#if anyone just happens to have those sitting in their pocket.... and doesn't need them...

[soul-eater-novel]

p42 「ま、まあそう言うなよ。生きてたんだからいいじゃねえか」 “H-hey, now. At least we’re alive, eh?” 慌ててビクトールは、森の外の村を指さした。 Flustered, Viktor pointed at the village beyond the forest.

「はら、あそこに村がある。あそこで聞きやあ、ここがどこだかすぐわかるぜ」 “Look, there’s a village over there. Let’s just go ask ‘em where we are.”

身体についた土を払って、ビクトールが立ち上がる。 He stood, brushing the dirt from his clothes.

皆もため息をつきながら立ち上がったーーとんだことになってしまった、とても言いたげに。 Everyone else sighed and got up, all looking as though they would have liked to give Viktor a piece of their minds, but had decided not to bother.

しかしティルを先頭にして、皆が村に向かって歩きだした時。 Tir begin to lead the party toward the village.

「え…？！」突然ティルが足を止めた。 But then he stopped suddenly. “Huh?!”

ティルのすぐ後ろを歩いていたクレオも、前方に視線を移したとたんに立ち止まった。 Cleo was right behind him, and looked to see what had startled him. She stopped dead in her tracks, too.

「あれは……」 “Isn’t that…?”

二人はそのまま、呆然と前を見つめていた。 They stood there, dumbfounded.

村から少し森に踏み込んだ辺りに、太めの針葉樹が立っている。 A large fir tree stood a little ways away from the village, near the forest.

その木の影から覗くようにして、一人の子供がティルをじっと見つめていた。 A child peeked out from the shadows of the tree, staring right at Tir.

鮮やかな栗毛に茶色の瞳、柔らかな頬に人なつっこい笑顔を浮かべた男の子。 He had bright chestnut-brown hair, light brown eyes, round cheeks, and an easy, friendly smile.

ティルはその子を、見たことがあるような気がした。 Tir was sure he knew him.

「ねえねえ、おにいちゃんたち？」にこにこと笑いながら、男の子が言う。「おにいちゃんたちが宝物を取りに来た人なの？」 “Heya!” the little boy called out. “Are you guys here to steal our treasure?”

男の子に歩み寄りながら、ティルが答える。 Tir approached him.

P43 [image!] P44 「宝物？ううん、違うよ」 “Treasure? No, not us.”

「そっかあ、よかった。おじいちゃんが怖い顔してるから、僕、ちょっと心配だったんだよ」 “Oh, that’s good. Gramps looked real mad, so I was gettin’ kinda worried.”

男の子が目を細めて微笑んだ。 The boy grinned so big his eyes nearly shut.

ティルは彼の言う宝物も気になったが、それよりも気になることがあった。 Tir did want to ask about the treasure, but there was one thing he wanted to know more than that.

男の子の前にしゃがんで、さらにティルは言う。 He crouched down in front of the boy.

「ねえ君、名前はなんて言うんだい？」 “Hey, what did you say your name was?”

「うん、僕はね……」 “Oh, I’m…”

「テッド！！こっちに来なさい！！」 “Ted! Come back here!”

突然響いた声に、ティルはどきりとして顔を上げた。 Startled at the sudden shout, Tir looked up and around for the source.

森に一番近い家の玄関に立った一人の老人が、怒ったような目つきでこちらを呪んでいた。 An old man stood at the entrance to the house closest to the forest, glaring at them.

「じやあ、おじいちゃんが呼んでるから」 “Oops! Gramps is calling me. Better run!”

「あ、ちょっと……」 “Ah, wait just a—”

ティルが止める間もなく、男の子は老人の方へ駆けだした。 Before he could stop him, the boy dashed off toward the old man.

老人はテッドと呼んだ男の子を家のなかに押し込むと、ティルたちをじろりと眠んて扉を閉ざしてしまった。 The elderly man pushed the boy called Ted into the house and, sparing one final glare at Tir and the others, slammed the door shut.

「ティル様。今の男の子、テッドと……」 “Lord Tir, he just called that boy “Ted”…”

背後で言ったクレオに、ティルは閉ざされた扉を見つめたまま答える。 Cleo said behind him.

「うん。これはいったい、どういうことなんだろう？」 “I know,” Tir answered, gazing at the door. “What in the world is going on here…?”

もしあの子が、僕の知っているテッドならーー ティルが思考を巡らす。 Tir’s head was spinning. If he’s the Ted that we know…

p45 僕とグレッグミンスターで暮らしていたテッドは、紋章の力で三百年間少年の姿のままだったはず。 When Ted lived with us in Gregminster, his body was still that of a young boy’s, as it had been for 300 years due to the power of the rune.

しかし、今僕らの前に現れたテッドは子供だった。 But the Ted I just spoke to was a child.

ということは……？そこまで考えて、ティルは愕然とした。 Which means…? Following that train of thought logically shocked Tir to his core.

あの子はソウルイーターを宿す前のテッド？！ This is Ted before he received the Soul Eater rune?!

すると僕らは三百年もの時を遡ってしまったということかー？！ And we’ve travelled more than 300 years back in time?!

「おいおい、二人とも、何を黙り込んでるんだよ？」 “Hey, what’s spooked you two?”

背後に響いたフリックの呆れ声に、ティルが我に返る。 Flik asked from behind them, jolting Tir back to the present.

「こ、ごめん。ちょっとあの子のことが気になって……」 “S-sorry. We were just surprised by that boy.”

「うん、ガキはともかく、お宝ってのは俺も気になったな」楽しそうにビクトールが言う。 “Yeah, that treasure he mentioned got me wonderin’, too!” Viktor chimed in, looking like he was having fun.

「とりあえずどうだ、ここがどこか聞かなきゃならんわけだし、今の家を訪ねてみるってのは？」 “Let’s go ask at that house to find out where we are!”

「そうですね、そうしましょう」やはりテッドのことが��になるのか、クレオも言った。 “Yes, let’s.” agreed Cleo, obviously wanting to know more about Ted.

ティルたちは足を速め、森からこぢんまりとした家が建ち並ぶ村へと出た。 They quickened their pace and entered the village, a smattering of houses cozily lined up.

村は山の中腹の森にあった。 The village was in a forest halfway up a mountain.

背後を振り返れば高い山がそびえ、正面の針葉樹森の向こうには広大な平原を見下ろすことがてきた。 Behind the village towered the tall mountain. To the front, the village overlooked a large, flat meadow, visible past the pine forest.

先ほど感じた肌寒さは、村が高い場所にあるからなのかもしれないーー I guess this place feels so chilly because it’s up high.

そんなことを考えながら、ティルは老人とテッドという名の少年が入った家の扉を叩いた。 Thought Tir, as he knocked on the door the the house the boy had gone into.

「あのう、少々お尋ねします」 “Sorry to bother you, but we just have a quick question.”

[ «-first // previous // next // archive // Ramsus-kun Scanslations ]

[auclairedetoru]

Hi! I saw your requests were open and I wanted to see if you could write something fluffy with Levi and a reader that’s shorter than him 🥺

Maybe something where he’s doting on them? I adore the idea of a cold Levi who’s soft for his partner and I’m part of the minority of people who is actually shorter than him lol. I see a lot of fics describing the reader as taller but not enough for the other shorties out here 🙂‍↕️

Finally. The end of the day.

Levi lets out a loud sigh as the door of his bedroom closes behind him. His head leans against it and his eyes close. After hours of training, meetings, monitoring, and doing a shit ton of paperwork, he's finally back to the comfort of his bedroom at exactly midnight.

He lifts his head back up and looks around the small space, an unfamiliar (to others at least) smile spreads on his face when his eyes land on the sleepy yet smiling person sitting on his bed.

“Welcome back home, Levi.”

God, their sweet voice makes him melt into a puddle every time. He can't believe he gets to call such a precious person his partner, he considers himself a very lucky man.

“I'm sorry I woke you up, my love.” he says gently as he takes off his jacket. They shake their head and watch him as he tries his best to take off the belts wrapped around his body as fast as possible, “it's okay, darling. I wasn't sleeping, you know I can't without you.”

Levi cups their face after he is done and leans down to press a soft kiss to their forehead. People would lose their mind if they saw the way he acts and talks to them, in fact, only the people he's closest to in the survey corps (which is very few) know about their relationship, it wouldn't even cross people's minds that the strong and stoic captain who doesn't care if he hurts anyone's feelings is dating the sweet and gentle nurse who once cried with a soldier while trying to stitch him up.

“Did you have a good day today? Any of those brats bothered you?” he caresses their soft cheeks with the pad of his thumbs, mesmerized by the way the light casts a warm glow on their face. They lean into his touch, their eyes closing in relaxation. “everything was okay. Jean and Eren even teamed up to help me carry the new supplies stock and put them on the high shelves for me.”

He chuckles softly and pulls away from them so he can quickly change into more comfortable clothes. He used to sleep in his uniform, belts and all, just in case something happens and he couldn't waste his time putting everything back on, most of the nights he didn't sleep to begin with, but ever since they started sharing the same bed, not only did he find himself falling asleep but he also invested in some soft night clothes so he can cuddle with them without any restrictions.

“Still refusing to use the stool I got you?” he smirks as he starts changing his clothes. They've been dating long enough for them to not care about being naked in front of the other.

“I don't need it! The boxes were just heavy!”

“Hmm, sure you don't,” he teases as he gets under the blanket on his side of the bed (which is obviously the one on the near the bedroom door) and pats his lap with two hands. They huff, followed by a small, almost inaudible "I'm not that short", yet they don't hesitate to straddle his thighs and nuzzle their face in his warm chest. He wraps his arms around their body and presses a kiss on top of their head.

“if you weren't so short you wouldn't be able to fit in my arms all snuggly,” he looks down at their face and smiles at the adorable sight of their cheek pressed firmly on his chest, probably so they're able to hear his heart beat, they told him before that it's their favourite sound, “look at you, you could fit in my pocket, I could take you everywhere with me.”

They look up at him with the sweetest look on their face, their pretty eyes soft and affectionate. He wishes he could freeze this moment and stay like this forever, no titans, no fighting, no heartbreak, just him relaxing with his beloved in his arms.

“Can I stay in your heart instead? I think I'll like it there more.”

Levi lets out a shaky sigh. He's not one to get emotional, he can't even remember the last time he cried because it's been so long, but at that moment he feels a tug at his heart strings and a lump form in his throat. He never thought he'd ever have someone who loves him unconditionally, who would stay up till the late hours waiting for him because they want him to be the last thing they see before they close their eyes, whose presence felt the closest to what he heard others describe as home, who looked past the walls he has up and saw someone worth all their patience.

“You know I can't have you stay anywhere else. I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life.”

“More than tea?” they teasingly raise an eyebrow making him chuckle.

"Yes, my love. More than tea," he replies, gently brushing a strand of hair away from their eyes.

“More than cleaning?”

"now I don't know about that...”

“hey!”

Levi laughs loudly, a deep and hearty sound he never imagined would come from him before he met them. Their melodic giggles join his, filling the air with a positive energy he only experiences around them. At that moment, he feels his heart fill with a great amount of happiness, a feeling he always thought he didn't need, but now can never live without, and it makes him realise that he is now complete.

In the past, he thought that when he'd feel complete he would let go of everything, even life itself. But now, the thought of being separated from the love of his life terrifies him, and for the first time, he wants nothing more than to continue living and breathing, even if it means fighting those ugly monsters every single day.

Is life easy right now? No, Eren Jeager is still a big pain in his ass, and the whole situation with the titans keeps getting worse and worse, but now he gets to come home to moments like these, and they simply make everything better.

I lost the plot and didn't make this very focused on short!reader but it's there nonetheless! I love soft Levi who's a totally different person around his love 💕

[pastel-peach-writes]

Caitvi x reader who just goes along with things and doesn't state their opinion or how they feel,but they do get quiet or tense when they're uncomfortable or pick their nails. But if your alright with angst maybe they get overwhelmed or hurt or both,but still refuse,so they force it out of them,and they're hurt like "why didn't you tell us?.." or something,it's comfort.if it's a little to dark I'll ask something else😭 sorry if it is

Hi! It's not too dark at all. To let it be known, I'm fine with writing angst! If you're curious about how much is too much, you can simply message me! I hope y'all enjoy the fic.

"You Can Tell Us." | CaitVi x Reader

╰┈➤ PLOT: In the household where you grew up, expressing your opinion wasn't tolerated. Hell, expressing your emotions wasn't tolerated either. To keep the peace, you learned to not say anything in stressful situations, even if that means sacrificing your well-being.

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Yelling, Co-Workers Being Assholes, Name Calling, Hurt/Comfort(?), Pet Names, Cursing, Not Proofread

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

A/N: I HOPE THIS IS WHAT YOU ASKED FOR. THIS KINDA GOT AWAY FROM ME LMAO

Your whole life you were the person who kept the peace. You were someone who bit their tongue to avoid getting yelled at or offered solutions to problems that had nothing to do with you. If there was a solution to a problem or a way to avoid conflict, you were the person who chose those options.

So, why did this have to happen to you?

At your place of work, you were minding your business. You finished some paperwork earlier than planned and decided to take an early break. Then, four of your team members rushed into the break room.

"Do you think you can sit here and have us do all the work?" "You have some nerve making us look like the bad guys." "You're a lazy piece of shit. I don't know how you even made it this far."

The words pierced your skin and heart like darts to a board. You didn't dare to say anything back. Stunned in the moment, you took a sip of your water. Your eyes focused on the plain wall behind your teammates.

"And look, now they're spacing out like we're not even here," a co-worker buzzed. He scoffed. He leaned down in front of you and waved his hand in your face. "Hello? Anyone home?"

When he didn't get a response, he knocked on your skull.

You gave them nothing. Tears stung in your eyes.

"Wow, shocker! No one's home," he laughed. The rest of the team followed. Fulfilled, the man hummed. "Guess that's what happens when you hire an airhead who's probably having relations with the boss." the man put his hand on the table, cornering you in.

Your eyes remained on the wall. You weren't having an affair with the boss, but you didn't feel the need to say anything.

He shifted himself into your eyesight. A sinister smirk tugged on the corner of his lips. He took the tip of his finger and tipped the bottom of your cup. The cup fell over, the clear liquid soaking through your shirt and lap.

The laughter roared.

"Oops!" he feigned a gasp. He pulled away from you, his hand on his chest. "Guess you should've been more careful. It's okay," the man gave a fake smile, "holding cups is hard."

A cackle ripped through him as he leaned his head back. He shoved his hands in his pockets then turned around and left. The others flocked after him like ducklings to a parent.

Hot tears ran down your cheeks when they were out of sight. You forced yourself out of your chair and dragged your feet towards the paper towels.

Sobs scratched your throat at your pathetic attempt to dry your shirt. You were drenched through and it was cold out. Only six more hours left.

-

Home and on the couch, you stared at the wall to calm yourself down. With your nervous system still on the rocks, chews on your lips and nails, and an unfocused gaze, the attempt was a failure.

"Vi, that was completely inappropriate and not needed!" Caitlyn scolded as the two of them walked into the house. In the right mindset, you would greet them and ask how their day was, but because of today's earlier events, you didn't hear them come in.

"Oh, come on, Cupcake," Vi spoke. A chuckle followed her sentence. "All I did was curse him out a little and threaten him." the pinkette threw off her boots. Caitlyn carefully slipped her feet out of her own. "Don't act like you didn't like it," her tone was sing-songy.

The bluenette's cheeks were dusted pink. She put her hands on her hips, watching Vi's smirk grow as they kept eye contact. "I-It... It was fine, but it wasn't needed."

"Come on!" Vi threw her hands up. She hopped and spun on the balls of her feet as she entered the living room. "Muffin," Vi gave you a playful pout. She sat beside you on the couch, her arm resting on your shoulder. She gave you her signature puppy eyes. "Am I the bad guy for telling one of Caitlyn's employees to get their shit together or else their job is on the line?"

"That is not what you said," Caitlyn rebutted. She found her place on your other side.

Vi hummed, shrugging. "So, maybe I paraphrased a lil'. What's the harm?"

"The harm is you're trying to sweeten up your side of the story to be more appealing," Caitlyn narrowed her eyes toward Vi. Vi only grinned in response.

Vi put her gaze back on you. "Is it workin', Muffin?"

You're far gone. You haven't moved and the chewing on your nails got worse. You haven't blinked in so long, your eyes were producing tears to regain moisture.

"Muffin?" Vi leaned closer to your face. The tears now slid down your cheeks and your chest heaved up and down. Vi glanced to Caitlyn who was already scanning you to see if there was something physically wrong.

When she couldn't find anything, Caitlyn shook her head to reassure Vi of your physical safety.

Nothing was wrong physically which meant something emotionally or mentally was bothering you. Vi frowned. She placed a hand on your shoulder. "Muffin. Hey." Her voice was clear and firm. She was sure her voice had no hint of sadness to not push you over the edge. However, if you looked into her eyes, you would find them glassy with dilated pupils.

Caitlyn's eyes were similar. Her blue irises darkened in concern, fear, and anxiety; all the words she could use to describe how disheveled she was feeling.

Not seeing you move, Vi shook your shoulder. "Muffin. Snap out of it. What's going on?"

Caitlyn brought a hand to your thigh. She gave your thigh a gentle squeeze.

With another squeeze to your thigh from Caitlyn and a squeeze on your shoulder from Vi, you finally blinked. The moisture in your eyes made a reappearance. You looked between the two of them, pulling your nail out of your mouth. "Huh?"

"You've been staring at the wall. Cait and I came home a while ago and you haven't said a word," Vi whispered. Her grip on your shoulder turned into comforting rubs.

"Oh, I'm fine," you force a smile. Caitlyn deadpanned. She pulled her gaze to Vi who wore the same unphased face.

"You're not fine. It's okay to not be fine, dear," Caitlyn stroked your thigh. Her eyes were filled with sadness, the same with Vi's grey eyes.

"I promise, I'm fine."

"Bullshit!" scoffed Vi.

"Violet."

"No, they're not fine. That's obvious!" Vi removed her hand from your shoulder. Instead, she got up from the couch to resume her sentence. "I should've known you weren't okay. You didn't do that cute greeting of yours when your face lights up and you squeeze us like you haven't seen us in years."

You shifted in your seat, a frog in your throat. Tears well up in your eyes again, but this time, these tears are from sadness. You scratched your palm with your nails.

Caitlyn sighed. "I, too, should've noticed the change in your behavior. I guess we were too wrapped up in our own drama to notice," Caitlyn took a glimpse of Vi's expression.

Her eyebrows were furrowed, the skin between them creased. She'd squeeze her hands into fists and then let go repeatedly as a fidget.

Caitlyn took Vi's anger as a sign she should resume speaking. "We're not trying to force you into telling us, but if you're not okay, you can. We're here to comfort you, be your rock when you can't be your own." Caitlyn shuffled to squat in front of you. She doesn't force you to look at her, but you can see her worried eyes in your peripheral vision.

"Being with the two of you taught me it's okay to depend on others," Caitlyn admitted. "I want to be the person who can have anything under control and can come off as collected, but keeping all my frustrations inside or innermost thoughts can be challenging."

Vi calmed herself down enough to sit on the floor. She rested her head on your knee and put a hand on Caitlyn's leg.

Gaining comfortability, you slid down the couch. You sat between them with your back resting on the couch's edge. Vi's head repositioned itself to your shoulder and Caitlyn's moved to your other knee.

With her sitting adjustment, Caitlyn continued. "I don't want you to feel like you have to be the strong one. I don't want you to feel like you can't be vulnerable with us or even disagree with us."

"Yeah, Muffin," Vi's voice broke as she spoke. "Disagree or angry, we're going to love you the same. Confrontation comes with life." Vi dragged her hand down her face. "It's shit sometimes, but you gotta work your way through it, yanno?"

A heavy sigh escaped your body. You threw your head back onto the cushions and covered your face. You sobbed behind your hands. Your heart sank; your chest tightened. That frog in your throat grew into a toad. You babbled about this morning's events and how helpless you felt.

Anyone who wasn't familiar with you wouldn't be able to decipher what you muttered behind your hands. Luckily for you, your girlfriends know you inside and out. Even if it takes them a bit to notice when something's off.

The two of them pulled you in a tight embrace. They didn't speak or make efforts to shush you as you spilled your guts to them. Vi made a conscious decision not to let her anger get the best of her.

Although, those guys had no clue what was in store for them tomorrow morning.

Caitlyn also thought about making a visit to the office, but to complain to HR about the events. Not to find the culprits and make them pay. She was sure Vi had that handled. (Caitlyn would also have to handle her later.)

When your sobs calmed and your breathing evened, Vi spoke first. "They're a couple of dicks."

Caitlyn didn't feel the need to scold her.

"They should know how to treat a human being. Guess you can't do that when you're a shitty human, huh?" Vi chuckled to lighten the mood, but there was no joy behind her laugh. Only pure rage. "I'll fuck them up for you, don't worry." Vi placed a tender kiss on the side of your head. "I'll run you a bath, mkay? You should wash the day off of you."

"What about you and Cait's argument or whatever?" You peeled your head off the cushion to look at them. Everything was blurry behind your tears, but you could make out their frames and silhouettes. "Don't you need help?"

"Taking care of you is much more important than some silly fight," Caitlyn whispered. She smoothed the area on top of your head. Her delicate fingers brushed against your ear lobe as she brought them down. Her polished fingernails carefully traced the outside of your lobe. "Vi and I are big girls. I'm sure we can figure it out."

Vi grinned. "Hey, what fight?" she winked at the both of you.

A sad chuckle left your body. For a moment, relief washed over you. Once your chuckle finished though, the heaviness came back.

"Hey," Caitlyn's hand ran down your cheek. She wiped your tears with her thumb, Vi copied. "How about we get food from your favorite restaurant? I can go pick it up while Vi prepares your bath."

"I think that's a great idea," Vi used the back of her hand to soothe the skin on your cheek. "What do you think? Does that sound good, Muffin?"

You gave them a meek shrug.

"That looks like a maybe." Caitlyn giggled. "What if I add in dessert? would it be a yes then?"

"Oh, Muffin, say yes! Say yes! She's offering dessert!" Vi grabbed onto your arm. She shook you like a kid begging their parent for ice cream.

A genuine laugh came from your throat. Finally, all the pain is released from you. You don't know what made it leave. Maybe the sound of dessert or Vi's childlike begging. Or maybe it was the fact that Caitlyn and Vi cared for you enough to sit down and work through whatever problem you were facing.

For the first time in your life, you felt safe. Truly safe. You felt as if you could freely speak your mind without the underlying fear of rejection. You could say what you want.

"Okay," you gave the both of them a slight smile. "I think that sounds nice."

"Oh, yes! I love you, I love you, I love you!" Vi wrapped her arms around your body and pulled you on top of her. She gave you a bone-crushing squeeze.

"Vi!" you laughed.

Caitlyn laughed as well. She stood up and went to put her shoes and coat on. "Don't hurt them, Vi."

"Could never, Cupcake," Vi said from under you. "Now, hurry on and fetch us our dinner, woman! Mama's hungry."

Caitlyn scoffed, smiling. "Mama? Woman? Who are you talking to right now?"

"Oop," you muttered, grinning at Vi. "You're in trouble," you taunted in a whisper.

Vi playfully narrowed her eyes at you. She glanced at Caitlyn with an innocent and playful grin. "The tallest, cutest Cupcake in the world?"

"Right," Caitlyn dragged out the word. She opened the door. "I'll be back soon. You two stay out of trouble." and with another laugh, Caitlyn left the house.

Vi hummed. "I think she secretly liked being called 'Mama'."

You perked a brow. "Sure, she did, babe... Can we go draw my bath now?"

"Can I join you?"

WC: 2,285

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

hello hello can i ask for reader (either new transfer or someone they're just consulting with) hellbent on avoiding and not talking to spencer bcs he keeps rambling off about stuff everytime they're in his vicinity but they just have a really bad history of men mansplaining things to them so even tho spencer doesn't give off that vibe they just can't help but be sensitive to it 😔🤲🏻

tweaked jussst a bit gn!reader. i need to work on making my brain bigger so i can give more detail for spencer.

“well there many ways one can create their own bomb. they could use proper chemical equipment or just simple house hold items you can buy from anywhere.”

“well actually there’s only four ways to create one and most people go the homemade route. which is the most difficult to trace due to them being bought in plain sight.” a tall, skinny agent beside a man in the well pressed suit just reiterated what you said. you took an exhale through your nose to withhold an eye roll.

“yes, what i said. sulfuric acid is a common ingredient so i’d look into people’s recent purchases and cross reference that with their past criminal history.” you moved around lab as you shuffled and stacked papers, “if you need anymore help seems you already have someone with the answers. good luck.” leaving the two federal agents behind as you exited into the hallway with a tiny chip sitting on your shoulder.

what was the reason to seek you out if they already had someone who’d know their answers? probably once they saw who you were they wanted to intimidate you, that one guy wanted to show off that he knew the same information as you. no one ever gave you the respect in this department, many ‘colleagues’ have taken credit for work that you’ve done. they always talk over you or explain a concept that you already knew, seeing as you were in the same field as said mansplainer.

“someone looks to be in a mood.” oh great, if your hour couldn’t get worse. you didn’t bother looking at dr. fray, he was said mansplainer that always thought he was more inept when really you have a higher standing than him.

“since you left those agents on their own i stepped up to help them by giving further detail into their investigation. just helped save some lives, no big dealio.” your periphery saw how he walked with a certain air about him, one that many men carry without a care in the world.

you rolled your eyes as you kept walking to your office, “whatever. they already have someone who knows this information so we weren’t needed anyway.” you pulled your keys from your coat pocket, “well it was not fun walking with you. off you go, fray.” shielding yourself by throwing the door in his face.

you wanted to be away from any type of male for the rest of the day, not wanting to hear their unnecessary chatter, they just like the sound of their own voice. neatly arranging your files on your desk and placing your coat over the back of your chair you were ready to finish some documents when there was a gentle knocking to your door. you weren’t expecting anyone for a meeting so when you were faced with the lanky agent from earlier you couldn’t help as your face shifted into one of annoyance before shifting into neutral.

“was there something you needed, dr. reid?” arms crossed defensively over your chest. you internally hated how he seemed to know almost everything know to man and he seemed to be about your age. you wanted to rip your hair out halfway through your bachelors degree.

dr. reid’s mouth was pressed into a tight line, his fingers twiddling with this satchel strap over his chest. “i- uh i overheard a bit of your- your conversation and just wanted to… apologize?” he ended with a question.

your brows quirked, “apologize? for what?” confused on what was happening. men rarely apologized to you, you’ve been ran down on the street by guys who don’t care about anyone else on the street.

“i didn’t mean to overstep earlier. i understand to an extent what it feels like for people to talk over you or just ignore what you’ve said.” your anger melted just a bit at his words, “and i know for you it’s harder. there’s statistically less then 0.05% of non white males in many fields. i can tell you worked hard to be in this position, so i apologize for earlier.” his mouth probably ran just a tad faster than his brain.

you dropped your defensive stance, hands to link at the bottom of your stomach as you gave dr. reid a friendly smile, the first of the day. “thank you, dr. reid. i appreciate that you recognized your actions and acknowledged my feelings.”

he rocked on his feet, “you can call me spencer.” he said shyly, “also i’ve read a couple of your thesis. and if you have the time when this is over i’d- i’d love to discuss them with you.” you noted how his cheeks started to tint into hues of pink, it was cute.

“would be nice to talk with someone that has a fully functioning brain. you know where to find me, spencer.”

[decentwritings]

Chapter 2

Summary: At twenty-six, you never expected your life to look like this: a veteran, a college dropout, now running drugs to cover your late father’s debts. The military took you away for a brief moment, but now you're back in your hometown, keeping family at a distance to keep them safe. Your simple plan to clear the debt, one job at a time, unravels the moment Mabel steps into your life.

previous part <- -> next part

Something about that night with Mabel flipped a switch in you.

You quit avoiding the diner your uncle owned. You stopped by the next morning—tired and a bit cranky, but you still showed up. Your appearance was obviously a surprise, and Jodie and Rudy both sat down with you after you ordered, picking at your food like they hadn't seen you in weeks. You didn't mind, considering this meal was going to be free.

And it was. Although you did argue with them about it. You tried leaving a tip, but they somehow found a way to slip it back into your pocket. You found it later when you were getting dressed after a swim.

It was a small gesture, but it made you think. Maybe you didn't need to run from this place after all. Maybe you could actually belong here—if you wanted to.

You take a sip of your coffee, staring out the diner window as the morning crowd filters in. The world around you feels the same, but something inside you has shifted. You can't quite put your finger on it yet, but it's there.

Then, you see her, and you're reminded why you've been avoiding this place. Other than the usual reasons.

You see her through the window, and all those memories rush back like an undertow pulling you under. Erin. The one person you couldn't seem to shake, no matter how much distance or time you tried to put between you.

This diner was hers long before it was yours. On that first date, she played along, pretending like everything was new, like she didn't already know the place better than anyone. You didn't figure it out until months later, after you'd already fallen hard.

Erin never wanted to leave. Her roots ran deep in this town, tethering her here like an anchor you couldn't compete with. Her father, once the mayor, had moved on to city council in the next town over, but Erin? She stayed even after everything fell apart between you two.

The split was mutual but happened after an argument about what the future between you two looked like. You said a different state, and an argument commenced. No one won. In fact, you both lost. Each other.

The months that followed, you stayed in bed much to your parents and sister's dismay. They did everything to console you but you just didn't want to leave your room. You showered and washed your clothes but other than that you barely existed outside those four walls. The weight of losing Erin, the life you thought you'd have with her, kept you anchored in that space. Nothing felt right without her—like the future you had pictured together shattered the moment you mentioned leaving.

But that was years ago. And now here you are, sitting in the diner, staring out the window, watching her laugh with someone else. She seems lighter, and more carefree than when you last saw her. It's a painful reminder that while you were stuck, drowning in your grief, she was moving on. You had too, but, seeing her, makes you remember the tight hold she had on your heart.

A hold so strong, that losing her made you nonexistent. Hell, it made you drop out of college. You joined the army, for god's sake. You're positive your mom and sister hate her because she was the one who got the ball rolling, got you to talk to your grandfather then joined the army.

Your fingers tighten around your coffee cup as you watch her step out of her car, laughing with someone you don't recognize.

Suddenly, being here doesn't feel like progress—it feels like a mistake.

You decide it's time to go. You know she plans to enter the diner and you don't want to deal with the awkwardness an encounter between you two will entail. So you stand and place a twenty on the table. You know that will find its way back to you but you aren't too worried about it now.

You're too late though. Because as you walk to the door, she's entering and there's no way of acting like you two didn't see each other. What captures your attention after her eyes is the shiny badge on her belt.

You freeze for a split second, eyes locking with hers. The last thing you ever wanted was to run into Erin like this, and the sight of that badge gleaming under the diner lights sends a jolt through you. Detective. A part of you isn't surprised—Erin was always determined, always had her sights set on making a difference. But seeing it now, knowing how far she's come, it stings.

You feel even more awkward, too. Because your ex-girlfriend is a cop, and you're practically a criminal who hasn't gotten caught yet.

Her expression shifts when she recognizes you—first surprise, then something you can't quite place. You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the situation, but there's no easy way out now.

"Hey," she says, her voice softer than you remember, but that underlying confidence is still there.

"Hey," you reply, your voice strained. You can't help but glance down at the badge again, a bitter taste forming in your mouth. Of course, she moved on, and of course she succeeded. Meanwhile, you left this town, joined the army, and are still trying to figure out where you fit.

Oh, and you're moving drugs to pay your father's debt off.

"I heard you were back," Erin says, smiling at her friends who excuse themselves to leave you two alone. You glance at them, wishing they hadn't given you time alone. "Thought it was just a rumor."

"Oh, in this town, rumors tend to be true," you find yourself responding, chuckling nervously. You clear your throat when you hear her awkward chuckle. "Umm, I should go–"

"We should catch up," she interrupts you, smiling softly.

You purse your lips and nod, unsure of what to say back. You don't want to say no, but you don't want to say yes either. You don't want her to know where you are in life. Having accomplished so much yet still stuck in the same cycle that pushed you away in the first place. The last thing you need is for Erin to dig into your life now, to see the cracks beneath the surface that you've worked so hard to hide.

"Yeah, maybe," you force out, not entirely convincing, but enough to avoid the awkwardness dragging on.

Her smile falters for a second, but she nods. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah," you echo, already stepping back toward the door. "You too."

As you leave the diner, the tension in your chest starts to loosen, but the weight of seeing Erin again lingers. You shove your hands in your pockets and walk quickly, feeling the distance between you and the life you once had stretch even further.

She's a detective now. You? You're just trying to survive. And as much as you wish you could pretend otherwise, you know that seeing her again isn't going to help with that. Maybe you were right to keep avoiding this place after all.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you groan, the last thing you need now is to deal with anyone. You just want to be alone.

And when you check your phone, you wish you hadn't. Nick is the guy they left in charge of you to make sure you get the drugs moved. He's also in charge of making sure you clean out the money you receive.

You hesitate before opening the message, already knowing it's not going to be anything you want to deal with. A knot forms in your stomach as you tap on the message, and sure enough, Nick's message glares back at you.

Get ready for a swim tonight. Be at the docks at 9. Bring your swimsuit.

You lock your phone, clenching your jaw. Of course, he wasn't asking questions about your life to find out your interests and hobbies. He was asking to see what else you can help with. Thankfully, you didn't mention your memory. You let it slip in high school, and everyone wanted to be your friend.

Nick is at the bottom of the food chain, the one who deals with the simple things. You can't imagine who you'll deal with if they discover your skills go beyond just moving drugs. The thought sends a chill down your spine. Nick is bad enough—always hanging around, keeping tabs on you—but you've heard stories about the people higher up. Ruthless, dangerous, the kind of people who would see your memory as an asset, not just a quirk.

You heard what happened to the guy in charge of Nick. Killed at some bakery by some old guy? Apparently, the old man went crazy and just shot some guy named Pete Weeks and his brother.

The memory of that story lingers in the back of your mind, unsettling you. Pete Weeks had been a name whispered in dark corners, a man you never wanted to cross paths with. But then he and his brother got gunned down in broad daylight by some old man in a bakery, sending shockwaves through the underworld. It made everyone in this business, even someone like Nick, a little more paranoid, a little more dangerous.

You can't help but wonder what happens when people like that get killed. Who steps in to fill the void? What kind of chaos follows? The fact that someone like Pete could be taken out so easily only reminds you of how fragile your situation really is. One wrong move, one slip of information, and you could be next.

The thought tightens your chest as you walk aimlessly down the street, trying to block out the noise in your head. The docks tonight. Another deal. Another chance for things to spiral out of control. You're in deep, and the more you think about it, the more you realize that getting out might be impossible.

You also heard how the higher-ups have plans to retaliate. Apparently, Weeks left behind a wife and a kid. Whoever is close to that old man who killed Weeks should be out of town or sleeping with an eye open. It's a plan they've had for a while now. You know of it, not of the plan, though.

Your plan now is to pick up your nephew from school. You'll take whatever time you can with him.

Your nephew is the one bright spot in all of this—the only thing that makes you feel like you're still a part of something good. The thought of picking him up from school gives you a small sense of purpose, a reason to keep going even when everything else feels like it's slipping out of control. At least when you're with him, the weight of everything you're caught up in doesn't feel so suffocating.

As you walk, your mind shifts gears, thinking about the innocent moments you'll share with him. You'll ask him about his day, help him with his homework, maybe take him to the park or get ice cream. The normalcy of it, the simplicity, is the only thing grounding you.

You check your watch. School lets out soon, so you head toward his school, determined to block out the mess of the docks, the retaliation plan, and everything else for just a few hours. It's the least you can do—for him, and for yourself.

When you arrive at the school grounds, you notice teachers with small children just outside the building. You frown, catching sight of your nephew's teacher.

You rush over and relief washes over you when you see your nephew sitting on the grass a few feet away, giggling with some of his friends. The toy car you gave him on his lap. He told you he planned to show it to his classmates, to show off he said.

"Ms. Ferris, hey," you greet the teacher, feeling your heart rate go down when you hear your nephew giggle. "What's going on? Is this a new recess time or something?"

Ms. Ferris smiles apologetically. "I wish," she exhales a breath, shaking her head. "Devin is okay. All the students are okay, but..."

She glances around, searching for listening ears. Your frown deepens; what could she be wanting to share that is so secretive?

"There was a threat sent to a teacher, and we had to take precautions."

Your stomach tightens at her words, the weight of everything you've been trying to push aside rushing back in. A threat? Your eyes instinctively flick to your nephew, still laughing with his friends, blissfully unaware of the danger looming over them.

"A threat?" you echo, your voice low. "What kind of threat?"

Ms. Ferris hesitates, glancing around again before leaning in slightly. "We don't know all the details yet. The school received a message targeting one of the staff. The police are already involved, but it's still unclear who's behind it or how serious it is. We just wanted to make sure the kids are safe while they investigate."

Your mind immediately jumps to Erin—she's a detective now, a part of you wants to loop her in and tell her everything you have been up to. And with everything happening lately, it wouldn't be far-fetched to think this could be connected to whatever's going on with Weeks' people. But you shake the thought away. This is your nephew's school. Whatever's happening here should have nothing to do with your mess, right?

God, you hope so.

"Does anyone know who sent the message?" you ask, trying to sound calm but feeling the edges of your nerves fray.

Ms. Ferris shakes her head. "Not yet. The principal's been in meetings with the police all morning, and they've asked us to keep the kids outside until they're sure everything is clear."

Your eyes drift back to your nephew, a sense of protectiveness kicking in. You've been through enough to know that threats like this, especially if they remain vague, are never good.

"I'm sure his mom won't mind if I take him out early," you say, mostly to have him close by. You aren't waiting to pick him up in a few hours.

Ms. Ferris smiles with an understanding nod. "Devin!" She calls out, and the boy turns, his eyes beaming when he sees you. She doesn't have to say anything else; he's on his feet and rushing over to you in seconds.

"Sup, munchkin," you kneel down to take him in your arms. He's always been small, but you hoped he'd grow by the time he was in school. Considering your sister's size and his father's height, he probably wouldn't get some height until fifth grade.

Your dad said shortness lasts for a while in your family.

"Hey!" Devin grins, holding up the toy car you gave him. "Look what I showed everyone!"

You smile, ruffling his hair. "I bet they were jealous, huh?" He nods enthusiastically, completely unaware of the tension surrounding you. You stand up, taking his hand. "We're heading out early today, bud."

Devin looks up at you, curious. "Why?" He glances at his teacher and waves at her innocently. Sort of like a distracted kid does when he sees something interesting.

"Just because," you say, trying to sound casual. You're not about to scare him with talk about threats and danger. "Thought we could get ice cream before everyone else gets out."

His face lights up at the mention of ice cream. "Really?"

"Really," you say, squeezing his hand a little tighter as you guide him away from the school.

As you begin the walk back to where you left your car parked, you can't shake the uneasy feeling settling in your gut. The docks tonight, the threat at the school, everything feels too close, too intertwined. But for now, you push it all down, focusing on Devin's excited chatter about the toy car and the ice cream you're about to get.

You can't let him know that in the back of your mind, you're already planning your next move.

\\\

The time to meet comes sooner than you expected. You actually hoped the end of the world came sooner than the time. But you're never that lucky.

You tuck your switchblade into your pocket, feeling its weight as a small comfort against the unknown of the night ahead. Your backpack only holds an extra pair of shorts and a shirt plus a towel but it feels heavier than ever. The docks have always felt ominous, but tonight, there's a heavier air of tension. You told yourself a thousand times you wouldn't let this life pull you under, yet here you are, standing on the edge of another dangerous deal, wondering if this will be the one where everything unravels.

The sound of water sloshing against the pier fills your ears as you approach. You keep your head down, scanning the shadows for any sign of Nick or the others. The knife in your pocket is more a safety blanket than anything—the saying "bring a knife to a gunfight" echoes in your head. The jokes about it don't ease your nerves about bringing it.

But you know Nick won't let you go any further with a gun on you.

You think of Devin for a second, his laugh earlier, the way he showed off that toy car like it was the greatest thing in the world. It grounds you and reminds you why you're still fighting to survive, even though every day feels like a deeper dive into something you never wanted to be part of.

When you finally spot Nick, leaning against one of the storage crates, you steel yourself for whatever's next. This time, you don't have the luxury of avoiding the fallout.

Behind him are two familiar faces. Isaac and Oliver nod in greeting, always the silent ones. They only join when the dealing involves more than just some guy in a van. Usually, it's one or the other, but never both. This must mean this is bigger than anything else.

Swim? Did Nick literally mean swim and not just as a cover in case cops were tracing them?

As you get closer, Nick pushes off the crate, his smirk spreading like he's enjoying watching you piece it together. "There she is," he says. "Our own Michael Phelps."

Isaac cracks a smile while Oliver remains stoic as always. Oliver's the more serious one between the two. He's military and he knows you are too. He gave you his word that he won't tell anyone about your background. He has a higher rank, but besides that, you believe him.

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, glancing from Nick to the water. "What's the deal here?"

Nick crosses his arms, sizing you up. "Got some cargo that needs retrieving. Underwater." He flicks his gaze toward the others. "Isaac and Oliver will help out, but you're taking the lead. You're the one who said you could handle anything."

Your stomach drops. Swimming in the dark, pulling who knows what from the bottom of the harbor? It's not what you signed up for. But backing out now isn't an option. You hope this is worth more, to make a bigger dent in your dad's debt.

"Fine," you sigh, your voice steadier than you feel. "Let's get this over with."

"Hang on," Nick lifts his hand, stopping you from moving. "The idiots who lost our shipment aren't here yet." He flicks a gaze to Isaac.

Isaac only sighs before he pulls his phone out, turning to make a call. When he does, in the distance, you hear a ringtone.

You all turn to look in the direction it's coming from. You cross your arms, and despite your stance, you're ready for a fight if need be.

Your pulse quickens as you recognize the three figures stepping into the light. Charlie and the guy next to him? That's not too surprising. But Costa? A man with a family? The kind of man who should know better than to drag his loved ones into this kind of mess?

You can't shake the feeling of betrayal, the sickening realization that people like Costa, people with everything to lose, are still willing to risk it all. It hits too close to home, too much like your father—making choices that endanger those they care about.

"Great," Nick mutters, a mix of frustration and mockery in his voice. "About time you guys showed up."

You hold back, studying Costa's face. His expression is hardened like he's already made peace with whatever he's gotten himself into. But that doesn't sit right with you. Does he know what he's risking? Does he care?

"We got our swimmer and the idiots," Nick says, then gestures for the guys to lead the way.

Isaac steps forward and lifts his hand to stop the three of them from moving. Nick clicks his teeth, having forgotten about checking them for weapons.

Isaac motions for the three men to spread out, and you watch as he methodically pats them down. You can see the tension in their faces, especially Costa's as if they're all waiting for something to go wrong. Charlie, always a little too cocky for his own good, stands with his arms crossed, looking irritated rather than concerned.

Charlie's glare only sharpens, his jaw tightening as he looks at you like he's waiting for you to say something, to give him a reason to snap. But you've seen that look before—on people trying too hard to act tough when they're actually scared. You don't flinch, keeping your expression unreadable. The last thing you need is to give him any leverage.

You stand back, your mind racing. There's still time to walk away, to figure out a way out of this before it spirals any further. But you know the truth—there's no easy exit.

"Clean," Isaac mutters, stepping back after checking the last guy.

"Good," Nick says, his smirk returning. "Now, let's get down to business."

He gestures toward the docks, and you all start walking, the tension thick in the air. The water looks pitch black, and the idea of diving in makes your skin crawl.

You follow behind them, the man beside Charlie taking the lead with a quiet grumble. As you walk, the weight of Costa's involvement gnaws at you. He's got a family, a life outside of this mess, and now he's wading into dangerous waters. Mabel told you some stories about him—how he was always there for his kid, how he seemed like one of the good guys. Seeing him here, caught up in the same bad decisions your father made, hits harder than you expected.

You glance at him, his face set in grim determination, but his eyes betray him. Maybe he's desperate, like you, doing what he thinks he has to for his family. Or maybe, like so many others, he didn't realize how deep he was until it was too late.

As you reach the edge of the dock, Nick points to a boat tied to the pier. "All aboard," he says with that same smirk as if this is all a game to him. The boat rocks gently, but the darkness surrounding it feels anything but calm.

Your stomach tightens, and you hesitate for just a moment before stepping forward. There's no turning back now—not for you, not for Costa, not for any of them. You're all in this, for better or worse.

You all board and you wait as Charlie's brother, Tom, prepares to set sail. You drop your backpack and shed your shirt and shorts off. You hear Nick groan, probably expecting a swimsuit instead of a wetsuit. You don't know why, you told him you swim in wetsuits since it's what the Ranger gave you for training and some missions. It's more practical for what you need to do tonight, especially if you're going into the cold, dark water.

Once Tom finishes securing the boat, he gives a quick nod to Nick before starting the engine. The low rumble sends vibrations through the hull, and you grip the side of the boat as it begins to pull away from the dock. The city lights fade, swallowed by the vast blackness surrounding you.

Nick turns to you, no words are exchanged and you understand.

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the earlier conversation. What if this goes south? What if someone gets hurt? The thought of Devin, his innocent smile, only deepens the pit in your stomach.

The boat rocks gently as you venture further out, the sounds of the docks fading into the background. The water stretches endlessly, dark and foreboding, and you can't shake the feeling that you're being pulled into something much larger than you anticipated.

Nick finally breaks the silence. "We're heading to the drop-off point. Stay sharp. We don't know what we might find down there."

You nod, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand, even as the anxiety builds within you. If everything goes according to plan, this could be a turning point. You just have to make it through the night unscathed.

You feel someone step beside you. You keep your eyes on the water, ignoring the light shining in the distance. The lighthouse signals home, but you can’t help but feel like it’s mocking you. Instead, you listen to the engine's roar as the boat continues to cut through the waves. You focus on the darkness, thrumming with an energy that heightens your senses. The smell of salt and gasoline mixes in the air, creating a cocktail of tension that clings to your skin.

"Just say your piece, Charles," you say, glancing at him.

His jaw tightens at the name you referred to as. You're in no mood to hear from someone in the same position as you how this is a bad place to be.

"Just..." he shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest. "Stay away from Mabel," he warns, his voice low but tense.

You raise your brow, understanding Mabel more about what she said last night. People like Charlie think they know what's best, but they don't see the bigger picture. "And what makes you think I'm the one dragging her into this?" you shoot back, your irritation bubbling to the surface. You would never drag her into this. "Mabel's a grown woman, anyway. She can make her own choices."

"I don't care how grown she is," Charlie snaps, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "She doesn't deserve to get caught up in your mess. You're playing with fire, and she'll get burned."

At his words, the match in you ignites, and you see why Mabel isn't with him anymore. You shake your head, anger mixing with a sense of frustration. You don't want to start a fight–not now, at least. "Get out of my face before I do something we'll both regret," you warn, keeping your voice low and steady. You don't need this right now, not when you're already walking a tightrope. But the fire in your chest is hard to tamp down.

Charlie stares at you, his jaw clenched, but he doesn't move. "I'm serious. Stay away from her," he says again like you didn't hear him the first time. His protective streak, while understandable, only makes things worse. He thinks he's doing the right thing, but he has no idea what's really going on.

"You think I'm the one pulling her into danger?" you say, keeping your cool as best you can. "Charlie, this isn't just about me. This world? It's a lot bigger than you think. And Mabel... she's not some damsel in distress. She can handle herself."

"I'm not risking her getting hurt again," he snaps, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of fear in his eyes. The way he said again makes you pause, but before you can ask what he means, Nick barks from the front of the boat.

"We're almost there! Everybody shut up and get ready."

As the boat approaches the designated area, Tom slows down, scanning the surface of the water. The moonlight barely penetrates the darkness, casting eerie shadows over the waves. You can feel the tension in the air, and it thickens with every passing moment. The tension between you and Charlie lingers in the air, but the focus shifts to the task ahead. You push everything else down, focusing on the job.

Nick shifts, leaning against the side of the boat, his voice casual as he talks to Tom. "Let's make this quick. We don't need any unwanted attention." He glances at you, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Hope you're ready to earn your keep."

You bite your tongue, suppressing the urge to snap back. Instead, you focus on Costa and Charlie, who are now exchanging worried glances. They may act tough, but you see the flicker of doubt in their eyes. If they're nervous, it only amplifies your own anxiety. The boat slows, the faint outline of the harbor's drop-off point visible in the distance. You pull on your wetsuit fully, the cold bite of the night air hitting your skin as you get ready to dive.

As Tom steers the boat toward the designated spot, you can't help but wonder what lies beneath the surface. What are you really getting yourself into tonight? The water looks so dark, so foreboding, and the thought of swimming in those depths sends chills down your spine.

Tom leaves the wheel and moves to grab something. He moves to stand in front of you, a rope with a hook at the end of it. He holds it out to you and you raise a brow.

"It's at the bottom, which isn't that deep, fortunately for you," he says with a shrug, waving the hook to you. You snatch it from his hand with a huff, your frustration simmering just below the surface. The weight of the hook feels heavier than it should, like a reminder of the mess you've waded into.

"You'll know when you find it," Tom adds, his voice casual, but there's something off in his tone. You can tell he knows more than he's letting on, but that's how these things go. No one ever says the whole truth. Not out here.

"Get in, get out. Don't make this harder than it has to be," Nick says, his smirk as sharp as ever. He hands you a flashlight, and by how thick it is, you're sure it's water-resistant. "We'll keep an eye out for any trouble topside."

Your gaze flicks back to Charlie one last time before stepping toward the edge of the boat. He's still watching, arms crossed, but there's something else in his eyes now—something that wasn't there before. Fear. Maybe not for himself, but for Mabel. And maybe even for you.

"Good luck," Charlie mutters, but his voice lacks the usual bite.

You know he means it but you don't bother to acknowledge it. You only huff with a nod then flick your gaze to Costa. He offers you a single nod, and you can only exhale a breath.

You face the water, your eye catching the lighthouse for one brief second before finally, you inhale a deep breath and you jump in. The water feels colder than it usually is, and you think it's because of the reason for this swim. You fight against the cold and the resistance and push through, ignoring the sting of the saltwater in your eyes. You reach for the flashlight and hit it a few times to turn it on. It switches on, and you move to shine it at the bottom of the ocean.

The beam from the flashlight cuts through the murky darkness, revealing the silty seabed below. The water is thick with particles, swirling lazily around as you make your descent. Your breath comes in steady, controlled bursts as you fight against the cold that's slowly seeping into your bones. Every second you're down here, the weight of the situation presses harder on your chest, but you push through, focusing on the task.

The light scans the area as you swim further down, revealing patches of seaweed and the occasional scattering of rocks. For a moment, there's nothing, just the empty, quiet vastness of the ocean floor. But then, something catches your eye—a shadowy outline partially obscured by sand and debris. It's the crate. Larger than you expected and slightly tilted as if it had been there for some time.

You swim closer, your hands trembling slightly as you reach out to brush away the sand covering its surface. The crate is old, rusted in some parts, and sealed tightly with thick metal bands. You can feel the weight of what's inside, heavier than you anticipated. This isn't just a routine drop. Whatever's in there, it's dangerous.

You've never dealt with this large amount of drugs before. A simple duffel bag or even an Amazon box size. But this size, you're positive it isn't just drugs. There's something more to it, something that makes your skin crawl. The crate is too large and too heavy for just a standard shipment. Your mind races, wondering what else you might have just dredged up from the bottom of the ocean. Weapons? Something more sinister?

You shake the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. The longer you stay down here, the more exposed you are. You finish securing the hook to the crate, tightening the line to make sure it'll hold. As you tug the rope, signaling to the others, the crate begins to shift, the water around it swirling with silt and debris. You watch it slowly rise from the seabed, tension winding tighter in your chest.

Everything in you screams to get back to the surface, but something makes you pause—one last look at the crate as it's pulled up. The weight of your decision presses down on you.

You swim upward, kicking hard against the resistance of the water, your body growing colder with each second. As you breach the surface, gasping for air, you see the crew on the boat pulling the crate onto the deck. The boat rocks under its weight, and Nick's smirk fades into something more serious as he watches it land with a dull thud.

You haul yourself back on board, dripping and breathless. The air feels thick with tension as you wring out your wetsuit, glancing at Nick. "What's in there?" you ask, but deep down, you already know you won't get an answer.

Nick gives you a long, calculating look before shrugging. "You did your part. That's all you need to worry about," he pats your shoulder, and you watch him wipe his hand on his pants.

Costa joins you and hands you your towel, smiling softly. You thank him quietly and wipe your face with it, eyeing Nick, Oliver, and Isaac all take a crowbar to pry the box open.

But you can't shake the feeling that whatever's inside that crate is going to drag you down deeper into this mess than you ever thought possible.

And when they finally open it, they step back, and before you, military-graded weapons are revealed, glinting under the faint moonlight. Rifles, grenades, and ammunition were all packed tightly and carefully in the rusted crate. Your heart drops into your stomach. This isn't just a simple drug run—this is something far worse, something that could get all of you killed.

Nick whistles low, clearly impressed. "Well, this just got interesting," he mutters, exchanging glances with Oliver and Isaac. They're all in on it, and the way they look at the weapons tells you this was part of the plan all along.

Your eyes narrow, gripping your towel tightly as your mind races. Weapons like these? They're not for small-time dealers or petty criminals. Whoever these belong to is playing a much bigger game, and now you're caught in the middle of it.

"Alright," you speak up, earning their attention. "You got your shit, let's head back."

Nick chuckles and shakes his head. He whistles and makes a circular motion. Tom eyes him before he walks off to do what the gesture means.

Tom heads back to the helm, starting up the engine as the boat lurches to life. The low rumble reverberates through the deck, but the tension in the air is thicker than before. Nick, Oliver, and Isaac exchange glances, clearly amused by your attempt to take control.

Nick walks over, his smirk widening. "In a rush, huh? You're not scared, are you?" His voice drips with mockery as if daring you to push back.

Your self-control amazes you. The amount of times you have held back on punching this guy square in the face surprises you. You've daydreamed about it. But never actually did it. Yet, at least.

You take a step forward, standing your ground. "I'm not scared. Just practical. We linger out here, and someone's bound to notice." Your voice is steady, but inside, your pulse pounds in your ears. You're in way over your head, but you refuse to let them see that.

Nick nods slowly, that smirk never leaving his face. "Smart. I like that." He turns toward the others, raising his voice. "You're on the docket for whoever gets the first sale."

You freeze at his words while he walks away as if he didn't just drop a bomb on you. His words hit you like a punch to the gut. First sale? You weren't expecting this, not at all. You thought you were just a cog in the machine—someone on the outside, moving pieces for others but not directly involved. Now Nick's made it clear: you're not just part of this operation, you're being pushed deeper into it.

The boat begins to move, cutting through the dark waters once again. You catch Costa's eye, and for a brief moment, he gives you a slight nod, silently acknowledging that you did the right thing by pushing to leave.

You glance back at the crate, now sealed once more, but the image of the weapons inside is burned into your mind. There's no telling where this will lead, but one thing is clear—you're in it now, whether you like it or not.

Just when you thought you could change your ways, your dad's past pulls you back into your old ways. The lighthouse mocks you again, its beam slicing through the darkness like a cruel reminder of the path you're trying to escape.

The lighthouse's beam disappears completely now, swallowed by the night, but its presence lingers in your thoughts. You remember the stories your dad used to tell you about lighthouses being symbols of hope and guidance. Right now, it feels like anything but.

[yestrday]

do any of the hybrids have jobs or tasks that keeps them occupied throughout the day? I know aether is sort of a butler for the mc, and zhong li is the secretary of mc's father. but what about hybrids like ayato and thoma, who have experience in elite society, do they just sit around at home or do they actually do business-like work 😭 or hybrids like ajax or itto, it sounds like they mightve been strays and just lived in the wild, so do they do anything now besides fight and play w other hybrids (like be in charge of gathering food, meet up with former gang members, etc)?

while the hybrid had their own unofficial tasks, everyone was organized into groups the moment zhongli entered the scene.

aether is his own catgeory. he likes to call himself a butler, but it's really just him being your housepet. he takes care of you— wake you up, remind you of meetings, gossip to you about the going-ons in the manor, and basically just trail after you wherever you go. he helps out the manor's staff when he's not doing anything.

the executive team is actually a one-man team of zhongli, as he is on orders from your father to raise you into a fine heir. he's tasked with communication between you and your father, and also manages the house staff and hiring. he's expected to report to your father about the happenings in your house and keep your 'pets' in line. xiao is often considered an unofficial member of the team since zhongli often orders him around to send messages on his behalf (most of the hybrids don't use gadgets) as well as stalk... err, keep an eye on them.

the education team consists of zhongli (again!), neuvillette, ayato, albedo (haitham?). they're a team under zhongli's management who are tasked to educate you on subjects and topics that are in line with your father's vision for you. ayato was picked specifically to educate you on social manners and etiquette, though he does a scary job at education.

the manor management team works closely with the manor staff in... well, managing the manor! xingqiu has stationed himself as a part-time librarian with the amount of time he spends in there. tighnari takes care of the garden while zhongli's had kaveh draw up plans whenever renovation or a new place had to be built. freminet is not really part of this, but everyone tends to come to him whenever they need a mechanic. the house staff love baizhu for his gentle demeanor and medicine.

the security team is your group of glorified stalkers, who consist of those who are most adept to combat. xiao, cyno, and sometimes aether stalk you from the shadows wherever you go. gorou is more concerned about making the manor more secure and wriothesley stays with him (he just likes staying at the manor). razor means well. childe likes to consider himself part of the security team, but the actual people don't really consider him as such. heizou's not really part of them, but they often call for him whenever they need to sleuth things out.

the information team is organized a little later, should you officially assume the title of heir and start your education on how to run the corporation. those within here are your pawns to use. aether, lyney, and kaeya are good at words and can make anyone reveal information with their irresistible charm. heizou, of course, for the sleuthing. you can send diluc on solo missions, who can use his formidable combat to infiltrate and beat the shit out of any fancy pants you need dirt on.

they don't really do much, these guys. itto is, well, itto, and he means well but there's not much he can really do, so sometimes he'll help the others out with the occassional odd job to gain some pocket money. bennet means well too, so zhongli has decided to take pity on him and let him help out with the house staff. venti doesn't do chores, sorry, and kazuha likes to help out with security every now and then but that's it. don't even bother asking scara. chongyun also means well but he's kind of like a bug repellent but instead of bugs it's evil spirits. thoma is just ayato's butler. mika does a lot, actually, so you have to remind him to take a rest whenever he gets exhausted from rushing to and fro the manor.

[phoenix-eclipses]

Casting Love 1.1 - Excuse to Jump a Rich Man

The day Iwaizumi got back, you dragged both Taro and Tsukki with you to go greet him once he got off the bus. You had hoped not to mention the situation with your dad at all. Wishing to just push it under the rug as a secret that you'd only share with the two blondes but when the door to your place is opened, there's a letter on the floor waiting for you.

Even if you weren't there when he had been there, you'd recognize the hand writing on the envelope from anywhere. You caught the looks you received from Taro and Tsukki as you crouched down and picked it up. Part of you wanted to rip it apart right at that moment, but you still wished to keep it as a secret so you just pocketed it in your jacket pocket while smiling at your friends.

An hour passed.

Iwaizumi unpacked, Oikawa called due to missing the group and you all happily chatted. What you didn't expect was Iwaizumi's curiousity in the letter so when you took your jacket off and walked to the restroom, he pulled the letter out, the two blondes unaware as they listened to Oikawa's rambling. He doesn't even need to open the letter to catch the familiar stamp on the back.

Your last name, in unbearably fancy font made into a custom stamp. One he was familiar with every few months when your portion of rent, "gifted" to you by your father, was delievered. But it was never given like this, from your doorstep. It was normally found in your mailbox in the lobby.

"Yn, open this."

Iwaizumi didn't even give you a chance to sit back down the moment you reentered the living space. He held out the envelope for you. You cautiously took the letter from him, but didn't start opening it.

"It's from your dad, isn't it? I think he was here when you were visiting those two."

"...he was," the words come out, guilt weighing down on you. "That's why I went to their place."

"Did he speak to you?"

"I left the moment I saw him."

"...why didn't you tell me?"

"I knew you'd try to come back home."

He let out a soft sigh, ending the call with Oikawa before pulling you to sit next to him. Silence in the room, but you could feel the rage radiating off of the man next to you, directed to your father.

The video showed Kenma's usual background screen during interludes in his streams and captions popped up as he spoke.

"Hello, I'm sure a good majority of you all have seen the tweet made by Kuroo at this point."

There's a small sigh, barely caught by the microphone before he continues.

"I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. I am not dating anyone, or romantically involved with anyone. As I've mentioned briefly in other streams, I am a university student and a price to pay with that is occasionally group projects. For one class, I have an assigned partner the whole semester and due to that, Kuroo has become familiar with them as well. That is who Kuroo was referring to in that tweet."

The video ends a second after that.

Intermission -- Masterlist -- 1.2

Notes

This took way too long, I was being murdered by finals tbh

The whole friend group has a fair idea of how yn's dad is, and all of them hate him

Also does anyone expect Kenma's video to properly help the drama die down?? Hm???

Everytime drama happens, Tsukki tries to say its a Japan problem just because he thinks its funny to rub it in Tooru's face that he's so far away

This lil section of chapters is when stuff actually starts picking up so look out for that!!

Taglist

@staygoldsquatchling02 @walllflowerrrsss @oyasumeii @rinnylvr

@bi-bi-papillon @ris-krispie @madiexuberant @giocriedpower

@lunavixia @singleandlonely @yuminako @from-mae @3lectraheart

@kodzusora @skycasin0 @scinclaitnoir @itsdragonius @d3ly-p4v

@anqelkoz @kodzubaby @mirtaspace @writing-for-the-hell-of-it

@anteroz @yuki-sama6 @mawenskiblue @getoloverr @zozodahobo

@katnot-cat

[pisscrossiant]

Dragon Age: Origins headcanons because It's my current hyperfixation 😋

Leliana and Zevran hang out the most out of the party, if they are left back at camp while the warden is off with the others they are constantly talking to each other about anything. If they are left in denerim they will go a pick rich people's pockets and laugh about it the whole time.

Morrigan is in love with the Female warden, she knows that in the end the Warden might die however so she does not pursue any kind of relationship with her. When she sees the Warden with another lover she gets upset so she isolated herself from the rest of the tents to try to avoid seeing them.

Wynne constantly teases Zevran/Alistair/Leliana if they are in a relationship with the warden to the point Zevran and Alistair will actively avoid her when they can due to the embarrassment.

Alistair questions his sexuality alot when Zevran flirts with him.

Oghren has gotten into multiple bar fights with multiple people all because he hears them talking bad about the Grey Wardens, he gets into those fights just because his favorite person is a Grey Warden.

Sten is actually very fond of the Warden (even if he doesn't show it) and enjoys their company.

Zevran flirts with Sten the most out of anyone in the party (besides the Warden) because he loves tall men

Morrigan actually gets along pretty well with Zevran, while his advances towards her do annoy her she does enjoy his company.

When bathing Leliana will wash Morrigan 's hair for her since Morrigan didn't learn how to wash her hair properly in the wilds.

After the Goldanna incident when in Denerim Alistair will look towards Goldanna's house alot, wondering what it would be like if she had accepted him rather then casting him out.

After the encounter with Talisan Zevran will be increasingly paranoid that the crows will find the Warden and the party and kill them while they sleep.

Leliana sings songs at camp and Zevran will dance to them.

Zevran has Acid reflux really bad and even though he complains about Fereldon's food being bland he's glad that it doesn't make his Acid reflux flare up.

Shale comforts the party as best as she can when they're upset.

(my canon warden) after the encounter with Tamlen in the party camp the Warden has a breakdown realizing that if Duncan didn't find her when he did she would've turned out like Tamlen.

Zevran asks the Warden how life was when being with the Dalish, he likes to know what life could've been like if his mother hadn't left her clan and had Zevran with the Dalish rather then him being born in a Brothel.

Morrigan doesn't get much sleep, nor does she need to. She usually gets about two-three hours of sleep then stays up either reading or talking with Leliana.

Zevran has constant nightmares from his time with the crows, when he wakes up from them he is happy to be out of that situation. After this he usually stays up and just lays there staring at the stars or he'll talk to Leliana by the fire.

Leliana will have Nightmares as well from the time she was tortured in Orlais after Marjoline framed her. When this happens she'll sit with Morrigan by the fire and talk to her until sunrise, or she'll sit and talk to Zevran if he had a nightmare too.

Sten will pick up the warden and put them on his shoulders if they start getting tired from walking, this often makes the other party members jealous since they still have to walk, but Shale usually puts them on her shoulders if she notices them getting tired too.

Alistair has a irrational fear of birds, when living in the Arl's castle birds would attack him out of the blue for no reason. This happened a lot especially when the Arl married Isolde, as she came with a pet peacock that would attack him if Alistair even looked at the damn thing.

Morrigan will turn into a bird and attack Alistair because of his fear. Over time it actually helped him overcome this fear.

Zevran speaks Spanish and calls the Warden "Mi Amor" and Wynne constantly teases him about it.

That's all for now I don't want to overfill it or anything, I might make a part two if I'm up for it 😋

[my-mt-heart]

The current state of the spinoff right now has nothing to do with what Melissa wants or doesn't want and I do not appreciate her being used as a strategy for Norman, AMC, and the three stooges to evade responsibility. I don't know what happens next, but whatever it is, it is on them. For prioritizing their own needs over the core audience. For mishandling the characters/relationship the core audience is invested in. For constantly gaslighting everyone and refusing to deliver the payoff so many people have been waiting for. For not fixing the problem when they had the chance.

Yes, I am sad because this is supposed to be Melissa's time to shine. Yes, I really do want to support her because if anyone on this show has earned the support, it's her. If anyone is going to be worth watching in S2, it's her. If anyone's input is going to make a difference, it's hers. I do think she was excited to show the impact that Sophia's death had on Carol, but that doesn't mean she's getting everything she wants and it doesn't mean fans have to sit through relentless nunbaiting and a retconned bond between Daryl and Carol similar to S11 (I can only assume at this point that's what we're getting). I will not do that. Platonic Caryl is inorganic to me, and speaks more to TPTB's ageism/misogyny than it does about anyone's creative input. Daryl being torn between Carol and French characters he's only known for a few months is just fucking ridiculous. Period. It doesn't mean that I don't want to be here anymore or that I don't care about the characters or about Melissa. It just means I won't put money in AMC's pockets for awful decisions, like letting Zabel and Nicotero run amuck, like shoving "BESTEST OF BEST FRIENDS" down my throat, like forcing their nun fetish on me, like turning Daryl into every other generic male hero there is. If TPTB show they value Melissa/Carol as much as Norman/Daryl, if she and Norman get equal billing, if Carol's name is included in the title, if Daryl and Carol are allowed the romantic beats that their story in the flagship show set up, then I'm all in. In the meantime, for those who asked, my plan is this:

I am going to watch the premiere because I've heard enough reliable testimonies about the heavy Carol focus, the lack of nunbaiting, Carol's determination to find Daryl, and Daryl's desperation to get home for me to assume it's worth it. I will review the episode and show Melissa my support. I will go no further as soon as I hear any of that starts to change, which I expect will happen rather quickly, but I will keep speaking up where AMC can see it so they understand what's working and what's not. If Melissa's fans keep speaking up, reminding AMC how much they value her and how much they detest some of Zabel's other choices, then AMC can't try to blame her if numbers are low or assume we'll settle for whatever inappropriate writing choices Zabel throws at us if Melissa does bring the numbers up, and I do believe she's the only one who can.

I have nothing to say about S3 and beyond because the only way I'm on board is if AMC somehow manages not to ruin Caryl's story in S2 and hires a showrunner who can do these characters justice. Hint: it's not Zabel, it's not Gimple, and it's not anybody who's ever worked for them.

[alleiradayne]

Breaking the Cycle

"This is a gift, you know. I won't forget it."

The first time he says it, Astarion has no idea what a gift actually is. Oh sure, he's lavished his targets with expensive baubles and wooed them with poetic praise and pleasured them with all sorts of depraved debauchery. But a true gift? Something given with no expectation of anything in return? It's not like he can remember when someone did that for him...

But the cruel irony here is Tav did give him a gift. It doesn't matter that Astarion is on auto-pilot, the rote manipulation so scripted for him after two centuries, he doesn't even need to think about it. So when Tav gives him this gift of understanding, compassion, and care, his immediate reaction is to say this witty manipulative quip, and move on to the next play.

Except he doesn't know what the next play is anymore. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes exactly what Tav did for him. And it bothers him. It rankles him for days, keeps him up at night. It's the perfect system interrupt he needed. Not that he knows that. At first, he thinks Tav is trying to outplay him, manipulate the manipulator. Oh, he'll show them. Nobody manipulates Astarion, not anymore. He'll have Tav wrapped around his pinky finger so well that, by the time they realize it, it'll be too late.

But Tav's not a manipulator. At least, not when it comes to Astarion. The next move is flattery dressed in the most purple prose, those lustful lines he's perfected over the years. And he's aroused. He hates that. But if he's going to seal this deal with Tav, claim them so he never has to worry about their betrayal ever again, he has to sleep with them. And he does. And Tav thoroughly enjoys themselves.

That makes it even worse. Because normally, after that, he sends his marks on to their death. He never has to look at them again.

Again, it's another major system interrupt. Tav's right there in camp to look him in the eye the next morning. He has to live with them now, live with their smiles and flirting and furtive glances. He wonders if Tav saw it the night before; the distant stare that glazed his eyes as his consciousness fled the scene...

It'll never happen again. Tav is essentially in his pocket, so all he has to do now is keep up pretenses, kill Cazador, then get rid of this damned parasite in his brain bucket...

That plan quickly unravels. It catches him off guard, which is so unlike him. The first time Tav defends him, he's stunned into silence. They stand up for him. Step aside so he can speak for himself once he's found his voice again. Tav tells him he's pretty when he complains about the mirror. Draws out his scar on his back in the dirt for him to see it.

And that's it. Tav sees him when no one else does. It's kind of a fun-house-of-mirrors effect. Astarion knows what he sees in himself and it's not what Tav sees at all. They reflect him back to him, and it's the first time anyone's done that for him in centuries with any shred of honesty.

Time and again, Tav proves him wrong. He sits with these events as they occur, terrified of what they might mean. Of what he wants them to mean. Of what he needs them to mean.

He starts questioning himself after meeting Ketheric. Maybe it was something about seeing the man catching an axe with his chest, dying, and coming back to life. Maybe it was Tav defending him, again, to some random creepy woman obsessed with blood they just met. Maybe it was just the simplicity in Tav's absolute audacity of strolling right into Ketheric's lair to have a chat with him (that one definitely had him thinking some sinful things about Tav for an afternoon).

Complicated. Compromised, even. Whatever feelings Tav had managed to dig up out of him, Astarion is bewildered by them. But it's the third and final system interrupt that drives it all home. Tav doesn't judge him when Astarion makes the deal with Raphael. If anything, Tav looked impressed. Risky, sure, but it was pretty cunning. Turning the tables and all that. But it meant killing a fucking orthon.

Tav agrees without batting an eye. If it means helping Astarion, they're all for it. So they go kill the orthon and Raphael makes good on his deal and they learn about the rite.

It's too much. The next time they camp, he has to tell Tav the truth. They deserve that much. And even if they didn't fall for his plan, at least he knew where he stood. Then he could bury his feelings for another couple centuries where they might finally die...

Once more--it won't be the last time, either--Tav proves him wrong. They're real. Us. And from that moment on, the real Astarion shines. The manipulation vanishes, his vanity is sarcastic in an effort to make Tav laugh, his humor is light and sincere--unless he's threatening to kill someone, then it's a little more macabre but it's still wildly hilarious.

His needs are validated. And met. For the first time in as long as he can remember, someone seems to genuinely care about him. Most importantly, he's understood. Damn the gods, but Tav knew all along, had seen that thousand mile stare in his eyes the night they'd shared his bed. Tav's there for him in whatever capacity he needs. Hands. Hugs. Little kisses on cheeks, he likes to give those when nobody is looking (or when he thinks nobody is looking, but everyone sees him do it). Sometimes he slips into old patterns, the ingrained habits, he can't help it. He is a creature of comfort after all. But Tav pulls him up when he's drowning every time. Especially when he's about to commit the same mistake his master did.

Things blur together for a couple nights after killing Cazador. Too many thoughts and feelings drown out the world around him, so he anchors to Tav in various ways, some sweet, some not so sweet. Sometimes he's a raging ball of anger, a righteous fury he can't fathom even the most devout of paladins possessing. Sometimes he's a blubbering mess, curled up in Tav's lap and buried in their arms sobbing.

But Tav's there, without fail. And nobody else has ever been there for him like that. He's safe with them. Despite all the threats surrounding them, he feels safe for the first time in two hundred years.

So when he says it again, he knows what it means and he can say it with all the love and vulnerability his heart is just beginning to learn how to feel again.

"This is a gift, you know. Thank you--I won't forget it."

[starlesswritings]

❪ ♛ › * ✰ ❫ ⁖ ⁀ ➴ interpersonal. ░. ꒱

Vil Schoenheit never got up and close with anyone. It wasn't in his life to be able to get close with people. He was a public figure. From childhood, his personal life had slowly been stripped away from him, to be put on display, for others to swoon and fawn over the personal details that no longer were personal. That was okay. Vil was used to being in the spotlight. When one is under the lights and the flash of cameras are like second nature, things stop feeling amazing.

Perhaps that's a bad way to put it, but Vil wasn't sure how else to describe stardom. People thought it felt monumental, like a huge weight to bear, but when was born into the industry and raised like a prodigy, like a star, it was difficult to feel as if that wasn't... normal. Because, that was the normal for Vil. He worked harder and smarter so he could keep getting called back to the stage. He made himself likable. Why? So he would keep getting called back to work again.

"So. You have a few questions for me?"

"I do."

"Well, let's hear them," Vil said, leaning back with a regal air to relax a little bit, but just a little. He wouldn't want to look as if he were totally relaxed, unable to sit up straight at a moment's notice.

"You're a celebrity in this world, correct?"

"I am. I've been a model and actor, acting since I was a child."

"Oh. You started as a child... What made you keep going back for more? Wasn't it difficult?"

"Perhaps, but it's... useful."

Of course it was difficult. Nothing was ever not difficult in life. Men were not born to exist. Men were born to work. It was an intrinsic fact of life whether people wanted to acknowledge it or not. Men were useless if they didn't work. They needed a job to do. Vil had a job. It was a difficult job that had many faces, where more happened behind the scenes, and no one would ever see the full truth because he'd never tell them. That was his job. His job was to be perfect and exactly as everyone wanted him to be. That was his work. That was what made him useful.

"Do you have to be useful to live?"

"For me? Absolutely."

Why live at all if one was not useful? If they were simply wasting space and breath without making a contribution to the world, why were they there? Contributions didn't have to be something like donating large sums of money to organizations and charities that pocketed most of that cash anyway. Contributions didn't have to be sacrificing your own life to save another. It didn't have to hold that sort of weight that people recognized. It could be something foreign and unrecognizable.

Something, like smiling at the old man crossing the street as he could have needed some encouragement for the day. Lending a hand for a child who had tripped and fallen. Holding the door open for a large family. Greeting the sun and the morning air with a sense of gratitude. Allowing one's self to realize that it was okay to feel insignificant, because a lot of other people felt the same, and that just made the world turn.

"But, you aren't one of those, Vil. You're a star."

"Of course. That was just my path in life."

"Do you even like it? You're good at it, sure. But, doesn't a part of you hate your life?"

Vil flinched. The question was offensive. How dare some incompetent potato ask something like that? "Do I look as if I live uncomfortably?"

"Doesn't it ever bother you?"

"What would bother me?"

"Being recognized, for starters."

Vil laughed. "There's nothing wrong with being famous."

"Your every act is interpreted as a bigger statement. You are no longer living for yourself. You have to be under the constant gaze and scrutiny of people you've never even met, people who shouldn't be important to you, but they are. They say things about you, and it becomes so important to make sure they never say anything bad about you, right? Isn't it difficult? How would it not be, when you have to maintain a good figure that suits the audience — but your audience is the whole world? Get too thin and they'll say you're starving yourself. Gain a bit of weight and suddenly you're lazy. You think you can slouch for even a second, take a little breather, but nope! There's someone out there with their camera or the phone, and they're peering into your life like a stalker, like a faceless monster who doesn't even care that your life has been turned into a play for them to watch."

Vil wasn't sure how he had gotten into this conversation, but he wondered if there was a way to escape it. Another thought came to his mind, but he didn't want to ask, didn't want to broach upon what might have been a deeply profound subject.

"But, you can't remain quiet forever, because then, then! Someone comes along and asks whatever happened to you, as if you have to be in the spotlight under fire your whole life. You have to keep breaking records, making statements, and putting yourself out there, because you're not you anymore, you're what they asked for. If you become quiet, they suddenly think you're no good anymore, that you can't be any good because... well, why haven't they heard about you in the news? Why are their social feeds not teeming with thoughts of you, images of you, pictures and videos with your face all made up to be pretty to their standards?"

"Prefect..."

"Is it wrong to have a desire to get away from all of that?"

"What happened to you?" Vil wondered aloud, unable to help but become grotesquely curious at the person before him, speaking as if they had been in Vil's line of business for years. "Who are you?"

"I am Me. I don't know who else I am beyond that. Does it matter? Do you wish to know my star qualities? The talents I honed for years?" A bitter echo, a discordant laugh that was more like the pained cry of an animal. "Why do I have to show you? What makes you want to see me put on a show? I'm tired of that stage."

"The stage eventually calls you back," Vil reminded them. "Once you reach your audience, and you feel their support, don't you feel as if it pulls you back in?"

"You silly little dreamer."

"What did you just call me?" Vil hissed, as if he had been stung with a poison dart, straight to the heart. "I don't dream. I work. Dreaming is useless. Stupid."

"No. No, you keep working because you are still dreaming," the Prefect said with a sad smile. "You still dream, because you have hope, that things will change. If you keep working hard, that you can change the aspects of your life that haunt you. The things that torment your existence, the very air you breathe will become less stifling."

Vil wasn't sure what to say at all as the Prefect laughed. "I have given up on such fantasies. I am just selfish and stupid. I have no dream. No wishes."

That somehow made Vil feel angry. If asked, he would not have been able to give a coherent answer as to what particularly had made him so upset, but he said something incredibly harsh in the moment. It was most likely deemed wrong to say something like this to someone who clearly had suffered, but his anger made him do it. His anger made him spit out the words, "Then, why aren't you dead?"

"Hu?"

"If you find your life so unbearable... If you see no point to making any effort at all, why haven't you died yet?" Vil leaned forward. "What makes life worth living if you can't get what you want? If you are hopeless, why are you still here?"

"I..."

"There has to be a point to your life. If you can't find meaning in the things that you have done, what are you living for?" Vil challenged the Prefect with his words, voice swaying them to try and think about what they had said, the darkness that was blatantly there, and wrong, in Vil's opinion. "There must be a reason you had talent and chose to work on that talent."

"Whoever said I was talented?"

"I did. When people are young, their parents tend to guide them in the direction of wherever they seem most skilled, to try and give their child a head start in life."

The Prefect chuckled. "How miserable."

"You are only miserable if you choose to be so yourself."

"I choose to be miserable? How rich. I'm choosing to be miserable?" The Prefect shouted, "How does it feel to know that there are people out there who hate you when you've done nothing but live? How do you sleep when people mock you, make fun of you, spread false rumors and lies from things that have no basis of truth at all? How does it feel to be ostracized and cast out? I'm choosing to be miserable?!"

"Who are those people to you, that they make you feel pathetic?" Vil countered, fists balled up and clenched tightly at his side. "They don't know how hard you suffer, so of course they say reckless things! They don't understand the cost to get here!"

"How am I supposed to feel when that's all I'm seeing?" The Prefect weakly beat their fists against Vil's chest, because of course Vil was taller than they were. "People I thought were my friends! People who were supposed to be teaching me! Helping me! They hurt me most, what do I care about strangers? How about my friends?!"

The brief visage of blond hair and startling green eyes entered Vil's mind, but he pushed the mental image away. That wasn't quite the same thing. But, it was a little uncanny, how similar their stories felt, wasn't it? "Teachers," he repeated softly.

"Friends. Distant family. People close to me. People far away. It's as if everyone's out to get me."

Maybe they were. Vil knew better than to stalk his social media and check for himself, how bad the hate could get. The jealousy that ate away at human hearts and corroded the brain until it was rewired for violence and destruction. He knew that people were cold and bitter on the inside. Everyone was suffering from something, but did that mean one should cave in on themselves and give up? Giving up was unacceptable. That was what kept Vil going.

Rejection after rejection. He knew he could play the part of a protagonist. He knew he would play the part well, he knew it, but no one seemed to believe he would suit well. No, they wanted someone weak. Someone who didn't know what real suffering was like. Someone innocent and bright. They thought that was beautiful because they wanted to say they found that easy to relate to.

Ha, as if sunshine, rainbows, and daisies were relatable. The human hearts suffered. There were more cries of pain and tears of loneliness than there were jubilation and triumphs of joy.

Where were the heroes who had hit below the surface of rock bottom, and still chose to do the right thing? Couldn't Vil play that part? He just wanted to stay for the last scenes. He wanted to be the ending. He wanted to see that sight, what a glorious sight that must have been. He was chasing after that hope — it wasn't a dream, it was an aspiration, it was a dedicated goal.

"Whatever you want to call it, that's a freaking dream," the Prefect stated. "It's not going to happen."

"How dare you say that?!" Vil asked, pain shooting up his spine, towards his traitorous heart. "What would you know?!"

"They already found their figure for heroes," the Prefect spat out bitterly. "What does it matter if I think you'd be a perfect hero? What does it matter if you work your hardest if they clearly don't want you to succeed in your endeavors? They don't have to actively push you down. They just have to keep doing what they've always done. Things don't... things don't change. Life is a disappointment."

It was getting somewhat difficult to keep fighting someone who was so persistent in their darkness. Their twisted mind. The pierced holes others had struck into their skull were open wounds, the happiness and positivity they should have had kept oozing out of the holes like blood, flowing outside their form when it should have been kept inside. They had lost their ability to see the happiness they could have had in life. "You can change how your life feels. It doesn't have to feel so... difficult."

"Is that what you do every time you're given the part of a villain? Again and again? Do you tell yourself that you're grateful to be even acting? Is that what you should be telling yourself?"

What was the right way to think about this, actually? To not address to overwhelming agony that Vil felt every time he was to play the part of the bad guy... that's why he had blown up. He had overblotted because he had failed himself by not properly containing his rage. His anger. The negative emotion and pain that accompanied him, a person who others thought wanted for little to nothing. He had failed himself. Life was a battlefield not against the press, the reporters, the fans, the anti-fans, but against himself. He cared most about his own opinion. Rook Hunt could tell him he was beautiful all he liked. To an extent, he believed him, but that would only go so far.

No, he wanted to feel like he was beautiful. Inside and out.

But, Vil wasn't beautiful. He had such a long way to go before he could call himself beautiful. He was just an ugly teenage boy who was trying to be something he wasn't.

"I think you should stop talking," Vil muttered in anger. He didn't want to hear what the Prefect had to say. He was curious about their past, sure, their life before Twisted Wonderland, but he didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to get involved in their pain and suffering. He didn't want to hear. He didn't want to see.

He didn't want to think about how they had parallels and how they were similar in the most uncanny of ways. It was too much to ask of him. Too painful.

"If you wouldn't listen to me, who would?" the Prefect asked, voice twinged with a sadness and a pain Vil understood. "Why do I have to scream at myself alone? Why do I have to bear all of this by myself? Do I have to be strong all the time? Are you too, just like everyone else? Can't I cry? Can't I be sad? Am I supposed to hold my bleeding hands and feet to my chest and cry on my own? When I'm left holding my own scars, the ones I made, who's supposed to tell me it's alright?"

The more Vil listened, the less he wanted to hear. Too painful. Too much. Too similar. He wasn't sure if they were making poetic imagery or talking about things they had literally done to themselves, but either way, it was too damn much. He gave the same heartless answer he gave to himself. "You are strong. You'll manage. If you don't, you're weak, and the weak do not survive in this world."

"That's what a villain would say. What do you say?"

"Don't be foolish."

"Am I the fool here?"

What a riveting question. Vil was too young to know for sure. The world was full of uncertainties and this was certainly one that was far beyond his ability to answer to a satisfactory level. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to try and address this difficult question in the context of a heartless world. "You lack imagination to think up a brighter future for yourself."

"Try thinking of a brighter future when no one supports what you want. No one believes in you."

"What, in Twisted Wonderland, do you think I do every day?!"

"Lie to yourself!" the Prefect said with angry confidence. Hell hath no fury like that of a person who had been hurt repeatedly, again and again, scarred by one and all as if it didn't matter who hurt them, the truth of the matter was that everyone ended up hurting them. "Stop it. What's the point? You're never going to be a hero."

That hurt, coming from the Prefect of all people. At the end of the day, Vil was eighteen years old and somewhat unstable in the mind (as were most celebrities, whether they cared to admit it or not). Such pressure from so many outlets was not healthy for anyone to endure, and Vil was religiously hellbent upon enduring his sufferings all by himself. He didn't want others to know that things bothered him, that he was affected by the things others said about him, that he was deeply traumatized and scarred by things that did not exist any more.

He was still young, still trying to learn how to cope, with his personality, and in the end something within him snapped.

"What would you know about me?!" he yelled, hands clawing their way to the Prefect's throat, pressing down hard, cutting off their circulation and all ability to breathe in an instant. Anger. Pure rage. Jealousy. He was green with envy. Tons of people liked the Prefect. They were honestly teased but genuinely adored here, in Twisted Wonderland, or at least viewed as a person of great interest. They literally came from another world. There was some pulling sway that they had. "Who are you to judge me for trying so hard? I haven't given up because I don't want to, so why are you making it seem as if I'm the one in the wrong?!"

What would anyone know about Vil's suffering? What would anyone understand about it? How dare some idiot fool tell him to stop when he had a goal he was chasing after? He was Vil Schoenheit. If he wanted something and worked really hard for it, it was only a matter of time before he got it. Wasn't that the idea?

"Vil," the Prefect gasped, struggling to remove his hands from their partially crushed throat. "Hurts."

And, just like that, the curse was broken as Vil dropped his hold over the person that lay in a heap on the floor before him. His eyes shook within their sockets, hands trembling. What had he just done? Such strength... they were sure to be hurt. No, he knew. He had hurt them. He was everything everyone had ever said about him. A bully. A monster. Evil. He was a villain. Did he really deserve to even breathe?

His mind tugged this way and that. His ego versus his conscience were having the biggest smackdown of the century. "How could I have... after all that work... my efforts... was it all in vain?"

But, wasn't everything in vain? Hadn't that been the Prefect's point all along? Nothing ever came out the way he wanted. The results did not match his work and what he desired. No matter how much he sacrificed, it was never enough. He was never good enough. It was all a fruitless endeavor that would bear an empty harvest.

"Why is it that nothing goes my way?"

"I've been asking myself that question for a long time, now."

The truth of the matter, was really quite simple. Life was unfair.

People said that all the time without really thinking about the deep meaning behind that statement. People didn't want to address just how fair the unfairness went, or what kind of damage it wrecked on so many lives, while the real villains got away, scot free without having to suffer at all. Of course, some evildoers got caught, but it was always too late, and the punishment didn't feel like enough. The consequences did not match the suffering of the innocent, of those who didn't deserve what they got or did not get.

Maybe the Prefect was right. Maybe Vil would never be able to play the part of a hero. He wasn't cut out for it, according to those who had the power to give him that role. It didn't matter that Vil thought he could do it, Vil believed in himself, because the important people did not believe in him. That made his own opinion rather irrelevant and unimportant. Was this why he sought approval from the crowds? Was this what made him ask for other opinions besides his own. Validation, from outside sources, that told him he was beautiful?

He wasn't sure. It wasn't as if he devalued his own opinion. If he did not start out by thinking himself beautiful, there was no point in even asking others if they thought so or not. That was how he viewed things. That was how he chose to live.

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

Vil bristled. "For hurting you. I should not have, it's wrong, and now you're throat's damaged." It was, there was an ugly nasty bruise already forming across a neck that he had been squeezing just moments earlier. He was not an animal. He wasn't that floppy eel, he was supposed to be better than this, so why wasn't he? Was he really just not good enough? Was that really the issue?

"Oh, it's fine," the Prefect reassured him, waving a hand with a sad and totally empty smile. "I'm used to that. Though, I usually pass out before I get that far."

Was he supposed to take those words seriously? Were they for real? Vil didn't know, couldn't tell, because the Prefect had a mask on and Vil was beginning to think he couldn't read them at all, perhaps he couldn't read anyone well. After all, he hadn't been able to read him whatsoever, but could that really be blamed on Vil or was that Rook? Was it something just unique to the frenchman?

He didn't have time to think. The Prefect sunk to the floor and lay down. It alarmed Vil. Appearances, appearances, appearances. They would get dirty. They'd possibly get germs and other sick things from the shoes that had trodden these carpets. It was always about appearances until it simply wasn't. Why was he so obsessed with how he looked? It wasn't just how he looked, but he was obsessed with his outlook, and look where it got him. Look what he did.

"Prefect!" he cried, rushing to ascertain their condition. Several raging thoughts rang in his head like poison darts hitting a bell.

This is your fault.

You are to blame.

Vil Schoenheit, you are an evil villain.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, not at all sure what to do with someone who looked like they were seconds away from dying. This wasn't acting. This was real. It was really happening, and it was all Vil's fault, so of course he had to try and save them, but what could he do? The neck was such a tender area, it was so easy to permanently damage or kill someone from the neck...

"Please, live. I'm sorry. To think that I... I would do this!"

The Prefect smiled. Not necessarily a calm or happy smile, really. It was a little bitter and had some odd sense of bite to it. Not meant to hurt, but somehow it still did. "I won't die, don't be dramatic."

"You collapsed!"

"I told you. Normal. I was surprised it didn't happen sooner," they wheezed. "This is more or less an anxiety attack rather than you damaging my airways, you know. You didn't grip hard."

But, he had. He had gripped far too hard. He had hurt them. They had been hurt and it had been his fault, so he had to bear the responsibility of that. He had to take the blame because he knew that he had done something that had most definitely aided to the Prefect falling, no matter what excuse they tried to give him. He was most aggrieved at his own actions. He was really disgusting. Really villainous. Totally nasty and not worthy of staying on stage the longest.

"Can you breathe?" he asked quietly, briefly wondering at himself, how he could let a simple questionnaire from a person who came from a different world turn into something like this. Why hadn't he taken better care to keep the situation under control? Why had he been so stupid as to even answer such personal questions in the —

Oh, but there, he was already placing blame onto the Prefect by thinking those thoughts. No. The fault was his. He had acted out. He had been in the wrong. It was him that was wrong, not the rest of the world, no matter what he thought. Because, at the end of the day, what he thought was wrong. He was just wrong. Bad. No good. There was no goodness in him, and his actions only illustrated that loudly, for one and all to see.

"I can breathe, but Vil, you aren't breathing."

He'd been doing it again.

Vil released his own neck with a soft sigh, angry red marks visible, red, and ugly.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I'm sorry."

He woke up. Startled, because he actually remembered that dream, this time, and it made him feel a certain emotion that he could not quantify nor even begin to describe. Vil was the picture of perfection. Even when he slept, he was beautiful, and it was not something to question, argue with, or deny. Vil was a beautiful man and he did things in a manner he felt was beautiful. Beauty had so many characteristics and interpretations. Beauty could not be defined with just a single word.

The Prefect had fallen asleep on his chair. Typical, really. They were overworking themselves and stressing about nothing and everything all at once. They didn't know how to be anything else, did they?

Why was Vil thinking about that, exactly? He wasn't sure anymore, but the dream felt real. It felt raw and powerful and it was...

"Pathetic."

Why had he had that dream? Why was it a dream that he had to remember out of the hundreds, if not thousands, of other dreams he had dreamed which he could not recall even a little. Why had he remembered this dream, and was it supposed to mean anything to him? Was he supposed to take it as a deeper sign.

A flash of pale cheeks and an innocent smile.

No. Dreams were not meant to be taken as deep signs from above. It was a message from himself, to himself, about what he must do to further take steps that worked towards his goal. At the end of the day, it was just hard work wrought in reality that would get him where he wanted to be. Absolutely beautiful, to the point that everyone acknowledged it, that everyone would see it.

That he himself would feel that he had truly reached that monolithic goal.

He could do it. He knew he could do it. He had worked harder than anyone all his life so he could achieve that star that was far beyond him, to grab ahold of his wish and make it his own, to catch it, to make sure that this wish, this one wish, would never leave. He wouldn't let it leave. He couldn't. Not even the stars would be able to deny him if it was his own hard work that had gotten him there, right?

Why had the Prefect been in his dream?

Vil wasn't sure. Maybe because they just happened to be in the room while he slept? That didn't sound like a good enough reason. It was never a reason as flimsy and dull as that that made someone dream — he didn't really understand himself, did he? He didn't really understand the Prefect either. Why had they said all those things? Why had they looked so helpless and hopeless? It was really...

"Pathetic."

He repeated himself, going in an odd type of circle, his thoughts ringing in his head painfully as he drew near and grabbed the Prefect from the chair they were almost falling out of. It did not cut a graceful figure, and in any case, he didn't want their back to get twisted out of shape or for their neck to hurt later. They were clean, he knew this because he had made them wash themselves properly for the first time in their life (Vil knew his chemicals, knew his potions, and the Prefect was glowing, if he could say so himself). They would not soil up his sheets by simply lying there, and besides, he had to work. There were things to be done, so he gently laid them down and stared for a minute or so.

Ethereal.

Vil started. That was not a thought he should have had. He wasn't sure why that word had come to mind. The Prefect was the last thing that could be described as ethereal in every sense of the word. And yet, as he stared down at the sleeping figure, that word kept repeating itself in his head. Chant-like in a sense, the word kept being whispered, like a soft beckoning call, as if the word itself was a type of siren that was making him lean forward.

"What a curious creature you are, Prefect."

Of course, there was no response.

Vil kissed the Prefect's forehead with an amused puff of cold air leaving him after he rose to his full height once more. He had things to do. Work to complete. Tasks and goals to set for himself. Dreams were not for him. Maybe his dream had been for them.

Satisfied with himself in an indescribable way, he stretched his muscles and began to prepare himself for an early morning. Whenever the Prefect woke up, it would be most amusing to see how they reacted. Should he put on a show for them? No, probably not. It was more likely to create more problems than not. That dream he had dreamed was already being pushed to the back of his mind. If it had significance, that significance would show itself in real life. Not, just in dreams.

He failed to catch sight of the angry red marks on the Prefect's neck.

[naivesilver]

The lovely lovely LOVELIEST Acorn made me a gorgeous drawing of the puppet bros for my birthday...so obviously the inspiration hit for something where they were sad instead, and then it got SEVERELY out of hand. Sorry 🥰🥰🥰

~~~~~

Mokku realizes where the line sits within a couple months of living in Storybrooke. 

Not that he cares, honestly. The people in this land are a lot more mellow than the ones in his old village, but even if they weren't, it wouldn't make any difference - he's already lost an arm, and the rest of his body is littered with scars and other damage. It's not like anyone could do any worse, except maybe kill him proper, but even that doesn't seem to be a permanent thing, here. 

Still, it's a force of habit, at that point. He needs to figure out what he can or can't do, now that he's real and off to a new home - Picco's still scared he'll get turned back into a puppet if he misbehaves, but Mokku firmly believes that ship's long since sailed, for them. What's anyone going to do? Send tree spirits after him? Hilarious. Those bums never accomplished anything even when he was within reach. 

Hence, the line. There must be one because there's always one, a line he's not supposed to cross, a breaking point he shouldn't reach - once he's figured out he's not as likely to get pummeled for a mistake as he was back home, he needs to know what will prompt that reaction, just to be on the safe side. The other shoe will drop, eventually; he simply has to go about finding a likely reason for it. 

School's a disappointment, of course. They've got all the means to keep kids monitored and in check, and yet sneaking out is awfully easy, though August gets notified about it instantly, and gets on his case every bloody time. Even when Mokku deigns to show up, there's a lot of thick-headed people who think they can mess with him - they look so surprised when they realize he can fight back, it's almost hilarious. If only they knew he used to be able to get his point across even with branches sprouting out of his nose, they wouldn't be so quick to underestimate him, prosthetic arm and all. 

Then there's the stores. He doesn't need to steal anything, strictly speaking; he hasn't quite figured out why August and his father keep feeding and housing them all - pity, most likely, or some stupid sense of duty - but there hasn't been a day thus far where he, Cedar or Picco have gone wanting for something. In fact, there's a good chance Mr. Marco might be holding back from showering them with more stuff, but Mokku can't be sure of it just yet. 

He doesn't need to, but truth be told, it's funny to know something other people don't, and that's reason enough to do it. He sneaks a packet of gum in his pocket and it tastes twice as sweet when he pops it into his mouth. He gets sent to grab newspapers for August's father and he sticks a thin coloring book between them, trusting no one will check, and they don't - he goes home proud of himself and with a nice little gift for his brother, so that's a double win, in his cards. 

He gets caught. Once. It's humiliating and it only serves to make him try harder the next time, but as Emma frog marches him back to the house, he can't help but feel relieved - surely, that'll do it. If the sheriff leading him home by the scruff of his neck doesn't make August and everyone else blow a fuse, he's not sure what could do the trick. 

But it doesn't happen. Mokku gets a stern talking to and a warning not to do it again and his going to the store alone privilege revoked, but it doesn't go beyond that, and that's…weird. Either these people have infinite patience, they’re even dumber than he thought, or they’re planning to do worse when he’s not expecting it; in any case, he doesn’t want to find out, hence why he’s more careful when he gets the urge to swipe something again.

By then he’s starting to wonder whether the others have caught on what he’s doing. August’s about as observant as a teaspoon, and Picco’s blissfully unaware of anything beyond his toys, his food and his nosey duck, but Cedar seems to always pay attention to what's going on around her. Mokku supposes she must've been practicing for a while - she says her classmates at her old school often wouldn't tell her their news, because of her curse, so she had to resort to learning about them on her own. It makes sense that she would still be doing it. 

Still, it unnerves him, thinking about being watched all the time, so he makes a point not to think about it. It doesn't really work, but he figures he'll find out if it was just paranoia once he's been proved right about the other stuff. 

Except- no one has the grace to prove him right. They must have their limits, he knows they've got to have some, but he can't fucking find them - it drives him nuts, and that makes him nervous, and snappish, and short-tempered, and if it doesn't come to a head soon, he fears he'll explode. 

But then it does. Predictably, when he wasn't thinking about it, but less predictably, when he's fighting with his brother. 

What he thought about Picco was true - the boy doesn't have a single malicious bone in his new, chubby-cheeked body, and sometimes he seems to look at Mokku like the latter hung the moon. Picco's blameless. He's too small and empty-headed to do anything harmful. 

But Picco's also sharing a room with him, and he's loud, and mostly, he's got a whole lot of stuff Mokku will never have, like healthy limbs and a shot at growing up away from fairy meddling way earlier in life. He had no choice about it, if one's looking at it reasonably, but it's hard to be reasonable when you're already jealous and tired and quarreling over dumb stuff, so that's moot. 

Afterwards, Mokku won't even remember how it started. It's like it escalated out of nowhere, and suddenly they're yelling from opposite sides of the backyard instead of playing together - suddenly, he's so mad he can't even think straight, and though he doesn't hate his brother, he could never hate his brother, he hates this whining, pestering little boy who always seems to win in life, no matter what he does. 

Suddenly, he's sneering at Picco and going, “Stop that, you crybaby.”

“I'm not a crybaby!”

“Yes, you are. You cry like a baby, and August's gonna abandon you like one, just you wait!”

And then he freezes, just as the words are leaving his mouth. He's so shocked by them he stands there gaping like a fish, staring right ahead. 

Picco, for his part, looks just the same. His eyes grow wide and wider, like a cat in the dark, and he clamps his mouth shut as his chin begins to wobble despite his clear efforts to stop it. 

Then he turns on his heel and storms back inside, sobbing loud enough to be heard by the whole neighborhood. 

Mokku watches him go numbly, not even trying to stop his brother before there's an even bigger ruckus. It takes him several seconds to snap out of his trance, and when that happens he doesn't even walk away, and instead simply sinks down onto the back step, dropping his head in his hands. 

Great. Just great. He's been told time and time again how much of an idiot he is, but he's never agreed with it quite as much as he does now. He hasn’t just crossed a line - he’s stomped all over it like a crack in the pavement. He’s messed up so thoroughly he doesn’t even know where to start with it, honestly. 

Why he did that would be a good start, though. He was furious before, but now all his anger has vanished into thin air, disappeared like a puff of smoke, and- did he have to be so specific about the bullshit that he said? If there’s two things Picco’s terrified of, it’s being called whiny and being left behind, and Mokku’s just packed them neatly together in a handy little bundle to be more hurtful. Really, someone should hire him at the hospital, he’d probably be a hit with the patients.

He’s not even supposed to know about the business with the baby, for fuck’s sake. Emma told them about it once, but she insisted that it was all in the past, and that bringing it up again wouldn’t do anyone any good, so even if he manages to avoid any problems due to being an absolute arse, he’ll surely get in trouble for his big mouth. Lucky him.

The backdoor opens with a creak behind him, making him startle. He curls into himself, instinctively almost expecting a blow that doesn’t come, but it’s not the heavy steps of any of the men in the house - it’s just Cedar, her battered, paint-stained sandals stopping a couple feet from him as she looks down at the embarrassingly pitiful figure of her brother.

Then she says: “Just because you're having a bad time, doesn't mean everyone else needs to do the same, too.”

“I'm not having a bad time,” he mutters, his relief turning into displeasure. Can’t he wallow in his own stupidity in peace, for once?

“Oh, so you're just trying to have one?”

Mokku winces at the sharp disbelief in her voice, though he does his best to hide it. Cool, so his suppositions were right. What a good moment to find out. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

He feels, more than sees, Cedar roll her eyes at his response. “Please. You've been in a mood for weeks now- I’ve noticed, August has noticed, everyone has noticed. Either something's wrong, or you're just pissed out of nowhere. Which one is it?”

For some reason, her mentioning August sends a spike of anger through Mokku’s chest, burning like the stake. “Well then maybe everyone should mind their own fucking business, for a change!” He barks out, before he can think better of it.

He half expects the girl to just up and leave. He wouldn’t blame her, even if she did. She’d be better off going inside and comforting Picco, like as not. He’s being insufferable. Actually, he’s probably losing her affection left and right.

Instead, she descends a step and comes to sit beside him, her voice lowering a notch. “Would you like that? If we all stopped worrying about you forever after?”

“No! I mean- I just- Ugh.” He burrows his head in his hands again, fingers tugging at the coils of blue hair. “I just want these guys to stop acting like everything's fine. Like- what do you think they're gonna do once Picco tells them I've been an ass to him? They'll bitch and bitch about me trying to do better, and then they won't do anything. I could steal August's bike and run someone over and no one would lift a finger. What's wrong with them? What d'you gotta do to make them tick?”

There’s a long, heavy lull of silence, where the only sound is his sister’s foot tapping against the wood of the porch in a rhythmic, thoughtful pattern. Then she says, evenly: “Do you remember why I decided to stay here, even though I miss all my friends fairy much?”

Mokku can’t help but glance at her, eyebrows raised. What in the world…? “Because you wanted to be real without having to sign a book of stupid rules? You've told me this story before- what's that got to do with anything?”

He hears Cedar scoff, sounding quietly amused. “Well, yeah. Having the option to become a real girl without the whole destiny debacle was definitely a bonus. But that's not the only reason.” Unexpectedly, she reaches out to take his hand - the good one, the one that doesn’t need machinery or magic to function, that can still feel the warmth of her brown skin against his own.

“People are nicer here, Mokku. Back home, they- you couldn't do anything out of the ordinary without older folks, or- or Royals breathing down your neck. They couldn't hurt us, but they did everything they could to make our life miserable if we didn't make the right choices. 

“But in Storybrooke, it's all different. Snow White is friends with the Evil Queen, and she's not constantly asking her for a poisoned apple. I'm real, and I didn't even have to get turned into a donkey. There's no- no danger everywhere, but even so, everyone's looking out for me. For us. 

“You want to know why they don't get mad at you? Or me, or Picco? It's because here, if we mess up, they're not angry- they start worrying. They want to know why it's happening and if we're hurt. You can push August's buttons all day, every day, but he's not going to kick you out just because. You're just going to make everyone sick with worry.”

She sighs again, shaking her head. “Look- what happened to you was messed up. But if you keep acting like you've been acting lately, you'll just hurt yourself again, and you'll hurt us, too- but that would be cruel, and you're not cruel, Mokku.”

“I bet Picco's going to disagree, if you ask him later,” he mutters, and he hates hates hates that his voice cracks, thick with an emotion he can barely place and that makes his eyes sting and his throat burn. He doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t. He’s not going to.

But Cedar is still talking, mindless of the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. “I'm not saying what you did was smart. But you know you didn't mean that, and- and he'll understand, too, if you apologize. But you have to apologize, and then you need to explain yourself to someone. Someone grown up- it doesn't have to be August, because I know you're a royal pain when it comes to talking to August, but someone. We can't fix it if you don't talk and just elbow people in the teeth. 

“Just… Please, don't shut us out. I'm scared, too, but I promise that everything will be fine. Okay? Please.”

She squeezes his hand again, tight and firm, without another word. Then she gets up and ducks back inside, leaving Mokku alone with his pounding head once again.

[not-goldy]

just because he sings all JMs songs on his live- to promote his music to his unique fans, boost his reach, generate sales from the free ad and marketing- doesn't mean he supports him."

LMAO NO WAY you really think jungkook put jimin's songs out to a bigger audience? how insulting wow. i see now you are one of those jikookers who think jungkook is the bigger artist between the two right... right... how could i forget those stream increases after those handful of lives (never happened btw nice reach jungkook!) or how it boosted jimin's sales (never happened again) no you're right so kind of superstar jungkook to help poor jiminie lmfao give me a break. honestly a shame god free jimin from the likes of you

Screech like a pterodactyl all you want numbers don't lie. And i know you are dumb but Unique fans simply means, in marketing terms, fans of Jungkook who are not fans of Jimin or BTS.

You, as a solo, will count as a unique fan of Jimin while I by virtue if being both Jk Stan and Army as will not count as Jm's unique fan even if he's my bias because I fall within the intersect on the fan venn diagram.

Common sense, should tell you- you don't need to be a marketing expert for this- cross promoting eachother to eachother's unique audience is good for business. If not, hybe wouldn't spend so much money building a platform like Weverse using BTS's massive fan base as leverage and even sometimes deliberately sending notifications of other groups to us acting like it was an accident.

Since they have the same fans, there would be no need for any BTS member to show up on Suga's shows to promote nothing yet here we are- does that make Suga a bigger star than Jimin or Jungkook or any member he features on his show?? Are you stupid?

You are wrong and you know it. Your toxic ass tryna create drama but no one's falling for it mate 😹

I'm glad you enjoy my emojis and gifs- they are cute aren't they😊

Now take your attention seeking drama queen crown off to the misery lounge and bitch complain to the other miserable folks in your band.

You will sit here and complain about Jimin not being pushed and supported and given the same treatment as Jungkook yet turn around puffing your chest out alleging Jimin is bigger and needs no damn support from no one let alone Jungkook.

Choose a struggle. Choose a narrative and stick with it. If JM is big and powerful and successful all on his own why the hell does he need assistance from anyone at all?

And I agree he doesn't need Jk's assistance. What is that going to do for him? Why give Army and Hybe trouble for focusing their energies and resources on the poor helpless ones with the actual problems who need help and support from fans and the company?

Since Jimin got his degree and he knows everything- don't you think it makes sense why Jungkook should be pushed and supported by well everyone? Poor Jungkook he needs to be pushed to be put on the same scale as his successful hyung because he is lacking.

Guys like share and comment Jungkook needs all the help he can get

And turn out your pockets we need money for studio

While we are at it the Pride fight for love shirts are out

Let's do our thing and sell out. We need the money to buy handcream. And keep streaming to keep him on bb🥂

Yall keep setting Jimin up it's crazy

If he wasn't my bias, I wouldn't even want to mention him post him or talk about him to avoid attracting lunatics like you.

Makes a lot of sense why Big OT7s stay far away from Jimin. His solos are toxic as fuck.

And to think, we show random kpop idols love just because BTS mention them or talk about them.

Too many of us had no choice than to accept Jikook just because Jimin fucks with jk. We all have our own ship preferences and yet here we are.

Not long ago I had my own people call me out for supporting Taemin when he'd been accused of making colorist remarks. I could Stan the devil if Park Jimin smiled at him just once. It's crazy the vitriol and hate towards Jungkook even though he's Jimin's favorite- a fact he's made known and iterated over and over.

Naa Jimin, it's time to put timberland boots in the guts of some of your so called Stans. They can't call themselves your stans and hate your family it's crazy.

And I used to hate Army for hating on Jm stans and solos but godamn I'm gonna have to jump on that bandwagon.

Free Jimin from Me, Mr Jimin will pick me choose me over your pathetic ass any day. Wanna bet?

Talking bout yea Jungkook did all that for Jimin but it was in the pandemic years ago- well Hobi went to support him eons ago what's up?

Jk sent trucks to his friends a while ago. So what's your point?

Jimin earned BBs months ago what's your point?

Hybe abused and traumatized him years ago, what's your point?

Nothing you say matters hereon, from your own logic, since they happened years, months, weeks, days, hours and minutes ago- so again what's your point bringing any of them up?

You're gonna act like you know shit when we only know what these men CHOOSE TO MAKE PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE.

Imagine judging someone by the little to no knowledge you have of him and what he does behind the scenes.

Not too long ago he was an asshole and fuck boy with zero social skills- now suddenly he's the model friend sending out trucks and buying jewelry for his friends??

YOU AINT SHIT

[elizaxspears]

Ronilliam: Under the Mistletoe

Just a little something I did for the season!

************

The holidays don’t have much meaning to a Grim Reaper. Death does not take a holiday meaning they work all year round but that doesn’t mean they don’t decide to make things at least, a little festive around this time of year. However cliche it is, they’ve hung up mistletoe above the break room door. It doesn’t accumulate all that much, those that do walk under it together, either coming in with the other or in passing the opposite way, mostly just spare a kiss on the cheek, unless you’re Eric who makes it a big deal about it whenever he’s able to catch Alan just walking underneath. The smaller reaper just rolls his eyes but he lets Eric indulge in his fun.

Ronald’s the second most popular under the mistletoe. He has no problem stealing a few kisses here and there, his reputation preceding him after all. He was charming and he knew it; a wink here, a smile there, it was obvious why most of dispatch was fond of him.

Unsurprisingly, the one reaper who blatantly avoids the mistletoe, is William. He does so every year, either waiting until the room is empty or slipping in sideways to make sure he doesn't step foot under it. The first couple of years when they started doing this, some reapers, including Grell, did try to catch him but even if he did forget it was there, it was very clear he was in no mood for a kiss.

What everyone doesn’t know, is that Ronald had been trying to get a kiss from William for a while now. Well, maybe not a kiss, but at least a date but the man was either oblivious, ignored him or both. Ronald assumes nothing would ever happen between them because why would it? William’s his superior and far older than he is, so if anyone would catch William’s affections, it’d be one of the older reapers who’d match William’s maturity.

He’s in the breakroom with Grell, going over their death lists together, wondering if they could squeeze in a few small breaks here and there when both their attention is drawn to William whose focus is on what he’s reading. Ronald just watches from afar, admiring the man he’s had a crush on for so long now, one he hopes was at least, a little bit of a secret. It’s not that he cared if someone knew, he just knew once something got out, it was bound to be twisted by gossip. “I am so sorry sir!”

Ronald blinks and he’s back in the present with Alan actually being the one to apologise. There’s papers strewn all over the floor now, so Ronald can only guess what happened and he knows everyone bets that he doesn’t look as angry as he usually would because it was Alan that ran into him. “It’s fine, Humphries but do watch where you’re going next time.” the older man sighs, crouching down to pick up the papers.

Right away, Ronald goes to help, collecting the papers William hasn’t yet, offering his superior his lady-killer smile. “Evenin’ sir! Heh, looks like it’s snowing inside hey?”

William looks unimpressed as he collects the offered papers from Ronald’s hands, standing back up. “Thank you Knox.”

“Yeah! No problem.” Ronald shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, been busy today?”

“As it tends to be.”

“Well, if you ever need assistance, look no further.” he winks.

William arches an eyebrow. “Now I find that hard to believe.”

“Aw why? I promise I’m a good helper, swear up and down!”

“I’ll believe it when I–”

“Oi! That’s the longest you’ve stood under that in a bit!”

Both their attention swaps to Eric who’s now sitting with Alan and Grell. William then looks up, recalling that yes, they’re standing under mistletoe. “Ah. Right.”

“It’d be a shame to just stand there and do nothing, wouldn’t it?” Grell prods, trawling a lock of hair around her finger.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt.” Alan agrees, with a knowing smile.

Ronald blinks then looks back at William, realising this was somehow planned. He swallows and rubs the back of his head, “I mean, they got a point.”

William now looks down to Ronald, clutching tighter to the papers he’s holding. He searches Ronald’s face before glancing away and pushing up his glasses, “ridiculous.” he mutters, already beginning to walk away. “Knox, I’d like to see you in my office after our shift.”

Ronald feels his heart drop to his stomach as William continues walking away. “Yeah. Okay sir.” he says despite William being unable to hear him. Instead, he dejectedly walks back to his friends. “Well, you guys tried, so, thanks.”

“I’m sorry Ronnie.” Grell says, stroking her fingers through Ronald’s hair.

“It was worth a shot.” Alan agrees.

“But now he wants to see me in his office which we all know only ends poorly.” Ronald groans.

“Ah I wouldn’t worry too much.” says Eric, crossing his arms behind his head.

Ronald doesn’t hold out much hope, so when the set time comes, and he has to go to William’s office, he’s got an apology ready on his tongue. When he’s granted access, William’s standing by the window behind his desk, watching the gently falling snow and twinkling lights of the stars. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

William turns around then ushers Ronald toward him. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” he asks when Ronald’s now standing next to him.

“Yeah. The snow always makes things really pretty.”

“Indeed it does.”

For a bit, there’s nothing said between them as they stand to watch the multitude of snowflakes falling from the sky. It’s not until Ronald’s unease gets the best of him that he asks, “I don’t wanna sound, I dunno, pushy or anything, but, why’d you call me to your office, sir?”

William finally turns to Ronald and grabs both his hands, holding them firmly. “I wanted you here to tell you, that I do no not mistletoe as an excuse to kiss you.” Ronald’s eyes fly wide as William actually leans down and kisses him. The other reaper’s lips are soft and the kiss is a little hesitant and clearly he’s reading Ronald’s stunned reaction wrong as he starts pulling away. He wiggles his hands from William’s and grasps the lapels of the older reaper’s blazer, yanking him back into the kiss. The startle sound he hears William make is satisfying and he can’t help but smile into the kiss.

As they mutually begin to part, Ronald doesn’t let William go. He’s smiling even wider at his superior and in turn, he gets a soft, genuine smile from William. “So…does that mean you like me?” he asks.

“Must I answer?”

“Yeah. I wanna hear it.”

William sighs, his own cheeks a bright pink, “I…like you, Ronald. I have for some time now.”

“But my flirty went right over your head.”

“I am not that dense, thank you.” William rolls his eyes. “I was just, usure if you were being genuine. I know some like to pretend they have an interest in order to get something from me.”

Ronald reaches up and cups William’s cheek, “well, I promise sir. That’s not why I was doin’ it. I genuinely like you too.”

William presses Ronald’s hand closer to his cheek, closing his eyes. “It’s…it’s very gratifying to hear that.”

Ronald slips his hand from William’s cheek to wrap his arms around William’s waist, pressing himself against the other reaper. “Good.”

William’s arms are warm as they wrap around him in turn, holding tight against his body. They continue to watch the snow, Ronald snuggling even closer. “I should thank the others.”

“Thank them?”

“They’re the ones who tried to set up our mistletoe moment. I mean, Alan was the one who ran into you.”

“Ah. I had a feeling that was on purpose as that wasn’t like him to run into someone.”

“Yep.” he looks up at William again. “I know we don’t usually do anything for the holidays, but, can I spend them with you?”

William chuckles, holding Ronald just that little bit closer. “Of course. I was hoping you would.”

[evicted-oc]

Admin: hey I'm still alive :D I haven't done a main post in so long and I'm slowly getting back into it! I felt like doing a little bit of angst so here's this monstrosity. Keep in mind I'm not a writer. Except more writing in the future! I want to progress this bot more

A bit of background knowledge: Hœnir's original home was constantly at war with another group. They fought for years and neither side were winning. The leaders of both groups decided to offer up their best warriors to give to the other side. Hœnir happened to be one of them who was traded off. They would torture Nir constantly. It took Nir years to escape and ever since then, they have been looking for him.

Warnings: my shitty writing skills, kidnapping, torture, stabbing, force fed glass, blood, broken bones, beating

Arawn was sitting at a table along with some of the other Celtic and Norse gods. They all had a meeting planned and more gods started to trickle in. Arawn was bouncing his leg nervously and chewing on his lip. It was rather quiet amongst the gods, they all could hear his platformed shoe squeak as it bounces on the marble floor.

He taps his finger on the arm rest before clearing his throat to break the silence. "Has anyone seen Nir recently?" He asks, scanning the other's faces. Most mutter quietly, trying to think back to the last time they saw the small god.

"I saw them yesterday at their café. He gave me a cookie." Morrigan speaks up softly, already starting to get worried. "I've had an off feeling all day... do you think?-" She gasps and covers her mouth. "No it couldn't be them. Would they really do that?"

All the gods and goddesses eye each other sadly before collectively getting up and preparing what they need.

*28 hours earlier at Hœnir's café*

It was around 8 at night when Hœnir was closing up their café. They locked the door and put on noise canceling head phones. There was some loud noises going on outside and it was giving him a headache. The only thing they could hear was his own thoughts. They quietly humed to themself as they cleaned up around the café and tidied it all up. He stood up straight and took a minute to look around at everything, making sure nothing was out of place.

Just as he was looking over the café, a group of three people snuck up quietly behind him. One of them took a cloth and put it over Nir's mouth and the other two held his arms and legs still.

Nir was thrashing around and attempting to use their powers to get out of the unknown peoples grips. However, whatever was on the cloth prevented Nir from using any of their powers. His eyes slowly rolled back into their head as they fell unconscious.

*back at Asguard*

Morrigan was focusing on trying to find Hœnir. Due to some of her powers, she can sense where any sort of violence and disruption is. Her eyes shoot open when she finally can see a glimpse of Nir. "He's there."

Those were the only two words she got out before Arawn, her, Cailleach, Donn, and Balor got up to leave. The other gods were on stand by and watching from the sidelines, ready to jump in.

Loki said their goodbyes to Donn, doing their best to hold back any tears. "You die and I bite you." She mumbled to Donn, who only chuckled in response. They share a kiss and Donn leaves to go to the chariot.

Arawn was facetiming his boyfriend, mumbling quietly to keep their conversation private. He puts the phone in his pocket, but doesn't hang up. He zips up the pocket and follows close behind Donn.

"Am I the only one excited for this?" Cailleach bounces. "I'm ready to make people sick!" She squeals as Morrigan nods her head in disappointment. Balor grins and wraps an arm around Cail. "I'm excited too~ I haven't hurt anyone since I got locked in that damn cell." He fixes his mask and pulls both Cailleach and Morrigan to the chariot. And with that, the five gods and goddesses were off.

Below this cut has a bit of a torture scene! Please read the warnings

*It has been 32 hours since Hœnir has been captured. They have been taken to a dungeon and is tied up with enchanted rope. During those many hours, they have been hit and kicked countless times, and both of his legs are broken. He's positive one of the bones in their legs have been shattered*

Hœnir is exhausted. They don't know how many hours they have been awake for. They just want to fall asleep and hope this nightmare will be over. His legs were aching from being forced to sit on and because both were bent at angles that shouldn't be bent.

It was silent in the room. Hœnirs eyes slowly started to fall close. He thought he was safe at the moment. They let their guard down as they slowly fall deep into their thoughts. Nir was ripped away from that trance by a heavy kick to the side. Loud crunching can be heard which causes Nir to grit his teeth, trying their best to fight off a pained whimper.

They do their best to keep a straight face, not wanting to show any pain or weakness. His nose scrunches up slightly when his hair was grabbed, forcing his head back. One of his kidnappers was holding up a small bag full of glass shards.

"Remember this?~" They ask with an evil grin. Any colour left in Nir's face dropped. "No-" he barely mutters out before his mouth his forced open.

"Oh yes you do~ now open up. This will only hurt for a bit~" He laughs and grabs a shard of glass, shoving it into the back of Nir's throat.

*back to the 5 gods/goddesses*

The five godly beings arrived at the destination. They made it into the building quietly before all hell broke lose. There was about 40 people waiting inside for them.

*I'm really bad at fight scenes but basically it takes the gods about 15 minutes to defeat all of them*

Morrigan stood up once she defeated the last person. She stretches her arms up and wraps the deep stab wound she has on her arm. "Its been a long time since I've done this- I'm rusty as hell."

Cailleach runs over to Morrigan and hugs her tight. "I got to fight people!" She squeals happily. There was one person still barely left alive. He grabbed Cail's foot and yanked her down. She smacked her cheek hard on the ground, causing the skin to break open. "Well thats fucking rude-" She coughs on him which causes him to get sick with the bubonic plague and slowly die. She hops up and dusts her shirt off. "Did you see that Morr?! I missed making people sick!" She bounces and hugs Morrigan tight again.

Morrigan chuckles and tugs Cail. "You can tell me all about it later. But first we need to get Hœnir."

Balor slowly walks behind the two girls with his ax swung over his shoulder. "Huh.. I don't think my fingers are supposed to be facing that direction." He mutters and looks at his hand curiously.

Arawn practically drags Donn out of the main room and the two of them run everywhere to find Nir. They head down into the dungeons where they can hear small pained noises. Arawn quickly covers up his bloodied hand with a bandage and looks over at Donn.

Donn nods, silently communicating with each other. He summons the dead which causes his arms to go black all the way up to his shoulders. He tightly closes his eyes, trying to ignore the burning sensation. He acts quick and commands the dead to barge into the room.

*Hœnir's perspective*

He was handling blow after blow. Hit after hit. Stab after stab. He knelt there and quietly took all of it. Whatever the three people threw at him, they took it without a peep.

Hœnir's head shoots up when the doors slam open. They knew immediately who it was and the tears they were holding back started flowing down their cheeks.

The dead dragged the three kidnappers down to hell where Donn and Arawn would take care of them later.

Arawn rushed over to Nir and immediately untied him and picked him up. Nir was sobbing, weak and covered in blood and bruises. "I-i want to go home." They cry and cling onto Arawn.

Arawn quietly comforts them and holds them as carefully as possible. "We'll get you home."

AND FINISHED. Welp that was long. Please let me know if I need to add anymore warnings or anything like that. This was way longer than I expected. Hope you enjoyed :D be prepared for more angst in the future

Tags: @livealittleoc-cb @the-hellhounds @kardpackcb @beaconhillsxbot @domxbot @florintradat @beastfights-starting @romeochen @welcometosector1 @dawnswonderland-entertainment @mxthxbot @k-venturetime @cafesongmingi @reve-rv @multi-esme @3rachabot @elemental-dream @badbf-cb @mutant-academy @pasdrak @theonesxcb @clubwnderland @kenharu @dark-royals-cb @namiras-rose-tattoos @hoteldelluna-rp @model-boyscb @logan-oc-cb @moongods-cb @enhanced-cb @thedevoted-cb @tsunfullsunbot @san-cb @domrachaa @silcntxnight @timmburrton @league-of-assassins @androidmuses

[incatswetrustamen]

I've been told to post about current light of my life, my OC's in Baldurs Gate 3.

I'm on my 3rd playthrough and I was getting one of the hirelings from withers I picked the tiefling druid ( which is my favorite class and race) and noticed he kinda looked like the male version of my tav, also is the same type of tiefling and had a similar background. So I changed his color and hair style and made a headcanon.

The hireling is my tavs twin brother that died as she was getting abducted on the nautiloid. And with Withers knowing that he is allowing her brother in "some capacity" to aid her on her journey.

So yeah, meet the twins Uitni and Uil'jam. And here is their story so far:

Uitni, like always in her life has taken charge and control of the whole marry band. Uil'jam is just happy that despite being dead he can still be with his sister. Uitni always was the one front and center growing up. Uil'jam was more shy and reserved following behind his sister. Both are stubborn and headstrong, Uil'jam is just more quite about it. Where Uitni will tell you to go fuck yourself to your face.

The party doesn't seem to mind the twins, but as almost everyone is an only child they cant see why Uitni and Uil'jam speed so much time together, especially dinner time, on the ledge above camp every night.

It's not like the twins do not share in everyone's company. Quite the opposite. Uil'jam is either listing to stories told my Wyll about being the Blade, Lea'zel's time hunting mindflayers or Karlach's journey in avernus. He loves their tales. Uitni is normaly gossiping with Gale, Shadowheart and Astarion over a nice glass of wine. But at dinner time the twins grab their servings and climb up high and chat amongst themselves. They do this in a way to remember home. When no matter what happened in the day they would sit around the table with their grandfather and share their meal and catch up. Friends or lovers were not allowed to join dinner as it was a time for family. They talk about what has come to pass, the fear of the future; sometimes they just sit in silence and just enjoy the sounds of camp together.

Now the twins are saying their goodbyes to the Grove and their fellow tieflings.

Uil'jam prayed and left offerings to the Oak Father before they departed. Knowing he may not get a chance to ever step foot in a Grove, let alone true nature ever again. He remembers Baldur's Gate and the surrounding area and how he hated it there. Uitni thrived, so many pockets to steal from. He never understood why she felt the need to. Their grandfather Dzhozef Stonebird is a well known dwarven blacksmith both in Baldurs Gate lower city and then later as well, in the sea side village they moved to after their mother and grandmother passed. The Stonebird family wasn't rich, but was comfortable or so Uil'jam thought. Uitni never let on to her brother how hard it was at times. Stealing and conning people wasn't about just helping put food on the table, it gave her a sense of control against the ones who shamed them. Shamed the history of how their family.

Uil'jam was melancholy during the party, at the memories he couldn't shake and the fears that gripped him. And one in the party noticed this distance from the festivities and decided to interject with a bottle of wine. Shadowheart recognized those thousand mile looks, she sees them in the mirror everyday since walking up on that beach. They sat at Shadowhearts tent all night, going through 3 bottles of wine almost didn't speak to anyone else at the party. It was the first time either one felt a sense of normalcy. They both drifted to sleep smiling that night.

Uitni was grateful to be done with the goblins. Days of fighting and scouring the ruined temple left her bone tired. All she wanted to do was have a few drinks, flirt with Wyll and sleep. Luckily the gods favored her and allowed her to check off her entire list. She was able to even steal a kiss from Wyll at the riverside. His smile afterwards and the promise of more time for them later lulled her to best sleep she's had in weeks.

Sadly there was still work to do. Halsin informed the party of needing to get to Moonrise and exploring the underdark.

The underdark proved to be eventful to say the least. Friendly Hobgoblins and Mind flyers, Myconids welcoming the party into their circle, finding a mushroom that is helping Shadowheart with her memories. Not to mention the grymforge, saving Barucs again and finding the passage to Moonrise. But Moonrise has to wait, as Lae'zel demands going to the creche. So now it's time to trek backup to the surface.

While down in the underdark, it hasn't gone unnoticed by Uitni how Uil'jam is spending all his free time at camp with Shadowheart. She loves how he's sweet on her but the fear of the future keeps get up at night. Well Withers let Uil'jam stay after the Absolute issue is resolved? Will any of them even survive long enough for that to even be a concern? Will everyone be mind flyers tomorrow ? She doesn't know, all she can do is live in the small moments as long as she can. After their kiss, Uitni had been gravitating towards Wyll sometimes without noticing. During a fight she covers his right side. While they are walking she's in step with him, talking about everything and nothing at all. He brings her peace during all the chaos.

Now on to the creche.