy to his audience seeing their horrified faces. But let's pose a moment. Sombron was too victim of a war that lead to the genocide of his tribe and had lost his entire family. He was just a child and a scared one, send all alone into a new world. The reason why he brough an Emblem with him was because it was the only remaining connection to his home world, to his family. Sombron never got over losing his entire family, and that's why he wanted to go back in his world to get revenge on his tribe's murderer. Now that might seems contradictory considering he made kids and all, but what is essential to understand is that Sombron doesn't just hate his kids, it's Elyos in itself he hates, this world that is not his, that is the proof of his exile and that cause him to lost the only friend he had during all this long years. It's precisely because Somrbon associate any kind of connection to lose that he refuse any of them. He thinks his Emblem is a cool type that forsoke all connection because in this world, he was also 0 Emblem's only connection and yet 0 Emblem abandonned him. He lost everything that reminded him of his home and family. And he never forgave Elyos for that. Elyos in itself is the very thing he hates and blames for his loneliness. And on that matters he is similar to Lumera, Veyle and Alear as he inflicted upon them the exact pain he suffered that day. His entire tribe was killed; he killed Lumera's entire tribe, he was alone and wanted someone to love him; he gave life to Alear and Veyle but never gave them love and treated them as paws. Because they are from Elyos, the world he hates so much.

The same thing that motivate Veyle, Lumera and Alear is what motivate him : loneliness and yearning for the love of someone. Lumera is loved by everyone, however she isn't loved because she is Lumera, but because she is a Divine dragon. This same schema repeats with Alear with all their allies loving them only because they are the Divine dragon, even if they end up viewing them for who they are : Alear. This situation is also present in the Fell Xenologue where Nel keeps seeing the image of her lover in Alear even if she eventually learns to view them as who they are even if, as she said, they have the same eyes and name. Rafal suffered from this too, feeling undeserving of Nel's love because he isn't Nil and Veyle herself mentions how her father would never look at her, of Zephia never view her too and even Evil Veyle mentions how Mauvier will refuse to acknowledge her knowing she isn't the real Veyle. And then obviously you have the Mauvier/Four Wings dialogue focused on that. Well for Sombron it is the same thing. No one really knew him, he was such a mysterious existence, only 0 Emblem knew the real him since they have been together for 2 worlds. Therefore Sombron is convinced that no one would be able to give him the love he yearns for, he actually didn't changed from the time he was a child : he is still too scared to make any connection with anyone because he fears he will suffer from that again.

In fact, the only time where he isn't completely alone is... the bad ending, where Alear and Veyle are once again is prisonner. Alear is supposed to have return to their inital state, theri "true nature" but in reality, they didn't. They went back to the time where they were deformed, corrupted, not allowed to be the kind person they actually are. Similarily for Veyle : she is back to the state that Sombron wished for her, but not who she truly is. And both of them cannot escape : the only way someone can stay with Sombron is in a state where they have nowhere to go, are alienated, corrupted. Sombron is much aware of that : 0 Emblem was robbed of their free will with his power (sorta) and just as alone as he was, they had nowhere to go.

That's why Sombron reveals his true motive and true face only at the very end : that's the moment where he finally allowed his self to be vulnerable, because he was defeated, he can't have what he wanted, his dreams and ambitions have been ruined, pretty much what leaded Zephia to help Alear, out of spite because she can't have what she wanted. Sombron acts as such an unreachable being with everyone. Like Veyle and Lumera, despite being surrounded by followers, even with all these kids and followers, he never felt so lonely because he refused to let anyone come near him, to link with anyone, especially Alear and Veyle. The story is told from their point of view, so narratively speaking it makes sense that only towards the end do they discover the truth about their father, that he was just like them and that maybe, just maybe, if he had allowed it, they could have been the person he wanted 0 Emblem to be. But here is the thing, the thing that makes Sombron to be that different from his kids, is the decision he made.

For example, Alear too lost their Emblem and twice at that. In chapter 10, they are absolutely devastated, they were shown as angry as ever, saying things irrational such as imploring Sombron to give them back even though he obviously wouldn't do that, and then looking at Veyle angrily demanding that she gaves the ring back, looking like they were ready to throw themselves at her throat. Alear was reacting in the same way as Sombron right there, they didn't wanted to leave without at least trying to save Marth and the other, even at the end of the chapter they mentionned it and Lucina and Lyn had to explain Alear why it's not a good idea to convince them that rather then trying to get them back, they should rather head to Solm and try later as they only had 2 rings versus 8 rings (counting the 6 stolen rings, Byleth and the Renais rings). And by the time where Alear learns that Marth and the other will leave, despite their sadness they accept that if they don't close the portal, then Elyos will be doomed and therefore to sacrifice their hapinness with the Emblems for Elyos's sake, showing that they matured with the idea of leaving the Emblems be. That's absolutely not Sombron's case : even though 0 Emblem was as important to him as Marth was to Alear, Alear learned to be independent from him as the only time they finally reunite is 12 chapter after the disaster of chapter 10, they have changed a lot as Marth point out and at the end Alear let them go. Sombron refuses to make any connection with anyone, he wants to be like 0 Emblem thinking that it is what they would have wanted for him but in truth, what I said about Sombron showing it true self only at the end, this is something he does only, ONLY with 0 Emblem.

In fact, towards the end of the game, when Sombron calls for 0 Emblem, in the japanese version, he changes his prounons from ware to watashi. Sombron as a child use to speak this way, pretty much like Alear in fact. He only switches in that moment and he is shown smiling, but not that evilishi grin, but an actual genuined smile. Sombron too ended up putting a face to become what he though is Emblem would want him to be rather then choose to live the quiet life his ennemies offered him. His attachement with 0 Emblem is clearly shown as he gets angry at Alear for telling him that he is wrong, that 0 Emblem let him because it wanted Sombron to heal from his past wounds. And Alear is right infact.

If you remember we saw that Marth was always with Alear, and ended up being captive of the Fell dragon during the war. This means Marth got to spend time with Alear, and when Alear ask them in chapter 3 about themselves, while he tries to hide the truth, he still mentions how kind they used to be in the past, something that is confirmed by Lumera. This Alear was like young Sombron, a scared child, but unlike Sombron who choosed to put up the lonely facade, Alear was forced into this. Marth was able to see that even deprived of his own free will. Therefore, even deprived of free will, 0 Emblem could have been able to see who Sombron was. Moreover, this need to be stated but Sombron admitted to be able to summon them in the Fell dragon way and as explained here then how could have 0 Emblem left if that wasn't what Sombron wanted ? As Marth explained, it was because this Emblem doesn't exist anymore. It was powerful enough to stay with Sombron until he was with other people but it ended up leaving because it simply couldn't handle it anymore and knew he was safe, lefting it to leave peacefully. That's what happened with our Emblems too, they would want to stay, but they can't and stayed long enough to properly say goodbye to Alear : 0 Emblem never abandonned him, they were forced to because they couldn't handle it anymore, but how could Sombron knew that ? 0 Emblem couldn't talk, and to Sombron it only stayed with him because it had nowhere else to go, under his control, pretty much how he treats his kids. In fact, it's because Sombron completely misunderstood 0 Emblem that he though that the only way for him to find salvation was to fit to the image he had of it and not only did he made it his entire life philosophy, but he forcefully imposed it on "his pawns" or influenced them in the case of Zephia to become in such a way. Because of this Sombron, lived with the belief that he got abandonned as a punishement for bounding with other people, thinking his Emblem was disapointed in him that he didn't remained alone to follow the path 0 Emblem was renewed for. In truth Sombron doesn't just hates the people who exiled himn but he deeply hates Elyos for being the place that leaded him to lost his only friend as he was all alone, without family. That's why he doesn't even think about how Alear and Veyle could have bring him the comfort he found in 0 Emblem : they are from Elyos, they can't understand him, even though he inflicted upon them and on all Elyos the same pain he suffered. His decision to pursue 0 Emblem is precisely what plundged the entire world into chaos, it's what lead to the war that almost destroyed Elyos and cause Lumera to lose her entire kind, that cause him to gave birth to children he hated and we fated to die in way or another, the war with the Divine dragons, the war between Elusia and Brodia, every big conflict that happened in Elyos was because of this one decision he made, he plunged the world into darkness because of this one single obsession.

Now another thing about Sombron is that what he does to others, as I demonstrated was what he himself experienced. So the way he denaturates others, enshadowing them was what he himself experienced. I repeat, Sombron when he was a child was a young victim that was just longing for some company after losing his entire family, so when the only remaning connection to his past disappeared without even have had enough strengh to fid him farewell was the event that enshadowed him with despair and led him to choose to commits terrible actions, such as taking revenge on the villagers that adopted him, too drown in despair to understand what really happened and becoming a monster, the monster we know. He always had the possiblity to move on from his past to live a better life but he refused to so and at the end, swallowed by his own despair turned into a bitter person who is deeply scarred of connection thinking it will only making him suffer, refusing to maturing on that matter and understanding the true meaning of strenght.

Engage is a story about family, about become who you want to be by living the life you want to have, about striving to become virtuous to reach happiness and about moving on, overcoming your past to do so as your bond and connection with other are the key to success in that way. Sombron is an excellent villain because he represent the exact antithesis of the message Engage is trying to deliver because he is unable to understand it, he doesn't want to. Following his philosophy is what lead people to ruin. That's why in the past Alear couldn't defeat them. Despite past Alear having much higher stats, they were unable to defeat him because they lived according to Sombron's philosophy, even if their connection with Lumera was what motivated them to become a better person, they still tried to defeat Sombron alone, whereas in the ending, they do defeat him thanks to the power of their bound. All of our cast have past they try to change : Diamant and Alcryst bonding with other Royals is what reinforces their conviction of chaning Brodia's way, Hortensia bonding with other allowes her to understand what made her mother the strong woman she looks up to, Yunaka's connection with other is what helps her leaving behind her past as an assasin, etc. And in Alear's case, it's bonding with other that allowes them to love Alear, and not the Divine dragon, to accept them whatever state they are. Sombron doesn't have that, because all the people that care for him ended up leaving him : Veyle, Alear, the Hounds etc. He never tried to connect or love any of them, he only had them by their side because they were parias with no one to accept them, to help them, in other words, because they were like him, desperate. His friendly and family love for 0 Emblem became an obession that ruined him. Alear and Lumera are the light and hope whereas he is the darkness and despair, he encourages other to give into their despair rather in never abandoning hope, compared to how Lumera and Alear inspired others, and the Fell Xenologue, for it's flaws, was though in the same fashion.

Even in this mirror world, Sombron is the one plugning Elyos into darkness whereas Alear and Lumera where the one supposed to restore light. This is why Sombron is still the Fell dragon and is still evil in the Xenologue, to keep up with the symbolic role of his main game countepart, especially when showing that the 4 Winds are version of the Hounds that managed to choose a right path under Lumera and Alear's good example, as opposed to how Sombron inspired them in the worst way possible. With Lumera and Alear, they could overcome their past but with Sombron, they couldn't, on the contrary they were drowned into it. And now, after everything I said. I can finally bring him... the problem with Rafal and Xenobron.

Rafal in the Fell Xenologue is shown to speak like Sombron, have the same attitude and even though of the same path even if it stemed from a desire to protect Nel. He too got mistaken thinking power is only in pure strengh when it's actually in connection with other... but the thing is that it is with MAIN GAME Sombron he shares that, not Xenologue Sombron. And while you might argue that they have similar personality, Xenobron isn't written the same way as is main game counterpart. Sombron wasn't an Elyos native, he was from another world and his hatred for Elyos was therefore legitmated by his past of genocide survivor, explaining properly his motivation, showing how he ended up inflicting upon his children the same pain. Xenobron has none of this : he is an Elyos native and a long distant relative of Alear and Lumera in this world through a similar ancestor. He therefore don't have those motivations and can't be a character that would be expected to say such similar things as Rafal said. Those words he spoke are familiar when we talk about Main Game Sombron, but for Xenobron ? nope. He doesn't have the backstory to match with those Fell children at all. Another drastic difference between the two Sombron is the way they refer to their children : MG Sombron call them "defect"/欠陥/kekkan, Xenobron call them "failures"/出来損/dekisokonau. By defect, Sombron is considering Veyle and Alear in themselves to be a fault, a malfunctioning object, Xenobron calling them failure is talking about the performance of his children, especially as in japanese this expression means "failing to meet expectations". Defect means unexpected result from a behavioral, functional/non functional requirement. A failure can be a consequence of a defect but it's based on a criteria of success rather then a flawed nature. By defect, Sombron is calling his children flaws while Xenobron is insinuating that they are failing his expectations due to their own lack of capacity rather then due to their own nature. And in the Xenologue, Xenobron keeps talking about how he wants to make the twins his heir and bragged about his lineage which is something that obviously MG Sombron doesn't do therefore giving the impression that Xenobron's goal are thus different making it so that Rafal's influence doesn't make sense unless linked to MGSombron's but with Xenobron, it's fall flat. And that's a pity considering Rafal is like MG Sombron : locked in solitude, feeling undeserving of love and being obsessed by the past. But Xenobron doesn't have that : his goal seemed to have created a survival game to determine which of his children could succes him, but he can't have any of Sombron's motivation, he is born in Elyos and he can't be looking for Emblem 0, since it's an Emblem ring whereas XenElyos was blessed with bracelets.

In comparison to his main game counterpart who is the perfect villain for our main story... Xenobron really is just a plot device to show that in another world the Hounds can be good people, serving as a vehicle for the Twins's backstory and because Rafal as a villain makes no sense, and it's not even because of how he is written because his story could have worked but because ma guy literaly he is a forced antagonist... have you looked at him ? Rafal wasn't desperate enough to create chaos unlike Sombron, he was deseperate enough to kill himself... yeah. Xenobron is here to basically take everything, gave a reason for the kids to be traumatized and for Rafal to be forced to be the boss in the Xenologue's story. They had to rely on what they made for MGSombron to give some weight to Rafal's narrative just because Xenobron is this bland and has nothing to him, no solid background to explain and deepen his motivation, who ultimately ends up not mattering because he really is just that ; a plot device. Now you understand why I keep saying that the Fell Xenologue is badly written compared to the main game ?

And all I said about Sombron would have been ruined if they had given him the same treatement as Xenobron. Sure, looking at Rafal and Nel and the poor state of XenElyos shows how much he was a terrible person, but compared to Past Alear, or Alear and Veyle in general ? It weakens his narrative and doesn't bring more into the main theme. It's actually quite the irony that using Sombron I can show that he is the best villain in his game while his counterpart is as plot relevant as Nelluce. Not to mention that the whole bit about his design is useless in the DLC we never meet him and his figure is never properly depicted...

But MG Sombron ? He is the perfect villain, the perfect foil for our protagonist, the very opposite of the message engage is trying to convey and at that a good example of someone who ended up digging so much on the path of sins he wasn't even seeking for redemption and never find his own salvation.

[chorusfm]

31 Years Later: How Nine Inch Nails’ ‘Broken’ Blurs the Line of Fiction and Reality for a Terrifying Experience

What was the first movie that disturbed you? The movie that got under your skin so bad its images haunted your nightmares. A movie where the mention of its title makes you shudder and cringe. A good movie, but you never want to watch it again. Being a huge horror fan, blood and gore doesn’t shock me much. My idea of cozy is curling up with my dog and watching a good horror movie, like The Exorcist. Very few movies scare or disturb me. But when I stumble upon a movie that truly shakes me or disgusts me, it’s something I never forget. For me, one of those movies is Nine Inch Nails’ Broken. Released in 1993 by Nine Inch Nails mastermind Trent Reznor and Coil’s Peter Christopherson, the movie is a companion piece to the 1992 Broken EP. The record was a response to Reznor’s then-label TVT and former boss Steve Gottlieb. After the success of 1989’s Pretty Hate Machine the label pressured Reznor to create a similar album. Wanting to re-create the success of that album, TVT refused to release anything else Reznor gave them. Not wanting to compromise his music, Reznor demanded his contract be terminated; his request was ignored. This didn’t stop Reznor. Instead, he recorded his next project in secret under various pseudonyms to avoid interference from the label. The music was markedly different from Reznor’s debut album. This was harsh, aggressive, ugly, and intense. There were no catchy songs and radio-friendly singles here. Reznor knew the label would hate it, but that was the point. Reznor and TVT finally reached an agreement in 1992 that allowed Nine Inch Nails to sign to a different label, while TVT still profited from a small number of sales. Freed from his contact, Reznor presented Broken to Interscope Records, who offered him a new record deal, complete artistic freedom, and his own record company: Nothing Records. Along with the EP, Reznor envisioned a short film centered around the songs and linking them together visually. He teamed up with Christopherson to make the Broken movie. Featuring the EP’s music videos, the movie is shot like an amateur snuff film where an unsuspecting victim is kidnapped, forced to watch the videos, tortured, and killed by a masked assailant. Christopherson intended the piece to be “a commentary on the existence of snuff movies and people’s obsession with them.” The movie was so violent, repulsive, and in poor taste, that Reznor changed his mind and decided against releasing it. But before shelving it, he shared the tape amongst his friends with certain parts edited out to identify the source of any leaks if they happened. It didn’t take long for poorly dubbed versions to be circulated in the underground scene. So, who leaked it? Reznor pins it on the Butthole Surfers’ Gibby Haynes. And so, the legend of the Broken movie was born. You didn’t know if it actually existed. It was this mysterious, elusive tape many people claimed to have seen, but few could find unless you stumbled upon it in an obscure video store. It only added to Nine Inch Nails’ mythos. Reznor was already infamous for recording in the house where the Tate-LaBianca murders took Place. He was making films as well? Stories about the tape’s existence would be passed throughout the music scene for years adding to the legend of the movie that was so despicable even Reznor refused to release it. When the internet exploded, it continued to be passed around via peer-to-peer networks. Still, many people hadn’t seen it until a strange incident in 2006. A DVD version of the film was uploaded onto The Pirate Bay by an unknown user called seed0. It even included the oft-missing “Help Me I’m In Hell” video. Many suspected Reznor was behind the leak considering the movie’s high quality and hints he dropped about its release. On his blog The Spiral, Reznor wrote “Happy Holidays! This one is a guilt-free download. (shhhh – I didn’t say that out loud). If you know what I’m talking… https://chorus.fm/features/31-years-later-how-nine-inch-nails-broken-blurs-the-line-of-fiction-and-reality-for-a-terrifying-experience/

[ktsumu]

hey guys guess who is back and THIS TIME without tags because tumblr limits you to 30 and i don't have that kind of restraint so. under the cut. spoilers dwell beneath here

who remembers when i lovingly asked where part 2 was in my last tags but it actually just turns out i cant read and it was there the whole time. trying to be a demanding bitch gets you nowhere damn

oh and i'd like to start this by saying i read user wttcsms' fics with my notes app on the other side of my screen because i actually can't retain EVERYTHING i like in the 20k words of content

so, this feedback is in CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER of reading. i wrote it WHILE i read it.

this is me livetweeting to my notes app. enjoy

_____

'You don’t laugh at his joke, but he does, and he does so in a manner that indicates that one, he doesn’t care if people laugh at his jokes or not, and two, he’s very accustomed to people not laughing with him.'

michael you're a freak and i can't tell if i hate you or not

'She’s the only other person who will continuously remind these girls that there are worse things to be in life than uncomfortable.' 

stomach churned at this, i don't know why. i just got this sense of dread. felt so girl-to-girl

‘Thinking back on this, thinking about how Zeke showed no regret over his addiction, his reliance, his sole source of relief, Colt finds the courage to walk out the bathroom and head to the red light district.’

so you think i’m addictiveeee (i’m joking i take this dynamic very seriously sorry for ever implying that i don’t)

i also think calling reader an addiction in this sense is so dear to me because of how many connotations it could have otherwise given her line of work. like her whole occupation thrives on addiction and it's like mint gum to have that word used positively

help the gossip girl group too and the ‘oh not this again’ CRYING i like the humour i get in the middle of this

‘He says, and it sounds like how people who have their heads underwater for a prolonged period of time gasp for air the moment they’re able to have their head above the surface.’

me versus drowning metaphors. i am So Normal about drowning. So fucking normal about drowning (in a normal way)

but like seriously i'm not trying to be a literal weirdo but there's something about it when there's no external force being mentioned too, like nothing is holding them underwater. they just are and it's like i don't know

this ENTIRE scene with us talking to him like it’s the first time? my chest is so tight right now.

and oh my GOD getting you jewelry but it’s not a fucking necklace but it’s  A WATCH. something ACTUALLY USEFUL to you but it still holds the same sentiment. actually no it holds way more. holy fuck

dropping to his knees? babe same

the whole theme of not being allowed to have personal desires is so fucking crushing but necessary so. i’ll allow it this once 

‘And that betrayal is going to hurt the worst.’

if this is foreshadowing I’m gonna unfollow you and make a PSA about it (joking i'm whipped continuing on)

'Disarmed.'

im jumping

‘Colt is probably going to marry some beautiful, blushing bride’

if he lives long enough to see a wedding goddamn

sorry that was uncalled for but his future is ugly

HERES MY FAVOURITE

OOOOOOH USER WTTCSMS GOT ME WITH THE naked but not naked TROPE

it’s one thing to seen without clothes but it’s another to be naked. or something like that right

'He looks at you, and he undresses you, but it’s not clothes he’s trying to take off. He’s peeling layers of your masks, making you shed your faux skins all over the place, in some insignificant corner. Colt Grice stares at you, and he sees you, and it makes you feel special.'

what did i say about that naked shit again because this is literally it reoccurring I’m kicking my feet. also have a sense of dread because this feels too good to be true but I’m in too deep now anyway

i fuycking knew it you TRAITORRRRRR the sense of impending doom never lies oh my god

daylight [pt. ii] ; colt grice.

pairing colt grice x f!reader word count 19.2k synopsis colt grice's life has never been easy, and it's about to get a hell of a lot worse. content contains sw!reader, canon discrimination against eldians, derogatory terms towards women author's notes if you count part one, it took nearly 32k words for them to share their first kiss. who says the pwp writer can't have range? also, i'm always in a constant state of thanks to @mochalate, who constantly motivates me to work on this fic <3

part two: no kissing 

Colt Grice’s first kiss catches him off guard. 

He’s sixteen, and the positives that come from puberty are finally showing up. Now, instead of waking up with achy bones and joint pain, he’s nearly six feet tall. All traces of boyhood have been shredded, and in its place is a face with sharp features and nice bone structure that has spent years being hidden under baby fat. Like every other hopeless case living in Liberio, Colt enlists in the military because there aren’t many other options for him out there. He joins later than the others because up until he was fourteen, he wasn’t a hopeless case.

Then, Dad got sick. Bills needed to be paid. Colt was more than ready to sign up for the Marleyan military considering the fact that the average starting age is twelve — for “late bloomers,” that is. It had been this whole entire embarrassing ordeal, really. He stood out from his first bunkmates, all gangly bones and a less-than-sunny disposition on the world and its current state affairs compared to the hopefulness his younger fellow cadets all seemed to harbor. 

Colt doesn’t want Marley to go to war. He doesn’t want to die; he only enlisted because his family needed him to, even if they begged and pleaded with him not to. His paychecks get sent directly to his family, by his request. 

The uniform fits him awkwardly, too, at first. He thinks this is why he probably wasn’t on the receiving end of positive female attention. He sticks out like a sore thumb during mandatory lineup because he’s a whole head taller and several years older than everyone else who’s getting in formation. His pants fit weird, stopping at an odd point that’s an inch too high above his ankles, and the strap on his helmet is too tight and digs into the skin of his chin, resulting in him walking around with a constant red impression on the bottom of his face. He gets promoted quickly because of his test scores and ends up surpassing all his peers in his proper age bracket, too. It’s around this time that he starts taking charge, too used to having to play big brother for his original cadet class (with their chubby faces and short statures, they reminded him all too much of Falco and what he had to leave behind; settling into this role came too naturally). At this point, the uniform fits perfectly. 

The yellow armband he’s rewarded with fits just right, too.

At age sixteen, Colt Grice is officially transferred to the Warrior Unit as a Candidate. He has to prove his devotion to the cause; this means choking down more propaganda to the point where everything that comes out of his mouth is coated in Marleyan ideals, and it’s this whole entire thing where he stands up and does an oath, swearing his eternal, unwavering allegiance to Marley. It’s a public affair. The Unit makes him out to be a role model, the poster boy of sorts, for the Warrior Unit. To show the world that while being an Eldian makes you equivalent to cannon fodder, that doesn’t mean you can’t be thankful. 

He’s the closest thing this shithole has to a success story. 

Armed with what can be considered a Marleyan stamp of approval, and the fact that Colt now fills out his uniform quite nicely, in that primitive, hyper-masculine way that makes the female hindbrain go buckwild at the sight of him in it, he gains an insane amount of popularity. 

Colt isn’t a stranger to having so many admirers, now, but sometimes he still feels like that awkward fourteen year old boy playing at being a man. It’s why he’s so shocked when the girls who pursue him turn out to be very forward.

He doesn’t even expect the kiss. He’s back in the internment zone for a holiday break, and Susie had asked him to pretty please meet her behind the old schoolhouse. Colt doesn’t suspect anything will happen, but he does mentally prepare himself to give the usual response that he gives to all the confessions he receives: you’re a very nice girl, but I can’t give you the time and care you deserve; my current and only devotion lies with the military.

Susie is a very nice girl. With her short, curly brown hair and hazel-colored eyes, Colt is certain that there are plenty of boys who wouldn’t mind a love confession from her. She was one of the most popular girls back in school, or at least, Colt thinks she was. And her parents are one of the more well-off Eldians in the area; her dad’s a doctor. Her dad is Dad’s doctor, the recipient of a fourteen year old Colt’s meager military stipends. He wonders if she knows this, if she cares, if it would make a difference.

She doesn’t say anything to warn him that the kiss is coming. She rounds the corner, spots him in her line of vision, and heads straight towards him. He thinks she’ll stop at the last second, but she doesn’t, and by the time she’s too close for comfort, it’s too late.

Her lips press against his, and her eyes are closed. He knows her eyes are closed because his are wide open from shock. It lasts for two seconds, and it’s because that’s how long it took for him to regain control of his body and pull back. 

Then he apologizes and tells her that that wasn’t supposed to happen, and he can’t be with anyone right now. Shock is still clearly in his system because without even thinking too hard about it, Colt immediately turns his back on her and runs straight home. To this day, he feels bad about how he handled the situation, but last he’s heard is that Susie is married now. 

He licks his lips reflexively as he stares up at the ceiling. He wonders what your first kiss was like. He hopes for your sake that it was good, or as good as a first kiss can be. Then, he feels an unfamiliar, uncomfortable pit in his stomach at the idea of you kissing some nameless, faceless stranger. It gets even worse when he imagines that the kiss is good, that it’s something you enjoy. And then he just feels pathetic when he realizes that it’s jealousy he’s experiencing. 

It’s unfair of him to be envious of any of your past partners because Colt knows that he does not have a claim on you. He does not own you, nor does he believe that you are a possession, that you’re something to be owned. He is well aware that you are your own person, with your own experiences, and a whole lifetime lived before and without him. For all he knows, he’s just a footnote in the story of your life.

This thought makes him sad.

Fuck. He wants to turn his body and plant his face into his pillow and scream. He won’t do that because he’s nothing but courteous to his bunkmates, but this has been such a recurring urge lately that Colt is wary that this is going to be a problem if he doesn’t get his shit together, and fast. 

He finds himself thinking about you — he wouldn’t dare to go so far as to describe it as being “more often than he would like” because the fact of the matter is that he enjoys thinking about you, doesn’t mind you being the one singular thought that remains on his mind — and that’s the core of the issue. 

He repeats your name in his head like a mantra, until he’s certain that he can formulate sentences using your name as the only word. He says it in his head with different cadences, stresses the syllables in a different way every time, wonders if you ever think about him in a similar manner. 

It’s been a week since he last saw you. The bruises on his face have healed up quite nicely, and the cut isn’t even going to leave a scar, according to one of the nurses. As a result of falling asleep in your bed and having to limp back to base at the crack of dawn, Colt’s punishment is that he isn’t allowed to leave the grounds for the next two weeks. 

“What the hell were you doing, boy?” Commander Magath has the type of voice that is always booming. He is consistently loud, and Colt has long since discovered that that’s just simply how Magath sounds. Colt recalls flinching at his commanding officer’s question (re: he’s still recovering from a mild concussion, and Magath’s loudness isn’t helping much in the healing process), and, because Colt happens to come back at the odd period of time where the soldiers on watch are doing their shift changes, there’s an audience. 

Colt knows he’s stuck in between a rock and a hard place. He would rather run one hundred laps around base than ever admit he missed curfew because he was at a brothel. He also knows that he doesn’t have it in him to directly lie to an authority figure, especially when it’s a Marleyan officer. Looks like indoctrinating children really does have some lasting side effects. 

“I fell asleep, sir.” 

“Well, no shit!” 

Colt attempts not to wince when some tiny droplets of spit fly out of Magath’s mouth and land on his cheeks. He thinks it would only piss off the commander some more.

“I think it’s because of the concussion, sir. I thought going into town would help clear my head, but I ended up knocking out before I could even remember to head back to base.” Not a lie. Colt would never willingly fall asleep on you because he knows most of his time with you is limited. He has to make the most of it. 

At the mention of the injuries sustained, Colt thinks Magath’s expression somewhat softens. It must be a trick of the light, though, or maybe his head got more banged up than he realized because Magath is back to berating him, saying that he would expect this dumbass behavior from anyone else in the Warrior Unit but him — which could be taken as a sort of compliment, if only he didn’t follow it up with a reminder that everyone in said unit is such a breed of stupid that a common idiot off the street could be considered a genius compared to them. Well, idiot or not, Colt’s well aware that Magath’s definitely insulting him and his peers.

But when his only punishment is to remain confined to the base, he knows better than to try to argue his way to a lighter sentence. 

On nights like these, nights where he can’t seem to fall asleep because every slumber pales in comparison to the one he spent with you, he stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom and prays to every power in the universe that you are having a good night. 

As far as bad nights go, you think this one might top the list. At minimum, it ranks somewhere in the top ten worst nights of your life. 

Ramzi is sick. You would think that being exposed to the elements on a daily basis and eating food well past its prime date for consumption would make Ramzi immune to most common ailments, but if anything, it makes him even more susceptible to sickness. While he’s plenty grown up now, being sick seems to make Ramzi revert back to a little kid, to indulge in the boyhood he never had the luxury of enjoying. 

“You can’t leave me! I don’t feel well!” 

Even with a runny nose, a persistent cough, and his ongoing battle against his body’s fluctuating temperatures (he’ll throw off his blankets because he’s overheating only to be shivering not even five minutes later), he still has just enough strength to test his luck and see if his complaints will be enough to get you to stay home. 

His antics, while proof of his love for you, are starting to get on your nerves. The time you spend running around, trying to get him situated when his one goal in life is to act like he’s unbearably uncomfortable so you keep tending to him, is making you late. The other girls who live in this camp had stopped by earlier, asking if you were ready to leave. At that point, you had been in the process of bundling Ramzi up in several blankets (he frees himself ten minutes later, complaining that he was getting “too hot”) and told them to go along without you.

Now, you realize you’re going to be late to your first scheduled appointment of the night. 

Fuck.

If you leave now and run like the hounds of hell are nipping at your heels, you could probably make it to the brothel at a decent enough time to where Willa wouldn’t have to intervene on your behalf. You know things are bad if Willa gets involved. 

Before you lose your patience and snap at Ramzi, the opening of your tent is being pulled back. 

“No work tonight?” Malik asks. 

“I wish.” And then, “Did you need something?” The I’m kind of busy goes unsaid, but it’s clear in the agitated tone of your voice. 

“Just wanted to stop by and check up on you two. It’s been a while.” 

Malik doesn’t apologize. Probably on account of the toxic masculinity that seems to run rampant around this camp — this whole society, really — but he means well. Most of the time. From what you can see, at least. 

You know him stopping by and saying this is his idea of extending an olive branch to you. Usually, you would tease him at this point, ask him if he forgot how to say the words “I’m sorry.” All you can think about, though, is that he has the worst fucking timing. 

“Yeah, I guess it has been.” You tell him, opening up your trunk and pulling out the pair of socks Colt had gifted to you. In the box containing all of your meager possessions, the ointment lays on top of everything. You’re not facing Malik, anymore; instead, you pull on this pair of socks before slipping into your shoes. 

The stark whiteness of the cotton stands out from the usual colorful swaths of fabric prevalent in the camp. It’s too bright, too squeaky clean, to properly fit in your life of once-grand clothes that have retained only a fraction of the beauty and boldness it once held.  Malik innocently asks you where you got the socks from. 

“A customer.” You answer, and this shuts him up for now. If there is anything in this world that Malik hates more than admitting his fault and apologizing, it is any discussion of what you do for work. It’s an unspoken rule that the two of you don’t talk about your time at the brothel. For once, you’re glad about it. 

“I’m about to go to work right now. Could you do me a favor and watch over Ramzi for the time being? He’s sick, and I’m worried how he’s going to feel later on in the night.” Minding your manners, you look Malik in the eyes and tack on a please at the end of your request.

“You know I don’t mind.” He doesn’t break eye contact with you. You think you detect something different in the intensity of the stare he’s giving you; more serious, with an almost broody concern evident in those dark eyes of his. “I’ll be waiting here when you get back. We’ll talk more then, okay?” 

You’re already running horribly late. You don’t have time to argue, to remind him that the last thing you’re in the mood for is a conversation you’re unprepared for, especially after a long shift. Instead, you give a slight nod in acknowledgment, and practically sprint out of the tent. 

The cold wind whips you in the face as you make your way to the red light district. Usually, the sun is just barely starting to set when you make your journey; it’s jarring to see how different the walk feels when you’re by yourself, and it’s starting to get dark out. 

The closer you get to the district, the more the fact that you are a woman, alone, in a more dangerous, more lawless area of the city, starts to loom over you. You tighten your coat around your body, practically hugging yourself as you try to quicken your pace. The cold air bites through the fabric of your clothes, chills you to your bones, leaves goosebumps all over your flesh. 

The streetlights are dim, the pavement cracked, and you are well aware that the cold soaking through your skin right now isn’t just from the weather, but from the lecherous stares of the men walking down the street. This is the same path you’ve taken for years now, but tonight, it is entirely too different. You never noticed just how tiny you are compared to the heavyset frames of the men standing outside, with their burly shoulders that could easily knock you down if they were to accidentally run into you. 

Even the scenery feels different. You’ve walked down this street enough times to recognize where the deep potholes in the road are, and usually the buildings lining the district are a source of odd comfort to you. There’s a familiar bar, but its usual warm glow of light emitting from within doesn’t serve as a means of brightness anymore. Now, the lighting from inside casts weird shadows on the faces of the passerby, distorts their features, gives your paranoia something to feed off of. 

“Hey, girlie,” a raspy voice startles you. It’s been so long since you’ve had to worry about yourself — always choosing to focus on the surroundings for the sake of the other girls, always never having to because girls develop a sort of stupid invincibility when they link arms and take the town together — that you’re caught off guard by the sudden feel of a man’s hand on your shoulder. 

Fight or flight. 

You choose the weakest of the options: freeze. 

You realize that you’re scared to look at the man. Your eyes dart nervously down the street, taking in the surrounding buildings, but you realize that there is no one here who will be able to rescue you. Survival instincts kick in, and you find yourself able to back away from him, but his hand grips down on your shoulder even harder. Like a claw, like a shackle. 

“You one of those streetwalkers?” His words come out like a croak. You reason that it doesn’t matter what exactly he says; as long as it comes out of his mouth, with his dry, thirsty, cracked lips, spitting out sentences in between yellowing and rotting teeth, the words are going to sound disgusting regardless. 

“Or ya just a whore for free?” 

You take another step back. With what little light that shines from the streetlamps (that have certainly seen better days), you’re hyper aware of more figures approaching. Sometimes, there are other women who stand outside, some women who are the “streetwalkers” the man has accused you of being, but you know that they cannot come to your rescue. If they were to witness this scene right now, a scene that they’ve probably endured every night out here, they might not even recognize your plight. 

“What’s going on here?” An authoritative voice cuts through your panic, and in the low lighting, you almost think it’s Colt that’s approaching this scene. 

Wishful thinking is a silent killer. Like drugs and alcohol, the high you get from it, the relief, only lasts for so long. Coming down is even harder. 

You know you shouldn’t feel disappointed at the sight of your savior, but this soldier is clearly Marleyan. For all you know, he’s just gotten done with a session with one of the girls you patch up every night. 

He grips the man’s wrist, yanking it from your shoulder and assessing him. 

“I asked you a question.” This blond-haired soldier shoots such a sharp, disgusted look at the man that you’re certain the effect would be similar to how it feels when a blade pierces through one’s intestines. 

“Look, I don’t want no trouble.” The man snarls, pointing a grimy finger at you. “She’s the one solicitin’ people for cheap sex. Go arrest her, officer.” The way he spits out the title shows he harbors the same amount of respect for prostitutes and the police. The only thing stopping him from putting his hands on this soldier is probably the high chance that he’s got a weapon on him. 

“Big fan of the law, are you? Should I take you both down to the station with me, then? We can file a report together, and you can tell my superiors what exactly your business being down here is.” 

“Fuck you.” 

You’re debating if you should test your luck and run. There’s a chance that the soldier would rather chase after you than deal with this man’s verbal assault and hair-pin trigger temper. However, the last thing you want is to get indicted for prostitution. Not because it’ll go on your record; you couldn’t care less about that. It just sounds like filing an official report would take a long time, possibly the whole night, and you can already picture all the money you’re losing by standing here instead of being in your room, ready to greet guests. 

As if sensing your agitation, the soldier glances at you and then claps the man on the shoulder, guiding his hand upwards until it’s circled around the back of the man’s neck. He pulls the man closer to him, and because of the soldier’s height, he has to lean down slightly to get eye-level with your harasser. 

Silence. You can feel the fear radiating off of the man, undercut with his drunken defiance. If there’s anything men have in common, no matter what race or class, it’s certainly audacity. 

“Y’know what, I thought you had a bit more fire in you. ‘Fuck you’, seriously?” The soldier turns his head and looks at you, making a face as if trying to ask you can you believe this guy? “I know you can do better than that.” He takes his hand and pats the back of the man’s head. “Tell you what. I’m going to walk this lovely lady home, who was certainly not soliciting you, and then I’m going to come right back here. By the time I come back, you better come up with some better insults, or I’m going to be very disappointed.” Straightening himself up, he extends a hand to you; thankfully, not the hand that has touched that man. 

What else are you supposed to do in this situation other than take it?

The longer you walk with this man, the more you study him. The more you study him, the more you realize that it was foolish to believe even for a second that he was Colt. They have similar builds, but Colt has a leaner figure, lighter hair, soft brown eyes. The way they carry themselves is different, too. This man walks with his arms swinging by his side, and while the first glance of him can fool people into thinking he’s a perfect soldier, upon closer inspection, you realize that his uniform is missing a button, his pants are slightly wrinkled, and there’s a strand of hair in the back that’s sticking up. 

“So, you work at the Gentleman’s Club.” It’s not a question. His tone is light enough, though, to where you’re not on edge. He had let go of your hand the second you two left the immediate vicinity of the man. 

“Yes.” There’s no point in lying. 

“Don’t suppose you’ve run into many of them there.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Gentlemen.” He clarifies. “I don’t think you’ve dealt with many gentlemen there, right?”

“The name’s all for marketing.”

“Hi, All For Marketing. Bit of a mouthful of a name.” 

You don’t laugh at his joke, but he does, and he does so in a manner that indicates that one, he doesn’t care if people laugh at his jokes or not, and two, he’s very accustomed to people not laughing with him. You can’t tell if you like him or not. 

“My name’s Michael.” He adds, after settling down. “Willa told me telling you my name would make you feel better.” 

“Willa told you that?” You narrow your eyes at him. “How do you know Willa?” Willa’s the reason why any of the girls feel remotely safe in the Club. She’s older than you, but only by a few years. With the life she’s led, you’re only surprised that she’s not older — or dead. 

“She kicked me in the nuts once, and I was a goner ever since.” 

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not, and he doesn’t clarify. Instead, he drops you off at the front of the brothel, not even saying goodbye. He just turns right on his heels and starts to whistle an unfamiliar tune. You don’t tell him that this part of town isn’t the area where you want to whistle as you skip down the street, but considering the fact that you hadn’t felt any more slimy stares directed at you as you walked with him, maybe he can handle himself just fine. 

“Is everything okay?” Willa rarely calls anyone to her office. Tucked away in an odd corner of the brothel, it’s almost as if she doesn’t want anyone to know where her office is. The first and only time you’ve been in here had been on your first day of work, when she made you tea and told you that this is going to be a horrible experience, and that her job isn’t to ensure the girls’ comfort but rather their survival.

She’s the first person to truly ingrain this idea into your head: survival over everything. She’s the only other person who will continuously remind these girls that there are worse things to be in life than uncomfortable. 

The three jagged scars running down her face, starting from an inch below her left eye, down her cheek, traveling all the way to her throat, surely must have been more than just an uncomfortable ordeal. But here she is now, standing tall, pouring hot water into cups. The smell of tea brewing fills the small room. 

“Yes, of course.” You tell her, not sure why she had been waiting for you in the lobby, only to usher you into her office. 

“Hmm.” Her back is still turned to you. Her desk isn’t spotless like you would imagine it to be; she runs such a tight ship in this brothel, you envisioned that every other aspect of her life must be dictated by her militant extremes. There are papers covering every surface, pinned to the walls, even, and books stacked on the floor. You can’t imagine finding anything in this mess. Anything of importance would most likely be hidden in plain sight.

“Is this about the two appointments I missed? Willa, I—”

“Already handled it.” She turns to face you, offering you a teacup. The warmth travels from your hand and spreads to the rest of your body. You didn’t even realize just how cold you are.

“Are you going to fire me now?” The newfound warmth in your body immediately dissipates. You’re not above begging. If it comes down to it, you’ll do anything to keep this job. The sounds of Ramzi’s coughs fill your mind as you continue speaking, “Willa, I have never been late before this—”

“I’m not going to fire you.” She takes a seat on the edge of her desk, some papers falling to the ground as a result. “I just wanted to talk.” 

“About?” 

She shrugs, placidly, but you’re certain it’s just an act. She’s sitting too rigidly on her desk, and Willa is not the type of person to waste time (time is money, after all), especially just to shoot the shit. Finally, after the protracted silence, she sighs.

“Don’t you wish you could hop on a ship and leave this shithole? Sounds pretty nice, right?” 

You allow yourself three seconds of some more wishful thinking, but the idea of ever leaving Marley and having a life that’s better than the one you’re currently living right now seems so out of reach, your mind can’t even wrap around such an idea. 

“Wherever I go, I’d still be me.” 

“It’s a total hypothetical, [Name]. What if you ran away and had a whole new identity?” Her green eyes are very sharp. Actually, every feature of Willa is pointed and sharp. Depending on the lighting, she either looks delicate like a doll or downright dangerous. 

“What’s the point? What’s the point of living if you’re not yourself?” 

She smiles at you, almost like the two of you are sharing some intimate secret.

“I should probably go.” You tell her. You didn’t make this trip just to leave the brothel with empty pockets. There’s only so many hours left in the night. “Thanks for the tea.” 

You set the cup back on the small table crammed in the corner of her office. You didn’t even take a single sip.

Your hair is a matted, tangled mess, some strands sticking to your sweaty face. Regular customers range from the dregs of society to silent men who like to think themselves unemotional and cold but fuck with a vigor and passion that has them grunting out the name of the woman they truly wished was under them. For the most part, you don’t mind the men who fuck you with this sort of detached lust. 

Some nights, it’s even mildly entertaining. 

Tonight, it just hurts.

It’s like every man who stumbles into your room tonight has a lover in his head. Lover might be too sweet of a word, though. You can’t picture any of these men being loving, but sometimes, you can hear it in their distressed groans. Something animalistic and wounded, filled with want and desire. 

You wonder what the big fucking deal is. If you’re infatuated — even foolish enough to think yourself in love — with somebody, why are you paying to have sex with someone else? What’s stopping them from pursuing these women freely? The fact that they’re losers?

Your pessimistic thoughts give way to something more personal, though. When you’re left to sit in the silence after hearing the nonstop exclamations of every woman’s name but your own — each of them said in such a desperate, longing manner, it was probably a love confession — you realize that only a select few people outside the refugee camp know your name. 

You stare at your door, willing it to open. 

Hoping. Wanting. Waiting. 

Just like every other night this past week, just like every other night that followed after you acted just as foolish as these men and whispered your name to him, he doesn’t show up. 

You sink into your mattress. 

Hope’s going to kill you before anything else gets the chance. 

Colt stares at his reflection in the barracks’ bathroom. There’s a tiny crack running down the mirror that hangs over the sink he used to wet his toothbrush and rinse his mouth — the one with the perpetual leaky faucet — and the constant drip drip drip of water slowly plopping down in the discolored porcelain does nothing to ease his nerves.

Tonight is his first night of renewed freedom. 

There’s little to no trace of the sparring match from two weeks ago. Claire had been right in her assessment: there is no lasting scar from the cut. He feels himself tracing the areas on his cheek where the bruises formed. There’s nothing left of them, now, but he can trick himself into feeling the ghost of your touch when he does this.

The only good thing to come out of not seeing you for two weeks is that he has considerably much more money saved up, allowing him to purchase more of your time. 

The crack in the mirror travels from the upper-right hand edge down to the lower left-hand corner. It’s jagged, but faint; just enough to distort his reflection, make it look like he’s some messed up puzzle where the two pieces aren’t aligned right yet. His haircut came courtesy of his enlistment, so it’s no surprise to him when he finds he can’t style it in any other way besides the military guideline approved gelled parting. It usually doesn’t matter, considering he’s either on base or hiding his hair underneath a helmet, but now he’s standing in this cold bathroom, hyper aware of his looks.

He knows that he’s considered to be handsome. Handsome in a rather generic way, he thinks. He holds none of the rugged appeal some of the girls claim Porco possesses, nor does he hold the same amount of inviting charm Michael seems to waste, since every time he manages to attract a girl, he opens his mouth and they start running in the other direction. His looks are nothing special. This realization wouldn’t bother him on any other day, but when he’s spent two weeks thinking about reuniting with you, in all his plain glory, he feels like heading back to his room and never seeing the light of day again. 

But he’s a soldier, a Warrior Candidate, the next inheritor of the Beast Titan. He brought pride to his family, proved to everyone that he was at least someone worth giving a damn about, and—

—he wants to see you again.

Wanting is proof that he is human. Animals survive on a basis of need. They eat the food that they can hunt because they need to survive. They burrow into holes in the ground or sleep on rocks because they need to survive. They claw at each other, spitting mad, snarling, sharp teeth, bloody paws, all because they need to survive. A textbook from his childhood, a textbook still included in Falco’s curriculum, states that Eldians are more animal than human.

Colt is aware that he’s done lots of things for the sake of survival, out of need, but there is something wonderfully human that continues to live inside of him, an ache in his body that can only be relieved by giving into his wants. 

He thinks back to earlier this week, when Zeke calls for him so they can toss a baseball back and forth to each other. Colt always gets the feeling that Zeke is in a perpetual state of holding back. He’ll talk to Colt and make the occasional joke, drops an insignificant anecdote from his earlier years, all of which are scraps that Colt clings to because it won’t be long until Zeke isn’t here anymore. He’s well aware of how morbid it sounds, but Colt doesn’t view death in the disgusting, grotesque way most people do. He’s sappy. He softens it, like how he softens most things. He likens it to a well-earned rest.

He collects these little bits and pieces of information from Zeke so that at least his memory won’t be buried in the grave with him. He accidentally lets this slip out when they’re done tossing the baseball, and they’re just leaning against the brick ball, enjoying a break away from the other soldiers. 

Zeke had asked him why he cares so much, and after getting his answer, Zeke fumbles around in his front pocket, procuring a lighter and a cigarette. 

After lighting it and taking a long drag, he tells Colt, “You’re a good person, you know.” 

Zeke isn’t the type of guy who says things just to flatter people. In fact, most of the Warriors seem to go out of their way to push their luck and see what types of out of pocket things they can get away with saying. Porco tops all of them, easily. 

“Thank you,” Colt isn’t good at dealing with praise. Most of the superior officers here aren’t keen on giving compliments to Eldian soldiers, and so Colt gets used to savoring the silence in between insults.

“But, you know that memories get inherited, too, right? Can’t remember if they wrote it in the damn textbook or if I mentioned it to you before.” 

“Both.” Colt answers. He remembers, because the camaraderie of it all had sounded so appealing to a young Colt. Later, he realizes that it’s because all blessings come attached with a curse; unimaginable power and a means to do right by the people you love and your state, but you die shortly after. Maybe it’s only fair that memories get passed down, to make up for all the memories you won’t ever get to make. 

“So, what’s the point in trying to remember all the stuff I tell you?” 

The rough exterior of the bricks digs into Colt’s back. “What if not all memories get transferred over? Maybe the ones I remember on your behalf don’t pass over, but since I know them, they get to live on.” 

Zeke appears to be thoughtful for a minute, letting the words sink in, soak him straight to the bone. “Can’t argue with that.” Zeke can actually argue quite well; Colt knows this. What Zeke means to say is that he doesn’t want to argue. Zeke digs into his pocket, pulls out a carton, and offers it up to Colt. 

“I don’t smoke.” 

“Good for you. Don’t start.” The advice seems insincere, since Zeke tosses the butt of his cigarette to the ground and immediately lights up another one. 

Maybe if he had regenerative abilities and didn’t have to worry about black lungs, Colt would also try out smoking. Probably not. His mother is always reminding him to take care of himself and taking up Zeke on his offer of cigarettes would feel like a betrayal to her. 

Zeke is no stranger to smoking. Colt would go so far as to call it an addiction, what with the way his fingers seem to always naturally find their way to a lighter and a cigarette. The smell of smoke clings to his jacket, and you can occasionally see him reflexively twitch his fingers when he’s gone too long without a smoke. 

Colt wonders what would happen if he goes too long without seeing you again. Would his knee bounce anxiously? Would his hands clench and unclench, just from the strain of having to resist the urge to run to your side? He’s not familiar with such a concept; it feels insane to be reduced to nothing but his wants. 

“Do you regret starting?” Colt nods to the cigarette burning in Zeke’s hand. 

“Not really, no.” 

The crunch of gravel being grinded underneath his boots, the way the tiny embers of a persistent flame clinging to the cigarette are immediately extinguished, just from one well-aimed stomp from Zeke, had Colt excusing himself to prepare for his meeting with you.

Thinking back on this, thinking about how Zeke showed no regret over his addiction, his reliance, his sole source of relief, Colt finds the courage to walk out the bathroom and head to the red light district.

“And then he fucking coughed on me!” Alize is an animated storyteller. You can see the disgusted look on her face, almost as if she’s reliving the very scene she’s describing in horrifying detail for you all. As one of the only Eldians working here, Alize gets some of the worst clients. The type to fetishize her for the armband she’s mandated to wear. 

“No!” Margaret gasps, like she is oh-so shocked at such a thing happening, even though this is a very tame thing in comparison to a lot of the situations everyone encounters. All the girls sitting in the circle are laughing, and it feels good, truly, to have a chance to gather like this and rehash traumatic events together like girls gossiping at a sleepover. If you can’t make fun of it, what’s the point of enduring it? 

Nadia is sitting next to you, back slightly hunched, knees pulled up to her chest so her little chin can rest atop them. She’s not laughing, and she’s not sharing her own stories. 

“Why don’t we ever share any good stories?” You ask, and that brings up another round of laughter. Good? In this place? Get real.

But when you’re surrounded by these girls, sitting close together, enjoying each other’s company, it’s almost easy to forget that anything bad has happened here. You want Nadia to see that. 

“I’m being serious, come on. All of us can remember at least one good story.”

“Well, there was that one guy who used to come in and dress me up in lingerie. Brand new panties and bras every week; the good stuff, too. I’m talking lace.” Margaret leans in to the circle when she says this, and everyone’s hooked. Lacy lingerie? That’s a luxury. 

“Mags, that’s not a good story! His wife caught him spending all his paychecks on playing dirty dress-up with you, and she came down here, causing an absolute ruckus!” Delia feels most passionately about this because she happened to be in the lobby when the man’s wife came around, and then got accused of being “that whore.” Delia never lets Margaret forget that she took a slap to the face for her; as if Margaret would ever forget that.

“You know what I’m not hearing? Anything good.” You point out. 

“What are you looking for? A fucking love story?” Alize snickers, before you make eye contact with her, subtly letting your eyes flicker to a hopeless looking Nadia. Alize understands immediately. 

“You know, there is that rumor about that one girl who met her husband here.” Alize starts but is immediately met with interjections.

“Not this again—”

“Get real, Ali—”

“Shut up! I’m telling the story, here, aren’t I?” Alize gives everyone in the circle a warning stare before continuing. “He was a businessman.”

“Okay, businessmen are the worst, I don’t—” You knock your body against Margaret’s, effectively getting her to quiet down so Alize can actually finish her story before you all have to head to your separate rooms to get to work. 

“And he wasn’t looking for love, by the way. Don’t get it twisted, girls. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that men don’t come to girls like us with the game plan of meeting their one true love. Got it?” The reminder seems to be aimed at Nadia, who begins to peek out of her shell at the word “love.” 

“So, this businessman, he ends up at this place because he’s new to the area and some cab driver totally screwed him over. Pulled right outside our lovely little area of the city and robbed him! Now, he’s broke, but looks way too good to be in an area like this. And our girl, Nadia—” The name of the girl who gets the happy ending always changes. No one has any idea how this rumor started; apparently, it always happens to be right before the time the oldest girl at the brothel started. By the time people start requesting for someone to tell this story, it’s usually not for their sake, but for pulling out some other girl from the darkness of this place. Nadia is definitely latching on, allowing herself to be rescued. Even if the story is just a fantasy, it’s still better than wallowing in a pit of despair.

“—she spots him. She’s about to head to our little club here until she spots him. He looked so out of place and like easy pickings. If she didn’t approach him, who knows where he’d be?” 

“Dead in a ditch, probably,” A voice pipes up, followed by quiet giggles.

“Naked, too. You know they would’ve robbed him for anything he had.” Margaret adds in, resulting in another round of laughter. You smile at her response; she’s not wrong.

“Well, isn’t he just so lucky to have met Nadia, then! Anyway, Nadia finds this hopeless case of a man and is like, ‘you’re not from around here, are you?’ and he goes, ‘what gave it away?’, and she says, ‘you’re not unzipping your pants at the sight of me.’ Oh, Nadia. What a class act she was.” Alize sighs. “She takes him to the brothel and lets him go straight to her room, and she tells him, ‘you can spend the night here.’ Of course, he’s a businessman. He knows nothing in life is free. So he asks her, ‘what’ll it cost me?’ And she tells him a price that’s worth three nights of work! He agrees to it, but tells her he doesn’t have any money to pay her right away. Now, Nadia is a little risk taker, because me personally? I’m not doing a damn thing for a broke man under this roof. But she trusts him! Guess he had that type of straight and narrow look about him. Only, instead of sleeping, he strikes up a conversation with her!”

“Now that’s unrealistic.” Delia mutters under her breath. “What kind of a man just wants to talk?”

“And they stayed up all night just talking, and the businessman and Nadia both have never felt so seen by someone else. So, she sends back to the nice side of town, and he comes back during the night with twice as much money as he promised. He starts visiting her every night, bringing her gifts and whatnot, and on the last day he’s about to leave town, he shows up with a ring and, well… It’s a good story. We all know how it ends.” Alize waves her hand in the air like she can’t be bothered to tell the rest. “Clearly there’s hope for us all. Especially you.” Alize reaches over to gently poke Nadia’s leg. “Maybe our little Nadia will meet a nice businessman.” 

She no longer looks like she wants the ground to swallow her up, but it’s not a fairytale from Alize that Nadia is searching for. She looks up at you, searching hard for any dishonesty when she asks you, “Has anything good happened to you here?”

You’ve come to terms with the fact that Colt is never coming back. Even thinking about his name fills you with regret because you gave up a part of yourself that was supposed to remain forever locked away in your ribcage. You haven’t thrown out the ointment or the socks yet; not because you’re sentimental, but because you’re not wasteful. Both items are kept buried in your trunk, though, underneath piles of your more familiar, more worn out pieces of clothing. Pretending that Colt has never walked into your life would protect your heart and state of mind. Admitting to the kindness he showed you would keep Nadia going. You already know what you’re going to say. 

“There used to be a soldier who would visit me and all we would ever do is talk. He didn’t even want to lay in bed.” You can hear surprised whispers from the other girls, but you focus only on Nadia. “He brought me socks and ointment for a bruise I didn’t even tell him I had. He just…had a way of noticing things.”

Nadia is raised within the same cultural environment as your own. Her eyes only further widen at the mention of the gifts he brought you. “And food? Did he bring you food?” 

It sounds silly to the Eldian girls in the room, but you can feel the watchful eyes of your neighbors. You shake your head. “No.” 

“Not yet.” This is the most certain Nadia has ever sounded about anything. “But he will. I know he will.” 

“Get ready, girls!” Willa knocks on the door, signaling to them that the fun is over. It’s time to go to work.

Before everyone can file out, little Nadia grabs your wrist, making sure you stay to hear what she has to say. Everyone is trying to be polite, but they are noticeably crowding around the door but not actually exiting.

“So then the next story girls tell when they want to talk about love will be yours. At least it’ll be a real story this time, too.”

Willa doesn’t enter your room, but she does let you know that someone has booked you for the whole night. 

Pro: guaranteed money.

Con: only a real freak would do that.

You’re not sure what to expect, but you do prepare yourself for the worst. 

If you survived everything before this, you can survive this. 

You repeat the mantra in your head until you get sick of it, and by the time the door swings on its hinges, you are nothing but calm and collected. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

Fresh, clean, and looking even better than your memories cited him to be, Warrior Candidate Colt is standing in your room. 

“Hi, honey,” you greet him, same as you would anybody else. There’s a sadistic sort of satisfaction that settles in your system when you see a wounded expression on his healed-up face. The sad puppy dog eyes he unknowingly gives you is almost enough to shatter your resolve. 

Good stories don’t come from places like these. There is no man looking for love here. Don’t act like a child and hang on to some stupid hope. 

“Hi,” he says, and it sounds like how people who have their heads underwater for a prolonged period of time gasp for air the moment they’re able to have their head above the surface. Like he needs air, like life is being shot right back into his system. Like how the men from those nights before had groaned those women’s names.

“You plan on just standing there the whole night?” Like a good hostess, you pat down the empty space on the bed next to you. He swallows hard, eyeing the bed, staring at it like he’s remembering the last time he was in here with you. 

“If that’s what you want me to do.” 

There he goes again, with the wanting, with the letting you take control. You want to ask him why he left you alone for two weeks, but that still won’t account for why it hurt you so much. You want him to tell you that he’s sorry, but you know he doesn’t owe you an apology. He’s technically nothing to you, or at least, he should be. You want him to sit down on this bed so you can play with his perfect hair and admire his perfect face and play pretend that this is the type of good story where the man loves the woman, and everything ends happily. You want, you want, you want. 

But that’s not the role you decided on. You are not The Girl Who Wants. You’re a prostitute who calls people honey and doesn’t form any emotional attachments to the men who walk into this room. This character — she knows nothing about bruise ointment and thick socks, the fear of seeing his bruised face, the peacefulness of him sleeping soundly in the bed, the gentle way he whispered your name in the dark, half-asleep but determined to say it still. The curve of his lips, the smile on his features after he said it — none of that has happened to her.

“Oh, come on, honey. Don’t be shy.” You cock your head, looking at him and wishing to see nothing but a stranger in his place. “Don’t tell me it’s your first time?”

Oh, Colt realizes. So this is what it’s like to be stabbed. 

He wonders if he was so insignificant to you that he truly didn’t make a lasting impression. The faint memory of his hair being played with, the careful way you applied the ointment, everything, was all just a fleeting moment in time. What he has spent time savoring, clinging onto, reaching for, has meant nothing.

“I should go.” He blurts out, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. 

What would this character do? Let him go? Let him walk out and celebrate how you have a peaceful night to yourself and you’re getting paid? Tease him? 

“Um, before I do, I just wanted to give you this.” He pulls out a plain black box. When he walks over to hand it to you, you instantly feel the smoothness of the fabric. It’s velvet. Expensive, and it’s not even the gift, just the case it’s in. “If you don’t like it, I can always return it.” He cannot. The jeweler on base had been very adamant that he does not do returns. Kids in the military fancy the idea of marrying young, but if the jeweler accepted every returned ring and necklace that came his way, he wouldn’t have money, just refurbished jewelry. Who the hell wants to buy a returned engagement ring? The jeweler had asked him. Sounds like a fuckin’ curse.

Inside the case is a simple silver watch. It has a thin band, with a tiny face, but it’s shiny and pretty, and it looks way too nice. You hesitantly remove it from the case, only to realize that it has some weight to it, too. Clearly, this wasn’t cheap. 

You look up at him, shocked, surprised. You know you hurt him and if you felt bad for your treatment of him before, you feel infinitely worse now. 

“Time seems very important.” He explains, sometimes staring at his polished shoes as if he’s never seen them before, sometimes letting his eyes flicker up towards your face, almost like he wants to gauge your reaction. “I figured a watch would be useful. To track time. To make sure that no one wastes yours, or tries to claim that they spent less time than they actually did—”

“I love it.” You tell him. 

There’s that pleasant warm feeling he gets inside of him every time you praise him. You like — no, love — something he’s picked out for you! He wants to launch into the story of how he got it, tell you how he spent two hours in that store trying to get it just right, how he’s happy that you like it because he can’t return it. He doesn’t, though. He just gives you a small smile and is about to head back to base until you ask him,

“Why were you gone for so long?” 

You’re in a tiny room, and yet, you want to make your voice even tinier. You say the words like you’re scared they’re going to come alive and punch you in the face. If there is one person in the world who wouldn’t use how small you feel against you, it’s the soldier standing right in front of you.

He drops to his knees immediately. 

“Oh.” He looks like he wants to reach for you, to cradle your face. It’s a military feat, the type of self-restraint he possesses. All those years of depriving himself, of telling himself he’s not allowed to want, are suddenly paying off. “No, no, I swear to you I didn’t stop showing up because I didn’t want to see you anymore. After the last time I was here, I missed curfew, and my commanding officer wouldn’t give me permission to leave until today. Please, look at me.” The last sentence comes out all strangled and pained, like if you don’t, he might just do something stupid, like run out into traffic. 

It is an odd feeling to be the one who looks down on someone for once. He’s so tall, even on his knees and even with you sitting upright on the bed, his eyes are still practically level with your own. Sincere.

That’s what he is. 

You can tell just by looking into his eyes. He may stutter and choke on his words, but his eyes tell you enough. He is pleading with you, he is searching for forgiveness that he should have never needed in the first place, he is everything.

“Colt.” You remember thinking to yourself, how would it feel to hear someone say your name with such rampant desire? You should’ve been wondering, how does it feel to be the one who desires? 

You say his name, and he knows it means forgiveness. You say his name, and he knows it means want. You say his name, and he knows it means something, but he doesn’t dare to dream so big, not yet. 

“You forgive me?” 

It’s hard to say no to someone who looks like that. With the way he’s staring up at you, all hopeful and earnest, you realize that he truly has no idea of his effect on people. 

“Help me put this watch on, soldier. Pretty please?” You get to swing your feet a little, happily extending out your wrist so he can wrap the watch around it for you. 

“Too tight?” He asks you, brows furrowed, focused on the dainty piece. You’ve never realized just how big his hands are. One of these nights, you’re going to convince him to let you take a finger and trace the whole entire expanse of his broad hands. 

Colt handles things gently. You wonder if it’s hard to be so soft and caring all the time, especially when he so clearly has a soldier’s hand. All rough calluses and thick fingers. Maybe being soft and caring is just in his nature. His chemical makeup is all sugar. 

“Nope. It’s perfect as is.” 

He clasps it for you, a tiny, satisfying click locking it in place. He takes a seat next to you on the bed, and it creaks under his weight. 

“Did you really think I just left you?” He sounds hurt, and once again, the overwhelming feeling of not being a very nice person comes back to hit you in the face. 

You try to think of how to properly word it in a way that wouldn’t make him feel any worse.

“In my line of work, it’s usually the man that does the leaving. I’ll still always be here, so I guess that makes it easier to find me if they ever decide to come back.” You shrug, like it’s just that simple. Judging by the wounded look on his face, it’s clear that you weren’t successful in your task to not make him feel any worse. 

Colt normally doesn’t have an issue with speaking without thinking. He’s always been held to a much higher standard than any of his other peers, and he’s always used to treading carefully. But he can’t seem to help himself whenever he’s around you; you look at him, and all his carefully constructed self-restraint evaporates.

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to leave you.” 

You think back to your group of giggling girls — sisters, or at least, the closest thing you will ever get — and how it’s in all of your instincts to look out for one another.

Be careful of the smooth talkers, Alize always warns you all. They seem like they’re the nicest men you’ll ever meet. They’ll fatten you up with sweet kisses and hope, only to let you down in the end. You’ll say, ‘but Alize! He would never hurt me in the same way all these other men do!’, and I’ll tell you right now, he might not hit you or choke you or even call you filthy names, but no matter what he does, he’s going to find a way to disappoint you. To reveal that he is not sweet. 

And that betrayal is going to hurt the worst.

Just a couple of days with Colt, and his absence left you desperate, lonely. Who’s to say that he just won’t leave you again? You search his eyes, looking for a hint of dishonesty, for uncertainty, for boredom — anything that will tell you that he doesn’t mean what he said. That he’s just talking. That this is all just a game, a soldier wanting to stir up a different kind of war. 

Survival instincts, a choice to be made: fight or flight. 

You’ve seen your fair share of handsome men. Believe it or not, attractive people frequent brothels too. You don’t normally make a habit of studying your clients, but Colt’s face is so close to your own, and the last time you had a chance to look at him in such close proximity, he had clearly just lost a fight. 

The tall bridge of his nose is slightly crooked, noticeable only when you stare at him too closely and for too long. It looks like it was broken and the doctor hadn’t cared to make sure he was even straightening the bone when he fixed it. The tips of his blond hair hang over his forehead, casting tiny shadows, adding dimension to his face. His eyes aren’t the plain brown they appear to be. There are tiny flecks of lighter hues, almost golden, little rays of sunlight filtering his point of view. 

You don’t want to go about life always in a constant state of survival. You want to live.

“And are you? Going to leave?” A challenge. A soldier pulling back the safety on her gun, hands shaking, but the barrel is still pointed straight at him. Finger on the trigger.

“Only if you want me to.” 

Disarmed.

Colt’s finishing up a retelling of his first kiss. You think it’s cute how he gets so easily embarrassed, and it doesn’t help that you keep asking questions he doesn’t anticipate, prolonging the story. 

“Was she cute?” You ask. You’re laying on your belly, body spread comfortably over the mattress. Colt resigns himself to the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce. The floor must be cold and uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, and it makes you wonder about his training. 

You think about Colt’s life a lot. He’s the most open and honest person you’ve ever encountered, and sometimes, you forget that all you have to do is ask him, and he’ll tell you.

“She was considered to be pretty, yes.” 

“Diplomatic answer!” You point at him, laughing. Happy. “Did you think she was cute?”

“I did.” He says, looking down immediately after, playing absentmindedly with a piece of lint on the floor. 

“You did? Well, gee, what happened to her?” Colt doesn’t seem like the type to judge based on physical appearance. You think about Willa’s scars, and then picture them on your face. Would Colt still look at you the same way if your face’s flaws were staring back at him, head on?

“Nothing. She’s actually married now.” 

“Oh. So you don’t have a thing for married women?” That seems like the type of respectful mannerisms Colt would possess. The more time you spend with him, the more you realize that he truly is a good man. Not for glory, not for praise, but good for the sake of being good. 

“Sure.” He doesn’t tell you that no woman looks attractive to him after he’s seen you. It would sound sappy, or even worse, disingenuous. “Let’s go with that.” 

You narrow your pretty eyes at him, almost like you’re trying to appear stern, to get him to give in and tell you the full answer. Instead, you relax your face, the left side of your cheek pressed against your arm as you stare at him sideways. “I bet you’ve been with a lot of pretty girls.” It’s supposed to be a teasing remark, but to your ears, you are nervously aware of the hints of jealousy creeping in your tone. 

“My bunkmates will have you believing that.” It’s a running joke within the soldiers to make fun of Colt. One year, a list got exposed, where the girls in all the units voted on who they thought was the most handsome soldier. Colt had won by a pretty wide margin. A landslide victory. He had stayed hidden in his room, only leaving when absolutely necessary, for a whole week. 

“Tell me about your first girlfriend.” 

“I never had one.” Admitting it out loud to you makes him feel like a loser. 

“So you’re a—”

“No!” He’s blushing. “I—”

“You totally seduce women into warming your bed every night, and then you kick them out! You probably don’t even wait ‘til the morning! You make them leave right after you’re finished!” The exaggerated accusation makes you laugh, and you can’t stop because the horrified, distressed look on his face is so cute, it’s so obvious that what you said is far from the truth. The satisfaction you feel from Colt’s unchanging relationship status makes you feel gross, like you’re an awful person for taking pleasure in having him all to yourself.

You’re aware, of course, that the two of you haven’t even touched, save for your fingers on his face that one night. In the future, Colt is probably going to marry some beautiful, blushing bride, and he will have forgotten all about you. Foolishly, you cast aside those self-preserving thoughts, the ones that warn you not to get too attached. It’s been so long since you didn’t have to share with anyone else; who can blame you for wanting to take all of Colt’s attention? 

“I would never!” He exclaims, his indignation endearing.

As stoic as your soldier appears to be, you know the truth: Colt is a reactive person. You can read him from the way his brows are furrowed, or from the rush of blood and heat to his cheeks and ears, or even from the imperceptible movements of his fingers, of his hands. Colt is one hundred percent alive — full of life. Brimming with it. Overflowing with it, and sometimes, you get lucky, and you get to snatch up some of the excess, jar it, save it on the cold, dark nights where he can’t come and see you.

“I know.” You’re smiling at him. 

In fact, you would tell him that you’re damn near certain that he gets a big fat A-plus for aftercare. You can tell how  a man will treat you by how he handles everything else. Colt is careful with his hands, with sure and steady movements, and he treats fragile things gently. You think about how it felt to have the tips of his calloused fingers brush against the palm of your hand when he brought you the ointment, how it felt like a shot of adrenaline. 

Feeling pity for him, you toy with the threadbare sheet underneath your body. You want to look him in the eyes when you tell him this, so he knows you’re not just playing coy or teasing him. You want to fill him up with the same sincerity he seems to effortlessly give to you. 

Colt is deceptively cute; with his flushed expression and defensive stance on his character, it is too easy to overlook the fact that he’s a soldier, built for battle, bred for war.

Being honest is scary. You don’t know how he manages it every second of his life.

“I’ve never been kissed before.” 

Colt doesn’t know what to say to that. You don’t even know what you’re expecting him to say. 

“I hope it’s good. When you do get kissed.” He tells you. “You deserve to have it be good.” 

Oh. You didn’t know that this was what you wanted to hear until he went out and said it. 

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Pieck says, with her body draped all sorts of way across the couch. Lounging. Like a cat, Colt thinks. 

Porco pokes her back, and she shoots him a lazy, half-assed glare with no real venom behind it. “You’re takin’ up all the space on the couch.” 

“I just got back from an assignment. This feels comfortable.” As if doubling-down on her decision, Pieck shimmies her body, getting more settled in. Colt feels like she’ll sink into the cushions if they leave her unattended. 

Porco grumbles something, and then speaks up when he asks, “What’s the point of going out for drinks anyway?”

“It’ll boost morale.” Pieck says. “We captured an enemy port, and soldiers were sent back home. Might as well go out and celebrate.” 

“The port we captured was tiny and not worth a damn.” Porco points out. 

Pieck ignores this very factual statement. “All the Eldian units will be going out tonight. There’s no harm in attending.” 

“Whose idea was this, anyway? For all we know, this is a Marleyan officer’s ploy to get most of us too drunk off our asses to notice them ushering us into a navy ship so they can shoot us out of cannons.” 

At the beginning of the Mid-East War, Marleyan citizens were hopeful that this would be a conflict resolved swiftly and succinctly. With the two year anniversary and no end in sight, the effects of war are starting to settle in the country. More posters are being hung up about not wasting food or precious resources, more colorful pamphlets filled with propaganda are being delivered to schoolhouses, and every week, organizations are taking up donations to help cover military costs. If Porco doesn’t shut up, a Marleyan officer might hear and take him up on the offer; it’ll save on ammunition costs, at least.

Seeing Porco’s stance on the invitation (a pretty obvious rejection), Pieck turns her attention to Colt. “You know, there are some Eldian nurses who would like to meet you.” 

“He has a girlfriend. I told you this already!” Porco interjects. 

“Is that true?” She asks Colt. “You have a girlfriend?”

Now Porco’s staring at him. Colt feels very much like he’s being put on the spot, and he doesn’t enjoy this feeling one bit. 

“Well, she’s a girl. And I would say we’re friends.” 

Porco groans. “Don’t be so pathetic, Grice.”

If Pieck was feeling up to it, she would have slapped Porco on Colt’s behalf. Instead, she tosses him a lifeline. “You could bring her to the bar. Girlfriend or friend that’s a girl; whatever she is. It’ll probably help you out if your plan is to not get approached by girls tonight.” 

Colt latches on, grateful. “Sure. I’ll ask her.” 

He does ask you, albeit not as smoothly as he initially plans on. He wants to toss out the question, all casual-like, like no big deal, but I was wondering if you wanted to get drinks with my friends and fellow soldiers? 

What ends up happening is that he starts rambling. Somewhere between his nervous declaration that “it’s entirely your choice, and I don’t want you to feel obligated” and his speedrun of his relationship with everyone attending (“Porco only sounds like that, but he’s a nice guy when he tries, so just don’t take anything he says to heart”), you laugh.

He doesn’t know what it means to you, the fact that he doesn’t mind being seen with you. In front of, not just strangers, but people that he actually sees when the sun is up. 

“Well, with a business pitch like that, how could I say no? What night are you taking me?”

“It’s tonight.” Colt says, and you just stare at him, like he’s from a different planet. “Does tonight not work for you?” He knows that he bought all your time for tonight, just in the hopes that you would say yes. 

“I’m not dressed appropriately to go out to a bar and meet all your friends!” You point at your nightdress, the almost-translucent gown that would glow in the moonlight, if only you actually had a window in this room. The clothes that you wear on your way to the brothel are folded neatly in your dresser next to the bed, but somehow those feel like rags compared to what you’re sure his friends and their girlfriends are going to be wearing. 

“I could walk you home first, and you could change.” He suggests helpfully, but the idea of Colt stepping foot in your camp only serves to add to your panic.

“No!” You wince when you realize how loud you got, how harsh it sounds. “No, we can’t go to my place. My brother is probably sleeping, and I don’t want to bother him.” Again, it’s not a lie. But as the weeks go by, as months pass by, you are aware that you are falling deeper and deeper into Colt’s pull. Having him stand inside your home feels too intimate, like you’ll be past the point of no return if this were to happen. 

“That’s okay.” He tells you. “I don’t care what we do. I just want to spend time with you.” 

Right when you think he can’t pull you any deeper, he says something — says it so sincerely, too — that grabs you by your ankle and tugs you back to his side. You let yourself get pulled away.

“I have a change of clothes here.” You say, pulling open the dresser drawer. Colt looks like he’s about to say something, but then you start yanking your current nightgown over your head, and after taking it off yourself completely, you’re still only met with silence.

His back is turned to you. 

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, daring to step a couple steps towards him, even going so far as to brush your fingers against his shoulder, a silent plea for him to turn around.

“No.” The word comes out sounding tight and tense. 

“Colt, did I do something wrong?” 

He shuts his eyes even tighter, willing himself not to turn around. The ghost of your touch lingers on the surface of his shoulder, and the flash of skin he glimpsed at before he realized you were undressing lives rent-free in his mind. Are you still undressed right now? The thought of you being near naked, saying his name so sweetly, is torturous. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong at all.” He breathes out. He tries to focus on mundane things. He tries to think about the slop they served for lunch on base. He tries to think about tossing a baseball back and forth with Zeke. He thinks about Porco, who chews with his mouth open and burps without warning. 

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” 

You do something to him. He doesn’t know what, isn’t sure if there’s a word in the dictionary that would properly describe it, but you do. 

“You’re getting undressed. It wouldn’t be…proper of me to look.” 

You didn’t think hearts could feel this way, with this tightness that surely isn’t good for your health. He says the silliest things sometimes, and it gives your tummy a nervous, fluttering feeling. All the men who have seen you naked don’t even know your name. Colt is standing here, knowing more about you than all of those men combined, and he won’t even look at your body. You wonder if he would turn around if you asked him to.

You wonder if you want him to.

Scared of what your answer might be, you’re quick to throw on the dress you originally left the house with, awkwardly smoothing it down even though you don’t think there are any wrinkles. 

“You can look now.” 

He turns around slowly, almost like he’s afraid that you’re tricking him, but then he takes you in. Takes in the faded yellowness of the dress, and the peek of white cotton that sticks out from your shoes because the socks stop right above your ankle. He likes seeing you dressed in colors, he decides. If this is how good you look in the dark, he can only imagine seeing you in the daylight. You’d have him frozen in the middle of the street with just a single glance, he reckons.

“You’re beautiful.” 

He says this, and it strips you naked. Not in a way that you’re used to, either. You feel seen, like he sees everything about you and still isn’t disgusted. You’ve been called a lot of things, but never beautiful. You think you could continue living in this wretched brothel for the rest of your life with just the memory of this high to keep you going. 

“So, you’re the girlfriend,” 

You know, instinctively, that this is the “Porco” Colt had attempted to warn you about. You adjust the thick jacket hanging on your shoulders. It’s a cold night and a long walk from the district to the bar; you don’t know how Colt didn’t freeze to death in just the thin long sleeve he wears underneath his military uniform. 

“Is that what he told you? That I’m his girlfriend?” 

“Not explicitly. But it was implied.” Porco does not mention that it was certainly not implied, but rather was an idea that he kept forcing upon Colt, and really, no one likes arguing with Porco. It’s best to just go along with whatever he says and hope he gets bored and leaves you alone. 

“It was not implied,” someone new enters the conversation, taking the stool next to Porco. She’s a very pretty girl. A flash of white-hot envy burns in your heart, sizzles down to your stomach, makes you hyper-aware of your body and sense of self. She’s sporting a red armband, same as Porco. 

“Hi.” She smiles at you, soft and incredibly friendly. “I’m Pieck.” 

You smile back, too afraid to open your mouth and accidentally say something wrong. Colt is on the other side of the bar, trying to calm down the rowdy soldiers who are all repeatedly screaming at him to take a shot. They had dragged him away from you the moment the two of you entered the bar together, and he shot you such a panicked look that you realized you would have to be the strong one and remain calm. 

As if feeling your gaze on him, he turns around. Locking eyes with him from so far away, in such a public space, makes this feel even more real. The weight of his jacket keeps you grounded, makes you not slip off the stool because you’ve never seen him look at you so intensely. 

“Shot! Shot! Shot!” Cheers erupt from the crowd of soldiers as they gleefully watch Colt finally take the damn shot. You watch the way he tips his head back, the way his angular jaw seems sharp enough to cut, the way you can see him swallow down the alcohol. The small glass looks impossibly tinier when it’s being held in his hand. 

You don’t realize how hard you’re watching him until loud laughter breaks your concentration.

“I can’t believe it! Grice really does have a girlfriend. Or, at least a girl who likes him.” Porco wipes at the corner of his eyes, as if he’s been laughing so hard, tears sprang up. Pieck rolls her eyes at her friend’s antics, mouthing out an I’m sorry, before tugging on Porco’s arm. 

“Let’s go. You’re being annoying.” She shoots you an apologetic look. “He’s drunk. And probably jealous. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t exactly get as much attention as Colt.” 

“Hey, I’m still here!” He grumbles. 

“It was really nice meeting you. I hope we’ll get a chance to meet again.” As she drags Porco away, you catch snippets of their conversation. Mainly from Porco, whose loud voice seems to boom over every other loud noise in this bar. 

“She’s not Eldian. What the hell is Grice thinking?”

The warm buzz of happiness from tonight dissipates. Porco isn’t wrong; you aren’t Eldian. This hadn’t seemed like such a major issue up until now, and before you can get up to try and get some fresh air, to regroup and think about what your next move should be, Colt appears. 

“Hi.” He says, cheeks pink. He’s been drinking some more. If the soldiers put as much effort into fighting as they do in goading Colt Grice to drink his weight in alcohol, the Mid-East War would have been over a year ago. 

“Hi.” 

“How are we doin’?” His words come out a little slurred, sliding off his tongue but getting jumbled up together in the process. 

“I’m doing fine. I’m not so sure about you, though.” You poke his stomach, but are only met with the feel of hard, taut muscle underneath the fabric of his shirt. 

He frowns. “I’m happy you’re here, y’know. But us — how are we doing?” 

“I think we’re doing just fine, too.” You gesture to the stool next to you. “Take a seat, soldier. You look like you’re going to fall over any second now.”

He ignores your suggestion, still frowning. “You’re lyin’. What happened?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.” 

“Every time something’s wrong with us, you make that face.” He shakes his head. “I like everything about your face, don’t get me wrong, but it’s this look you give me. Like you hate starin’ at me, like it makes you sad. And every time you give me that look, you say something, like callin’ me ‘honey.’” 

You thought men were supposed to be oblivious creatures. You feel like Colt Grice is the first person to notice everything about you, and you thought you would hate it, the feeling of being utterly exposed, and maybe it would be, if it were anyone else. But it’s Colt. For a soldier, he hasn’t turned anything into a weapon against you yet, and you’re starting to think that maybe he never will. 

You decide to be just as unfiltered as he is. 

“I’m not Eldian. Your friend pointed it out.” 

“Who did?” And then Colt turns around, his movements loose and a bit unsteady. “Who said that to you?”

“It wasn’t an insult, Colt.” You play with the sleeve of his jacket. “He was probably just being realistic.” 

“Porco.” Colt says this flatly. “Porco told you that.” 

“No, he told it to Pieck when she was dragging him away. I don’t think I was supposed to hear.” 

“But you did. And now you’re having second thoughts.” 

“I’m not, it’s just—” You tighten his jacket around your shoulders once more, breathing in the familiar scent of the soap he uses. “I wouldn’t fit into your perfect life. I know you’re popular around here, that girls are lining up to date you.” Your sentences come out shaky. Vulnerability sucks. You never want to grapple with it ever again. 

“Hey,” he says softly. His hand reaches up to cradle your face. You can feel the warmth of his hand pressed against you, gently tilting your head until you’re staring up at him. His thumb caresses the top of your cheekbone. He thinks you feel softer than you look, and he doesn’t think it’s possible for you to be made out of flesh and bone, like a regular human. He thinks you’re made of something softer, sweeter, otherworldly. Like a cloud, or cotton-candy. He’s so, so scared that he’s going to blink, and you’re going to disappear. 

The overwhelming urge of want kicks him right in the stomach. He wants to kiss you, wants to feel the shape of your lips and see how they align with his. He wants to bundle you up in his clothes, this senseless want making his brain act all possessive over you. 

“Here I am, thinking I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.” His thumb traces your cheek. 

You think he’s going to kiss you now. You think you’re not going to stop him. 

A loud crash comes from nearby. Two men sitting further down the bar are getting into it now, and as if his body forgets that he’s drunk, Colt moves quickly. He instinctively moves his body in front of yours, shielding you from any potential danger. He assesses the situation, eyes narrowing at how more people seem to want to pile on top of the men. 

“I think it’s time we called it a night.” Colt mumbles, helping you off the stool and pressing you to his side as he guides you to safety. 

“Do you want me to walk you home? Just to make sure you get there safely. I won’t interrupt your brother’s sleep, or anything.” He asks you, taking special care in making sure that you don’t accidentally trip on anything. It’s dark outside, after all. 

“You can just take me back to the brothel. I normally walk back home with the other girls.” You try to stifle your yawn, but of course he notices. 

“Let me know if you get too tired. I can carry you back.” 

If he kissed you, you would have definitely let him. You would have even kissed him back. 

You know it’s supposed to be a cold night, but with his jacket draped over your body, you don’t feel a single breeze.

“Ramzi! Stop throwing stuff around! I just cleaned.” You chastise your brother, refolding his blanket and placing it inside his trunk. 

“I don’t get it. Why are you cleaning so much?” He mumbles, crossing his arms and pouting at you. You’re in too good of a mood to let his attitude bother you. Instead, you pinch his cheek, already mourning his future loss of baby fat. 

“Because someone is coming over to visit.” 

Colt’s jacket is folded neatly, freshly washed and even ironed. The night he took you out to the bar seemed to have solidified your relationship with him, or at least, it eased any leftover doubts you had. Colt Grice is a good man.

And he wants you. You! It’s been a week since the night at the bar, and Colt keeps telling you that he doesn’t need the jacket back, that he doesn’t mind you wearing it, but you’ve been searching for an opportunity to see him again. Rather than just flat-out admitting to him that you want him — trust him enough — to finally see you in the comfort of your own home, you like to mastermind situations, just to test his receptivity. 

When you tell him, feigning a nonchalant attitude, that he can stop by the camp and pick up his jacket, you try to gauge his reaction. He can’t even contain his smile, which makes you drop the whole “cool” act and smile right back at him. 

Your fingers brushed against his as you passed him the piece of paper detailing where he could find you. Before Colt, you figure you could spend the rest of your life never being touched by another man again and be just fine. After feeling the contact of his skin touching your own, always innocently, always fleeting, all this want started building up in your body. You’re overflowing with yearning. The only consolation you have is knowing that he feels the same way. 

Porco is an opinionated person. Colt is well aware of that. Sometimes, it even feels like Porco goes out of his way to be as reactionary as possible, just because he likes to push people’s buttons. 

“Did you hear about the Eldian couple that went missing? Brass doesn’t even give a single shit. The officers assigned to the case are just dicking around.” 

Occasionally, though, Porco will have a point. The world is most likely ending when that happens. 

“I’m not too surprised. Some officers don’t take missing persons reports seriously.” The answer is about as opinionated as Colt dares to get. Ever since childhood, he’s had the sinking feeling that he’s always being watched. For all he knows, the whole entire base is bugged. 

Porco makes a disgusted face. “You mean when it comes to missing Eldians, they don’t take the reports seriously.” 

Colt doesn’t correct him, which in and of itself is a confirmation of Colt’s stance on the matter. Seeing that complaining about the situation isn’t going to change anything, Porco sighs before continuing to walk alongside him. 

“Where’re you going so early in the afternoon? You’re going to miss lunch. Heard it might actually be edible today.” 

“I’m visiting someone.” 

“The girl.” Porco shakes his head. “When are you gonna give her up, man? I’m not saying it to be an asshole—” That would be a first, Colt thinks. “—but get real. Are you seriously going to mess up everything for a Marleyan girl?” He at least has the decency to whisper the last part, lest the two of them get taken out back to get shot in the head. 

“Porco,” Colt says calmly, trying to hold in his laughter. “She’s not Marleyan. She’s a refugee.” 

“Well, fuck!” Porco whacks Colt’s shoulder. “Good for you, Grice. Knew you weren’t that stupid.” 

Colt certainly feels stupid. He looks over the note you gave him, but no matter how many times he rereads it, he still can’t find your tent. 

There are people outside, walking, laughing, kids running and playing make-believe. Honestly, it’s a similar scene as any other neighborhood in Liberio, Eldian or Marleyan. The only difference is that instead of pavement and sidewalks, it’s nothing but green grass and a sparkling lake in the distance. He knows that the living conditions might not be ideal, but taking in the camp and viewing it under the sun, it looks peaceful. Like home.

He can see why you wouldn’t trust just anyone to enter.

He ventures further into the camp, but all the tents seem to blur and blend in with each other. Most are mainly built with some type of white cloth, but the whole place seems to be bursting with color. Different colored curtains dot the landscape. He spots people rolling out intricately designed rugs. He smells spices sizzling in a pan. 

He’s acutely aware of the watchful eyes of everyone around him. Colt is no stranger to public scrutiny, but it feels different this time around. He doesn’t want to do anything that would make them hate him. You told him, once, that everyone here knows your name. He knows that that’s important to you, which means that these people are important to you.

Colt pauses, tries to take in his surroundings, ground himself. Maybe word will spread that there’s an idiotic soldier traipsing around people’s backyards, and hopefully it’ll reach your ears and you’ll halt the manhunt for him. A reasonable person would ask someone for help, but he’s aware of how he’s viewed. For all he knows, reaching out would do more harm than good. Believe it or not, he knows when people are scared of him. 

“Excuse me, are you looking for someone?” A tiny voice pipes up, and Colt looks down. There’s a girl speaking to him, with wide eyes and a long braid running down her back.

“I am, actually!” Colt places the paper back inside his pocket. “Do you think you can help me?” 

“You’re looking for a brothel worker, right?” 

Colt wonders if you’ve ever spoken about him to anyone else. He doesn’t need to wonder why he likes the idea of that. 

“I am.” 

The stares get more intense when he has this girl skipping by his side. She tells him her name, Nadia. He tells her that’s a very nice name, and he means it.

“Did you bring her food?” She asks, sounding eager. 

He didn’t, but now he’s thinking he should have. Are you hungry? Is he supposed to bring you food? He had been so excited at the prospect of seeing you, of getting to be with during the day, that he didn’t think much about anything else. 

Before he can answer, you’re sticking your head out the tent, smiling brightly.

“Colt!” 

Breathless. That’s how he feels. 

He thinks you were made to be seen in the sun. 

“You found me!” Your smiles come easily when you’re at home. He wants so badly for you to always be like this: happy and carefree. 

“Nadia helped.” He nods to where the girl should be standing, but she had already sneaked off the moment she saw you come out. “Should I have brought food?”

“Oh, that’s just… It’s a cultural thing. From our country. Don’t worry about it.” You grab his hand, tugging gently. “Come in, I’ll give you a house tour!” 

He follows you, but he’s thinking over your words. Since you told him to specifically not worry about it, Colt knows that he is going to spend many restless nights doing the exact opposite of your request. 

The tent is spacious. The way it’s arranged, it’s comfortable to stand in, even without fear of your head hitting the ceiling. The carpet cushions the hard packed earth underneath, and there’s a wooden table in the middle. You’re watching him closely, trying to catch the first signs of disappointment or disgust, but all you see is pure curiosity. 

“Well, one thing ruins the whole place.” He says, shaking his head like he’s sad he has to say this. “It’s so ugly, I can’t believe you left it in here.” He picks up his jacket, wrinkling his nose. “Seriously, I’m surprised you didn’t toss this outside.”

You laugh, relief flooding through your veins. “You’re the most unserious soldier I’ve ever met.” 

“I don’t believe that. I’ve seen the state of our military.” He slings his spare jacket over one shoulder. He’s not sure what you had planned for today, but he’s hoping you want to spend it with him.

“They should make you their leader, then. I think you’d straighten them all out.” Reaching for his hand comes naturally to you, and he doesn’t ever say anything when you slip your fingers in between his. Walking back out to camp, Ramzi comes barreling towards the two of you.

“Ramzi, what’s wrong?” You immediately crouch down to hug your brother, who’s gasping and panting for breath. 

“You can’t marry this soldier! You can’t!” Peeking his head out from the embrace you have him in, Ramzi’s eyes narrow at Colt. 

“Ramzi!” You pull back, shocked. You’re clearly embarrassed, and Colt wants to tell you that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but he’s not sure if that would actually help. “Why would you say that?”

“You promised Malik you would marry him!”

“I— Ramzi, go inside. Now.” Your voice is shaking. Nerves. Anger. Panic. You know that Ramzi looks up to Malik. The minute you told Ramzi that a friend, a Warrior Unit soldier, would be coming, he had been excited. He ran out, in search of the toy soldier figurines he let some other children borrow because he wanted to present them to Colt. 

You’re not sure when discussions of marriage came up.

It’s true that Malik intends on proposing. For a while, you even accepted it, resigned to your fate. Nothing was ever official, but he had been the one to make sure that you and Ramzi were taken care of when you first landed in Marley. He brought you food during times when there wasn’t even enough for his own family to eat, and before you started at the brothel, he always took care in securing you clothes and blankets. He watches over Ramzi, just like he would his own little brothers. You don’t think you’re capable of love, not in the romantic sense, and you’re fine with that. True love is a rare commodity, and you’ve been living in survival mode for so long, you didn’t even see the point in searching for it.

Besides, you could do much worse than Malik. 

On the night when Ramzi was sick and the sounds of his sniffles started mixing in with the memories of those men and their groans of those unreachable women’s names, you weren’t in the mood to talk. Malik had been sitting on the ground, tea cups sitting on the table. He stayed up, watching over Ramzi, as promised, but also to make sure you would make it home and so he could have a chat with you, as promised.

You sit across from him, tucking your feet underneath you. The tea brewed at the camp isn’t as strong as Willa’s, and you regret not drinking what she offered you. The cup Malik slides over to you pales in comparison. It’s cold, you realize dejectedly, when you take a sip. It’s cold, and bitter.

“We’ve known each other for a long time now.” He clears his throat, looks you in the eyes. “You must know my intentions?” 

“What intentions?” 

You’re not blind. You know Malik is handsome, with his tanned skin and dark curls. He fills out his shirts well, from all the manual labor he does around the town, twelve to fourteen hour work days depending on how fast it gets dark outside. As far as options go, Malik might be the best person to shack up with.

“I would like for us to get married.”

Colt had been gone. The bad part about having someone take up space in your heart is that you realize what an empty organ it is when they disappear. At this moment, you’re exhausted, and cold, and you don’t want to talk anymore. You want to curl up next to Ramzi, and sleep this whole entire year off, and maybe, if you’re lucky, you won’t even wake up. 

“The proposal ritual. Are you saying you’re going to go through with that?” 

“There’s only one last thing to do, right?”

He says it in a way that makes you feel like a whore. You don’t waste your time daydreaming because there’s simply no point in it. Sometimes, though, you give in. Close your eyes. Picture a nameless, faceless man as your husband. When your husband fucks you, you think sex will be different. It’ll be making love, even. The euphemism always made you giggle; how corny, you would think to yourself. Call it what it is: fucking. 

But wouldn’t it be nice to want to feel someone’s touch and know that they love you? 

No. People in love are always the corniest people in existence. You think infatuation must cause some horrible imbalances in the body and brain or something, because the moment someone meets their One True Love, they start acting irrational. All the girls in the brothel made a pact: if one of you ever falls in love and starts acting a fool, you all have permission to slap the offending girl out of it.

In your culture, a man proposes through a series of tests. Considering the circumstances, the elders are willing to acknowledge the bare minimum. First, the man must present the girl with clothes and then food. It proves that he’s a provider. Then, the potential couple lays together. When she lets him in her bed, it’s her acceptance to the proposal. 

“Three months,” is what you tell Malik. “Three months, and I will give you my answer.”

The deadline for your answer is fast approaching. There’s barely three weeks for you to decide whether or not you allow Malik into your bed. Three months ago, you considered your answer to be a reluctant yes. What else could you say? No? You thought about it, thought about spending the rest of your life living on your charm and resilience. How much longer could you survive in the brothel? Youth and beauty sells — not old, damaged goods. Now, when you brush the grass stains from your skirt, you look at Colt and feel conflicted.

You need to give Malik an answer — and soon. Before Colt re-entered your life, you knew what you needed to do to ensure survival. Now, you know what you want in your life. Needing versus wanting. Surviving versus living. 

“Want to walk me to an exit?” Colt offers a hand to help pull you up. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you realize it’s because he’s purposely working hard to shut you out. You can’t even be upset with him for it.

The two of you walk together in silence. 

“It’s not official.” You offer up, when you can’t take it anymore. You’re not a very talkative person, but it feels weird to have something hanging over the two of you, left unsaid. Even if he never wants to see you again, you want to lay it all out. 

“Your brother seems passionate about it.” Colt points out. 

“Ramzi doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

A beat.

“If it’s not official, there’s definitely something unofficial going on, though, right?” 

“I guess.” 

“Is he nice? The man giving you an unofficial proposal?” 

“He’s Malik.” You say flatly. “He is… The best option.” Your only option.

“But does he treat you well?” Colt presses. 

“What does it matter?” You snap, stopping so you can turn to face him. You will not cry. “Who cares if he’s nice?”

“It matters because it’s you! I care, I want to know that you are living well. That you get the life you deserve.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but the intensity of his words wraps around you, squeezes you tight. 

That’s the issue with Colt, you think to yourself. He makes it so damn hard to hate him. 

“Maybe I do deserve this. Maybe this is as good as it gets for me in this life.”

You turn your back on him, heading right back to your tent. You will not cry. Colt is so stupid. He probably thinks marriage is built on silly things, like love. You will not cry.

Putting one foot in front of the other takes a tremendous amount of effort, but you make progress. When you think you’re a far enough distance to not run immediately back to his side, you dare to turn around.

He’s still rooted in the same spot you left him, staring at you with the most wounded, tortured look you’ve ever seen on a person.

When you’re so far that your figure becomes a tiny speck in the distance, and then that tiny speck disappears, only then does Colt move from his position. He continues to walk, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the ground. He only looks up when he feels a presence.

“Did she say no?” Nadia asks him. 

“Didn’t even stand a chance.” He smiles sadly at her. It makes sense that you would have suitors lining up to propose to you. Official or not, Ramzi seems certain that it’s a sure thing between you and Malik. Colt feels the pressure of his armband on his bicep. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? It was stupid of him to even bother in the first place. He kicks a rock, watches it skip down the slope of the land. 

“I don’t believe that.” She says. “I think she likes you a lot.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nadia.”

“I’m not just making things up! I know if you proposed, she would marry you. She would pick you over any other man in the world!” She pauses. “It’s because you didn’t bring any food.”

“She’s upset with me because I didn’t give her any food?” Colt raises an eyebrow. You didn’t seem hangry. Nadia’s childlike conclusion is refreshing, though. If only things were that simple. He would bring you dinner, and everything would be settled. 

“You gave her socks, and I saw her wear your jacket.” Nadia points to the one slung over his shoulder. “Now, you bring her a big meal to prove that you can provide for her and keep her well-fed, and then she invites you to bed.”

“She doesn’t have to invite me to her bed.” Colt quickly looks at everything but Nadia’s earnest expression. 

“You would do all that for her for nothing?” She shakes her head, like she thinks he’s an idiot. Maybe he is. “That’s how you propose. You provide, and then you show her your devotion in her bed, and then she decides if she wants to spend her whole life with you.” Nadia eyes him up and down. “I think she would like your devotion very much.” 

Colt has no answer to that.

“Were you burning something?” He asks instead, nodding to the large bonfire that has fizzled out. All the remains are burnt pieces of wood and ashes. 

“Oh, no!” Nadia gasps, rushing to it. She grabs a stick and pokes at the pile, but nothing happens. “This isn’t supposed to happen!”

“What’s the matter?” 

“Usually, there’s a roaring fire here, so people can gather here and try to warm up during the night. It was harder to get wood these past few days, and they keep sending the men out to work earlier and earlier. I guess the fire was built too fast, and now it’s gone.” She tosses the stick to the ground. “By the time the men get back, it’ll be too dark out to go to the woods and collect enough kindling to get a large enough fire starting.” 

Colt glances down at his watch, then looks up at the sun still hanging high in the sky. 

He’s got time.

By the time he hauls all the dead wood he can find, he’s well acquainted with both the campground and the surrounding woods. Nadia eventually gets a cart on wheels from one of the older ladies, and she brings it to him so he doesn’t have to constantly walk back and forth for small hauls. 

Once he collects all the kindling necessary, he gets to work on starting the fire. He’s sweating, and he thinks Magath would be proud — or as proud as Magath can get, anyway. Today was supposed to be a free day, and here he is, tossing off his military jacket in an attempt to cool down. 

Wearing only his undershirt, Colt takes the ax Nadia offers him, and he begins to chop away at the logs. He wants a decent stash for them, so that way on the days they can’t collect wood, they’ll still have this stockpile. When he gets the fire going, a crowd has already started to form around them. They cheer when they watch the flames grow higher and higher, and for once, Colt almost forgets about you and Malik. 

And then he catches you in the crowd, and the pleasure he feels from not being hated or feared by the people in this camp evaporates. 

Women are approaching him. He catches snippets of their gratitude, their invitations to bring him to their tent, the not-so subtle remarks on their unmarried daughters. He smiles at them, but he doesn’t stop moving until he’s standing in front of you. He didn’t even consciously think about it; his feet just guided him there.

“If I marry him, I won’t work at the brothel anymore.” You tell him. 

As if sensing this is a private moment, the crowd disperses. It’s all an act, though. They’re clearly trying to eavesdrop. Neither of you seem to care.

“That makes sense.”

“If I don’t work at the brothel anymore, I won’t ever see you again.” 

“So this is goodbye, then?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“But we’re never going to see each other again.” He points out.

“If I marry him.” You point that right back at him.

“Are you going to marry him?” 

This seems to be the direction you planned the conversation on heading towards. He’s never seen you so shy, so demure. This nervous silence, the reluctance, it doesn’t suit you. He wants you to confront him head-on, in your usual bold manner.

“Do you see a future with me? One where I’m not the girl who you have to pay to meet in the shady part of town?” His answer determines your answer to Malik. 

“I already don’t see you in that way. You’ve never been just the girl I pay to see.” A glint of silver catches his eye. It brings him back to the sparring match, the one with the Marleyan boy who brought the knife to his face. It’s not a blade, but something on your wrist.

The watch. You’re wearing the watch he gave you. 

“But a future.” You press. “Do you see a realistic future for us?”

Colt’s never given much thought to the immediate future. Most of the time, it feels like his life has been planned for him since the beginning. The cards he’s been dealt with aren’t the greatest hand, but he feels like he makes it work. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t wince, doesn’t go insane. He doesn’t even ask the universe for much. Even when he does make a wish, it’s always for the benefit of others.

If he closes his eyes and pictures a future with you, what does he see? Church bells, and you dressed in white? Kids? No more barriers between the two of you, no more fronts. In an ideal future, you are happy, and you want him by your side. 

Things can’t ever be that simple, but damn it, he at least has to try.

“Yes.” He takes a step forward. The setting sun causes a warm glow to be cast on your face; it envelopes your whole body, actually. You are radiant. He thinks he should tell you that and then wonders if that sounds corny. Probably. He figures he’s said plenty of dumb, cheesy stuff already, and you’re not backing away from him. 

“Radiant?” You repeat, giggling softly. 

You wonder what you look like from his point of view. Colt Grice stares at you in a way no one’s done before, and his refusal to look at you when you’re half-naked comes to mind. He looks at you, and he undresses you, but it’s not clothes he’s trying to take off. He’s peeling layers of your masks, making you shed your faux skins all over the place, in some insignificant corner. Colt Grice stares at you, and he sees you, and it makes you feel special. You’ve spent a majority of your life feeling like gum stuck on the bottom of someone’s shoe, only worth their time when they’re scraping you off, swearing at what an inconvenience you are. 

You notice the watch on his wrist, and you’re pleased to realize that it looks similar to your own, just wider. More masculine. Like “his and her” goods. The feeling of being special only grows. 

“Colt.” You’re going to do something very stupid now. You’ve been feeling it for weeks now, that feeling of him pulling you past the point of no return. If you do this, you know that you’re never going to be able to give him up. Everything will change afterwards. Somehow, the thought of that doesn’t seem as scary or daunting as before. “Can I kiss you, please?” 

This is a real shining moment, Colt thinks. He’ll remember this forever, and when he inherits the Beast, he hopes that this memory gets passed down for all generations. Even if nothing else gets remembered, this certainly will leave its mark on history. 

Your lips are soft, and he tastes something sweet, and he wants to savor it, savor you. He keeps himself in check, forcing himself to not deepen the kiss, and then you’re pulling back from him. 

So this is what kissing is all about, you think to yourself, touching your lips. 

Confession time: sometimes you feel like you don’t know how to be human. You think you spent so long always on edge, always afraid, that you’re starting to forget the fun stuff about being alive. Your job is to do what people are supposed to consider the most ultimate act of intimacy, and you spend all your time disgusted by it. Dissociating from it. Perfecting the art of detachment. 

You give him nothing more than a simple, chaste kiss on the lips. Not even a second (you would know; you feel for the tick of the watch against your wrist). But it’s enough to charge you, leaves you feeling wired, electrified. 

Alive.

You’re aware of your neighbors witnessing this scene. You almost forgot about them, too focused on the man standing in front of you. You watched him, the flex of his muscles and the way he selflessly spent his time to help out the camp. He didn’t have to do that; he doesn’t owe them anything. You think you broke him for a second, turning your back and leaving him like he was nothing. He had every right to just walk out of here and be done with this camp for good. 

But he didn’t. And if he can do that, you can put a stop to Malik’s proposal ritual. You won’t let him in your bed. You won’t let him in your heart. You won’t let anyone in. 

The lingering effects of the kiss still rests on your lips. You don’t realize how hungry you are until you get a tiny taste to whet your appetite. You like kissing, you decide. You wonder why the hell you haven’t done it before.

Colt’s grin is so wide, it makes it hard for you to not try to mimic that happiness. Smiling comes easy when you’re with Colt. It’s like his shiny disposition is infectious, contagious. 

No. You know why you’ve been saving your kiss, your name, the space inside your life, all of it—

—all of it was reserved for this golden soldier.

Colt is still riding the high of the kiss — of the kisses — you gave him. 

Maybe this is finally the universe turning his luck around. Good karma. Every ounce of good he’s done in this lifetime, and he’s finally cashing out. You kissed him. You kissed him. You kissed him.

He can’t even wipe the dopey grin off his face as he checks back into base. He feels like Michael, like he wants to swing his arms and whistle silly tunes. He thinks he could get punched in the face right now, and not even feel a thing. The next time he sees you, Colt decides, he’s going to bring you a feast, and then he’s going to kiss you like a man going off to war.

His spirits are still high as he enters his bedroom, ready to lay down on his bed and relive those kisses over and over again until exhaustion takes control of his body, but he pauses when he sees the thick cardstock folded on his bed. 

It’s closed, sealed with wax that has the Marleyan military coat of arms imprinted on it. He rips into the paper, eyes scanning over the letter quickly. He sees what he’s searching for, letting the paper drop to the ground. 

Fuck. So much for good karma.

This letter serves as your official deployment orders from the Marleyan Military. You are hereby directed to join the offensive operation aimed at capturing Fort Helena. Upon receipt of this letter, you are to report to the designated assembly point where you will receive further instructions and join your assigned unit. Your role in this operation will be briefed in detail upon your arrival.

It is imperative that you prepare for immediate deployment. Ensure your personal affairs are in order, and report with full combat readiness.

[circe69]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌.

simon "ghost" riley x reader

repost from a few days ago, i fixed it up a lil' and am putting it back out there again. "you look slutty as ever, y/n."

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Previously this morning, you had a very important mission that required your services as being the bait, essentially making yourself as desirable as possible to obtain whatever information your boss needed, even if it was the smallest of knowledge. Your tight, velvety, black dress and strapped heels weren't your usual attire, of course, but the rest of the task force knew the reason you had been hired, so it wouldn't strike them as strange when you greeted them.

You walked into the dining area to find your whole troop congregating around the round tables placed randomly along small room. Some were talking to each other, laughing, making jokes they were too old to make, others were eating, keeping to themselves. Your eyes scanned the entire room before taking a seat yourself, the metal screeching on the tile as you scooted in.

"Look who it 's," a voice came from across the room, bouncing off those stupid ugly walls. The unnaturally low voice came from none other than Ghost himself, perhaps the most annoying man you'd ever had the pleasure of engaging with. He sauntered over to you, splitting the waters of men paying close attention to where he walked, watching one muddy boot stomp in front of the other.

You stayed silent. Even as he neared you, you refused to look up. You glanced over to the granite counters, finding the dozens of hot coffees you had bought for the whole team. Sure, most of them were unbearable, but you were feeling nice this morning. There was something so refreshing about doing something for someone else with a genuine purpose. It was exhausting, throwing yourself at old, creepy men and pretending to be in love for even a sliver of understanding about your enemies, when you were quite the opposite.

You felt Ghost's eyes on you, never lingering in one place but instead traveling the entirety of your body. His eyes being like lasers, you felt the sting of every exposed inch being singed. "You look slutty as ever, Y/N." His body bended down to your level, his head slightly cocking to the side as he spoke. You stayed quiet still, even though your head was reeling with heavy-toned remarks and insults that would make the man before you grovel in embarrassment. You took a sip of your latte, and carefully set the cup back down on the table before making direct eye contact with him.

You hadn't ever truly enjoyed Ghost's company; you weren't sure if anyone did. There had been rumors of him having a terrible past, terrible childhood, and maybe if he had been nicer, more charming, you would've had sympathy.

Your eyes burned into his, it was the only place they could burn into. Everything else was covered, and you liked to imagine his mask of more of a security blanket than anything. Ghost, the all-knowing and powerful, deadly monster needed a mask on at all times to appear mysterious and aloof. Maybe he really did just like the masks, maybe he liked the attention, maybe you needed therapy for always imagining the worst of everyone.

You opened your mouth, "Yeah, well this slut just bought you coffee."

The chair screeches and gasps from your teammates harmonized as you stood abruptly, forcing Ghost to blink at your sudden movement.

"I've had it with your inappropriate, unoriginal remarks. It's highly unprofessional for a man of your talent and reputation to go around calling your fellow soldier something of that manner."

He smiled that deathly smile, you swear you saw the fabric glide across his face, and you hated how much you liked it. "Rather predictable of me, right? Isn't that what you said to Price a few weeks ago when you were spilling your secrets to him?"

Your knuckles were white, out of embarrassment or rage you weren't sure. All you knew was that getting under people's skin was Ghost's specialty, and you were no exception.

"Quite the opposite, sir."

His hand slammed on the table, making your drink spill onto the floor. Your body reacted in a way that was somewhat embarrassing, you knew just how much flinching out of fear encouraged him to just scare you more.

"Don't talk to your Lieutenant like that." His eyes grew dark, and as uninviting as they were, you didn't dare to break from them to watch the troop leave quietly.

You took a step closer to him, your black, blood-stained stiletto hitting the marble floor inches away from his feet. You leaned up to whisper in his ear, "I won't waste one minute to reciprocate how you talk to me. I'll do it well," you paused to stomp on his toes with your heel, forcing a pained groan out of his mouth, "and I'll enjoy it too."

You crossed your arms as you watched his seemingly indestructible body writhe. He sat down in a chair and whispered curses under his uneven breath.

He slowly looked up at you and didn't fail to notice your magnificent posture, your heavenly glow beaming from your face only got brighter when you inflicted pain on someone who needed to be taught a lesson. Ghost calmly stood and as his height grew, your eyes stayed glued onto his. You always hated how much taller he was than you; his ego was tall enough. All the sudden, Price walked into the room, followed by a few of his new trainees.

Ghost took a step forward and slid a hand up your thigh, only to rest it on your hip and leaned down to whisper in your ear,

"Meet me in my room."

[fairy-eclipse]

Mystery and Mystique

╭ ・ ──・ ˙୨୧˙ ︵︵୭ ₊ ‧  ╮ Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: You know a little more than you let on. ╰  ・ ──・ ˙୨୧˙ ︵︵୭ ₊ ‧   ╯

Tom Riddle was everything you strived to be. He was the epitome of grace—that is, if grace came in the form of a beautifully sculpted, Greek-god woven face.

And while you were not swayed by his charms at first, you'd be lying if you said he didn't intrigue you. For how could someone have it all at age 16; elegance, prestige, and the highest grades to note? He did things with such consideration, such thoughtfulness—down to the people he surrounded himself with. They mostly consisted of the pretentious purebloods from his own house, dim-witted as they were. It was perplexing how the whole clique clung on to his every word and trailed behind him like lost puppies.

As much as you hated to admit it, maybe that friendship blossomed into something more. It followed you into your sixth year, and for him, his last. Golden child. Head boy.

You met him in your fifth year. He was pleasant, but distant. Polite, but not friendly. There was something off-putting about his demeanor, something that bubbled deep under that marble face. You just couldn’t put your finger on it.

And maybe it was the fact that he found your abilities up to par with his own. Maybe it was that your shared moments meant something to him. Maybe it was just fate laying out the cards for you, but miraculously, miraculously, you had befriended him. 

Kisses under the stars. Hand in hand. Hushed voices, whispered promises. 

Yes, as much as you hated to admit it, you were in love. You hoped he felt the same way. You hoped it wasn't another one of his clever façades. 

For the Slytherins who followed in his wake were not his friends, but his followers. The strange book from the Restricted section was not a "side hobby," but an obsession that bordered on mania. His tender smile was far from genuine. It was a mask to hide his ugly truths.

You didn't miss the perk of interest whenever the dark arts came up, or the alarming shadow that flitted across his face when Dolohov had irked him. He didn't want to be great, no, he wanted to be the greatest. He wanted to surpass those stronger than him, to be unrivaled as the best. 

Tom and his followers had secret meetings every week, though you had yet to sneak into one. You'd have to come up with a plan for that. 

But most importantly, they called him Lord Voldemort. It sounded strange on your tongue. Dark. Sinister. It suited him. It suited him and you hated it.

You knew all of this from observing, piecing together the seemingly minor bits of information you got your hands on. After all, how could his adorable, intelligent little partner turn out to be an overanalytical, meticulous detective at heart? 

And although you knew Tom was very capable of hurting (not that you think he’s hurt anyone or anything, he wouldn’t do something like that. Not at all.), he was so gentle with you. Like you were some fragile thing, a porcelain doll. Sure, he was cold and distant at times, but if you were busy plotting something big and ominous, you would be, too.

You really should be running. You should be banging on the headmaster's door, telling him that something was wrong with the best student in Hogwarts. You should be doing a lot of things, and letting your curiosity get the best of you was not one of them...

But you couldn't shake away the feeling that you were born for this. Cracking the code, cracking Tom for all he was. 

After all, you were never one to turn down a good riddle.

A/N: hii i’m fairy ^-^ after MONTHS of coming on here every day looking at amazing work posted by talented authors (and you know who you are), i decided to start my own tumblr !! super excited to contribute to the tommy army considering there’s really not much content 😿😿 thank you for reading this oneshot n have an amazing day 🤍

[tteokdoroki]

waves that hurt | k.bakugou + i.midoriya.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader x izuku midoriya.

♡ word count: 3.04K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, hurt, angst and comfort.

♡ summary: dark days mean dark waves that crash across your mind, intrusive and mean the waves pull you under— but they are the helping hands that pull you up and let you breathe.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy tw for depression, intrusive thoughts and self depreciation, self doubt and low self-worth. this fic is written mostly from personal experiences and may not be accurate to how everyone feels! mentions of therapy.

♡ author’s note(s):  this is my contribution to @doinmybesthere​ ‘s mental health awareness collab, this is kinda personal to me and something i experienced recently!! i hope it can provide some comfort to anyone out there, please don’t forget to check out everyone else’s works and i hope you’re all safe ‘n well <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

“kacchan, it’s much worse this time, i really think you should come home early tonight.”

deku whispers into the phone, his marred hands rub slow and soothing circles into your back from over the duvet— you can feel his warmth, light and airy through it but he feels and sounds much further away. a million miles across a dark ocean that trickles through your thoughts, intrusive and mean, keeping you under and away from clear air.

you wouldn’t want to pull him into this, bother him with the way you drown in dark thoughts— so you pull away from your boyfriend and tuck yourself away into the sheets.

izuku doesn’t retract his hand even as you pull away, listening to katsuki grunt orders down the phone— make sure yn’s eaten, make sure yn’s had water. basic things you should be able to do on your own but can’t, paralysed by the anxiety and depression that clamps down on you like a vice and refuses to let you up so you can just breathe. you want to breathe and not feel like the world is crashing down on you, to have a second to yourself where everything seems like it’s okay.

brushing fingers over the nape of your neck, toying with the coils of your baby hairs, your boyfriend speaks, only gently. “baby,” says quietly, his weight causing the bed to dip. “katsuki will be home soon, do you want to come with me to let him in?” you shrug, a sick feeling twisting in your gut. you see the black tendrils and waves in the back of your mind, bringing forth a new batch of ugly words that force you down. are you really that much of a burden these days that katsuki has to call it quits on work for you? “how are you feeling?”

you don’t know, you don’t know how to tell him that every thought you have hurts and there’s a pain in your chest with every breath you take. “i don’t know, it’s just...bad izu…” you want to explain how you feel deep inside, but the words are trapped like balls of tar in your throat— fear that if you say something he’ll walk away.

“you don’t have to say anything, don’t force yourself to…” he speaks with a soft voice, cotton to your ears in an attempt to soothe you. you can just about feel the clean air flowing through your lungs at the sound— it tells you he loves you, no matter what and you almost believe it before sinking back under. “let’s get you some water okay? wouldn’t want kacchan scolding us would we?”

the joke hangs in the murky and heavy air for a few seconds before you muster a small smile— your green haired boyfriend lets out a tiny sigh of relief and pressed a kiss into your hairline, the affection simmers under your skin and briefly brings light to your dark mind as izuku starts leading you to the kitchen.

you’re curled up in izuku’s lap when the front door pops open with a click— signifying your other boyfriend had arrived home. you flinch, hiding yourself in the blankets keeping you warm and locking away the dark thoughts from the eyes of your lovers.

part of you hated them seeing you this way, that’s why you forced yourself to keep everything away from them— but they knew, they always did and always came to your rescue. you didn’t want them to feel like they had to look after you when the days were bad and draining and your mind took hold of everything that you felt. you didn’t need the weight of your own problems on the shoulders of two pro heroes who had enough to deal with.

in the end, you would destroy them like you did with yourself.

you can hear katsuki shedding his gear by the door, feeling his intense and heated presence flood the room and barely penetrate the barrier you created for yourself even while you lay in izuku’s arms. for as long as you’d known the two— even from back in your U.A days, bakugou had hated self-pity, of course in recent years he’d cooled down a little and spoke less on the actions of others but even still, you weren’t sure if you could handle him looking down on you for looking down on yourself and for feeling this way.

the blanket is suddenly lifted from your head, momentarily blinding you with the overwhelming light that is your boyfriend, katsuki bakugou. a twinkle of concern lines his ruby eyes and you can see traces of his charcoal eyeliner that he usually smudges underneath his mask— he’s so beautiful but you’re afraid of the twitches of worry, afraid that he’s mad at you for being the way you are.

“hey honey,” bakugou hums, crouching to your level to cup your cheeks, stress bleeding from his body when you nuzzle into him.

izuku gives you a squeeze, an encouraging one and you nod. “hi,” is all you can muster, afraid of blurting the intrusive words that crackle across your brain.

katsuki sits back on his haunches, looking between you and his boyfriend before he attempts to kick off his shoes. the room is full of a thick, ugly quietness that you know you’re responsible for— they don’t have to say anything, you know that it’s you. because when you’re like this it’s hard for bakugou and midoriya to talk, afraid that they’ll say something to set you off and you afraid that they’ll leave if they knew how you really felt. how trapped and alone you felt inside, how the twisted darkness added tones to your vibes and dragged you down with every step that you took.

they don’t need to say it because it flows from your body like a rushing river and drowns them, fills their lungs and it’s your fault for infecting them with your own bitter taste of life.

“have you eaten?” the blonde of the two boys asks, looking you dead in the eye. you want to answer, but again the viscous back from earlier starts to flood through your body. you try to take care of yourself of these days where you feel it the hardest, but it’s difficult to move and to breathe— and the drive to complete even the simplest of tasks is barely ever there.

you move to speak, caught up in the thick smog of your own brain when izuku gives your body a squeeze and shakes his head, the forest of his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’ve had water, right?” izuku has no problem answering for you. “but nothing to eat,” he whispers, keeping his voice low as if to hide his worry from you— it’s light in his tone but tremors throughout the number one’s body. you feel sick for making him feel that way.

katsuki’s gaze shifts back from his boyfriend to you, his expression unreadable because he knows how you get if they worry too much about you. you’re thankful, partly for that at least, his blank face prevents your mind from reading too deep into things and blaming yourself for things out of your own control.

“‘m makin’ your favourite for dinner. you’ll eat it, no questions asked.” the explosive pro hero states firmly, rising from his place crouched down by your side, obviously not before thumbing over your cheeks to wipe away evidence of your dried tears. “gonna run you a bath too, damn nerd better get you upstairs and ready by the time it’s done.” deku’s chest rumbles with a light hearted chuckle beneath you, lifting the heavy weight of the air within the room— bakugou had always loved brashly, with a fiery intensity that hardly left room for the answer ‘no’, and while izuku was more tame, they balanced one another out in a way that felt more like a warm hug than a battle. they grounded you, in the best of ways.

true to his disgruntled words, your blonde headed boyfriend runs you a hot bath. you don’t miss the addition of lavender oil to the perfectly warm water, the baking soda which you’re sure he only knew to add because his mother had said it would remove the demon spawn toxins in his body. izuku is the one to help you strip, holds your hands as you kick off gross comfort clothes and folds them away, after pressing kisses to your groggy face and chin.

it’s almost funny to see the two biggest and beefiest pro heroes sit on your bathroom floor crossed legged and beside the tub— both of them taking up the majority of the room. you know for a fact that no one would believe the sight unless they saw it, but they’re there. both of them, izuku midoriya and bakugou katsuki are with you encompassed in the silence while you wash away the ugly words that plague your mind and fill the pores of your skin.

they’re still there.

even as sweet lavender water moves in soft waves over your bare body, while black ink moves in the same way across your brain— tattooing self-depreciating thoughts into every inch. you’re not worth their time, they say, you’re wasting it. because how could their precious time be put to good use if you’re taking it up, they could be saving people but instead your boyfriends are here, drowning in your own darkness.

they’re still fucking here.

when they could be out there saving the people who needed it, who were suffering out there in the world outside of your home.

and the suds against your body, the warm water sloshing over your thighs isn’t enough to get rid of the burning sensation of vile phrases printing themselves against your body and clouding every thought that you think. toxic, mean and nasty things you can’t scrub away— none of it is enough to make you feel like you deserve bakugou tenderly lathering you up with the rose scented soap his mother had sent you for christmas or the sips of cool water midoriya brings to your lips in order to prevent you from overheating in the steam of the bathroom.

deku catches the painful twist in your face, pausing his movements to study you. “whaddya need?” you need it to stop, to find something to replace the pain and doubts that fill you.

“water, hotter,” you croak quietly, tears building up in the base of your throat as katsuki catches on and flicks the tap for a stream of hot water to fill the tub. “please,”

they tell you to let them know when to stop if the heat gets too much, but the scalding water burns away any reminders of the self loathing you feel across every inch of your mind, your body and your soul. it stings at the darkness in a way that’s painfully soothing and maybe if you sink under— it could stop hurting completely. if you could slide deeper into the water, would the waves of darkness not crash so hard?

and then the damn breaks, like a tsunami the guilt and anguish you feel crashes over your body and takes control, leaving you fighting for oxygen in the form of your happiness.

everything that you’d been holding back flows freely in salty tears from tired eyes, scorching a path down the apples of your cheeks and mingling with the contents of the tub below. your boys, they don’t notice at first, how you cry and curl in on yourself until you think the world won’t notice you anymore but then just as they always do, they’re pulling you into their warmth and bubble of light— freeing you from black intrusive tendrils even if it means they have to crawl into the tub and wade their through the ocean you’ve made to set yourselves apart.

“don’t—!” you heave with an uneven voice, signs of you falling apart evident in every way. bakugou and deku pull away from you slowly, with dripping shirts and worry written across freckled faces and red eyes. they’re scared for you, hate seeing you force your feelings down and away from them. “please don’t touch me—you’ll—“

the water in the bathtub sloshes from where you retract from their touch, backing yourself up against the wall and away from your boys. “we’ll what?” izuku presses but only gently, keeping you afloat, stopping you from sinking and bakugou stays put in his place, letting the latter talk you down.

you shake your head, trying to think of the right words but it’s hard to, with the crashing waves heavy against your ears. how do you tell your lovers that everything hurts, to think and to feel, to live day by day. you don’t want to bother them with and an extra stress to their busy lives. but you can’t keep it in any longer, bursting at the seams. “you’ll drown. i-if i touch you, i’ll pull you under, you’ll drown with me and you won’t be able to breathe and all those horrible things that i think about will burn in your lungs until you give up fighting like me,” your tears and hiccups interrupt your words, but they listen. bakugou and deku, they listen and they stay.

“yn—“

“because if you do, then all that i feel will be a burden to you— i’ll break in ways that can’t be fixed and you’ll be forced to pick up the pieces and i’ll just be a burden,” you continue, not even pausing to take a breath while you continue to cry. “if you stay to pick up the pieces, you’ll be taken away from people who need you, who are worth saving, and can be helped and—“

you can’t recount how many nights, similar to this in which you wondered why and how two pro heroes could want and love you, why they dealt with your down days that sometimes outnumbered the ups— even if they’d shown you how much they cared, you couldn’t help but feel guilty as if your sadness took up their time to save someone else.

“you can be helped, yn. you don’t have to go what you’re going through alone, you’re worth the time and the effort of helping, no one deserves to suffer,” the green haired of your two boyfriends cuts through the tail ends of your words, still keeping distance until he knows it’s safe to touch you again. there is no look of condescending pity on his face, no sign to show you’ve pulled him into the dark of your mind. it’s just izuku, trying to help you pull through.

you look to katsuki hesitantly, he hasn’t said a word. “but i don’t want to be seen as...as weak, or to worry you because i can’t get out of my own head—“

“y’not fuckin’ weak, we’d never think that of you. we see you try to hide your pain, pretend things don’t get to you when they do. but fuckin’ handlin’ things on ya own can make y’stronger than any two heroes combined,” a look of anger flashes across his features, finer with age and tired with work. but bakugou isn’t angry with you, but with himself for leading you to believe that you were an extra weight on his shoulders. both of their shoulders. “yer not gonna get rid of us or scare us away, we love ya, we’re here for ya ‘n if it’s help that you need or think yer not worthy of, we’ll find some. it’s okay t’ask for help.”

maybe it’s hearing it from someone else, that your pain and your depression is valid, that you’re not an extra weight on the people you love that allows you to come up from a tar-like ocean for fresh air in your lungs, for the waves to calm and the storm raging in your mind to soothe. maybe it’s the two of your boyfriends being there for you despite the fear that you’d scare them away with not being okay that washes away some of the awful things you think.

you know that their support won’t make things go away over night, that it will take time for you to heal but for now you can keep your head above the water just long enough to breathe.

“can i touch you now? is it okay?” deku asks, feeling less distant from you than at the start of the day, but as your body shakes with the last of your tears all you manage is a nod before the number one hero is pulling you into his chest from the tub and the number two is wrapping a towel and his arms around you.

you sit sandwiched between the two, they keep you at the surface— holding you tight while you let out what you’ve been holding back. “we can get some help if y’want it, the doctors...therapy might be nerve wrackin’...scary even, but it can help and we’ll be there every single step of the fuckin’ way,” katsuki reasures you with pets to your head, rocking you back and forth on your bathroom floor, steam clinging to the air that you can finally breathe.

izuku nods along in agreement, pressing kisses to your wet hairline. “we’ll be here. you won’t be alone.”

the murkiness of the water in your mind starts to clear, but only just— their warmth starts to push through the clouds like sunshine brushing against your skin. a light to the dark that's plagued your every waking moment, the waves no longer crash and destroy but instead lap comfortingly at your painful thoughts and tame them just enough for you to have a moment of clarity.

you don’t have to be alone or millions of miles away, you deserve the hands of your loved ones that offer you help instead of pushing them away. the process of healing and things like therapy or meds will be hard sometimes, but katsuki and izuku will be here by your side, to help you manage days where darkness rolls in waves that hurt and help you breathe once again.