#i just wish they’d let him be his own character still more than just like… Anders’ understudy :/

[lyriumlullaby-ao3]

god they really did do Justice kinda dirty in da2, huh

[staryuee]

HOW THEY REACT TO YOUR SILENT TREATMENT.

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread … sigh

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . you and your partner are having a “cooling down period”, a time of détente, after a recent argument. how do they deal with the lack of love from you?

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, eula, wanderer, ayato, gorou, tartaglia, lyney, wriothesley, neuvillette, arlecchino

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . as a psychology student ☝️🤓 i can safely say that the silent treatment is usually frowned upon due to its connotations with emotional abuse, therefore i tried my best to make it apparent that this sort of silence is within the boundaries of the relationship ( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ ) please communicate with your loved ones if you feel a certain way :)

you and your beloved recently had a pretty bad argument. out of respect for both of your feelings you both decided to have a period of détente to allow a gradual recovery of your emotions and logical reasonings.

there was no need to argue, and there was also no need to be hostile or petty; therefore your silent treatment wasn’t a way to maliciously gain control or make your lover come running back to you, it was a way for both of you to regain composure and come back to the topic when prepared.

that did unfortunately, lead to much less affectionate gestures from both of you. of course there was still the casual “i love you” every morning and night accompanied by a simple kiss, but it never went anything beyond that.

while your lover fully knew why this sort of peaceful coexistence was necessary, sometimes it’s sincerely difficult to not just reach out and kiss you breathless.

you’re so close yet so far, it’s unbearable.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

master diluc has been rather restless lately.

constant muttering to himself, plucking the dried up skin that stuck out from his badly bitten lips, his gloved hands constantly scratching a non existent scratch; honestly, if the fellow residents of dawn winery didn’t know any better they’d think he was possessed and required an immediate exorcist.

adelinde refuses to see her precious baby sink his eyes into ruin purely because he’s out secretly patrolling once he wakes up in the middle of the night to clear his head. you’re always there with him throughout the night: but why does it still feel so empty regardless?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST ?

diluc is no pushover or people pleaser; if you were guilty, then you’re guilty and he’ll wait all the time in the world till you eventually own up and apologise (please let that come sooner or later though otherwise he’ll give into ruin and sip alcohol for a breather). otherwise, if its his fault, or no ones and it was a mere misunderstanding, the silent treatment lasts for a day. not any longer not any less; he doesn’t allow it to.

he’s more than happy to wait forever for you but gods if he ever made a mistake that accidentally led you to elongating this supposed transient silence till the end of time, diluc would much rather swallow his pride and give his all to you. you’re worth more than pettiness, and he’ll prove that to you once you wake up and get greeted with all your favourite luxuries and a bright, relieved smile on his face.

EULA — 优菈

you’re beyond delusion if you think this woman won’t turn this into a healthy-ish competition of sorts.

you wish to avoid her for days on end? she’s already used to the world avoiding her mere gaze, she can withstand the somber feeling of having the one person who’s fully understood her as the complex person she is self-isolating from her for a little while.

never mind, no, she literally can’t. come back to her right now. we have problem right? lets talk about it, isn’t that what you taught her in the first place? what do you mean you need a break and want to clear your head for a while to not hurt her feelings? you think eula of all people cares about something like that?

she’d rather you spit at her than withstand another hour of this mindless nonsense.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

she doesn’t apologise unless she sees whatever caused this perilous argument in the first place truly hurt you and you ended up in tears; otherwise whats the use in pointless words when you can easily hug it out and call it a day?

she lets you apologise under the guise of “if you don’t, my vengeance towards you will be greater than my foes”, but in reality? eula is hardly paying any attention to the words slipping past your lips. all she’s thinking about is how she’ll be able to shake off this uneasy tension that’s somehow been created between you two.

WANDERER — 流浪者

you can’t tell which one of you needed this little breather more, after all, you’d hope scara would allow himself to soften after distancing from you after a while, and scara hoped you’d see reason within your argument and eventually, as always, forgive him.

but forgiveness is a two way straight in the way most people subconsciously ignore; does he and could he ever forgive himself? that image of your teary eyed face, the harsh puffs of breath you heaved to prevent any more molten venom to burn his plastic skin, the slight clenching of your jaw, fuck it hurt.

he couldn’t admit it at the time, but right now after being forcefully peeled away from you for about week and forcing auntie nahida to listen to his venting rambles? he wished he just gave it all up and did something: anything at all. kissed you, hugged you, consoled you, swiped your tears away with his thumbs, fluttered his eyelashes on your cheek gently as he whispered an i love you.

yet all he could do right now was wait.

wait until you hopefully came back, he couldn’t face you. if you abandoned him he’d deal with it. the petals on the floor and the hushed whispers of “they love me, they love me not” are just hallucinations from his worried caregiver, he swears.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

never would he stoop so low as to apologise.

verbally. that is. if he’s aware that he’s in the wrong (believe me that look on your face does wonders for trying to figure out whats on your mind) he’ll begrudgingly come up with some covert way of making it up to you. he doesn’t want to be stuck in this immortalised silence forever; believe me, he likes your talking more than he realises and this little test trial of abandonment was more than enough proof that your existence within his life is essential.

if you’re not there standing by his side, what even is the point in that fraudulent pacemaker of his? your laughter is in the same shape of his heartbeat; if you’re not here, he’s just back to being that dumb little puppet cuddled ashore in the slim darkness of the night.

K. AYATO — 神里绫人

bile builds up in ayato’s throat, eyes threatening to spill hazardous tears on his paperwork. he HATES being away from you. yes, you’ll be back comfortably in his arms with a kiss on your forehead soon…but time isn’t making that “soon” come any quicker and it’s killing him.

‘silence’ is only the act of not speaking, right? so he’s technically allowed to sneak in pastries onto your desk when you’ve gone to take a break — he’s also most certainly allowed to write down his frustrations about not being able to be overly affectionate with you and then pitifully sliding them under your door in hopes you’ll read them and maybe write one back.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

he desperately tries to convince himself that if he works long enough, he’ll forget the hollowing feeling in his heart that’s left in the silhouette of you. he puts down his calligraphy pen with an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples with rough motions as if to completely rid himself of any lingering thought of you.

that’ll never work, and ayato thinks you two have calmed down enough so therefore he trudged his way into your room, knocking of course, and sat down with you for a lengthy but beneficial conversation.

without a doubt, ayato will be the one to apologise first. whether it’s a conscious decision or not completely depends on how long he’s been away from you; at some point you just fall back into regular routine completely by accident.

GOROU — 五郎

he’s glad you’ve decided to take this sort of approach to your relationship instead of having a painful battle of the wits with him but right now, he’d withstand a thousand hours of scolding than the way his fellow soldiers worryingly clutter around their little general and ask about his well-being purely because those furry ears atop his bundle of bed hair decided to stay drooped down all week.

but he can’t help it! he’s utterly miserable! you didn’t even give him your complimentary “good morning, have fun at work, be safe” kiss before he left the door in the static quiet of your abode. to top this torture off? you haven’t pet him once, and while he’d normally revel in not being treated like an actual lap dog…you’re a huge exception in that rule!

unfortunately, it’s not like he can just outright demand attention from you merely because he’s feeling a bit down on his luck. you asked for peace, he’ll give it to you. he’s a war veteran but treats you like a flower thats sprouted on a ruined patch of sand.

ehem, but please come back to him soon. please?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

whatever it takes to get your pretty hand to ruffle through his brunette locks he’ll do, he doesn’t care if the apology consists of him kneeling down on pitifully shaking his head near your thigh with his lips puckered into a pout. shame doesn’t exist within your relationship right? he’s more than willing to apologise first regardless of who was to blame.

if the argument was a little more serious however, he’ll sit down you on your couch that holds so many sweet significant memories within your mind, his head resting atop your collarbone and tail sneakily swishing from side to side now that your heartbeat was so clear to him. he’ll hear you out, talk through it, but more importantly, love and appreciate you.

TARTAGLIA — 公子

nuh uh. you think you’re getting silence with someone like him around? unless one or both of you fucked up really bad, tartaglia can’t see the point in silent ignorance; if you want to ignore him to personally calm down? sure, do whatever you want honey, you’re still getting treated like the other piece of his heart that you are.

if you’re genuinely annoyed he can leave you alone…for maybe two hours thirty minutes max. he loves you so much, talk to him, he doesn’t care if you insult him out of anger, lash out at him if you must. so long as you return into his arms so he can sway you around within his tender embrace and pepper your face with kisses, he’ll be more than happy and satisfied.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

him all day — call it the big brother complex with having to always apologise first whenever he got into a slight squabble or disagreement with his siblings when he were younger, or call it pure unadulterated love for you and the refusal to continue with this pointless staring battles whenever you guys were sitting across from each other.

whatever it is, just know he takes your feelings seriously regardless of the teasing grin across his face when you try not to squirm from the way his hand traveled from across your waist to the slither of exposed stomach. he just wants to assure you that his love won’t ever fade even if it becomes so deliberately one sided. he’s yours, after all.

LYNEY — 林尼

he’s used to eerie silence that bellowed icy winds against his ears, used to the tension that forced out his fight or flight response, but currently all he could do was freeze and overthink. how come this silence seemed so much more deafening than usual?

lyney doesn’t want this worse than capital punishment torture to continue without at least the slightest bit of laughter mingled into both of your days; he tries his best to curve your lips to even the slightest twenty degree lift using whatever he could. silly little flower reappearing trick there, a sneaky kiss to the side of your neck here; just any fleeting desperate attempt for some reciprocation on your part.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

lyney’s used to apologising first given his experiences within the house of hearth and the father herself. so imagine his surprise when you both incidentally stammer over one another as you two splutter apologies helplessly. god he’s so happy your relationship is built open gushes of giggles instead of the splats of tears because if it weren’t for that cute little accident? lyney was sure the second you opened your lovely lips to speak he would’ve teared up.

he missed that voice telling him constant i love yous, the affectionate cradling of his face against your neck and the way you wouldn’t hesitate to hold his flushed face within your cooling hands to comfort him after a particularly stress inducing performance.

WRIOTHESLEY — 莱欧斯利

you left the conversation with an “i love you.” so he knows that you’ll come back to him.

however, the last time he blindly trusted the comforting words of a loved one, it ended with blood on his hands and a lengthy sentence at the fortress of meropide. luckily for his heart and your own, he knows your charms and honeyed words aren’t for show and truly mean something.

wriothesley respects your boundaries and wishes to the t, he won’t speak to you like nothing at all happened but that doesn’t mean he won’t be overly cautious when it comes to your behavioural patterns. if he notices this sentence of silence is clearly taking its toll on you, he will, with no hesitation, talk everything out with you.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

depending on the argument, he’ll apologise first. if it’s rather undeniable that you were the one in the wrong however, he’ll explain his feelings thoroughly until you apologise — the standard. he doesn’t want this silence to end till the fortress of meropide overflows with primordial water so once you see multiple guards on your case more than ever, just know he’d like to talk to you.

NEUVILLETTE — 那维莱特

fontaine has been drenched in rain for the past couple of days. every hour, every minute, every second neuvillette spends alone in his office makes him realise just how grand and solemn it is. everything is so mundane and banal…even the cheerful mutters and chatters of the sweet melusines couldn’t bring a smile to his face — much to the dismay of the little sigewinne who even so kindly brought him a cake to cheer him up…

what makes it even worse is that everything reminds him of you…and oh god the muddied clouds have once again been cursed with rain. this unquenchable thirst for your presence cannot be ignored by a mere sip from his intricate cup and being the ever so carefully mindful iudex, neuvillette sees it more than fit to call this hopeless game of silence to quits.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

regardless of who’s in the wrong, neuvillette apologises first. he’s sorry for letting this go so far, he should’ve just trusted his gut and returned to your side even if it meant having to persuade you with his clever tongue or the coiling of his draconic tail around your leg to pull you sweetly closer.

honestly, if he could, he’d make this a punishment in the fortress of meropide for every couple. you committed a petty, technically non offensive crime? well instead of doing some charity work for the city, you’re not allowed by the side of your beloved for a few weeks.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

a bunny within the jaws of a spring locked beast thinking it can persuade the tides in their favour with silence? arlecchino is amused you’d think such cheap tomfoolery would work to solve through your problems.

“darling, come here,” she taps her lap with her blood-stained nail, her eyes looking up at you greedily to soak up every single jitter of your movements as you alas fall onto your rightful throne, “my dumb bunny,” arlecchino coos at you with that devilishly low hum of her voice. “do you think the phrases ignorance is bliss, distance brings fondness, truly work within our relationship?”

arlecchino painfully grasps at your waist, that grip only loosening once you comfortably situate yourself on her thighs and lace your arms around her neck per routine. “i’d expect this behaviour from my children at the house of hearth, not you, angel.” she nibbles on your earlobe deliberately, forcing your lips to part just the way she likes. that perfect look of both surprise and desire; it’s a gorgeous display of your vulnerability.

“explain to me your problems, or else we can be at this forever.”

no such thing as the silent treatment when the very epitome of a wordless shadow has betrothed you.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[beneathashadytree]

from the same authors of "do you think zayne cum is cold?" we also have: do you think xavier cum shine in the dark, or that he shines when he comes (like that blonde female character from the boys, that i forgot the name)?

I know you are only message fics for now and i dont know if something like this would fit that format, but if you can i would love to read anything about this ♡

I’m gonna be honest with you nonnie, I’m VERY out of touch with modern media (I’ve watched like. 4 series in my entire life and a total of like 20 movies all in all) so I have no idea what you’ve just referenced, BUTTTT I do believe I have an answer to your question!! Of course this is all based off my silly headcanons, so take my opinion with a grain of salt🙏🏽 Of course, this is pretty NSFW, and the reader is gender-neutral as always!

To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just my ramblings, or old requests I had🫶🏽

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Metaphorically speaking, Xavier’s cum is pretty much lighter fluid

In the sense that this man’s diet is absolutely disastrous… can a person even live on an almost-purely-carnivorous diet???

Naturally that makes his cum a lot more bitter than it normally would be, so unless his lover wants to choke on battery acid every time they swallow his cum, they ought to sit down with him and have a few serious conversations regarding sex vs food

Either he pulls out of their mouth before he cums when they’re sucking him off, or he gets a little more greens in him in order to improve his own taste… fair enough, I would think!

Xavier doesn’t really mind; after all, he’s still eating lots of red meat, he just now balances that out with more fruits and veggies… and he still gets the overwhelming pleasure of watching his partner swallow his release with a much more pleased hum than they ever did, their thumb reaching out to catch any drops that spill out of the corner of their mouth

It drives him half mad, but he guesses that’s a small price to pay

Now that we’ve got the metaphorical part out of the way, let’s get to this interesting point: does he, or does he not glow when he climaxes?

I wouldn’t say that his cum glows, because if it did, I think his other bodily fluids would too

From a fictional anatomical standpoint, I highly doubt that his lover wouldn’t notice if his saliva had a bit of a glow (something they’d surely notice while making out or having a hearty meal, for example)

So I do believe his cum is as normal as normal could be for a man like him

I do believe, though, since he’s not 100% human (or, at the very least, not from Earth) that doesn’t mean he’s fully normal

I think that he would have abnormally thick cum, and I would assume that that has to do with his biological make-up

Given how people from Philos lead extremely long lives (given Xavier’s age, I’d give them a lifespan of 500+), and given how literally none of the characters from Philos have any siblings, I think it would be safe to assume that their seed isn’t very potent to start with

So if a person will live half a millennium and be able to have just 1 kid their entire life, I do believe that their cum would be stickier and thicker in order to have a higher chance of “taking” by not spilling out immediately

So I honestly think that Xavier’s cum is genetically modified for breeding purposes

And regardless of whether or not his significant other has the ability to become pregnant and/or even wants it at all, his brain has him wired to have a bit of a breeding kink that he can’t even help

But of course, he’ll always listen to and respect his partner’s wishes!

One thing I’ve noticed about Xavier, however, is that his eyes tend to lose their shine when he’s being forward and open about his sexual desires

He’s putty in his lover’s hands, yes, but once he takes control? Those angel eyes have a very intentional purpose, and he’s making that message come across loud and clear

Like a turbulent ocean, deep and all-consuming, his gaze leaves no doubts about what he wants

Now, here’s my headcanon: I like to think that when he’s close, his eyes get their shine back; so much so that they would be mistaken for tears

Maybe it’s the emotional attachment to the person he’s yearned for all these years, maybe it’s because of his own EVOL making its appearance

But for some reason, as he begins to lose control, his eyes do shine quite a bit, almost like freshly-cut sparkling sapphires

It’s quite dazzling and a bit surprising to witness for the first time, since Xavier doesn’t usually exhibit non-human behavior

But it makes that seraphic face seem all the more otherworldly; the contrast between how beautiful he is and how downright filthy his actions can be when he’s buried to the hilt inside them makes their head spin

After he’s spilled inside them amidst soft sighs and sweet moans, his eyes do go back to normal after a few seconds of closing them in bliss, so they might miss it if they’re not paying close attention

Kind of hard to look away though, when your lover looks like that

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Get Lost

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get caught in the corn maze after dark but you don’t think those footsteps belong to someone trying to help you find your way out.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: this is the fifth and final of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Jaden points across the dash, receiving a swat from Alexandria as she tries not to veer. 

“Hey,” she cries out, “don’t do that. I can’t see over your ugly sweater.” 

“Oh, whatever, Lex,” he snips, “I was just trying to show you that.” He points again, this time without blocking her view, “you see that sign ahead?” 

“Sure, I see it,” she leans over the wheel as your nail taps across your phone screen. You huff. You wish they’d stop arguing for one moment. “A maze?” 

“A corn maze. Doesn’t that sound fun? I haven’t been to one since I was a kid.” 

“Of course, you haven’t,” you scoff and let your phone hang carelessly in your hand. “We’ve all seen that movie with the evil kids. Who wants to go running through a field?” 

“I do,” Ashton says, “better than driving around looking for those shoes that don’t exist.” 

His girlfriend, Samira, laughs and leans into him. You blow a raspberry. 

“It’s all the way out in the middle of nowhere,” you sneer. 

“Well, Mrs. Xanny, you never want to do anything so your vote counts for nothing,” Jaden retorts. 

“Excuse me,” you roll your eyes. 

“I’m up for it,” Ashton raises his hand. 

“Me too,” Samira mimics him. 

“Me three,” Jaden declares. “So looks like you two are outvoted.” 

“Whatever,” you mutter and Alexandria sighs. 

“Fine, but nobody better leave me behind. I’m not getting lost because of you idiots,” she growls. 

“Don’t worry, Lexi, I’ll hold your wittle hand,” Jaden teases. 

The others laugh and you go back to your phone. You’re more interested in the new heels at your favourite boutique than some dirty and scarecrows. Alexandria steers on as she continues to snap at Jaden to stop distracting her. Her driving is a lot scarier than anything that might be hiding in the maze. 

You swipe and tap and tune out the world around you, especially the two lovebirds exchanging not so subtle touches beside you. Jaden had to insist on sitting in the front. Finally, the car rolls, the axle jostled by the lumpy ground, and you look up at the gray sky. You hate daylight savings. 

When the wheels are still, you’re reluctant to get out. You could offer to watch the car until they get back. It’s cold and you don’t feel like slogging through soil and seed. 

“Hey, Lex,” you begin. 

“If I’m going, you’re going,” she snips as she undoes her seatbelt. 

You curl your lip and make a face at her back. The others are already out of the car. Jaden’s bouncing eagerly, Ashton’s staring at the gate to the maze, and Samira is draped off her boyfriend’s arm. They probably just want to find a dark corner so they can makeout. They are so high school. 

“Fifteen bucks?” You read the sign above the table, “blech. I could put that towards my hair appointment tomorrow.” 

“Oh, boo hoo,” Jaden snorts. 

“Don’t act like you don’t have the money,” Samira jeers. 

You call these people ‘friends’ lightly. You all just kind of stick together out of familiarity. Most people you’ve met aren’t much better so why risk downgrading. 

You take a step and feel your tall heel sink into the mud. Ew. 

“Oh, my boots,” you whine as you lift your sole, the muck dripping off of it. 

“Wash em after,” Ashton says. 

“These are Louis’,” you snarl. 

“And you have at least three identical pairs at home. Lighten up,” he barks back. 

You cross your arms and seal your lips with a wry smile. You’re not arguing with him. He’s been a jerk ever since you turned him down at his sister’s twenty-fifth. You suppose it was his birthday two, them being twins and all. Not that he looks very much like Alexandria. 

You trod after the four others, trying not to step too deep in the mud. You growl at the ground. You know what’s not dirty, a salon or a store. 

“Nice boots,” a deep voice rolls over you as you join the queue for tickets.  

You lift your head and look over at the man nearby. He steps up next to you as you eye his bristly upper lip. It’s a look, not a good one. 

“Brave girl going in alone,” he comments. 

You frown, “I’m not,” you step closer to your friends and they chatter. 

“Oh, coulda fooled me,” he remarks as he reaches into his jacket. “So, those Louis boots... those are last year’s...” 

“How would you know?” 

He shows the lining of his jacket. Also Louis. He pokes his fingers into the interior pocket and slides out a pack of gum. He pushes out a piece and pops it in his mouth. He tucks the pack back into his pocket and drops his hands to his hip. 

“So,” he chews the gum loudly. “You’re not really dressed for a maze.” 

“And you are?” You scowl, looking him up and down. He copies your posture and does the same to you. 

“I’m not here for the maze, baby girl,” he winks and snaps the gum. “But you have fun.” 

He turns and struts away before you can respond. Your lips open in confusion. What could he mean? You blink and shut your mouth, stepping up between Alexandria and Ashton. 

“So, how long are we going to have to stand around?” You ask. 

🌾

You hold your phone up in irritation. Your bars are totally gone. Great. This maze thing is so fucking boring. What are you supposed to do now? 

You sniff and shake your head. You sigh and put your phone in your jacket pocket, keeping your hand in the fleecy insert as the chill creeps up your leggings. You guess you’ll have to help or whatever. 

“Alex--” you look ahead then back, and side to side. Your heart leaps and you rush forward as fast as you can on your six-inch heels, “Alexandria? Ashton?” You look around the next corner and the opposite way along the other pathway. “Samira?” 

You spin again, your ankles tangling together. You blink as the tall corner adds to the dimness setting over the horizon. You gulp as your heart pounds in your throat. You slip your phone free once more and turn on the flashlight. 

You aim it ahead and listen for voices. You don’t hear much past the dense wall of stalks. As you brush a bit too close, you cry out and back away from the hanging husk. You shake of the crawling sensation and turn back and forth again. You lost your sense of direction. 

You look up at the sky. The clouds are thick, you can see neither moon or sun. You stop and pull your phone closer. You bring up your maps but it’s just a blank screen. Still no signal. 

Fuck it. Just walk, you’ll find the way. 

You shine the light ahead of you, your heels sinking into the mulch of footsteps, husks, and stones. You walk unevenly over the soft ground. You mumble obscenities as your arches start to bemoan the height. If you had known about this special excursion, you could’ve worn your Uggs. 

There’s a scuff, a strange echo of your own steps. You stop but it keeps going. You squint and twirl around, the light glinting off the corner and slicing through shadows. “Hello?” You call out. 

The footsteps continue but no one answers. You can’t tell if they’re ahead of you or behind you. Or to the left. Or right. You sway back and forth. This is getting weird. 

You take a breath and set your feet. You nearly trip as your heels dig in once more. You grunt and pull them out. You’re about to just scream for help. 

A sudden rumble makes you squeal. What the hell was that? You twist around and it happens again. It’s laughter? Someone’s laughing at you? 

You look at the tall stalks of corn, searching between the tight rows. 

“Alright, not very funny. Ashton....” you holler. 

The laughter gets louder. 

“Jaden,” you hiss. 

The laughter stops. 

“I really am not amused, okay? I want out. I never even wanted to do this stupid thing--” 

“Those boys are long gone, sweet peach,” the voice drawls around you like the wind, “I’m all man.” 

“Where are you? Who are you?” You ask. 

“I’m right behind you, baby, and I’m your knight in shining armour,” he purrs. 

You gasp and turn around. You beam the flashlight of the phone in the man’s face. You only get a glimpse of that short brown mustache before the cell is knocked from your grasp. 

“What are you tryna do? Blind me?” He snarls as your phone disappears between the corn. 

“What-- What do you want?” You step back, dragging your heels from the mud. 

“I wanna help, baby,” he slithers. “You seem lost.” 

You blink at him. He’s a dark silhouette against the greyness trapped in the maze. You bristle and look over at the corn. 

“Sure, I’ll just grab my phone, thanks--” 

“Ah, ah,” he comes up to meet you, blocking you with his arm. “I don’t work for free, honey pot.” 

“Fine, then go away,” you spit. 

“Woah, ho, you haven’t even asked what I want in return, sweetie,” he brings his other hand up to touch your cheek and you flinch away. 

“You’re not getting it, dude,” you back up. 

“Just a little suck. Hell, you give the little guy a nice kiss and I won’t even make you finish the job--” 

“Ew, no way,” you smack his hand down as he reaches for you again. “Fuck off--” 

He’s quick. He grabs you by your jaw and snarls as he looms over you, “for such a pretty mouth it sure is fucking filthy. Won’t matter what I put in it--” 

“Hey,” you grunt and writhe in his grasp, twisting your hands around his thick forearms, “get off--” 

“I’m trying, trust me--” 

You ram your knee up and feel the crunch in his pants. He wheezes and lets you go. You shove him and stagger backwards. You look at the corn one last time. Your phone is somewhere in there. 

As he cradles his crotch and snarls, the urgency of the moment slaps you across the face. Fuck your phone. You need to get away from this creep. 

Thank god you got insurance on your cell plan. You turn and lift your knees. You land on your toes, keeping your heels off the ground as much as you can. You’re not going very fast and you know you look ridiculous but you don’t care. You want to go home. 

You pump your arms as you breath hitches. You hear groans and another set of steps, just like before. You get to a corner and turn before you crash through the corn. You heave as you race away, ankles threatening to bend. At what point do you just ditch the Louis’ and mourn them with your phone. 

You cough and slow down. Shit. You’re in terrible shape. You look over your shoulder, your breath foggy in the plummeting temperature. You don’t see him. You don’t hear him either. Good. 

You turn-- 

“Boo!” The man startles you so you shriek. 

You stagger back as he cackles and you hurl yourself forward. Your feet catch as your heels stab the ground and you stumble with your arms flailing away from him. Your shallow breaths thunder around you as you charge through the maze only to find yourself trapped at a dead end. 

You stop and waver, lungs filled with fire. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You stomp with each internal proclamation. 

“Look, sugar tits, you can keep running and I’ll keep chasing,” the man struts up behind you as you spin to face him. “But it all ends the same way.” He sets his feet wide and cracks his knuckles. “And since you bruised my left nut,” he snarls, “you can kiss that better first.” 

“Uh, like why are you doing this?” You ask. 

He chortles, “like because I can.”  

You snarl and cross your arms, “you’re a loser. And you’re old. Like, can’t you find someone your own age to creep on?” 

He laughs louder but there’s not much humour in it. He stalks closer and your defiance glimmers, just a little. You don’t know where he gets off. Does he really think he can just tell you what to do? 

“So, I knew you were gonna be a handful,” he grabs you by the neck and you wince. You slap his wrist and he tuts, bringing his other hand up to grope your chest, “in more ways than one.” 

“Hey, fuck--” you grit out. “Hey!” 

“Look, sweetie, it’s a simple transaction. I pull my pants down, you keep those teeth to yourself, and be real nice to me,” he glares down at you. “The way you crushed my balls, you’re lucky I don’t make you lick my boots.” 

“What is wrong with you?” You growl. 

“Oh, a lot,” he smirks. “Now, those boots must kill your feet so...” he jerks you roughly, “on your knees.” 

Your eyes tinge just a little but you won’t cry. Not because of him. You gnash your teeth and grimace at him as he peels his hand away. 

“You got one thing going for you, baby, and that’s that pretty face. I can change that, trust me,” he warns. You swallow avert your eyes. He chuckles again, “god, I love that pout.” 

You bat your lash and fight to keep the litany of insults inside. You caterpillar faced fuck. You viagra powered moron. You overgrown frat boy. 

“The next time you open your mouth, it better be to gobble my cock,” he sneers, “so don’t even say it.” 

You look at him again. You set your eyes and your jaw. You step closer and he lifts his chin just slightly as he stares you down. 

You grab his belt and he twitches. You unbuckle it and whip the ends aside. You pop the button open and yank the zipper apart. He watches you, his eyebrow tweaking. You push his fly wide and roll your eyes as you feel his naked pelvis beneath your fingertips. Of course, this weirdo is hanging loose. 

You reach under his pants and angle his hard dick through the teeth of the zipper. You stroke him up and down with a dry, tight grip. He hisses and shifts his weight. 

“Careful, like sandpaper,” he rasps. 

You tut and look down. You huff. You move one foot back and bend your leg. You put one knee to the ground then the other. You make a face as you come level to his tip. Ugh. 

“Don’t look so fucking enticed,” he barks. You roll your eyes again and he swats your head. “Keep doing that and your eyes are getting stuck.” 

Old. Man. 

You pump him again and slowly, inch by inch, lean in. 

“Ah, I said kiss the left one first, then you can get to the main dish,” he puts his hand on his hip. 

You swallow and push down a tide of disgust. You lift him and lean your head to the side. You crane around and pucker, pressing your lips to his left ball. He twitches and groan. 

“Damn, those lips are soft. Do the other one.” 

With bile brewing in your stomach, you obey. You pull back and put his tip to your lips. You narrow your gaze at his pelvis and spread your mouth around him. You wet his swollen head then work your way down his length. He might be a desperate loser but he’s not small. 

You bob up and down as you take more and more of him. He curls his fingers into his hip as his other hand goes to the back of your head. He urges you on and you bat his hand with yours. You push back against him and flick your eyes up. 

“You are a stubborn one,” he rebukes. 

Your lips meet your hand and you pump him emphatically with both, popping off his tip so he whimpers. He clutches a wad of your hair as his eyes gleam desperately. 

“I kissed it better,” you wipe your mouth, “you show me the way out, and you might just finish, old man.” 

He stares down at you. Agitation and amusement battle across his expression. He takes a breath and lets it out. 

“One last kiss and I’ll get you out,” he says, “And then you’ll get me off.” 

The cold air swirls around you and the darkness floods through the corn. You squeeze him slightly and put a sloppy kiss on his tip with a loud muah. You let go and tickle along his length. You grab onto his arm and pull yourself to your feet. 

“I want out. Now.” 

“Alright, princess,” he snickers. “Don’t you worry, I got a throne you can sit on when we’re home free.” 

[sammyluvr]

dead eyes — sam winchester

cw :gn!reader, hurt/comfort, established relationship, canon typical violence, blood, death, weapons, and monsters (shifter), reader has a panic attack, character death (in a dream), nightmares, crying, kisses, unedited, 2.4K words. requested !

summary : killing a shifter with sam’s appearance scares you to the point of a panic attack.

his dead eyes. you shouldn’t have looked.

when you do, it feels like you’re being tilted on your axis, and your vision swims for a moment. his voice, though distant, brings you out of it. we should go find dean, he says, voice gentle like he caught a glimpse of the horror that flashes over your features. horror because they’re his dead eyes.

but it’s not over yet. there’s still another shifter in the house, and the adrenaline of an active hunt doesn’t let you dwell on it.

you had gotten separated, just like you said you wouldn’t, and when sam showed back up, you had to point your gun at him, you had to keep him at a distance. this proved smart when another sam walks in. your sam, you think, because he’s carrying the silver knife he took on the hunt today… and because it feels like him. but you couldn’t be sure.

so you kept your gun up and ready to turn on either one at a moment’s notice, even when the mere idea of shooting sam, even a fake one, made you sick to your stomach. what if i shoot the real sam? you had thought to yourself in a terrified moment before your insincts kicked in.

you offered to test yourself first, slipping out your silver knife and cutting a thin line to prove to the real sam that you can be trusted. the shifter and sam stare each other down, and the one that you think is your real sam offers to test himself with his own knife. right as he brings the blade to his forearm, the other lunges towards sam, pulling out a long dagger and aiming right for the heart.

two shots rang out through the air before you could even think about it, and the shift dropped dead at sam’s feet.

now, as you find dean, just barely having killed the last shifter, you know that your instincts served you well, and saved both you and sam. but it had all happened so fast. the realization that there was more than one shifter, getting separated from the brothers, then the confrontation with both sams. your sam, who was calm and collected, but didn’t try to worm his way into getting you to trust him. and the shifter, who wore sam’s face and played with you.

he had insisted he was the real sam, he had chosen to confuse you. sure, to buy himself some time… but you think it was for the pure entertainment of it too. that’s exactly what the shifters had done to their previous victims; posed as their loved ones, but turned violent and angry until the victims tried to hurt or even kill them in self-defense. then they’d guilt their victim for trying to hurt someone they love. and then of course they’d kill them, with their loved one’s face as the last thing they see. they were a violent, messed up pair of monsters, and you’re glad to be rid of them.

but they got to you too. maybe you are their final victim, because sam’s voice saying please don’t hurt me keeps replaying in your head. then there’s sam’s body falling to the ground, blood pooling under him so fast and his eyes open in death. 

it wasn’t sam. you know it wasn’t sam. but in the car ride back to the motel you’re overwhelmed with images of his dead body anyway. and the fact that you had to point that gun at the real sam because you couldn’t be too sure. looking down the barrel of a gun and sam being at the end of it… it just about kills you.

from his seat in the front of the car, sam knows that you’re struggling. he can feel it. your eyes on the back of his head, looking haunted when he glances back with a silent smile of reassurance. and he can’t even see your hands where they are, tucked into your lap, but he knows you well enough that it’s like he can physically feel the way they’re shaking. he wishes he could wrap his solid hands around your trembling fingers and rub your back to soothe your breathing.

he’ll have to wait until you get to the motel, and he’s thankful the drive is almost over. the silence of the car isn’t a comfortable one.

dean reads the room easily and takes to the shower the moment you arrive. before the door to the bathroom is even shut, sam pulls you into his arms, one hand wrapped around your shoulders and the other planted on the back of your head to keep you close.

“it’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek against you. “i know you’d never hurt me. you don’t have to worry about that.”

the way that he hand picks words and tone and volume for you, with ease and purpose and a complete knowledge of you, your heart, and your mind makes you melt into his hold. you mold to his body, you hug him back so tight, and you cry a few tears. just a few, because his arms around you are grounding and real and better than anything else you could ever ask for. you thought you might fall into a panic, let your anxieties and tendency to overthink things get the better of you. he fixes it all with a hug.

a hug and a love for you that compares to nothing at all. it’s like the way that he holds you and the way that he knows you, gently close the gaps where worry and fear and tears slip through. no stitches, no needle and thread, just soft bandages that hold you together.

⟢⟢⟢

you kill sam in your dreams. you don’t remember anything else. just what it’s like to point your gun at him and shoot with intent. what it’s like to press your hands to the bleeding wounds you made and see his eyes go still. you wake before you can close them with bloody hands.

you’re trembling and you don’t think you’re breathing quite right.

it’s just a dream. it was just a dream. none of it is real. you would never hurt sam, never on purpose. 

with a sharp twist of your neck, you look over at his sleeping form from your spot on the pullout couch. 

you share a bed much more often than not, but this motel is out of rooms with queen beds. last time you slept in a twin bed with him you almost fell to the floor even with him holding you close. that thought brings you out of it for a moment. but seeing him so still in bed is too scary for you to stay calm for any longer than that.

he’s fine, you think desperately. he’s just sleeping. if you could take the time to let your eyes adjust to the dark or see through the tears in your eyes, you’d be able to catch the rise and fall of his breathing. but you can’t.

you can’t even keep track of your own breathing as you stumble out of bed and towards him before realizing at the last moment that you don’t want to wake him.

so you put a hand to your chest and try to breathe as you turn around and make your way to the motel room door on shaky legs. the tears run and run like they can outpace the fear, maybe drown it, and you don’t realize how much noise you’re making as you fumble with the lock and the handle and the door that wasn’t this heavy earlier today.

you’re looking for the cold. the wind, maybe rain if you’re lucky. you’re looking for something to feel that’s not a phantom of your nightmares or suffocating guilt and terror. how could you even dream that? how could you?

and you can’t breathe, you don’t think that you can breathe as your knees buckle and you sit down hard on the concrete outside. it would hurt if you could feel it.

you squeeze your eyes shut and drop your head between your knees because you know somewhere in the back of your mind that you’re having a panic attack. but from your position on the ground and the intensity of your anxiety, it’s not enough. you gasp and gasp and can’t hear sam’s footsteps or your name falling from his lips until he’s right in front of you.

he doesn’t touch you for fear of startling you, but he says your name so soft and steady and worried.

“please look at me, honey,” he asks. sleep tints his voice, love colors it. “it’s alright. you’re alright. i’m alright.”

looking at him is hard because he’s already there, behind your eyelids and bleeding out. but he’s alright. that was his voice saying it, his voice calling you honey and maybe if you open your eyes and look up, he won’t sound so distant the next time he talks.

he’s in front of you. the sight of him sways a little, but he’s there and if you’re seeing well enough, he looks so concerned. so sorry and worried and a little helpless because he wants to bring you out of it and isn’t sure if it’s working yet.

but you hear him and you listen, and when he can see your eyes, it’s a little bit better. when you can see his eyes, it’s a little bit better. they are not open in death. they are alive and feeling and looking at you with love and pain and softness and sorrow. he’s so sorry that you’re so scared of hurting him.

“can you focus on me, love?” he asks, noting your distant eyes and faraway mind and wanting more than anything to bring you back to him.

like a miracle, you find out that you can. you can focus on his eyes, and then his voice, and then you see him holding a hand out in case you want something physical to ground yourself with. it’s instinct to grab his hand, to grip it and steady yourself with it like you have a million times before for a million different reasons. like when you got tipsy and wobbly or when you wanted to go home but you didn’t have one. when you missed him or when you twisted your ankle or fell in love. when you killed him in your dreams.

you still gasp for air and you still cry. but sam is there and that means you’re going to be okay. that means he’s okay, at least for now. he makes for now enough, and you’ll make sure that it’s always. i’ll protect him, you tell yourself. you’ll protect him.

but for now he’ll be the one to protect you; tonight it’s from your fears and the cruel tricks of your mind. he pulls your shaky form into him. he rubs your back and kisses your forehead and your breathing slows down. the air comes into your lungs and it stays there long enough to make a difference. you feel the cold and the breeze on your skin. there’s no rain, but the moon can be seen and it hangs over sam’s head. the moon reminds you of sam.

you walk yourself out of the panic attack without even needing him to ask you for five things you see or four things you can feel. he’s proud of you for it. of course, it’s his being there that helps you more than anything.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, “there you go. i got you.” he smooths his hand over the back of your head, soft and slow and sturdy. when your eyes flutter closed, the only thing you see is the imprint of the bright moon against your eyelids for a moment. the rest is dark and calm.

the fabric of his sleep shirt gets all bunched up in your weak hands. the t-shirt is soft and thin from wear and it feels familiar in between your sleepy fingers. it’s october. he’s probably cold.

i’ll protect him, you remember. your fingers loosen and the fabric falls away from your hold. it rides up and exposes his skin to the wind when you rub up his back. it falls back over the hem of his jeans when you rub down. you’re trying to warm him, but your hands are shaky and small compared to the expanse of his back, even smaller compared to the expanse of the sky.

for a moment sam isn’t sure what you’re doing, but he smiles so sadly when he realizes. his heart aches with love and adoration.

“let’s get inside,” he whispers. you nod against his chest. he’ll be warmer inside. so will you. you might be shivering. he hoists you to your feet with steady care. your knees feel weak, but you hold his hand tight and walk back into the room. sam closes and locks the door, the guides you to his bed. he sits you down on the edge and crouches in front of you, wiping softly at your tears. then he leans forward and up to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to the spot between your eyebrows.

you fall into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he accepts you happily. he rubs your back soothingly, lets you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. he holds you there until you sit up. he lets his legs go sore and doesn’t care about it one bit. you heave out a huff of breath and he cups your face, thumbing softly at your cheekbone. your hand slowly wraps around his wrist, then you turn your head to kiss the heel of his palm.

“let’s sleep,” you mumble against his skin. with a soft heart, sam obliges, climbing into the small bed after you. he bundles you up into his arms before pulling the covers over your warming bodies. he kisses the top of your head, letting his lips linger for a long moment before he rests his cheek against the same spot.

“goodnight, sam,” you whisper softly, voice still holding a hint of its earlier shakiness.

“goodnight, honey,” he echoes, voice just as soft and prettily hushed. he wants to say more, maybe another ‘it’s okay’ or sweet reassurance. he wants to make sure you know that he’s not afraid of you hurting him, that he trusts you and that loves you all the way. but he thinks you already know, and that you’re better suited for silence now.

he’ll tell you tomorrow.

[kiddiewrites]

First Post

Sooooo this is the first fanfic I write, the current obsession is Call of Duty. Have I ever played the game?? No. Am I gonna play the game? Yes, I've downloaded the mobile version :D. Do the characters match their game personality? Probably not, the only source I have of them are other fanfics and edits I saw on tiktok JAJAJAJA.

Angst, T.F.141 x reader, Platonic!T.F.141 x reader, HURT, bit of OOC T.F. 141, pining!reader, bit of a sad ending, drunk confessions, overheard conversations, PAAAAAAAIIIIN (maybe I’m just projecting Enlgish is my second language so please be kind xd

PART 2

∞ Command me to be well ∞

“There is no sweeter innocence, than our gentle sin”

In all honesty, you weren’t supposed to be there. You should’ve been in the med bay, you should’ve been filing reports on the last mission and updating medical records.

You’ve been assigned to Task Force 141 as their base doctor, having no experience in the field you remained back in HQ until they came back from deployment. You quickly realized they didn’t fully trust you as a doctor, whether it was due to your civilian background or a misjudgement of your abilities, you never knew and frankly you didn’t want to. You tried not to be a bother, you knew their job was hard as it was, so you tried a friendlier approach, making sure to try and interact with them if even at a minimum. 

Instead, you were faced with a hard cold truth, one that you hoped had vanished with a few friendlier words in your direction… you weren’t wanted.

Time seemed to move slower as the last few minutes replayed in your mind. 

The guys were sharing a much needed drink after a rather difficult mission. Letting the façade fall down for a bit, the whiskey loosening tongues and bringing to the surface feelings that could no longer be held down.

You were walking down the hallway that led to Price’s office, a bit of a pep to your walk and a container of baked goods in one hand and the files that needed his signature on the other. You knew they’d be a bit peckish after their mission so you thought ahead and brought some pastries that you knew they liked, even though Simon always said that those were more sugar than bread. In an instant the door to the Captain's office was at reach so you balanced the files over the container. 

-She’s jus so fecking annoying, y’know ?-

You stopped right when you were about to knock on the door, hand midair. 

-I ge’ tha’ we’re suppose to get along seein tha shes the fecking doctor- 

What?  Your breathing stopped and your body shivered

-Bu’ I jus can’t seem to tolerate’ er- the voices seemed a bit muffled by the closed door but still the volume was loud enough for you to hear… Listening as you stood there frozen, wishing that you couldn’t. 

-C’mon Johnny, she can be a bi’ annoying, sure.- Ouch 

-Bu’ she does ‘er job properly and at the end o’ the day, tha’s why she’s ‘ere fo’. - 

Kyle seemed to try and reason with him but even his own voice sounded strained. 

The beating of your heart going wild with every second that passed, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. They couldn’t refer to you right? Maybe, maybe it was someone else on their mission…

-Y/N does a good job, lads.- That’s the captain’s voice��� Fuck…

-I get tha’, is jus… she keeps sticking t’ us like feckin glue everywhere we go- Oh no…

The tears were freely flowing now, not wanting to believe what you were hearing, sure you weren’t the most serious person but you never thought that would be a problem, specially after everything you’ve done with and for them. 

-Maybe you’ should stop inviting ‘er everywhere with us then- 

-Is no’ like I want to, Lt.  Bu’ she jus… pops ‘ere everytime I try and talk to all o’ you .- 

“Maybe I should go… But… my legs are not moving” 

-S’ your fault for flirting wi’ er when she came roun’ the firs time- Kyle was annoyed, months of interaction helping you to recognize the tone in their voices.

-Y’kno tha’ he does tha’ to everyone.- Simon sounded so sincere that you couldn’t help to feel stupid, as if you were just a joke. Another one of the bunch… 

-Lads, c’mon… She’s jus’ doin her job- Price was tired and he could already feel a headache starting to form in the back of his head.

-She’s a nice girl, ‘sides you kno’ tha’ i couldn’ stop Laswell for saddling ‘er with us- 

That was it, you never thought that they didn’t want you. They were a bit standoff-ish in the first few weeks or so but that was because they didn't know you… right? They were a tight-knit group, it was perfectly natural to not trust an outsider with their health, right? 

They became friendlier in the last weeks, actually letting you patch them up rather than doing it themselves when you weren’t in the med bay. The first one that apparently seemed friendly to you was Johnny, making you blush with his flirtatious ways but at least making you glad that he was starting to open up a bit, Kyle and Price being a bit on the quiet side but at least no longer just completely silent while you fixed them up and Simon… well he was still not talking to you or acknowledging you.

Knowing that all of your efforts were for nothing made you feel useless, it had nothing to do with your job, you knew you were good otherwise you wouldn’t have been assigned to the 141. 

So with a deep breath and a new goal in mind,  you turned away and left files in one hand and a slightly crushed box of pastries.

“In the madness and soil, of that sad earthly scene”

You didn’t sleep a wink since that moment, pouring yourself over the medical files that needed your approval for final submission.

You were so deep in thought, that you didn’t hear the knocks at your door, only looking up when you heard a cough to get your attention. 

There stood your captain, looking very tired and you already could see the headache seeping into his usual calm demeanor. 

The urge to offer him a tea cup or a mild remedy for his head crossed your mind, he looked really tired but after what you heard last night you just couldn’t bring yourself to do so. 

- Is there something you needed, captain?- your voice came out a little bit tired and sharper than usual, something that didn’t went unnoticed by the captain

-Yeah, kid. The reports from the last mission, do you have’ em?- He narrowed his eyes a bit at you, as if trying to figure out what happened. 

-Sure, let me get them for you- you stood up and moved to the cabinet next to your desk, there you took them off next to where the box of pastries remained intact and went ahead to give the to  the captain. 

- Here, all of the medical procedures and recent injuries are already stated. All they need is your approval so your medical history can be updated in due course- 

You handed him the files and turned to look at him, his face was a mix of confusion and slight annoyance. This side of you was new to him and he didn’t quite like it, where once you were all smiles and cheerful disposition now stood a sad look and a blank face, as if the very sunshine was taken from you. 

-Is everything all righ’, kid?- he found himself asking, you sighed loudly and headed back to your desk.

-Don’t worry about me, captain. Is just a rough patch, that’s all- You sat down and started to go over the files laid out before you.

-Alrigh’, if you need anything…- he watched you for a few seconds and then turned away and left.

A sour mood was felt across the base and from the interaction each of them had with you over the course of the week … there was definitely something wrong. 

Johnny tried flirting with you, but instead of being all giggles and blushing mess you just looked at him with a tight lip smile and continued as if he never talked to you, even when Kyle came in to your office for a quick fix up of his most recent stitches you remained completely silent, only talking to give him instructions on how to take care of his injuries and when to take his pain meds. Price’s office was a bit quieter than usual, without your usual self trying to warm up to him with an equally warm cup of tea or coffee in hand to help him through his headaches, even Simon felt the shift in your behavior, when crossing in the hallways or the break room being greeted with nothing more than a call of his rank and quickly leaving. 

The boys went into the cafeteria that same week and were surprised to see that while to the other soldiers you were still friendly and smiley, to them you were nonchalant and seemed almost way too professional. And that was upsetting everyone, so when you finished your lunch and went back to your office, files and coffee in hand they all decided that enough was enough.

You hadn't even finished entering your office when the four men burst in right behind you. You turned around with a scared look and a squeak of surprise at the sudden intrusion, the coffee almost falling from your grip and the files clutched to your chest. The boys all looked at you with a mix of annoyance and betrayal and you felt small, very very small. 

-What the hell is wrong with you?- your voice was a bit raised from the fright you were still recovering from, as you walked to your desk to leave the files and the coffee, Johnny spoke up. 

-Us? Wha’ e’ ‘ell is wrong wit you?- You turned around with a very deep frown etched into your face. 

-What are you talking about? You’re the ones that burst into my office like a pack of wild animals.- A very annoyed Johnny stepped right up until he was face to face with you. 

-Johnny calm down, mate.- Gaz’s voice was heard over Johnny’s loud breathing. 

-No, no’ until she’s told us jus’ wha’ in the living fuck is wrong- His voice was dangerously low, and it was fucking terrifying. 

-First of, back the fuck off, sargeant. I may be just a bloody fucking nuisance but i’m a doctor and I will break every bone in your body while naming them- A surprised look flashed through everyone’s faces, you’ve never talked to them like that before, and when Johnny didn’t seem to back off, you pushed with all your might and managed to make him to stumble back a bit. 

At that moment Ghost approached him and held him before he could fall, but the look he gave you, was right down murderous. A chill ran down your spine and your instincts screamed at you to run but your legs didn’t seem to work. Price at seeing the angry look on both of your faces quickly stood in front of everyone and yelled at both of you to cut it out. 

-Y/LN, you’ll apologize this instant or you’ll be subject to a reprimand for assaulting a ranking officer.- Price knew at the moment those words left his lips… he’d fucked up. 

-Excuse me?- You turned to look at him, furious. The nerve of these men…

-You think that you can burst into my office, to then demand an answer for which I do not know the fucking question to and THEN reprimand me for protecting myself against a man that got way into my personal space?- 

Your voice was raised, you were very very pissed off and the boys knew it, they knew they weren’t the best when it came to you, almost neglecting your care due to years and years of trust issues. They knew it wasn’t fair to you, but still when the only ones taking care of them were themselves, they just couldn’t trust you completely.

- I have tried SO hard to have you guys to trust me, GOD KNOWS I’VE TRIED and you won’t let me.- You felt the tears well up in the corners of your eyes and the faces of shock in the squad just made you feel worse. 

You hated yourself for crying, but the anger in you, the betrayal and the sadness were all out there now, so might as well just tell them everything. 

-I know I’m pathetic to you, I know that you think I’m… how you put it, Sergeant MacTavish?- At the mention of his name he looked up at you - “so fucking annoying”, I think was the term used.- His eyes widened, he knew exactly what you were talking about and the others seemed to remember the conversation they had a few days prior. 

-You’ eard o’r conversation?- Gaz seemed a bit angry and confused, how the hell could you have heard them if you weren’t supposed to be in the building. 

-Yes… I know it was wrong… I needed the captain’s signature on all of your files so your medical records could be updated..- The realization dawned on the captain, that’s why you were so down the next day… You heard everything. 

- But… I guess it was ultimately for the best- Your voice a whisper as you looked at them. 

-If you’re that unsatisfied with my care, I’ll ask the brass for a transfer.- The determined look on your face was like a slap in their faces, you were really going to leave them. They needed to fix this but neither of them said anything, you took a deep breath and left the office, leaving the four men standing dumbfounded in your office.

“What in the actual fuck just happened?” a thought, accompanied with the memory of utter anger and sadness in your face that will hunt the squad for the rest of their lives. 

They needed to fix it… soon. 

“Only then I am human, only then I am clean”

SOOOOOOO this was my first piece, i'm really sorry if it’s not the best so please forgive me jajaja.

If you liked it please like and reblog, I would like to keep writing and knowing you like it will make me very happy.

Jejejeje feedback is appreciated <3

[maxdibert]

I know this might be more aggressive than I usually do, but I'm honestly tired. I can't help but believe that the marauders fandom lives in a completely different reality than mine.

They love to force how good James Potter was, but this same James exposed Severus' intimacy. “He had no intention”, if a person takes the life of another without intention, does that change that a person died? It doesn't change. But they love to say that because there is no intention, there is no guilt, when that's not how it works. Besides all the repetition of how Severus was an incel and James was the one who sincerely loved Lily. The epitome of agape, they say, when in reality, he was just a spoiled little rich boy who can't hear "no" from a girl and get on with his life and instead he... *checks notes* threatened and blackmailed their supposed “love” in addition to chasing his best friend with his gang of idiots and, at the same time, leading the other to hell, even though said boy heard the girl’s “no�� and disappeared from her life as she asked.

They act as if Severus being a spy was no big deal and it was his obligation to do something to defeat Voldemort, when it wasn't, he had already done enough by going out of their way to give a warning about the Potters' safety. Aside from the stilted speech that "he did it for the girl", when, amazingly, said girl, at this point, is already dead, he would have gained nothing by doing what he did for the wizarding world. It seems like a competition about who objectifies Lily the most in Severus' life, when Severus: never said anything negative about her, never assumed anything about her sex life or even said that she deserved to die for not choosing him, on the contrary , he blamed himself and wished for his own death. "But, look, he bullied the son of the woman he said he loved, that's definitely obsession," his character flaws in relation to Harry were never about Lily but about old memories of his bully. His problem was always unique and exclusive to James Potter. Every time he insults Harry it's always "you're like your father", but never once did he say anything even remotely negative about Lily or blame her for cutting off her friendship with him. But still, the fandom loves to spew nonsense about how he "wanted to get into the girl's pants and got angry when he couldn't."

I vented, sorry.

That’s why I genuinely think most Snaters are just kids—they see everything in black and white and don’t understand that life doesn’t work that way. Severus didn’t owe anyone anything. The fact that he felt bad about Lily wasn’t an obligation; he could have not cared and it still would’ve been fine. Lily cut ties with him. Lily married his bully. It would’ve been completely justified for him to see her as a piece of trash after she ended up with James. Honestly, I would’ve seen her as trash. If a former friend of mine pulled something like that—ending up with someone who had physically and psychologically tormented me for years, knowing full well what I went through—they’d be lucky if I didn’t burn their house down for being such a piece of work.

But Severus's relationship with Lily carried an enormous emotional weight because she had been his attachment figure for many years. So it makes sense that he ended up feeling so guilty, especially since he was the one who told Voldemort the prophecy. But again, even the prophecy wasn’t something he shared with malicious intent. Severus was doing his job as an agent in a war (even if he was on the "wrong" side), and it just so happened that his work unintentionally affected someone he cared about. Of course, he felt guilty afterward—it’s completely understandable. Anyone in his position, with his life experiences, would.

If I were in his place, though? I would’ve ignored Lily completely. Let her and her bully of a husband die, honestly, LOL.

One thing I find fascinating about Severus is how much things actually matter to him. He cares about repaying his debt to society. He cares about redeeming himself for what happened to Lily. He cares about doing the right thing to atone for his mistakes. And he doesn’t have to care, because all the people he sacrifices himself for are people who treated him like garbage at some point.

He didn’t have to be loyal to Dumbledore, especially after Dumbledore forced him to stay silent when he was almost killed as a teenager, made him keep that secret, and left him out in the cold. He didn’t have to be loyal to Lily either. No matter how their friendship ended, I think it’s indefensible (and I’m sure others would agree) for her to get involved with a spoiled rich kid whose whole reputation was built on tormenting others. He didn’t have to risk his life for the Order when most of its members openly despised him his entire life.

He didn’t have to do any of it. And honestly? It would’ve been justifiable for him not to, given his context and his past. But he did. He did all of it because he wanted to be a better person.

Sure, his personality doesn’t always reflect that, but let’s be real—that’s the personality of someone who never stops suffering. His reactions aren’t strange—they’re the normal reactions of someone with unresolved trauma who’s reached adulthood without the chance to fully develop emotional or social maturity because of that same trauma.

And of course, he didn’t need to beg for James’s life. If I were Severus, I wouldn’t have asked Voldemort to spare James. I’d have asked him to inflict the worst possible torture on James before finishing him off. But then again, I’m Spanish, and we Mediterraneans have hot tempers and always choose violence, LOL.

But seriously, I’m so fed up with the endless whining about why Severus did this or that. It doesn’t matter why. The fact is, he did it. The important thing is that his actions contributed to a cause, and thanks to him, the world was saved. Everything else is irrelevant because, let’s be honest, many of us would’ve walked away from saving a society that judged, mistreated, and condemned us without a second thought.

[shizunitis]

Luo Binghe & Tianlang-Jun: Origins. And a Bit of Projection.

Disclaimer: This is basically just a collection of quotes from The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, Volume 3, accompanied by (adjective) thoughts, and then even more relevant quotes listed at the end. If I could, I’d paste the entirety of Chapter 18.

“As expected, I can’t bring myself to hate humans.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 21: Always Together

I will always be conflicted on the topic of Tianlang-jun, and it annoys me. There is so much I could say about him, and so little I can successfully articulate. He is, to me, more confounding, complex and tragic than Shen Jiu.

He’s pitiful and awe-inspiring, wicked and affable, cunning and wide-eyed in his curiousity. He is a compelling, heartbreaking character. He alternates between emotionless wisdom and mournful apathy. I admire how his knees don’t buckle under the weight of his grief, but how he crumbles at the barest hint of hope. How rage claws at him and, still, he can’t figure out how to make it stick.

I empathise with him. I understand him.

But then, in the distance, Luo Binghe's indifferent voice disturbs the silence, causing me to drop my drink onto the floor and this post onto your screen:

“He’s not my father.”

It’s an interesting exercise, exploring their relationship in reconciliation fics. To see them interact (semi-)honestly, watch them take turns filling up the chasm between them. It’s wonderful. Every fic I’ve read centred around them was a delightful read that I still think about.

However. I cannot see Tianlang-Jun, as I understand him, as Luo Binghe’s father. And not just because of the 3rd Novel’s events.

But because Binghe had hoped for something; he did have that wide-eyed wonder. He did hold one last window open, for the sake of an improbability he couldn’t quite, just yet, dismiss.

It’s what (most) orphaned and/or adopted childred do.

Though Luo Binghe had never said a word about it before, Shen Qingqiu knew that he harbored some fantasies about his birth parents. […] In fact, he’d always secretly fantasized about whether his parents might still be alive, and how well they’d treat him, and how they’d never let him suffer the mildest slight. — Vol. 3, Chapter 17: Tianlang

It is the most human thing; to want to be helped, accepted, invited by those given to you. A family is given to you. Whether you believe it an act of the divine, of nature, of coincidence, it isn’t something you fight for. It’s the first and, arguably, only thing you don’t have to fight for in life.

Depending on a multitude of factors, that can be a blessing or a curse; but where there is room for interpretation, questions left unanswered, most childred—Binghe included—will turn to their imagination, and try to make sense of it. Usually, to comfort themselves, to reassure themselves that surely, if their family could, they would have.

And, yeah. Most likely, if the Palace Master had gotten punted into the Sun like he fucking deserved, they would have. But does it matter?

In the face of a bleak reality, what comfort is a could-have-been?

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. […] Luo Binghe was in fact…someone who was unloved by even his own parents. — Vol. 3, Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

What use are good intentions to an abandoned child? What consolation is it, to say, They gave birth to you, when that child has seen no evidence of their care? Does it dry their tears, that their mother can’t be here, but she surely would have wished to be? That their father would protect them, if only he knew of them?

(And don’t make me tell you about the visceral horror I felt reading the Origins chapter. I’ve yet to make my peace with it. MXTX, Airplane, whoever: you’ve ruined me.)

The washerwoman was and continues to be, to Binghe, his only mother. And I would argue, that’s healthy. Even independent of his other traumas (Abyss, Shizun’s betrayal, Xin Mo’s influence, living on the streets, etc, holy shit Binghe) Luo Binghe will not accept anyone else as his mother.

“Who is this Su Xiyan?” Luo Binghe asked coldly. “My mother was a mere washerwoman.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 18: Origins.

It may seem callous. It probably even is! But it is a healthy line he’d drawn by his own initiative. It’s what helps him, what he feels he needs to do in order to do right by his mother, and his own heart.

And! Tianlang-Jun doesn’t seem to give much of a shit, either!

Won’t, probably, even in the future, once the dust will have settled. He is exhausted, weary with carrying the corpse of his love, the loss of his nephew. Whatever goodwill he shows, it’s a perfunctory sort, because he can’t afford more.

So. Uhh.

Tianlang-Jun is not a character I can love, nor one I can hate. Usually, I can’t help but be inclined to love complex characters. Like them, too—though that’s more of an action-based thing rather than just said character’s personality.

But with Tianlang-Jun, I’m stuck whichever way I turn. If I want to love/like him, I’m drawn back by Binghe’s pain and disappointment. If I try to hate/dislike him, I’m drawn back by his own history and grief.

In conclusion:

I don't know! I'm not really trying to, like, prove anything. I still love the aforementioned TLJ & LBH fics, I still love their dynamic. I started walking and ended up exactly in the same space. This, perhaps, could be considered a Heavenly Demon Family Mobius Strip!

I'm not really trying to say anything. It just… makes me feel conflicted, and angry, and whenever I allow myself to think about it a bit more, sad.

But.

However!

Alas.

Nonetheless, even.

As a reader and—on my better days—a writer, all I can say is:

As promised/threatened: some selected passages, for your reading pleasure:

So, it looked like neither the father nor the cousin had any intention of acknowledging Luo Binghe. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

Tianlang-Jun lifted his hand, took a look at Luo Binghe’s snow-pale face, and commented indifferently, “He looks like his mother.” “His eyes look like yours,” came a chill voice from the side. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

The faint hopes and dreams Luo Binghe had held in his heart for many years had been mercilessly pulverized into so much dust. […] [Tianlang-Jun] refused to speak a single word of their relationship and had been utterly ruthless back in the Holy Mausoleum. […] To his parents, Luo Binghe was an unwanted child. — Chapter 18: Origins

“If he was my father, why didn’t he bring it up earlier? Why not tell me?” The most Tianlang-Jun had said was that single line he offered while beating up Luo Binghe, devoid of either praise or criticism: “He looks like his mother.” He looks like his mother. What of it? But that was all. There was nothing more. — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe was indifferent. “He’s not my father.” […] Luo Binghe shook his head. It was unclear what he was stubbornly clinging to, but he repeated, “He’s not my father.” — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe raised his smiling face, his eyes shining brightly. “Mother was the kindest person in all the world to me.” — Chapter 19: Shen Jiu

[tilldeathdoesmedirty]

Another Day 2

Warnings: dub-con/non-con, age gap, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, emotional abuse, physical abuse, possibly other triggering events. 

Characters: dark!Steve Rogers x reader.

Summary: Careful what you wish for, one day it could come true. And that might just be your savior in disguise, all it takes is a little bit of persuasion. 

Interact on your own accord. You have been warned. 

Any reblog, comment, feedback is well received and appreciated! Enjoy <3 

You fiddle with the key to your two-room apartment, harshly jamming it in the keychain. If your neighbors didn’t know how you look like, they’d suspect you of being a pick locker. Courtesy of your landlord for not trying to fix the door when you told him about it multiple times. But hey, renting a place that you can actually afford must come with a couple of its own disadvantages, you thought.

Sweet victory, you mumble, as you hear a click from the door, unlocking it. You quickly go in, leaving your coat on the hanger and your now soaked shoes by the door. The apartment is rather dull, not much to look at. Basic cheap TV placed on the wall, a small table in front and next to it a couch that looked older than your grandparents, if they were still alive.

You don’t even need to get started on the bedroom, especially the kitchen. The bathroom being the only decent one in this whole situation. 

Thank god.

You look at the small timer that’s placed on the nightstand next to your bed, 20:00 you read. Enough time to entirely soak yourself in a hot bath, hoping it will make all your worries go away, if only just for a bit.

You run the water, waiting for it to warm up and fill the bathtub. You’re grateful the apartment you’re renting has hot water, not like other ones you’ve lived in even if it was for shorter periods of time, which had to take a lot of time for the water to even be mildly warm. Thus being the only thing you’re actually excited about this whole place. You didn’t even want to imagine the pneumonia you would have had. Would have been the cherry on the cake, bills on top of bills. 

You look out the window, mesmerized by the heavy snow settling on the city tonight. Your mind wanders to your little encounter with Steve, you feel your stomach turn, anxiety washing over as you remember him calling out your name. As much as you try to pick your brain out, you can’t remember ever telling him your name. Even though you should have, it just didn’t cross your mind at the moment. Not exactly professional on your part but no matter, you wouldn’t have forgotten if you did tell him.

You snap back to reality as you feel the hot water reach your arm that you left hanging in the bathtub. You turn the faucet off, stripping out of your clothes and getting in the tub. You let out a heavy sigh as the water swallows you whole. You lean your head back, closing your eyes. 

Everything will be alright, love. It’s just how the world works.

You remember… your mom, her words, everything. You slowly slide your head against the tub, holding your breath as you let your head go underwater. Any sound coming from outside blocked completely, you lose yourself in the silent yet loud ambient noise.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

You scroll through the hundred of pages with the best possible secure locks. You don’t quite understand what more he wants than just a mere lock. Any of them should do honestly, there probably is no such thing as an unpickable lock so why go through the hassle of having to search for hours and hours. You were getting restless. 

You scoff. Prick.

At the last second, just as you’re about to close your work laptop’s screen, your eyes land on a lock and you look over the descriptions. Your eyes glint with triumph. You quickly pick up your phone and dial Steve’s number. You are taken aback by his almost instant response. 

You clear your throat. 

“Hello sir, i’m calling for the lock you requested? I think I may have found what you’re looking for.” you say, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. 

“That’s perfect,” he responds slowly “I trust that you chose well so, when can I expect it?”

“It shouldn’t take long. If I order it now, in a couple of hours the technician should arrive at your place and install it.” you say as you pick up a pen, rolling it between your fingers, occasionally tapping it on the table in a rhythmic manner. 

He gives you an approving hum in return.

“I’ll come by in half an hour to make the payment,” he continues “See you then, sweetheart.” he ends the call. 

You notice a weird tone in his voice, you can’t exactly place it. You always try to ignore when he calls you sweetheart. It gives you such an unsettling feeling.

You don’t like it.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

You hear the main door to the building open then close. You glance over as you see Steve, you look at the time, exactly thirty minutes passed since your last call with him. 

Your coworker was out today, something about a cold. It’s a good thing you don’t get many customers, it’s not that stressful on your own. But in this case, it means it’s just you and Steve now. Alone. 

You greet him with a fake smile, intended for customers as he makes his way to your desk.

“Right on point.” you say, trying to make a light joke. 

“Exactly how I like to be.” he says with a smirk. 

You try your best refraining from rolling your eyes. Thankfully you don’t slip up. 

“So how will it be sir, cash or card?” you continue with a small smile. You don’t know why, but his presence makes you nervous. 

Really nervous. 

“Card, if you don’t mind.” he replies as he takes out his card from his wallet. 

You introduce the price number on the keypad of the card reader. You feel your body tense as you notice his gaze on you. If looks could burn, you’d be on fire. You hold out the card reader, waiting patiently as he puts his card on top of it, a beep emitting from it, meaning the payment was successful. 

You take out the receipt from it and you nervously glance up at him, you hold out your hand with the receipt in it, waiting for him to take it. He looks down at you with a stoic expression, considering you for a couple of seconds, not saying anything. 

And neither do you, you don't dare to. 

He gives you a stern smile. You look at him, careful with your actions and what you’re going to say. 

This doesn’t feel right.

“When do you usually get off?” he suddenly asks. 

You widen your eyes just the slightest, stopping almost instantly as you try to hide your surprise. 

You consider his question, why would he even ask it in the first place?

“Er… about 5pm?” you tell him, more like a question really. 

He hums and nods his head, still smiling. 

“Right then, here’s my address,” he continues like nothing happened. Like what he just asked a couple seconds ago was the most normal thing.

Nonetheless, you write his address down.

“Looking forward to it.” he says. You see the corner of his lip turn up a little just for a second. 

You think that your mind may be playing tricks on you and this was just your imagination. The interaction between you two before he finally decides to leave is pure awkwardness. At least for you. 

You let out a breath of relief that you didn’t even know you were holding in. This should be it, right? No more interactions with him, no more anything. His lock should be installed in a couple of hours, and voila. Mission accomplished.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

You close your work laptop and gather your stuff, preparing yourself to go home and enjoy your free weekend. Mostly just staying in bed, watching tv or reading. So basically doing nothing, like always. 

You exit the building and head for the bus station, it’s pretty dark outside given the fact that it’s just a little over 5pm. Those are the perks of winter, you guess. At least it isn’t snowing as bad as last night but it’s just as cold nonetheless. You try as much as possible to keep the warmth you left with from leaving your body, but obviously, there isn’t much to do about it. 

You wait patiently for the bus to arrive, occasionally looking left and right at the surprisingly empty street, only a couple of cars passing by now and then. After all, this particular bus station isn’t that popular at this type of hour. 

You notice a car that’s slowly coming your way. You don’t think much of it, really, probably just another car passing by. You squint your eyes at the car’s bright headlights as it comes to a stop. 

Right in front of you.

You watch with a blank expression, instinctively your hands clutch your purse harder. You listen to the engine’s low rumble, almost soothing in the silent area. The car window rolls down and you look with curiosity. 

“…Steve?” you say, mostly to yourself. 

In the passenger seat is none other than Steve himself, you raise both your eyebrows in confusion, still not making any movements. 

“Get in.” the silence between you two is interrupted as he suddenly yells out, making sure you hear him from the engine’s noise and the distance you share. 

You give him a puzzled look. 

“What? How did you-…” you start but he cuts you off just before you could decline his kind offer. 

“Sweetheart, i’m not asking. You’re going to freeze to death, get in.” even though he has a calm demeanour and a smile on his face that’s worth a million bucks, it still feels off. 

But against your better judgment and the fact that you were waiting almost half an hour in the insufferable cold for the bus that’s yet to come, you hesitantly get closer to the car, with a frown on your face as clear as day. 

When you’re close enough, you stop. You look at him, trying to find any expression he might give away so that you can have a proper excuse as to why you have this dreadful feeling in the pit of your stomach. All you get from him is what seems to be a reassuring smile.

Oh, what the hell you think as you decide to open the car door and get in the passenger’s seat. Putting all your insecurities at the back of your mind. 

“Thank you…” you say, giving him a small smile, as you buckle the seatbelt. 

He stirs the wheel and takes off to the main road “No problem at all.” he replies, looking straight ahead as he gives a smile of his own, his perfect teeth peaking out just the slightest at the corner of his lip, it could almost be mistaken as a smirk. 

After a couple minutes of silence, what helps you remember that you need to give him your address is the passing of the street the bus usually takes on your way home. You almost jump in your seat at your realization. You quickly turn to face him as you blurt out a little too loud the instructions to get to your apartment. You notice he’s startled by your sudden burst as he looks a couple times back and forth at the road and you, in the end settling on the road once again.

He gives out a chuckle while shaking his head “Nobody ever told you it’s not a good idea to startle someone who’s driving?” 

“S-sorry,” you stutter a reply as you turn your head to gaze down at your lap in embarrassment.

“It’s just… you missed a turn, sorry.” 

He hums in response, you even hear a little “Did I” from him. Your eyes narrow and your brows furrow, that’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it? But you choose not to dwell on it too much.

You wait the rest of the ride in silence, at one point you look out the window, focusing on the passing trees and buildings as they blend in together. Feeling more tired by every passing second, you let yourself drift away. You lazily blink a couple of times as it gets harder and harder to keep your eyes open, you rest your head against the window and eventually, you end up closing them. You don’t even spare a second thought about being alone in a car with a stranger, you don’t think of anything at all actually. 

Your place is only a ten minute ride away, after all.

[fanfic-inator795]

Spoilers for Puss in Boots: Last Wish (specifically Perrito) below

My bff and I were talking about this last night, but I figured I’d write it all out here: one thing I really do appreciate about Perrito is that while other characters may see him as naive and innocent, the film never treats him as overly naive or foolish.

The best example of this is when he’s explaining his backstory. It would have been SO easy to have him be still searching for his family/litter mates, believing firmly that they still wanted him/were still playing ‘hide and seek’. If they’d done this, then Perrito really would have been an extremely naive character (as well as all the more unnecessarily tragic). It also would have been easy to have this be Perrito’s wish, as well as the lesson that he needed to learn - that he doesn’t need his former (and incredibly crappy) fam, and that he can/should move on from his tragic backstory, letting himself be with his new friends instead.

But the film doesn’t go this route... Because Perrito has already realized and internalized this lesson.

Think about it. For as much as he may seemingly still see the whole ‘swim in the river’ incident as an extra challenge to a game of Hide ‘n Seek, outside of the “Guess I’m still It!” joke, Perrito doesn’t dwell on the fact that he never saw his family again. Just as he never dwells on nearly drowning. He only brings up his past when others ask him about it, otherwise he’s only focus on the present - which is why he’s so satisfied with things to the point of not needing a wish.

When it comes to his backstory, he instead just sees the brighter side of things regarding it (getting a new ‘sweater’ that he was able to grow into) and focuses on moving forward and meeting new friends, instead of going on an endless search for those who left him behind. Even while he’s at Mama Luna’s, he still tries to socialize with the other cats - though he backs off when they hiss at them, still understanding that he isn’t exactly well-liked there.

What’s more, it’s made VERY clear that Perrito’s tendency to trust in people without hesitation is not out of naivete: it is out of choice. He knows that people can be cruel (we see him briefly get scared of Jack Horner and the Bears when he gets kidnapped, even if he ends up making friends with the latter) and he knows that he can’t exactly fight back against that, being such a tiny dog. But he’d still rather give people a chance instead of just hiding away from the world. He never tries to claim that every person has some good in them or anything like that, he simply states “well, you have to trust somebody”.

What really drives this point home - aside from the excellent advice that Perrito gives throughout the film, showing just how thoughtful and wise he is, even when he seems totally clueless in other moments - is his moment in the film’s climax with Jack, where he’s finally able to do the cutesy eyes. The joke is how Jack is ‘dead inside’ and would never fall for such a ploy, and how Perrito is (or rather, would be) dumb for thinking that simply being cute would stop this heartless bastard.

But the twist is that Perrito already knows this. There isn’t a moment where it’s shown that he thinks this act will work. No, Perrito meant it as a distraction the entire time - he wanted to try and help, and he trusted his friends to catch on and take the shot once the distraction worked. And I freaking LOVE THAT! I love that Perrito is so much more than just ‘diet Donkey’ or ‘innocent and naive dog that doesn’t know how the real world works’.

He knows how it works, he just chooses to still see the bright side in things in order to improve others’ lives as well as his own, because there’s a difference between naively trusting people who haven’t proven themselves and just giving people a genuine chance to be your ally/friend. And I’m just so happy that Dreamworks not only made a character like this but just did a fantastic job writing him.

[artiststarme]

A Sleepwalking Surprise

I have no idea what this is. I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments.

~*~*~*~

“You walk into the dark cavern to reveal the fire-breathing dragon that’s been charring the King’s soldiers and burning them to crisps. The mighty beast is towering and its scales are seemingly impenetrable. The dragon notices your entrance and spews a fiery and gruesome spray of fire at the Party before any of you have a chance to react. Roll for damage.”

The entire Party grumbled and rolled their dice. They thought they were going to find treasure, not a dragon trying to burn them all to death. Gareth’s half orc ranger and Dustin’s own half elf bard suffered the most damage at the surprise attack. Gareth muttered something about Eddie always targeting his characters and grunted in anger. 

Eddie chuckled mockingly at them from behind his DM screen, “Gwaine and Lorcan suffer fire damage and drop their weapons when the flames lick at their hands. Lorcan, what’s your action?”

Dustin huffed with stress and ran a hand through his exposed curls. “I roll for initiative.”

“Go ‘head and roll,” Eddie told him, taking a sip of his Mountain Dew from his chalice. The bastard looked devious as he eyed him over the lip of the prop. 

Dustin blew on his dice to wish them luck. This roll could make or break the rest of the game for him. “14. Lorcan picks up his lute and attempts to entrance the dragon with music.”

“Alright, Lorcan is able to retrieve his instrument from the ground where it sustained some minor charring but remains playable. The dragon is distracted and does not notice the first few notes of tune…”

Dustin was on the edge of his seat. Was it going to work? Would his move save the Party?

“The dragon released one more bellowing breath of fire at the Party before his eyes glaze- Stevie?”

Dustin’s eyes whipped open. Steve? What the hell was he doing in this story? He followed Eddie’s gaze to see Steve, his best friend and babysitter, standing in the entrance of the trailer’s kitchen. He was standing tensely with his eyes roughly unfocused on Eddie. 

“What the hell is Steve doing here?” Dustin asked his dungeon master. 

“Is he okay?” Lucas asked him in concern. 

But Eddie just waved them off, “he’s fine. He sleepwalks sometimes,” then he turned to Steve. “C’mon Big Boy, let’s get you back to bed.”

He rested a gentle hand on his back and one on his arm then guided Steve back to the bedroom. Meanwhile, the kids were dumbfounded. Why was their babysitter, the one that said he had plans today and couldn’t join the session, in Eddie Munson’s trailer? They didn’t even know they were still friends after the Upside Down!

Jeff, Gareth, and Grant didn’t even blink at Steve’s presence. To be fair though, they’d known Eddie a lot longer than the other boys and he’d done a lot weirder things than mother-henning the reformed King of Hawkins High. 

A few minutes later, Eddie returned to the living room and picked up right where he left off. “The dragon’s eyes glaze over and he becomes transfixed by the music! He can’t focus on anyone other than Lorcan’s pudgy fingers delivering the sweet, sweet tunes. Droggom, what’s your move?”

“Okay, wait a goddamn minute. Are we not going to talk about how you have Steve sleeping in your bed right now?” Mike sputtered. 

Eddie in his part just looked confused. “Where else would he sleep? He’s tired and you’re all sitting on the couch.”

Mike gestured with his hands in frustration and shot a look at Dustin. It was in his hands now to get answers. “Why can’t he sleep at his own house? And since when are you guys friends? We need answers!”

“Oh, we’re friends alright. We’re great friends. Now, focus on the game or I’ll maim you. Where were we?”

~*~*~*~

The game continued for the next several hours without interruption. However, just as they were wrapping up for the session and settling at a tavern, Steve came walking back down the hallway. He was yawning and fiddling with a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on his nose. Dustin couldn’t help but feel even more confused. Since when did Steve wear glasses?

Eddie perked up in his seat immediately upon visage of Steve. His deceitful smirk turned into a genuine smile and he hopped up to meet Steve as soon as he crossed into the living room. 

“Stevie! Are you awake this time?” Eddie wrapped his arms around him in an engulfing embrace. 

“Mhmm, still tired though,” he muttered. Then he took everyone by surprise. Steve pulled away from the hug only to plant a kiss directly on Eddie’s lips before walking into the kitchen. 

Everyone’s jaws dropped. Dustin didn’t know whether to voice his support or yell at them for not telling him anything and the rest of the group seemed to be in the same boat as they stared unmovingly at Eddie. And Eddie just stood still as if he couldn’t believe that had just happened. 

Suddenly, there was a crash in the kitchen and a shouted, “shit!”

Steve rushed back out, now wide awake, and looked at Eddie in horror. “Oh god, fuck, shit! Fuck Eddie, do you think they noticed?”

“Yeah we noticed!” Lucas yelled.

“How the hell do you think we could’ve missed that?!” Dustin cried. Jesus Christ, seeing your two older male friends macking on each other left an impression.

“Why the fuck are you smooching on Eddie?! First my sister and now Eddie too?!” Mike screamed at him in offended outrage.

The poor Corroded Coffin guys just looked so tired. They knew already and Dustin would never forgive them for keeping it a secret from him. 

Eddie looked at Steve, “yeah, I think they noticed.”

Steve just sighed and grabbed his keys. “I have to leave now or I’ll be late for work. See you guys later!”

“And leave me here with these assholes? I think fucking not. I’m coming with you, let’s go,” he told him. Eddie grabbed his wallet and boots as he walked to the door. He shouted to the group over his shoulder, “lock up when you leave!”

The Hellfire club heard the Beemer’s engine rev and then they were alone. Dustin just looked at the other boys in confusion before screaming a loud, “what the fuck?!”

Just a few hours later, Dustin, Lucas, and Mike would corner Steve and Eddie in Family Video. They’d find out that Steve regularly sleeps over at the Munson trailer and that they’d been dating for three months. Dustin would give them his support before immediately slugging Eddie for ‘defiling his older brother’ and getting a wedgie in return. Sigh, good times, good times indeed. 

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[anyonewannasteponme]

Summary: Your Uncle Aegon enjoys sneaking into your room at night and making you his. Especially after you’ve misbehaved. (Also Helaena and Aemond are married because I say so)

Warnings: Incest, Explicit Sexual Content, Impact Play, Slight Non-Con

Authors Note: I want to preface by saying that I haven’t watched House of The Dragon yet so if I write Aegon a little out of character take that into consideration please this is far from perfect I just wanted to write something for fun. I just want a horrible man to ruin me <3

Your stomach was in knots, an acute feeling of dread had been plaguing you ever since you had stormed off from the disastrous family dinner. You felt awful, your Grandsire had only been trying to achieve one thing between your Mother and Brothers and Alicent Hightower and her boys. Unity. And it had been going well, until conversation had been shifted to Luke and Jaces legitimacy due to your Uncle Aemond’s unfathomable pride. Strong boys, he had called them knowing exactly what open wound to poke and prod.

Sure enough after Aemond slipped in the strong comment he and Jace were fighting. Helaena had let out a gasp as her husband got a punch to the jaw, one he rightfully deserved in the moment. You’d left shortly after, stormed out you supposed, you were furious. Unlike your brothers you had Targaryen features, like your brothers you were very much a bastard. It was just easier for everyone to pretend that you werent. You could pass as a true born Targaryen with your gleaming violet eyes and silver hair. Luke and Jace had a much harder time than yourself and you wished with all your heart that you could save them from the cruelties of the court. What had really wound you up was Aegon. The way he had slammed your brother down against the table unflinchingly had you fuming. How he could share your bed, yet insult your whole identity was a mystery.

A sharp rap on your door signalled his arrival. You knew from the brief few second pause between the previous violent knocks before a string of more followed more aggressive than the last that Aegon was at the door. “I do not wish to see you right now Uncle.” You whisper shouted, aware that if someone heard you refuse his entrance they’d likely try and send you to the dungeons. “I dont give two shits.” Aegon slurred, slamming on the door frame, the wooden piece rattling in its hinges. You muttered a variety of unladylike words in your head when you observed your sheer nightgown. Nipples slightly pebbling through the fabric. You were in no way ready to receive visitors. Especially not when you knew Aegon was already in a foul mood.

You opened the door wearily. Aegon barged in, his blond hair was ruffled, signalling his feverishness. “I saw you staring at him.” He barked suddenly, you jolted backwards, surprised but not shocked at his incapability to process your own feelings of anger and humiliation instead jumping to what was bothering himself. “What do you mean?” You said softly, careful with your words. “Dont play the fool.” He scoffed running a hand through his silvery blonde hair. Scrutinising you, as if he could see the cogs in your little brain whirring, desperately trying to process his accusations. Whilst you thought Aegon stared. Taking in your skantily clad figure, the sheer nightgown he had bought for you.

Wearing it still evoked a pang of guilt in your chest, knowing you were betraying your immediate family by having such relations with Aegon. Your mother would not know what to say if or rather when she figured out her sweet girl, her only daughter was involved with her younger brother, the epitome of unruliness and cruelty. Naturally it was futile to wish for approval you would never get from her, yet you knew the conversation at some point must occur. Especially since it had been many moons since Aegon had started visiting your bedchambers with a promise to make you a mother, a wife and a queen. A queen. The title promised to your mother.

You didnt bother mentioning that you had no interest in your other Uncle. You were devoted to Aegon and Aegon alone, but you knew he would not hear it. You had been looking at Aemond, an atrocity he would not let go unpunished. Even if you had only been staring because the conversation of your Brothers legitimacy had you on edge. You were waiting for him to target you next, worried for what would happen if Aegon was in the room if Aemond ridiculed you. Would he even defend your honour? Or would he leave you to wallow in the shame of your mothers infidelity.

“Were you waiting for Aemond?” Aegon whispered his voice husky and deep with rage. “Maybe he’s on his way now, ready to spill himself deep into the womb of his spoiled whore of a niece.” You flinched at his degradation. “Aemond is a devoted husband to Helaena.” You whimpered voice meeker than you wished it to be. The blood of the dragon ran through your veins, yet your own fire was stifled by the terrifying glint in Aegon’s eyes. He stalked towards you, expression stony and serious. More serious than you ever saw him.

“He called my brothers bastards.” You snapped, trying desperately to change the conversation and avoid his wrath. “Strong boys he called them and you sat there drank your wine and laughed.”

“Him or me.” He said simply, ignoring you trying to shift his attention, his tone sent shivers down your spine.

If you were a smart girl and Aemond was unmarried you would have chosen him. He was infinitely kinder compared to Aegon even if he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. But you weren’t a smart girl, and Aegon was not a smart man. He should have bed and married his sister, Heleana regardless of his own wants and needs.

“You.” is what you would have said, had Aegon’s hand not whipped upwards to tighten around your neck, warm and strong and unrelenting. “Him or me.” He repeated his eyes the deepest purple, bordering on black, with lust or anger you could not say. He leant in, mouth pressed agaisnt your ear. “You are not his to take.” He growled. “You are mine to fuck, to seed, to marry, do you understand my darling niece? For as long as I am alive you will remain mine.” He released you when you began to claw at his wrists with desperation for air. Your vision was blurring, tiny pinpricks of black surrounded your Uncle. Tears welled in your eyes, a stinging sensation building in your nose. Aegon released his grip. “Get on the bed.”

You wanted to claw your hair out, to scream, to cry, to beg for him not to punish you for something he had invented of his own accord. But you didn’t. You got on the bed as Aegon began to unbuckle his belt. He gave you a stern look and begrudgingly you moved into the position he wanted you in, arse up ready for his punishment. Maybe he’d fuck your arsehole until it bled, make it impossible for you to leave your room the next day, or would he spank you red raw until you couldn’t sit down because of the pressure on the blue-black bruises he’d given you. You knew he was thinking about which way he wanted to take his anger out on you.

The bed dipped with Aegon’s weight. He grabbed your hips roughly pulling you against his clothed stomach, you were arched like a stretching cat, the way he loved to take you. He administered one searing slap against your left arse cheek with his belt, you convulsed in his arms at the impact wanting to cry alloud at the pain of one strike. “I know it hurts.” He whispered directly into your ear, his warm breath tickling your earlobe and sending a flush of addictive pleasure between your legs. “But when you behave like a whore you get treated like one.” You couldn’t stop the growl that escaped your lips. Aegon let out a burst of laughter, delighted at your anger, sorrow and neediness.

“Do you not like that name my sweet?” He condescended. “No I think you like it very much.” He ran a hand down your raised thigh, the further down he traced the closer he got to your aching centre. You closed your legs, trying to hide your wetness from him. In response Aegon grabbed a fistful of your hair and wrenched your head back so far you were sure your scalp would be bleeding. “Listen to me.” He pried your legs open with the hand opposite to the one abusing your hair. “I am going to ruin your cunt. I am going to use you to make myself cum and then when your so swollen and desperate from all the orgasms I deny you I will shove my cock back in and push my cum deep inside you.” He leaned in closer. “You come before I tell you its alright then you will be punished, you fail to satisfy me and you will be punished.” With that you felt his blunt head push against your hole. Aegon was collecting your slick before slamming his hips into yours.

“Your pulsing.” He grunted. “Your pussy is trying to push me out.” You didn’t doubt him one bit, the lack of preparation had you engulfed in an excruciating stretch as Aegon pounded you with no restraint all you could do was grasp desperately at the furs on your bed and gurgle as Aegon had his way with you. He clapped a hand over your mouth as a means to quiet you down. But you couldn’t help the sounds escaping your mouth when he changed positions, pounding the spot inside you that always made you crumble around him. “Do not cum.” He growled, you mewled. It wasn’t possible. “I can’t hold it Aegon.” You gasped. “You must.” He replied curtly. He continued to brutally thrust into you. You could feel him pulsing as well, his cock twitching inside you as he continued to fuck you desperately. He was close, but so were you.

You tried to think of anything but the approach of your orgasm, wiggling in your gut like an unwanted worm. You thought of how Aegon demanded respect when he fucked you. You wondered when you saw how he interacted with Alicent if when he was with you that was the only time he was ever in control of his life. You thought about how your mother would be queen. How no matter how often Aegon said he’d make you his queen he didn’t wish to be king even a little bit.

It distracted you for a bit before Aegon began to vocalise his pleasure, grunting and groaning in your ear as if he knew how much it would turn you on. “Dont cum inside please.” You whispered. Aegon flipped you over, legs over his shoulders. “Oh I’m coming inside.” He smirked at whatever expression of horror you must have plastered on your face. “Lets hope it takes and my babe grows in your pretty girl womb.” You let out a gasp of irritation as he slowed his thrusts, the burst of pleasure you had been feeling in the moment dissipating with the loss of his deep thrusting. “You want to come for me?” Aegon asked. You nodded your head vigorously. “Then say that you belong to me. That no one fucks your cunt as well as I do. That you want no one other than Aegon Targaryen.”

“I belong to you.” Aegon resumed his thrusting, growing more frantic and sloppy as he neared his release, you keened. “No one fucks my cunt as well as you do.” If anyone walked past usually you would be mortified, sounding like a commonplace whore. Yet you could care less, having gone dumb on his cock the minute his tip met your entrance. “I want no one other than Aegon Targaryen.” You gasped as your orgasm overtook you the minute you finished saying what he had asked of you. It hit you hard and intense from Aegon’s edging. He growled as he felt you tighten impossibly around him.

Aegon cursed as he came, spilling himself deep into you regardless of what you asked. Terror spiked in your gut. “What if I have a child Aegon.” For a second you were expecting him to shut you down. To say something along the lines of “I already father a dozen bastards whats one more going to do.” Instead he pressed a kiss to your temple, “I dont think anyone would bat an eye if you and I were to wed.” You gasped, stiffening beneath him. “Are you asking me to marry you?” You whispered, barely believing what you were hearing. “I would like nothing more. If you will have me.” You felt tears prick in your eyes, guiding him back to your entrance as you pressed a deep kiss against his lips.

You always forgave him too quickly.

“If you want it to take you’ll need to cum more than once.” You whispered, tucking his hair behind his ear. Aegon grinned, pulling out and angling his hips as he prepared to fuck you again.

[1moreff-creator]

Hey there! I've really enjoyed reading your theories and interpretations on how certain members of the DT cast could befriend each other, and I have my own request for that.

Within the cast, which two people do you think have the most difficulty getting along, and how would you see a friendship between them forming in a non-killing-game AU?

Ooh, interesting question! While all of us can probably name a couple of friendships that probably would never happen in the killing game, it’s a cool thought exercise to try and figure out which ones would be almost impossible even outside those circumstances, so let’s see what I can come up with!

CW: Mentions of death and murder, Arturo

There are a few challenges in trying to figure this out. A lot of the conflict in DRDT comes from the characters’ worst traits being augmented by the killing game. Without the constant fear of death, Ace probably wouldn’t be so abrasive, so a lot of his relationships with the cast would be calmer. Without the boredom of being stuck in one place the whole time, Veronika would probably act more like she did in CH1; freaky and over-enthusiastic, but not “laughing at death” insane. Nico wouldn’t have attempted murder, which in turn also means Hu wouldn’t be so unreasonable when it comes to them. Xander wouldn’t have a reason to stab Teruko. All of the secrets would be safe until the person they belong to wished to share them.

David is an odd case, as his Speaker act would make it hard to argue he genuinely got along with anyone when his personality is more or less a lie, and he has no reason to drop it. However, he’d still be civil with everyone, and Xander’s continued existence would probably end up helping David get to a place where he can make more meaningful connections with others.

Speaking of getting better, it’s worth noting that while the killing game made a lot of people worse, the people that got better could still grow in the same way outside of it. Sure, maybe it’d take longer for Charles to chill out without being humbled by the hemophobia reveal, but he’d probably manage it. And Arei’s whole arc was more a result of her being around Eden in general as opposed to the killing game itself, so that’d also sort itself out in time. Teruko’s arc in the killing game is more a sinusoidal wave than a straight line up, but it’s hard to imagine her having many issues with the others when she’d presumably stick closer to her CH1 persona most of the time anyways. 

There’s also Mai’s existence to consider… to the extent we can. We know little about her, but if you’ve read my posts, you probably know I tend to use her as a sort of trump card whenever I want two people to get along without much trouble. She doesn’t like it when her friends fight, everyone treats her like a god, so the cast might try to play nice around her just so she’s not sad. 

This is all to say that the only people that would truly have conflict with each other in the cast are few and far between. Sure, maybe not everyone would be close friends or anything, but they’d get along. There are exceptions, though.

Xander and Min are so diametrically opposed that they might struggle to agree on anything even outside the killing game. However, although they wouldn’t get along at first, they’re both reasonable enough in their own right (once you take the murder out of the equation), so it’s not hard to imagine they could end up being friendly enough.

Teruko still probably wouldn’t like David if she saw through the cheery persona like she did in the killing game, but that would probably manifest more in Teruko not interacting with him too much as opposed to real conflict, so they’d also be pretty civil to each other. 

But really, I’m just stalling so it looks like I did more thinking than I really did. The obvious answer for who would get along the worst is J and Arturo, and I don’t think it’s particularly close. Arturo is a creep towards J for reasons that don’t have anything to do with the killing game, but rather a secret that, as Arei pointed out, would have been dispelled the moment the cast got access to class rosters. Naturally, J would hate the guy for this, so getting them to truly get along would be almost impossible. Doesn’t help that J doesn’t strike me as the most forgiving person, so even if Arturo miraculously stopped being horrendous towards her, it would still understandably take a while for them to get along after all that.

The only way I can see them actually getting along is if J’s secret isn’t revealed from the start. And believe it or not, it’s actually very plausible. J’s Mai quote is “She kept it a secret and told no one”, which would imply that J’s parentage was, in fact, kept secret for a bit.

If that’s the case, then the best case scenario is that Arturo somehow… uh, gets help ig? I mean, I genuinely don’t see any way where J and Arturo would actually get along even without the Mariabella situation. Arturo’s obsession with beauty would put off J too much, and she doesn’t really strike me as the type to really interact with anyone she doesn't like (see: J wanting to only talk to Teruko in the prologue because Xander was loud).

In short, just to get them to be civil to each other, we’d need an as of yet unseen character arc where Arturo stops being an asshole to people he considers “ugly”, and either doesn’t know about J’s mother, or grows past his obsession with Mariabella. Like, we’re talking some real miracle work from Mai, Veronika, Eden, Speaker!David, the Hope’s Peak teachers, and/or whoever the hell else might have a shot at making Arturo less of a dick. And even then, all that would probably achieve is J and Arturo not hating each other; them genuinely getting along and being friends is so far out of what we’ve seen from them that I can’t really think of any better situation. 

Anyways, hope that was to your satisfaction! Thanks for the ask, this was pretty fun to think about!

[uptoolateart]

Having had time to process the Season 5 finale, and read people’s very interesting takes on it, my one remaining issue with it is…Adrien and Marinette’s character arcs.

Looking at Adrien first...he was on a journey, man. He started out so naïve and helpless, like this precious little bundle of light and joy who wanted to love everyone. You knew it wouldn’t last. You only hoped he retained that spirit even after he was broken...and you knew he’d break hard.

We watched him grow. Strike Back was huge. Season 5 was huge. We saw him speak up and try to take action. That fight with Gabriel in Representation? One of the best things in the show, in my opinion – what I’d been waiting for, for five seasons.

But what I’ve been saying for years is…I didn’t want him to be ‘saved’. I wanted him to save himself - with her support, of course. After all that growth, I didn’t want him to continue to be the damsel in distress. It doesn’t matter that it’s a boy being saved by a girl, this time. Sure, that turns tables, but it’s not enough. Boys shouldn’t need coddling any more than girls. I wanted partnership.

Maybe I built it up too much in my head. It doesn’t help that I wrote my own Season 5 before the TV version started airing. I guess it’s taking me some time to let go of my ideas and accept that none of it went remotely the way I expected. In a way…that’s a good thing. It’s good to be surprised. Just…

I wanted Adrien to face off with his father, knowing who he was. I wanted him to see his mother and learn the truth of it all. I wanted him to get that closure. I didn’t want everyone continuing to lie and keep him in the dark as if he’s still the same naïve, helpless, precious little bundle of light and joy he was at the start of the whole story.

I’m okay with Gabriel winning. I was actually hoping that would happen, because it’s a great idea. It was also such a Chekov’s gun – we had to see it happen, after all that teasing. Not to mention, there was no way they’d simply kill Gabriel or lock him away in prison, because both would have been too anticlimactic after all the drama. We needed something big and we got it.

I just wanted Adrien to be there for it. Not off-screen, locked in a room. And I know, I know, he took part in the battle in his own way, by having the self-awareness to remove his ring in order to save humanity and avert a Cat Blanc scenario. But Ladybug doesn’t even know what he did. She doesn’t know the extent of the part he played. She thinks she saved him. But he saved her, too…and everyone else in the world…and even he probably doesn’t realise that in full, because he doesn’t know just how bad it could have been, had he learned Monarch was his father.

Looking at Marinette…she has spent this whole show keeping secrets from people. Cat Noir really deserves to know about Cat Blanc - how much trouble has that secret caused? Now she’s keeping from Adrien the whole fact that his father was the villain, and that it all revolved around his mother. When is she going to learn that it’s not up to her to decide what someone should or shouldn’t know? That she doesn’t need to treat this boy like fragile porcelain? You cannot be in a relationship with someone where you treat them like a child. That’s called being his mother, not his girlfriend or partner.

Unless she doesn’t know. I keep coming back to this, in my mind. Maybe in this reality, she’s under the same delusions as Adrien and remembers things differently. Maybe she’s been duped into thinking Gabriel was a hero, too, because he changed everything for everyone in it, including her. If so…yeah, that’s really interesting…and horrible….

But I still wish Adrien had been there.

I just wanted him in the basement. Is that too much to ask for??? In Risk, we saw him pick up that eyepiece thing Felix left behind in the mansion. He pocketed it. He was meant to use it at some point, to find the spots on the painting and find the lift and find the basement. It never materialised, I think because they changed plans when the show got signed for more seasons. That scene was meant to happen and I can’t stand that it didn’t. I accept everything else. I just wanted him in that finale.

And as awesome as Marinette was, unifying the miraculous like no other holder before...it kind of showed that she could do the whole thing without him...and I’m not okay with that. She needs to know what he did.

So, now I’m back where I already was, waiting for everyone to realise he isn’t made of glass and he can stand on his own. Come on, Adrien, come on – show them all what we know you’re made of!

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 33

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Aaaand the bombshell dropped. (Also because Raphael wasn't having a bad enough time: there is a brief mention of child grooming towards the end of the chapter. It's not descriptive or anything, just a brief flashback, but it's there.) ***

Raphael was hanging limply from his chained wrists, both shoulders pulled out of their sockets and blood running in rivulets down his back, when Enver Flymm first arrived at the House of Hope.

He was in no state to greet guests, naked and bloody, covered in gashes and bites and bruises, still shivering from the last orgasm-- the Archduchess -- Haarlep had wrung out of him. That, and he had no voice left; when a rather hesitant archivist called from outside to let him know one of his warlocks had arrived with a prisoner and wished to speak with him, all he could push past his throat was a groan. 

Haarlep chuckled, and shed the Archduchess’ likeness before calling out on his behalf. “The master is a little occupied at the moment. Do tell them to settle in the hall, he’ll be with them… well. Not in a minute. But he’ll be there.”

Raphael had groaned again when Haarlep slid into the pool, and turned to face him. He was chained to the columns by the edge of the water, and they leaned in before tilting up his chin. They took in the sight of his sweat-slicked brow, the blood where he’d bitten into his own lip, and ran a hand through disheveled hair before they leaned in, licking the salt of his tears with a forked tongue. 

“My, what a mess you are. Positively pathetic. You never look more alluring than when you’re like this, you know.” They ran their tongue across his bleeding lip, and reached over behind him to grasp the base of the plug they’d pushed inside him right at the start - “can’t have you be naugthy and fuck yourself with your own tail, can we, pet?” - to pull it out with a yank. 

Raphael jerked and let out a hoarse cry, unable to quite tell, among the many aches and pains, that had exactly made him scream. Haarlep dropped the plug, and took a hold of Raphael’s hair to tilt his head back, forcing him to face them. Raphael looked at them through a veil of tears, and saw they were grinning. He was grinning. Himself, unchained, powerful.

“Maybe I should make myself look significantly older, and go in your stead to hear what he wants. See what it’s all about while you writhe here. Maybe I’ll fuck your warlock with your body. Would you like that? Oh, of course you would. You just won’t admit it, because you’re a brat .” There was a slap, for good measure, making Raphael’s head whip to the side. 

Then Haarlep snapped their fingers, the chains burned away, and Raphael crumpled forward into their waiting arms. They held him easily: he was in his human form. He’d wanted to feel small, and Haarlep loved how easily that skin bruised. “But you’re my little brat, aren’t you?”

Raphael could only manage a whine as they pulled him against their chest, and into the water; healing began almost immediately, the gashes the flail left on his back beginning to close, the bite marks starting to fade away. The whine turned into a sigh of relief, and Raphael tilted back his head to look up at his own face, young and powerful and in control. 

“Archduke,” he whispered, reaching up to run his fingers across a cheekbone.

Haarlep’s smile widened. “Your archduke,” they said. “And you are mine.”

I am no one’s. I am the master here, Raphael thought, as always when Haarlep made that remark, but the words never left him; he hadn’t bothered to utter them in more time than he cared to recall. Not because it was untrue - it wasn’t - but because in those moments, still raw and sensitive, he feared he’d speak it aloud and not believe it himself. 

Instead he grumbled something about insolence, breathed in deep, and let the water do its healing, let Haarlep wash his newly healed back, his chest. “That useless archivist didn’t even say which warlock it was. I certainly hope it’s important.” 

“I’m sure it can wait,” Haarlep sing-sang, and their hand slid down Raphael’s stomach, down his thigh. He hummed in agreement and opened his eyes to meet their gaze. 

“Lie to me,” he whispered, and savored the response almost as much as he did the touch, and the long, languorous kiss that followed.

***

Duchess Baalphegor was standing above the frozen corpse of an abishai when they reached the courtyard. 

There was little left of the Shattered Castle around that courtyard, truth be told, hence the… not terribly imaginative name. Broken-down spires of what had been a mighty citadel, once; crumbling columns all around that may have once held up vaulted ceilings, now long gone.

Perched atop an iceberg, the Shattered Castle had been shattered long before Raphael ever drew his first breath; the truth of how that had come to be was lost to time and ice, although there were tales it had once been the stronghold of a duke who’d dared defy Mephistopheles, and had been promptly crushed in turn.

To the daring adventurers who may reach those ruins - and in Raphael’s books, daring adventurer was simply a polite euphemism for utter imbeciles - it would appear that the only thing intact was the statue of a massive abishai with crystal-white wings. But of course it was no statue; rather, it was a guardian assigned to patrol those ruins by Mephisto himself. 

Raphael did not know to what end, and clearly asking the abishai itself was no longer an option, as it lay broken at Baalphegor’s feet. She must have heard them coming, with the snow and ice crunching under their boots, but did not turn until Adonides stopped some distance away and sank on one knee. 

Raphael did the same, not truly looking to anger anybody else in that layer of Baator; the others were quick to follow suit, and bow their heads. With the exception of Astarion and Durge, their breath turned to ice each time they exhaled. 

“Lady Baalphegor,” Adonides spoke. “I have brought Raphael, and the daring adventurers who have accompanied him thus far.”

Daring adventurers. Of course he had to choose those words. An apt description if there ever was one; anyone with half a functioning brain would have deserted him long ago. 

At the center of the courtyard, Duchess Baalphegor was the only spot of color in a world of white, clad in red and black silks. Her red hair fell down her shoulders in soft curls that the wind did not seem to touch; snowflakes, too, seemed to slide off without truly touching her. When she turned to face them, she did so with the same effortless grace he recalled. Regal, despite her small stature, despite the fact she was Mephistopheles’ consort no longer.

“Please, stand, all of you. I didn’t have you come all this way to kneel on ice - it would be terrible form of me,” she said. Her voice was low and soft, but perfectly audible. Her gaze shifted to Raphael’s left, and she smiled. “Hello, Haarlep. I must commend you on a job well done. Against such overwhelming odds, I was unsure it was reasonable of me to expect you’d be able to bring your master here alive. And yet, here you both stand.”

Haarlep smiled-- no, grinned back. Since when did they have such familiarity with the consort-- former consort of Mephistopheles? As Raphael looked at them, startled, they shrugged. “I had help along the way. A lot of it, to be honest.”

“Ah, yes. The intrepid adventurers.” A hint of an amused smile, and she bowed her head. “I heard much of you, and I was looking forward to meeting you. Almost as much as I looked forward to seeing you again.” She stepped forward, closer, and suddenly it was as though they were beneath a dome; the snow and ice falling from the sky no longer touched them. It did not stop the bitter cold, unpleasant even though they all had some form of protection from it. “You have come a long way, Raphael. Although I fear there is still some way for you to go yet. The way to Mephistar is treacherous. Surely Adonides has informed you of the ambush.”

“I did, Lady Baalphegor,” Adonides spoke, bowing his head. “It seems that Mephistopheles took more steps than we were aware. He sent Lady Antilia to lead Raphael into the ambush.”

Duchess Baalphegor was not easily surprised; when it did happen, she rarely let it show. And to the untrained eye, she did not seem taken aback… but Raphael’s eye was trained as it could be. The slightest flaring of her nostrils, the tiniest widening of her eyes, and he could tell that the news came as a surprise to her. “And she failed, I reckon?”

“She did,” Raphael spoke. He said nothing else; he did not need to.

“... I take it to mean that she will not return to Mephistar, with or without you.”

“No.”

A pause, and she walked up to him, close enough to reach up and cup his face.  Even in his human form he was taller than her. Her hand was warm as it had been on their very first meeting, when she’d tilted up his chin and complimented his horns.

“Let me look at you, little one,” she’d said. “A handsome young devil if I’ve ever seen one. You look quite a lot like your father.”

Now, looking at a face that he knew he shared with his mortal mother, her voice was far more somber. “You took no joy in it.” A statement, not a question. “It is a sad loss. But she was always devoted to Mephisto. Her fate was sealed the moment she was given the mission.”

Raphael met her gaze, and did not pull away. Something about the warmth of that hand made him want to lean his cheek into it, close his eyes, and break again. He did none of those things. “Did you know that she was his daughter?”

A shake of her head. “Did she tell you as much herself?” she asked, and sighed at his nod. “I did not know. I suspected, but there was never any certainty. Mephisto treasured her more than any child he sired before or since, yet never acknowledged her as his. A living contradiction, always. It’s his greatness and his ruin. A shame that it had to be hers as well.”

It didn’t have to be, Raphael almost said, but he held his tongue. “She played the double spy on Baalzebul, and he entrusted her to guide me to Cania. That is how she was able to intercept me when we went to the Lord of the Seventh seeking passage. Did you not know?”

Baalphegor sighed, and pulled her hand away from his cheek, but she did not step back nor did she avoid his gaze. “As much as it vexes me to admit it, no. I did not know she had such a role at the court of the Seventh.” A smile. “I suppose it’s a credit to her. If you’re a known spy, you’re not doing a very good job at it; she clearly was excellent. Perhaps this was always the role Maphistopheles planned for her. It would explain how come she was never acknowledged even if raised at court - easier to become a false spy with no cumbersome connections to her name, I’d imagine.”

I am nothing if not loyal. 

Raphael grimaced at the memory, and forced himself to change subject before the lump forming in his throat became painful. “Why have you done all this?” he asked. “Surely it’s not out of concern for me. You’re going to get something out of having me whole again, and in your debt.”

A chuckle, if faint. “One may argue you already are in my debt. You proved your mettle at Bel’s service, and earned your post as Steward of Avernus - I will not dispute that, not intend to diminish your merits. But you must have known I was the reason why he took you under his wing rather than having you at the front lines from the very beginning.”

He’d known that, of course. He still recalled how she’d allowed him to travel to the Bronze Citadel from Mephistar rather than facing the grueling march across all layers with the troops; he recalled the letter she had told him to hand to Bel, and how he’d known from the start at least part of it was about him.

“Lady Baalphegor says you’re a good learner,” the archduke of Avernus had said. “So for now watch, and learn.”

Everything that had come after, he’d earned. But that one chance, the one that had started it all, he owed to her. Yes, he’d been in her debt all along; and now that debt would be repaid… all that Raphael did not know was how.  “I recall,” he spoke, very slowly. “And I recall that you took a keen interest in me from the beginning. What I could never understand was why.  Mephistopheles sired countless children, and most perished. I never knew you to intercede.”

Duchess Baalphegor exhaled, and looked up at the snow and ice whirling above them, as though she could see something in it that no one else could. “... Your father is older than most beings, save immortal, can imagine,” she said. “Not as old as Ao, of course, or of Shar and her silvery sister - not even close - but very old regardless. And he has sired children in the thousands, be it through means of seduction, trickery, or coercion. Many were powerful. All were ambitious. It brought most of them to their grave.”

“All your siblings were and are the same, all those yet to be born will be the same,” Mephistopheles had told him, a very long time ago. “And all of you will meet your end for it, one way or another.”

"Did you ever grieve a single one of them?”

Raphael pressed his lips together. “I have been told as much,” was all he said. 

Beelphegor nodded. “And none of it is untrue. Mephisto’s blood is powerful. You have much in common with your siblings, but one thing.” She held up her hand, and a small white flame danced on her palm. “Not a single one of them could control hellfire without that ability being personally bestowed upon them by Mephistopheles himself. And then there was you. An halfbreed child of thirteen born of a mere human, with no training or true knowledge of Baator, channeling the profane essence of the Hells out of sheer instinct. I need you to understand this, Raphael - no such thing had ever happened before because it should not be possible .”

For a few moments, Raphael could only stare at her. His mouth felt dry. “I never told anyone that. None but--”

“And Lady Antilia told none in turn, as far as I am aware. I heard what happened from your own lips, child. You spoke loudly enough to be heard through the door as I stepped before it, seeking you.”

It was amusing, in a way. Antilia had been so concerned word may get out, and that he may become a subject of who knew what experiments at the hands of the Dean of the School of Hellfire - or even Mephisto himself? - that she’d sworn him to silence… right after word was already out. It could have spelled his end, that. And yet…

“Of course, that convinced me that you should be observed carefully,” Baalphegor continued. “You never used hellfire in the years to follow, and I’d heard you express some doubt that it had indeed been hellfire which you summoned in a moment of grave danger. I was almost convinced it may be a fluke, or that perhaps you’d mistaken simple fire for something more… until of course, your father tried to make an example out of you. Surely you recall?”

Of course. It was impossible to forget: his sire standing before him with hellfire dancing on his palm, grasp unyielding around his throat.

Let it be your last lesson.

“... My first ascension.”

“Yes. He did not know of your natural affinity with hellfire, and he was quite surprised when it did not kill you. In turn, can you imagine my surprise when I found out that somehow, you had ascended? ” A laugh, startlingly sincere. “Oh, no, I don’t think you can quite picture my face when I heard that. Or his - you left a deep scratch across the bridge of his nose, you know? He was really quite cross about it.” Another laugh, before her expression turned serious again. Mostly serious, at least. A half-smile was never too far from her lips. “Ascension is something no half-fiend had ever mastered before, to my knowledge. And again, you did so purely out of instinct. You were shaping up to be quite the gifted young devil.”

“... And so you ensured I had a better chance to survive the Blood War than Mephisto was willing to give me.”

“That I did. You were something extraordinary, even if your lord father so stubbornly refused to see it. I followed your rise at Bel’s court with great interest - and all that came after, of course. Most recently, how close you came to the Crown of Karsus… and how you fell.”

Raphael scoffed. “A riveting tale to follow, certainly,” he said. “But it still does not answer my question - why did you decide that tale was not to end in Mephistopheles’ maw?”

“Why, we need both halves of you alive, of course, if you’re to ever be whole again.”

“This keenness to see me alive and whole surely does not stem out of your kind heart.”

A gentle smile. “Obviously not. Neither my dearest friend nor my bitterest enemy would accuse me of having a kind heart - although I have been known to be generous, when I don’t have reason not to be. Your mother and other mortal souls who bore my consort children can attest to that.”

Raphael almost scowled at those words - but only almost. He knew better than to show too plainly his feelings on the matter… particularly as he, himself, did not know what to name those feelings. His mortal mother had been nothing to him for long, if not a shadow hanging over him, making him the reason for so much grief. 

He’d glimpsed her only briefly when she’d given him the ring, but he did not know who he was looking at. His fiend half, it seemed, was by now familiar with her… but he, as he was now, knew nothing of her. What was she to him, and what would he be to her? What would she do, what would she say once they met?

Will she see her own face, or only what Mephistopheles did to her? What I did to her, ripping her apart on my way out?

“What did you promise that woman in exchange for help?” was all he could ask in the end.

“A chance to spite Mephisto. As good a reason as any, and she was quite eager to do that.”

A simple question, a simple answer. He could have left it at that; it would have been wise to, perhaps. And yet… “Surely she was not the only one among your attendants who’d have loved a chance to spite him.”

“No,” she agreed, “but spiting Mephisto carries a risk, always. She is your mother. I suspected she would wish to aid her son, had spite not been a powerful enough motivator.”

Is she? And am I? We share a face and nothing else, for all I know. 

Lord Starspire’s letter claimed otherwise, but perhaps it had been only the wishful thinking of an old widower. Raphael frowned. “I was in Mephistar for years. She could have approached me, if my fate was ever any concern of hers.”

Baalphegor tilted her head, as though considering his words. “She may have, yes. But she did not. Was it so unwise? You were so desperate to erase everything of your mortal heritage, and she was living-- well, enduring proof of it. You may have erased her, too.”

He might have; it was what he’d done to old Nan, after all. Raphael knew better than to argue against that point, and he said nothing as his sire’s former consort continued.

“Make no mistake, she always denied holding any love for you when questioned, and I saw no deception in her words; whether because it was true or because she believed it to be true, I do not know. She recoiled from you, certainly, and who can blame her? A devil spawn put into her womb to tear her open from inside - it seems a most unpleasant business. Perhaps you did repulse her. Yet when word spread you’d almost been killed with hellfire, so long ago, she asked to accompany me when I visited you.”

“She…?”

“She stood behind me for the entire encounter, but you never once looked her way. I suspect the fact Mephistopheles tried to destroy you as he’d destroyed her opened her eyes to the fact you were both at his mercy, always. She still feared you, of course - but with how close she has grown to your other half as of late, I’d say that fear is well and truly in the past.”

A few paces behind him, Adonides cleared his throat. “That is indeed very lucky for us. I was not expecting her help to be instrumental again, yet plans change.”

Raphael turned. “She’s a powerless mortal soul. How would she figure in your grand plan?”

That caused Adonides to frown, but he did not let annoyance show in his voice. “I can take you to Mephistar, undetected, deep below into Nargus and to the vaults. I can ensure you are hidden from sight and able to slip in the vaults, once Mephistopheles is away from the citadel and Chamberlain Barbas is made to chase a false lead to find the incubus. But the ascended fiend is a volatile creature, and it’s not guaranteed to meekly merge with you. However, she can calm it. Reason with it, even. She has to be present.”

Raphael suppressed the urge to hurl a spell at him - no reason in particular, he simply could never stand Adonides any more than Adonides could stand him - and looked at Baalphegor. “You have yet to tell me why you’re helping me. What do you expect of me in return?”

“If you cannot tell, it is not something I am at liberty to disclose. Nor you, Haarlep,” she added, glancing over at them. “Suffice to say, we have a task for you that you can only hope to accomplish as your own true self.”

We, she said.Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Why me, out of everyone?”

“That is for someone else to tell you, once you’re again worthy to be in his presence.” 

“My command over hellfire does figure in this, surely, or you would not have brought it up.”

“And surely, this is not the full extent of your intuition.”

Very well. If she wanted him to speak plain, speak plain he should. “... The Lord Below is behind all this,” he said. A statement, not a question. So much of what happened in Avernus pointed to the involvement of someone well above just Bel, well above only Baalphegor.

Baalphegor tilted her head. There was a quick twist of her lips, and no denial. “You are lucky he found that little plan of yours concerning the Crown of Karsus amusing as well as doomed. Had he not, you’d have been reduced to ashes before Mephisto could touch you.”

Raphael had enough sense to ignore the jab and not say aloud that his plan had been anything but little and that if he’d had the Crown-- if he could take Avernus first, turn other archdevils to his side once they witnessed his power, and then march on Nessus…

“And what does the big guy himself want from him?” Karlach asked, in the unmistakable tone of someone who’d take up an axe on the big guy in question if she did not like the answer. Only to be promptly reduced to nothing, but Raphael could if anything appreciate the gesture.

Or at least he would have, if not for the grip of something in his throat, foreboding as a storm building up at sea with no land in sight. A test, they had called it, to see if he lived to prove himself capable of the task ahead of him… and the test had been taking down the Archdevil of Avernus herself. Ending the reign of Zariel, a mere test. What task could be greater, more perilous, more insurmountable than taking down the Lord of the First?

“The obsession with hellfire has become a madness in your father.”

“What I fail to see is how aiding Raphael’s escape fits into that. Surely there are other ways to undermine the Lord of the Eighth.”

It was never just about undermining him, was it? Oh no. Admodeus would not put so many chess pieces in motion for so little. Zariel developed a weakness, and she had to go. Mephistopheles has finally crossed a line that Admodeus can no longer ignore, and… and…

Somehow, part of him had suspected as much for some time, but he hadn’t dared consciously think of it. It was too much to imagine, let alone to speak. So he did not speak it - no, no, surely he was wrong - but something had to show on his face, for Baalphegor smiled. 

“I suspect that Raphael will need no explanation, after all,” she said, replying to Karlach without looking at her. Raphael met her gaze, realization sinking in, and he laughed. 

His laughter echoed across the Shattered Castle for what felt like a very long time.

***

The first thing about Enver Flymm that caught Raphael’s eye was the vacant gaze beneath a mop of unruly black hair, the slack face, the drool dripping down from the corner of his mouth. 

“Stop doing that!” Caedric, one of his warlocks and frankly a mediocre one at that, was screaming in the boy’s face to no reaction at all. However, when he lifted a hand to strike, there was something - a flinch the child could not suppress, even as he remained still, not lifting his hands to shield his face nor acknowledging Caedric in any other, more obvious way. “No one will fall for it, you hear me, you little bast--!”

“And a good afternoon to you, Caedric. May I ask you to explain what made you decide to drop by uninvited? Concisely, if possible. I have little time to waste.”

Caedric winced and turned, falling over himself to bow and apologize for the intrusion. Raphael - now in his fiendish form, dressed and fully healed after making them wait for the best part of an hour - barely listened to him. His gaze remained fixed on the boy. 

Acting the idiot, clearly, and better than he’d expect from most mortals - let alone a child no older than perhaps eight or nine. But not quite good enough to fool a devil; the minute movement of his eyes as he looked at him, and the tightening fists resting on his knees as he sat at the table, surrounded by wandering souls and the skeletal remains of what had been a mason and architect intent on sweeping floors… all of it gave the ruse away. 

“I bought him for good coin in Baldur’s Gate,” Caedric was saying. “His parents had debts, and they were willing to sell him off. He’s clever, and builds contraptions that--”

“Does not look terribly clever to me,” Raphael cut him off, as though he did not know any better. It would be clear to half an idiot that the vacant stare was a ruse to try and seem worthless, someone to just throw back in the Material plane with scarcely a thought. 

Caedric was, unfortunately, slightly less than half an entire idiot and rushed to explain that the boy was pretending as though Raphael hadn’t worked it out for himself at first glance. “He is pretending, master, that is all. It proves that he is clever. A little scalding of his fingers and--”

“Why have you brought a child here?” Raphael cut him off, turning to face the man. He’d accepted to put him under contract and grant him powers to for no reason other than Korrilla, who’d decided to bet him three soul coins on the fact he wouldn’t last more than a year on the job before regretting it and trying to find a way out of it. If he proved her right in the eleventh month of his servitude, Raphael would be distinctly annoyed.

Caedric swallowed. “So that he may serve you, master. As a pageboy and then more, if he’s clever enough. He can be of use, I am sure. I made sure his parents signed this…”

The contract was indeed for the sale of a human boy called Enver Flymm, born at the beginning of the Year of the Mithral Hammer to Dravo and Sally Flymm. The buyer was listed as the warlock’s master, rather than Cardric himself. The boy was now his, body and soul. He raised an eyebrow. “Were they aware they were selling their son to a devil’s servant?”

“Yes, master. They were in desperate need of coin. Only asked where they needed to sign.”

Raphael chuckled. “What admirable practicality. Most mortals forego any logic when it comes to their offspring,” he said, and nodded. “Very well. You are dismissed.”

As expected, he did not disappear. “I was wondering, master,” he said, lowering his head, “if in exchange for this gift a… revision of my contract may be arranged.”

Ah yes, he obviously offered up another’s soul because he wanted out - and before the year was over. To Raphael’s annoyance, it appeared that Korrilla had won that bet. Still, the irritation was tempered by curiosity about this new servant, as well as the recreational time he’d enjoyed earlier. So he nodded, waving a hand in dismissal. “Yes, that can be arranged. I’ll call upon you when I have time,” he said, making a mental note of thinking of a mission that he could not possibly survive. He would make that his last requirement before he ended their contract, and enjoy watching him fail before collecting the soul he was owed. “Now begone.”

Another bow and he was gone, leaving behind only the boy, and the wandering souls all around. Raphael smiled and crouched before the child, who clearly struggled to keep up the act, the vacant stare. When he met his gaze, he trembled. 

“I suspect you didn’t receive much of a welcome to my House of Hope, Enver. A dreadful first impression, was it not? But you should not worry. There is much worth learning here, if you’re useful enough to keep alive.” No response; only that distant stare. Still trying to pass himself off as broken, useless, not worth keeping. He sighed. “The first lesson, child, is  that you cannot lie to me .” His mind closed like a snare on the boy, causing him to stiffen and gasp, eyes widening. The falsely vacant stare, which had wavered before, turned to pure terror. 

He struggled to keep Raphael out of his mind, and it was a valiant struggle - but no more effective than a cockroach trying to stave off the boot coming down to crush it. 

There were images, feelings, disjointed thoughts. The streets of Baldur’s Gate, a cobbler’s shop, toys made out of scraps from his father’s work to entertain himself. The blow that knocked out one of his baby teeth when he took good leather instead of scraps; the toys growing more complex, mechanical. His latest creation crushed under his mother’s broom, her voice repeating that she should have ended him in the womb, that dreadful child - foolish, hateful, needy, wicked - she’d borne but never loved.

Menacing men and women coming into the shop, speaking to his parents with hushed voices - and then louder the next time they came, and louder yet the next, until they shouted. The offer came from his mother’s lips.  “You can have the boy! He’s clever and crafty, he can be useful--” “Do we look like bloody Zhentarim to you? It’s the coin you owe us or your blood!”

And then the warlock, who’d been passing by and heard the screams, or so he said. Offering coin enough to settle their debts, in exchange for their son, and a contract signed in a heartbeat. They hadn’t even looked at him for a last glance when the warlock took him away. He’d wanted to scream how much he hated them, how he would return and show them--

“Oh my. Not the most outstanding family, I must say.” Raphael released his grip on Enver’s mind, causing him to fall back against the back of the chair with another gasp. The ruse now over, he just looked at him with wide eyes. A scared boy, but one with promise; Raphael had seen enough, and he’d always had a knack for spotting potential. There was ambition, too, a certain ruthlessness that could make him useful indeed once he was old enough. 

Until then, he supposed a page boy would fit right in at the House of Hope. He’d task Nubaldin with bringing him up to speed, and he’d see in time how he may serve him further. Should he disappoint, he’d make a fine meal for hellhounds. “But you ought to be thankful. This is most certainly a step up from a cobbler’s shop in the slums. Do you know what a page boy is?”

The boy nodded, and Raphael smiled as a burst of flames grazed the child, causing him to cry out. He was not hurt - only a bit of his hair was scorched off in what Raphael frankly saw as an improvement. Still, the message was clear: he could burn him if he wished to, and angering him was easy as well as unwise. “I expect answers to be given with words, boy.”

“Yes-- yes! I know what it is!” he spoke, his voice high and terrified, uselessly shielding his face with his arms. Raphael chuckled, and stood again.

“Ah, he speaks at last.” He spread his arms and wings, looking down at the boy as he trembled into the chair. “Welcome to the House of Hope, Enver Flymm. I am Raphael.”

The boy stared, and even through the terror his mouth twisted. “Just Enver,” he spat. 

“Not keen to carry the name of those who sold you off to the Hells? Understandable, I suppose. Very well, Enver. Go on, fill your plate. Eat and drink, before I call someone to show you the ropes. And then make sure you learn fast, boy. For your own good, you understand.”

The look that gained him was so full of loathing for someone so young - so much potential indeed! - that Raphael couldn’t help but laugh.

***

Raphael laughed and laughed and laughed.

Later on his companions would admit he had sounded ‘more than a little hysterical’, but at the moment they seemed at various stages of confusion and dawning comprehension, and none of them spoke. Not that Raphael would have noticed if they’d begun to scream as one: all he could hear was his own laughter, his own blood rushing in his ears. 

He laughed and laughed and laughed with no mirth whatsoever. He laughed because it was the only thing he could do other than scream. His every limb felt very heavy, the cold emptiness where half of his soul was not ached, and his head was empty of all thought but of his father. 

When he’d first seen on his throne as the Cold Lord, when he’d been the Lord of Hellfire with a hand around his throat; of the glimpse of something he’d seen beneath the façade - ancient and terrible, the flash of too many needle-like fangs like those of a fish of the deep - and of the much closer look at that aspect of his he’d had later, crushed in his grip, held above a gigantic maw.

The Lord of the Eighth. The Lord of No Mercy. Duke of Brimstone, Archduke of Cania, Archmage of the Hells. Older than Baator itself, second to none but Asmodeus. 

“Surely, this is a jest.” Raphael’s voice came out a choking noise through laughter that had turned into something else, something uglier. He tried to imagine it - Cania, the Hells, the world without Mephistopheles - and he could see nothing; only the blinding whiteness of the snow and ice whirling all around them.

Baalphegor’s voice was quiet, yet as merciless as the cold. “Amusing as it may have been to follow your misadventures, none of what transpired was done in jest.”

This is to be my punishment, is it not? For the Crown, for daring to think I could rule the Hells in his stead.

“You’re asking the impossible,” Raphael whispered. It could not be done. Mephistopheles couldn’t die. Even in his grandest dreams he was beaten, perhaps bleeding, and alive to see him triumph, kneeling before him. Seething and humiliated, in some dreams even marveling at his son’s power-- begging forgiveness for dismissing him, for all the disdain, for never seeing him as he was -- but alive. Never, not once, had Raphael imagined him dead - by his hand or any other.

Unaware of his thoughts, or perhaps entirely aware, Lady Baalphegor - Mephistopheles’ long-time consort, now calling for his death - shook her head. “Not me. The Lord Below. You can be certain I take no joy in knowing his demise draws near. Nor does Asmodeus, but he knows it is what must be done. And he does not ask, Raphael.”

Something cold beneath his knees - the ice, the snow. If there was any heat pulsing beneath the surface, he did not feel it. He looked up at Baalphegor, dread in every fiber of his being. “There are quicker ways to kill me than setting me against Mephistopheles,” he choked. “I stand no chance.”

“I believe the Archfiend would beg to differ, were he in the habit of begging.”

“You’re sending me to die.”

“He’s sending you to fight. You’d have to either way, child of Mephisto. If you flee, your father will not rest until you’re dead. Especially now that Antilia’s blood is on your hands.”

Raphael almost felt it now, the blood going from hot to cold, turning sticky, never coming off his hands. He swallowed. “He sent her against me.” His voice was raspy, barely audible. “I had no choice.”

“Do you think that will matter to him? He will not blame himself for long - he never could, even when he knew the mistake was entirely his own. Believe me, I would know.” A distant smile. “His fury may turn inwards, for a time. It is a terrible thing, torn robes and broken flesh, lines across skin and blood boiling as it hits the ice, one burst of uncontrolled magic after the other. But then it will turn outwards, to you. And again you’ll have no choice but to fight or die. All you can control is whether you’ll take the fight to him, or wait for Mephisto to hunt you down.”

“Lord Bel--”

“The Lord of the First would try to shield you, yes. He likes you well enough. He may even succeed for a time. But the Serpentine Order is everywhere; one slip is all it takes. Mephisto would have you, Raphael. Perhaps not within a year or ten, but he’d have you and the more he has to wait for his revenge, the more you’ll feel his wrath before you’re allowed to die.”

That was true; Raphael knew it even as his mind struggled, like a beast in a trap, to find any response, any other solution. He found neither. He had to force his next words out through a knot in his throat. “Why me?”

A shake of her head. “The Lord Below will tell you, if he’s so inclined, once you’re whole again. He is not unreasonable, child. You won’t be thrown against your father right away. You’ll need help even once whole again, and help you shall get. Past the help your companions may give you, if they’re so inclined.”

Somehow, Raphael had almost forgotten there were others there aside for himself and Baalphegor. He turned, still reeling, kneeling on the frozen ground. They stood only a few paces away, staring in silence, a grave expression on their faces. 

Well. On most of them. “I mean-- am I the only one who sort of assumed kicking Pisstopheles’ ass was gonna be on the menu from the start if we didn’t ditch him at the Citadel?” Karlach spoke, and grinned when she met Raphael’s gaze. “We took down an archdevil already, what’s another? We came all this way, and I have a big fuck-off axe.”

It took Raphael a few seconds to realize that the unpleasant braying nose he heard had come from his own throat, and that it was the closest approximation to laughter he could manage. “I highly doubt,” he managed in the end, “that your - as you charmingly put it - big fuck-off axe is going to cut it. Quite literally as well as figuratively.”

“Bullshit. Archdevils bleed like everyone else if you hit them hard enough.”

“Oh, that they do,” Astarion spoke, and tilted his head as though considering something. “I rather hoped we could avoid making too much of a mess, to be honest, but ah well. Where Durge goes, I go, and I’m ready to bet that their mind is set. What would an archdevil’s blood taste like, I wonder?”

“A single drop might very well kill you, I fear.”

“Must you always be such a spoilsport, Wyll?”

With the crunch of ice beneath boots, Durge walked up to Raphael, sank to a knee before him. Even like this, they towered over him. “Surely you cannot be such a fool to have thought, for a moment, that I’d let you face him alone.”

The knot in Raphael’s throat tightened. His scoff did not sound like a scoff at all. “I suppose I should have learned by now not to underestimate your madness. You’ll perish, too.”

“You used to be confident enough in your odds against him.”

“When an all-powerful Crown capable of imbuing me with godly powers was part of the equation. I don’t suppose Mystra would allow us to borrow it if we ask politely enough.”

“... Probably not.”

He almost laughed again at the absurdity of the situation. Almost. “We stand no chance.”

“I heard that before. Not least from you,” they said, and held out a hand. “Get up. We’ll make you whole again, first thing. Then-- we’ll work something out,” they added, clearly having read Astarion Ancunín’s non-existent guide to set up non-existent plans. “We usually do.”

And for all his dread, worst of all was the dismay at the task before him and the gut-wrenching realization that he had never wanted his sire dead. He’d only wanted to see him kneel, and call him-- archduke son of mine tell me you love me -- lord. He opened his mouth but he found that, for once, he did not know what to say. 

So he kept quiet, took Durge’s hand, and let them help him up to his feet again. He did not protest as Baalphegor and Adonides explained that they’d be taken to Mephistar soon, and that until then they may rest in a hidden chamber underneath the Shattered Castle.

 Indeed, for a long time he barely spoke. What difference would it make? The die was cast, and his fate was sealed.

There was truly nothing left to say.

***

Devoid of wandering souls, servants, children, and even the oaf he’d picked to work there as an archivist - he had a name, he supposed, but he could never be bothered to remember it - the Archive was blissfully silent, save for the scratch of Raphael’s quill on paper. 

The work was done for the day, a rather important contract concluded before he’d even returned to the House of Hope and headed to the boudoir for a proper celebration. Caedric’s decision to bring him the boy had rather sidetracked his plans for the late afternoon - see if Hope’s skin had grown back at last, and see if she was keen to be flayed again rather than accepting his most generous offer to serve him - so in the end, he didn’t get much else done. 

The boy had been sent to Nubaldin for what would probably turn out to be a steep learning curve - but wasn’t everything steep in the Hells, lessons and prices alike? - and Korrilla had somehow learned of the new arrival and the circumstances. She had come to find him, and not too subtly let him know he was welcome to pay up on their bet concerning Caedric at his earliest convenience. Raphael had sighed, handing her the soul coins.

“Needless to say, I shall have Caedric’s soul regardless.”

“Of course you will. Got to say, I’d expected him to throw someone else under the carriage to try and get released from contract. Wasn’t counting on that someone being a kid. Doubt anyone will mourn  when you tear the soul from his body. Where’s the poor bastard?”

“Nubaldin will show him what his duties are from now on.”

“Nubaldin? Kid’s going to be a walking bruise by the time the lessons are done.”

“Is your bleeding heart offering to take the unfortunate child under your wing?” 

A scoff. “Gods, no. And I think I’ll leave now before you get any more ideas like that.”

Raphael bit back a comment on how her sister may have been up for the task if she wasn’t a little tied up at the moment. She did leave, and for a time everything was silent while he kept writing. Business transactions, events of note, his observations on both.

He was so focused on the task at hand he did not hear the steps until Haarlep was right behind him, putting their hands on his shoulders. “Are you not coming to bed, master? It’s starting to feel very lonesome in there.”

“Are your soulless dolls not entertaining you enough?” Raphael asked, and bit back a groan when Haarlep’s hands clenched on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his back muscles. 

“Not nearly enough,” they lamented. “I sent them all away. You’re a lot more fun to unravel.”

“I’d say you’ve unraveled me plenty today.”

A sigh. “And I barely got a thanks for it! Nothing at all. Nubaldin got a present-- ”

“Nubaldin got a charge. I doubt he'll enjoy having to teach anything to a child.”

“... A mortal child, is it? A rare thing in the Hells. I am not sure I’ve ever seen one.”

“They look like any human, but smaller and with annoying voices.” A pause. “ More annoying.”

Haarlep made a face. “Ah, then I doubt he’ll have a good time with Nubaldin, dour as he is.”

Raphael scoffed and set down his quill, waiting for the ink to dry. 

“No one is in Avernus to have a good time, Haarlep. The boy will either learn fast or perish. When he fails, he’ll earn himself a beating and carry the marks of punishment for a time. The Hells have worse to offer than a heavy-handed gnome. There are--”

There are worse ways to learn lessons in the Hells, he almost said, but words remained stuck in his throat. Suddenly he was no longer in his House of Hope, no longer in Avernus. He was in Cania on the day he turned four-and-ten, with a cup of Infernal wine in his belly and another half-emptied cup in his hands - about to learn quite the harsh lesson indeed. He sat on something soft and there were hands on his shoulders, like Haarlep’s own were now.

But the esteemed Magistrate Bele’s hands had been smooth and almost cold when they slid under his shirt. There had been that soft voice telling him how clever he was, how resourceful, and yet more he could not catch - but it was praise and he’d ached for it. A hand had guided the cup to his mouth, to have him drink more, and he had. Bele had called him a little prince, and told him he should celebrate properly, what a shame that none but him had marked the occasion. Then the cup was empty, the hand on his shoulder pushed him down--

“Raphael?” Haarlep’s voice cut through it all in the same moment Raphael tasted blood on his tongue. It took him a few moments to realize he was biting down into his fist hard enough to grind his teeth against bones. Steaming blood dripped on his diary, covering the ink.

Raphael muttered a curse, and held his bleeding hand away from the table. A muttered spell, and the skin healed. He scowled, and pushed the memory in the back of his mind, pushed the question in the back of his mind-- did Mephistopheles know? -- to stand, abruptly.

“Very well. I’ll entertain you.” He snapped the diary shut and turned to face Haarlep, holding back the urge to tear off his own skin as he tore skin off Hope not long before. They blinked, taken aback but not overly surprised. It was not the first time they witnessed a reaction they did not quite understand… and which they would not understand. There were few things  Raphael had kept from Haarlep; how he allowed Bele to make a fool of him was one of them. 

A grin. “Oh, I thought you’d never--”

“The Archduchess. Now.”

The grin froze, not in dismay but certainly in surprise. “Twice in a day? Are you certain?”

“I am.” He grasped Haarlep’s chin. “This time, I forbid you to stop until you see my bones. ”

Haarlep stared for a few moments, as though trying to work out what exactly was going on in Raphael’s mind. They found no answer, but in the end they clearly decided they did not care.

“As my little brat desires,” they replied, and leaned in to kiss Raphael - softly at first, and then  deep, stroking his tongue with their own until he was light-headed and trembling, already half hard in his trousers - from their saliva, and from what was to come.

It was then that they allowed themself to change. The Archduchess bit into Raphael’s lower lip with sharp teeth, drawing more blood. Raphael groaned, and the Archduchess grasped a horn, pushing him in the middle of the room, forcing him onto the mosaic of his own ascended form. The symbol of his power, a legacy taken rather than given, now but a stage to bring him low. Raphael shivered, and barely cried out when a kick sent him sprawling.

“Undress,” the Archduchess’ voice orderer, a snap in the air telling him she already had the flail in hand. “Kneel. Face to the floor. Now, pet. Don’t make me ask twice.”

He did make her ask twice, of course, so he could taste the punishment that followed. As hot blood dripped on cold marble and widened to hide the effigy of his ascended form - the mosaic showed it as it should have been, unmarred, still with all its eyes - Raphael screamed and screamed and screamed, his mind finally empty again.

It was a relief.

***

It took three days before they received word that they would be taken to the vaults within hours. Mephistopheles had been called to Nessus by Admodeus alongside others to officially recognize Bel as Lord of the First; Barbas was following a fake lead suggesting Haarlep hid in Phlegethos at Fierna and Belial’s court. The way was as clear as it was ever going to be. 

Raphael had nodded at the news, but he had not said much else. He’d been silent for the best part of the past days, except for brief responses to Durge or Haarlep. At one point Astarion had resorted to throwing a snowball to his head just to see if that would get any reaction out of him, if only some undignified sputtering, to no avail. He’d looked at him, muttered something about how that was the most puerile thing he’d witnessed any of them doing yet - behind him, Karlach was making snow angels - and that had been it. 

As they made their last preparations inside the chamber of ice beneath the Shattered Castle where they had been sheltering - hopefully they would not have to fight, but it never hurt to be ready - he was still silent. Wyll had thought he’d be looking forward to finally taking the other half of his soul back, but obviously the knowledge of what he’d have to do afterwards - kill his sire, the Lord of the Eighth and Archmage of the Hells - was all that consumed him. 

So, when he approached to see that he was sharpening the rapier he’d given him, Wyll decided not to address that . After all, that was not the day they’d face Mephistopheles.

“You know, I never asked what your mother’s name is,” he said instead, sitting next to Raphael and giving him pause. “As we’re going to meet her shortly, I think it would be proper.”

Raphael was quiet for a moment, but he responded without looking at him. “Dalah Starspire.”

“Starspire, like the mountains in Tethyr?”

“Yes. Her husband’s family took its name from the mountain range.” Raphael’s hand went to the locket at his neck. “But she was from Cormyr, just south of the Storm Horns mountains.”

“Ah, like-- that ‘down came the claw’ lullaby? Did you learn it from her?”

Raphael scoffed. “In a sense. I have no memory of her, and I highly doubt she had time for that while dying. But she did have a book of poetry and rhymes from her land. It was given to me when I turned seven.” A pause, a frown. He stared down at the rapier in his hands.  “There was a lot I was not told. Her husband was not inclined to speak of her.”

That was something Wyll could understand: he knew next to nothing of his mother, if not that her name had been Francesca and that his father had loved her something fierce. Ulder Ravengard had grieved her so deeply, he could rarely say much more; the pain in his eyes kept Wyll from asking more. But when he spoke of her death to his son, he lied. 

A fever took her shortly after your birth, he’d said. It had not taken Wyll too long to learn that she’d died in childbirth, and that his father had lied so he would not feel guilty for it. Wyll did tend to take on more burdens than he ought to, but he had enough sense not to feel guilt for something that had been entirely beyond his control. Yet he’d wondered if his father had thought it a fair exchange, his wife gone for the sake of one son. He’d never said anything to that effect, but Wyll still tried to do his best at everything, to be a son he could be proud of. 

The memory ached in his chest, but Wyll chased it away and managed a smile. “Well, isn’t it lucky that you’ll get to hear it from her?” 

“... Perhaps. But taking the other half of my soul remains my priority. Once I am whole again, I may be afforded the dignity to at least put up a fight when Mephistopheles inevitably destroys me.” Raphael’s features twisted a moment in something Wyll could not quite decipher before he pressed his lips together and sheathed the rapier. “Adonides is coming.”

There was the sudden sound of wind in the middle of the room, and that whirlwind of snow and ice that heralded the arrival of the Steward of Cania. Wyll took in a long breath and stood.

“Come on. It’s time to go take your soul back,” he said, and held down a hand.

Raphael said nothing, but he did take it.

*** "Of course I love my father. Without him, whom would I have to strive against?" — Glasya, daughter of Asmodeus. ***

[Back to Chapter 32]

[On to Chapter 34]

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[captainremmington-13]

Cold

A Bellova x Coriolanus One-Shot

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova, Drusilla, and Oliveria. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

Summary: Gym class gets heated in a multitude of ways. 

⚠️Warnings⚠️: swearing, violence, mentions of injury, allusions to sex, slut shaming, bullying(?)

A/n: This takes place one school years before TBOSAS occurs, (the equivalent of their junior year of high school). Also, I HIGHLY recommend you catch up on my series, A Lady Made of Snow, before reading this.

“Damn, Plinth, how are you so good at this?”

Sejanus laughed, releasing his hands from the metal bar and landing solidly on his feet. “I train at home when I have free time. Pa always said that a man’s strength is split between physicality and mentality.” 

Bellova rolled her eyes playfully. “I wouldn’t know, my father always said that brains are far more valuable than brawn.”

Sejanus walked over to the bench where she was sitting and picked up his gym towel, dabbing it across his forehead to rid it of sweat. “Your turn, Bellova.”

She sighed, tightening the neat ponytail that kept her long black hair out of her face. She would much rather be working on that history essay that was assigned this morning. But for now, she had to do as many pull-ups as she could in one minute while Sejanus held a timer.

At least she excelled in gym class. Professor Aggrippina Sickle consistently praised her for her skills. She was flexible, strong, and nimble, all the traits needed to make a quality athlete. Though she didn’t hate the physical education period, it wasn’t exactly her favorite. Sickle worked every student hard, pushing them to their limits. 

About ten pull-ups in, Bellova saw Coriolanus walk up to Sejanus, taking a seat next to him. This was quite unusual, it was usually Sejanus who initiated conversations, not the other way around.

Clearly, Coriolanus was up to no good.

As soon as the timer in Sejanus’s hand went off, Bellova let go of the bar and strode towards the two boys. Their gym clothes consisted of a loose tank top and shorts, which were mainly academy red with a hint of gold near the edges of the fabric. They weren’t very flattering, but Sejanus and Coriolanus still managed to look good.  If their lives had played out differently, she would’ve been quite flustered being so physically close to them.

The girl’s clothes were slightly better in Bellova’s opinion. The tank tops were similar to the boys’, but instead of shorts, they had skirts with built-in shorts underneath. 

The only thing Bellova didn’t like about them was the stares she got as soon as she walked out of the girl’s locker room. 

Bellova only stopped walking when she was inches from Coriolanus’s legs. “Get up, I was sitting here earlier.”

The blond rolled his eyes. “I’m not an Avox, you can’t just order me around.”

Instead of continuing to bicker, Bellova simply turned around and placed herself in between her two classmates.

Sejanus and Coriolanus exchanged glances, but didn’t attempt to shoo her away. They knew that if they did, they’d each walk away with painful bruises.

“I’m so fucking bored,” Bellova complained, inspecting her nails for any signs of damage. “I wish that Professor Sickle didn’t make us stay here until everyone is done with her drills. I could have gotten started on the history project, or that essay that was assigned this morning.”

“The essay should be easy,” Sejanus said. “Professor Click said it only needed to be two pages long.”

 Bellova shrugged. “True, but you know I love to go above and beyond.”

Sejanus looked up at the clock that hung just above the gymnasium doors. “Well, the period ends in two minutes, you won’t have to wait much longer.”

“Good,” Bellova said, turning to Coriolanus to give him a snide look. “Both of you desperately need showers.” 

Coriolanus scowled back. “You have no concept of manners.”

“And you think you do?”

“Watch it,” Coriolanus spat. “Or I’ll-“

His threat was promptly cut off when he noticed a girl storming up to them. 

“Oliviera,” Bellova said, giving her a sickly sweet smile. “How can I help you?”

The girl in question glanced at Coriolanus, then Sejanus, and finally locked gazes with Bellova again.

“Whoring yourself out again, I see.”

Bellova looked shocked, which was a rare sight to behold. “Excuse me?” 

“First you fucked Felix, and now these two?” 

Coriolanus watched, speechless, as Bellova’s face turned pink. “What the hell are you talking about? I went to the gala with him at the end of the last school year, and that was it. We never even dated.”

“Oh, please,” Oliviera said smugly. “You obviously slept with him. I saw you get in his father’s limousine and head towards the Presidential Palace. Tell me, why did you do it?”

“You’re a fucking liar,” Bellova hissed. “I slept in my own bed that night, thank you very much. Coriolanus can vouch for me, he was there when my car arrived.”

Bellova shot Coriolanus a look, as if to say ‘back me up.’

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah I was.”

Bellova bit back a grin, trying to conceal her relief that he had actually helped her out. 

“Now that that’s settled,” she began, giving Oliviera a sharp glare. “Don’t ever ask about my personal life again. In fact, don’t even fucking speak to me, or I’ll ruin you and your family.” 

Oliviera’s pale, pointed face contorted into an expression of rage. She raised her right hand, ready to strike Bellova across the face.  

“Woah,” Sejanus said, instinctively placing an arm in front of Bellova. “Leave her alone, Oliviera. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Sejanus, I can handle this,” Bellova snapped, standing up abruptly. 

“Bellova,” Coriolanus said, grabbing her wrist. “Don’t. You’ll get in trouble with Professor Sickle.”

Bellova pulled out of his grip, giving him a warning look. “Don’t get in my way, Coryo. Trust me, you’ll wanna stay out of th-“

Oliviera suddenly grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her forward, promptly cutting her off. 

Bellova screamed, causing every head in the room to turn to her. Oliviera harshly tugged on her ebony locks once more, and delivered a mediocre but effective punch to her cheek. 

“Get off of me!” Bellova cried, trying to push her assailant away. 

Sejanus was the first one to come to Bellova’s aid, freeing her from Oliviera’s iron grip. Coriolanus found himself standing up as well, grabbing Bellova by the shoulders gently and moving her several feet away from the other girl. 

She was deadly silent, which frightened Coriolanus slightly. He was worried that her rage was building up, and that he’d be the target when it finally boiled over. 

Professor Sickle was now rushing over to where Sejanus and Oliviera stood. She demanded an explanation from Oliviera, but she refused to speak. Instead, Sejanus told the professor what had happened, but left out all of the sensitive information. 

Bellova could hear Professor Sickle scolding Oliviera, and didn’t even try to bite back her grin. The bitch was going to get what she deserved.

Oliviera ordered to go to the dean’s office, so she headed out of the gymnasium, dragging her feet. Then, the professor approached Coriolanus and Bellova.

“Are you alright, Miss Reginelle?” she asked, gently moving Bellova’s hair out of the way to reveal the bruise forming on her cheek. “Oh dear, we need to get some ice on that. Mister Snow, can you take her to the nurse’s office while I dismiss the rest of the class?”

Coriolanus nodded, and beckoned for Bellova to follow him. She did so reluctantly, avoiding his gaze.

The walk to the school infirmary was…tense, to say the least. Bellova held a hand up to her cheek, covering the purple and blue mark on her face. As they passed by, several Academy students gave them strange looks. 

They weren’t used to seeing them within a foot of each other and not arguing.

Coriolanus pretended to ignore it, but it bothered him. He didn’t like feeling judged. He also hated rumors, as they were beyond his control. 

But he kept walking, keeping his gaze straightforward as he and Bellova approached their destination. He refused to let her or anyone else know he was perturbed by the attention they were receiving. 

Finally, Coriolanus spotted the infirmary doors. Politely opening them for Bellova, he followed behind her once she’d entered the room. 

“Miss Drusilla,” Coriolanus began, approaching the middle-aged woman dressed in white who was sitting behind a desk. “Bellova was attacked during gym class. She needs a cold press for her face, and perhaps some ointment to help with the swelling.” 

Bellova was quickly ushered into a plus chair by Miss Drusilla, and instructed to stay put until she returned with the ice. Coriolanus stood next to her, feeling quite awkward. What was there to say?

He cleared his throat. “I’m surprised that you didn’t really fight back.” 

Bellova sighed. “I wanted to pin the attack solely on Oliviera. I don’t want any blemishes on my academic record.” She gave him a wry smile. “That would give you a leg up, and I can��t have that, can I?”

He laughed. “Of course. You’d never give me the upper hand willingly.”

She gave him a cheeky grin that very nearly made him blush. “You know me so well.”

Coriolanus expression then turned more serious, his pink lips curling downwards slightly. “But seriously, that girl was out of her mind.”

“She’s a jealous bitch, always has been,” Bellova said. “She desperately wants to get laid, and thinks that I’m stealing boys away from her or something ridiculous like that.”

“Ah.” Coriolanus never quite understood the reasoning behind girls’ rampant jealousy. Wouldn’t it be simpler to just focus on themselves? He supposed he’d never really know.

Bellova sighed, turning her head away from Coriolanus. She thought back to what Oliviera had said right after claiming she’d had sex with Felix Ravinstill. 

She accused Bellova of sleeping with Coriolanus and Sejanus. And, even worse, she implied she’d fucked them both at the same time.

It was an absurd assumption, really. Everyone knew that Bellova had a less-than-healthy relationship with the Snow heir. They exchanged horrible insults, and went out of their way to provoke each other. There were some times, like now, where there was peace between them. But those moments were becoming rarer as time passed on.

It was obvious that she wasn’t extremely fond of Sejanus Plinth either. He was a nice boy, but he was district. If he hasn’t been born in District Two, she would have considered him a close friend. Bellova couldn’t be too closely associated with him, or people would talk.

Miss Drusilla returned with a small bag full of ice and a small jar. She placed the bag in Bellova’s hands. “Keep that on your face for about ten minutes, and then apply the ointment after.”

Bellova nodded, doing as she was told. “Thank you,” she said quietly. 

“Of course, dear.” The nurse then turned to Coriolanus. “You can head to your next class, Mister Snow.”

He nodded, and looked at the injured girl before him. “See you tomorrow.”

She didn’t reply, simply giving him a small nod, half of her face hidden by the ice. 

The bruise was painful, but the cold demeanor that Coriolanus gave her somehow hurt even more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the phone in Bellova’s room rang, she immediately picked it up. She assumed either Persephone or Lysistrata wanted to check in her. After all, they were there when the incident took place, but were on the opposite side do the gym when it occurred.

“Hey,” she said into the speaker, her tone casual and relaxed.

“Hello, this is Bellova, right?”

Her body tensed immediately. It was Coryo.

“How did you get my number?”

Bellova winced. She hasn’t meant to come off so aggrssively, but when she was caught off-guard, it happened naturally.

“Sejanus,” he answered simply. 

“Ah.”

Fuck, this was awkward. Bellova took a deep breath, and then spoke again. 

“Why exactly are you calling me?”

“I just…wanted to check in with you. I assume the bruise will heal up soon?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “As long as I keep icing it and applying that ointment Drusilla gave me, it will be gone in a week or so.”

“Good,” Coriolanus said stiffly. “I also wanted to inform you that after you left the campus, I found out that Oliviera was suspended for two weeks as a consequence for her actions. When she returns, she’ll be closely supervised.”

Bellova rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t seem harsh enough. But if she fucks with me again, she’ll really get what was coming to her.”

Coriolanus’s laugh rang in her ear, and she found herself grinning like an idiot. Quickly forcing the smile to fade, she added, “I appreciate you backing me up earlier.” 

“Of course,” he replied. “It was the right thing to do.”

“Careful, Coryo,” she said teasingly. “It’s starting to sound like you care about me.” 

She could practically see him rolling his eyes. “Trust me, that’s not what I was trying to convey.” 

Bellova felt her fondness for him fade immediately. “Whatever. I need to go, I have homework to do and so do you.”

Coriolanus hummed. “Alright. I’ll leave you too it.”

“Bye.”

Bellova set the phone back on the receiver a bit too harshly, and collapsed backwards onto her mattress dramatically.

Just when she thought he was trying to be being nice to her, he metaphorically slammed the door in her face. 

But that was just how Coriolanus was. He’d show hints of affection and care, and then turned cold. She wasn’t sure why, but she suspected that he was afraid to be vulnerable. She sympathized with that, but the constant game of hot-and-cold was irritating.

Why couldn’t he at least try to be more consistently considerate?

‘Stop it,’ she chided herself. ‘It doesn’t fucking matter. He’s always been like this and that’ll never change. Now, we have homework to finish.’

With that, she pushed herself off of her bed and headed to her desk. She sat down on her plush chair and opened the drawer designated for writing materials. Retrieving several sheets of paper and a fountain pen, she took a deep breath and began to write, ignoring the throbbing on her cheek from the escapades that had occurred earlier. 

Strangely, the bruise didn’t feel like something to be ashamed of. It felt like a battle wound, something that showed she could handle herself. 

It further proved that she was strong, resilient, a true Reginelle through and through.

And nothing could take that away from her.

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TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker, @vxnilla-hxrddrugs, @mystargirl-interlude

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! I’m so sorry this took FOREVER to write, my life has been rly busy this week :(( I apologize if the quality of this fic isn’t great, I kinda rushed the ending a little…

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! (I had to add some of y’all to a comment instead becuz tumblr won’t let me tag more people for some reason☹️)