#if done right this would make for a gut-wrenching fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heyhihellosworld · 2 years ago

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𝗣𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗿

Lewis Hamilton x reader

Word count: 4,2k

Summary: Your first assignment in your new business seems to be a little too good to be true thanks to one British guy.

Warnings: Fluff, smut

Notes: First time I wrote for Lewis but it was pretty fun. I think this is my first fic without angst, wow. This has been in my drafts for months because I never seemed to be able to finish it but finally I did, its not the best. The smut is horrible as well, sorry x

"Are you ever gonna let that camera go?"

You rolled your eyes at your friends remark, she had been a pain in the ass the whole day. Nagging you about seeing the real thing but you didn't mind her. Photography was why you where here in the first place.

"No, this is what I do, remember?"

You watched up just in time to see her eyes roll, your own almost hurting to not do the same. "Can you at least put it down so we can go and eat, I'm starving" she tried, a whining strain to her voice.

"Only if it makes you shut up" you grumbled, giving her a grin to let her know you were joking with her. "Yeah yeah" she chuckled, clapping her hands together as you put your camera down in its case gently.

"Finally"

You shook your head at her, flinging an arm around her shoulders as you let the camera dangle from your neck "so what do you wanna eat?"

You settled for a sandwich in one of the cafeterias around the paddock, sitting in two of the chairs close to the track while chatting. There was nothing going on at the moment, practice two was just done here in Silverstone.

Your friend seemed in a much better mood after your food and didn't bat an eyelash as you told her you had to get some more photographs around the track. She was more interested in going around to look for drivers since you had access to all the space thanks to your job.

"Then we will go around the garages" you promised, smiling as her face lit up. She had agreed to come this first time since you were too nervous to go alone, she din't know shit about f1 but she found the drivers hot, of course, so she had agreed and despite her ranting and whining from time to time you were grateful she was here. This whole experience was gut wrenching as it was and to be lonely all weekend would have made it even more so.

She stayed in the seat on her phone as you started to move away in the paddock. Getting some close ups on the track and facilities. You had just started in the business, driving your own photography company. It had been rough in the beginning and really scary but with the support of your family and friends you had thrown yourself out there and gone for it and it had already paid off.

So far it was all good, you had gotten multiple assignments, surely pretty small ones like a one to one photo shoot and a couple shoot but it was rolling. This was your first bigger assignment, an assignment taken on from a magazine regarding Formula one and so here you were, photographing and plating their magazine and website.

You pull your phone out to text your friend to meet you by the garage while you walked into the corner. You didn't know a lot about formula 1, probably even less than your friend but you had googled the basics in panic the day before you went to not look like a complete fool, but it was still very new.

You leant against the wall in the far corner, it was pretty calm in the paddock right now, most people being inside their garages, eating or just relaxing in their motor-homes. You flicked through some of the photos you had taken, you were really happy with the result so far. You had all you needed of the race-track and the paddock ones were almost done. Now you needed more inside photos, something that couldn't have been taken by anyone.

You angled your camera again zooming in on the person that where now walking straight to you. He was looking up in the sky as he walked, his cap low and hair sticking out from the back, he was smiling lazily, hands in pockets and he looked amazing, at least through your lence.

You quickly snapped a couple of photos, seeing how the action got his attention, now looking straight at you as you snapped some more before his face turned confused and the pictures didn't turn out as great anymore.

You lowered the camera again, flicking through the few pictures and you couldn't help but smile at how good they looked. This was what you needed.

"Uh, excuse me did you just take pictures of me?" Your head snapped up, falling out of your happy bubble as you were face to face with the man. You swallowed, not really knowing what to say. "Uh-I yeah? Is that not okay?"

The man shook his head "No no, it's all good just weren't prepared for it"

You nodded, smiling up at him, he was definitely as good looking in reality as in your lence. You forced your eyes down, flicking the first pic up on your screen "They got really good, look"

He reached down, a smile making it's way on his face as he hummed "It's really good actually, you think I can get that?"

You thought it over before shrugging "yeah sure"

He got stuck in thoughts, "eh, I can't really give you my phone number..."

You chuckled "Well then it's gonna be hard"

He nodded, "Are you gonna post them somewhere, maybe you can send them on Instagram?"

"Yeah sure, can't guarantee the quality but sure, what's your name"

He blinked at you, one two three times making you feel stupid. "What?"

"Aren't someone who is here to photograph supposed to know the drivers?" he chuckled teasingly, his eyes sparkling as he showed his perfect line of teeth.

"Oh"

Heat covered your cheeks as you realized your mistake

"Lewis Hamilton" he grinned, chuckling as he saw you write it down. "Well that's actually fantastic" you hummed, impressed by yourself even more now, not only a good picture from the inside but an amazing picture of a driver, well done.

"Not to be rude or anything but it dosen't seem like you belong here on a daily basis"

You smiled at him, loving how natural he was to speak with. "Well no not really. I have just started my new assignment to take photos for a magazine and website about formula 1 so here I am. I have never seen the sport before and I have absolutely no clue on what's going on"

He smiled sweetly. "Well, if you want too I can take you around into Mercedes and maybe show you this side of the paddock?"

Your eyes flicked to him, surprised over his offer "Really?"

"Yeah of course, consider it payment for the nice picture"

You chuckled, humming at him "Then it's better be good"

His smile widened as he nodded "It will, come on"

You followed him on the way, it was still fairly empty. Your eyes got stuck on his side profile, he was gorgeous in a way not many where, everything about his face fitting perfectly together, his eyes the softest ones you had ever laid eyes on and his whole person was just.. beautiful.

"So, what's your name?" he asked, looking at you as you quickly moved your eyes to your camera, flicking and clearing through the pictures. "Y/N" you hummed

"So what's this job you've got?"

"Well actually it's my own business. I created my own company a few months ago to be able to do what I wanted to but under my own terms"

"Wow that's really cool" he hummed making you scoff. "What are you saying, you're a freaking race driver" you chuckled, seeing him flash a smile "It's different things"

You arrived at the Mercedes garage and you immediately snapped your camera up, you had gotten strict directives that you couldn't photograph any details nor while they where working on something specific. You could photograph staff and drivers but all photos had to be gone through by the teams before being posted.

You took some stray photos of the workers, the car and on Lewis's back as he walked further into the garage. You pointed the camera down for a little while as he showed you through the area, he told some stories about Mercedes, showed different mechanical things and talked you through the basics of a race weekend. You didn't know whether it was because it was an actual interesting sport or because of the guy who was telling you about it all but you were intrigued.

Lewis dragged you around, watching as you stopped to take pictures every now and then before you left the garage, going out on the street again where your friend was waiting with a sour look.

"Shit i'm so sorry"

She only raised her eyebrows with a small shake of her head but the smile betrayed her. Her eyes snapped and face fell as her eyes landed on Lewis behind you, mouth slightly open as she stared at you. "That is why you left me here?!"

"He showed me around the garage" you chuckled, leading her towards Lewis who looked at the two of you "Right, okay if my friend comes along for the rest of the tour?"

"No of course not" Lewis smile, showing his perfect line of teeth. "Lewis"

Your friend introduced herself, still looking at him like he was from another world.

"Right, I will just run in and grab my water bottle, wait here" Lewis smiled, jogging back into the garage whilst your friend turned to you.

"Wow" she breathed, looking at you with big eyes whilst you chuckled "Who is that?!"

You grinned at her, pursing your lips "Lewis Hamilton, a driver"

She whistled, shaking her head "unbeliveable"

You couldn't help but laugh at her astonishing look. "Calm down, I took a picture of him, we chatted for a few seconds and he offered to take me on a tour around the paddock so I could take some more pictures" you explained, her smile only widening

"Seriously? He offered?"

You shrugged at her excited face "Well yeah, but only because he wanted the picture"

"Sure only because he wa-"

"I'm back, let's go" Lewis smiled as he jogged back up to you. You flashed him a smile before looking at your friend in warning before following Lewis along the road. "If you see any drivers tell me" you hummed, taking your camera in your hands to have it ready to shoot.

"One coming up" Lewis smiled, pointing at a red clothed man standing outside the garage he probably was a part of.

He took you both around the circuit, pointing out in different garages and telling you about them. You sneaked shots here and there, found many of the drivers and filled your camera with perfect photos.

It was really funny to talk with him and it shocked you how humble he was and how natural it was to talk with him. You felt satisfied as you returned to the Mercedes garage.

"He totally wants you" your friend grinned as you watched Lewis walk back to his motor-home to attend a briefing.

You scoffed, looking at her with an eyeroll "absolutely not"

"He does and you totally want him too" she giggled clapping her hands together dramatically. "Shut up"

"I mean I don't blame you, he is fucking unreal but don't try to deny it"

You were just about to talk back to her as your phone interrupted you, hands as a reflex taking it out from your back pocket.

"Who is it?"

Your eyes searched the screen, a smile threatening to break through as Lewis had texted you his number on Instagram.

"He sent me his number"

"And you said he doesn't want you, dummie" she said seriously watching as your face broke out into a huge smile as you read Lewis text

"Thank you for today, it was lovely x"

You saw Lewis the next day as well, after he had texted you to say thanks you had continued texting, the conversation ending in him asking for you both to eat lunch the coming day. An offer you gladly accepted.

The lunch had been smooth, conversation had flowed and after your friend had gotten an unexpected call that lasted for a suspiciously long time you had continued on your own with the British man, learning a few more personal things and having to stop yourself from staring him down as he sat so casually in his chair, looking too good.

It was going towards the end of the weekend and all your photos were done, having today to choose which ones to use.

"So, how many should you have on the track?" Lewis questioned, looking over the exemplars you had printed out of the material "Uhm I can choose but I thought like five?" you murmured, feeling his eyes on you as you scanned over the pictures.

He nodded, humming as he weaved through them, "this one?"

"Nah it's too dark" you disagreed, picking up two other instead "do you think these two goes together?"

A nod confirmed what you had asked and you smiled up at him. "Thank you for helping me this weekend, it's honestly been so much fun" you admitted bashfully, looking down on the chosen pictures with heat covering your cheeks. "No worries, it's been a pleasure" he smiled, watching as you divided the chosen pictures to the others in different folders before putting them back in your bag.

"Anyway, I won't hold you up anymore since i'm guessing you should go get ready for the race?"

"Probably should.." he admitted "but there are no rush" he added, his eyes looking over you intently.

You didn't really now what to say so you stood up, watching as he did the same with an unsure expression over his face before he turned confident, grinning at you as he walked so he stood before you.

"Hey, I forgot to show you my drivers room. I'm sure it would be a big plus if you could get that onto the layup" Lewis suggested, his eyes boring into yours seriously. You knew exactly what he initiated and were his thoughts were going but it didn't face you because it was exactly what you'd been thinking to, what you had wanted since the second you landed your eyes on him.

You thought it over for a second but it was not hard to know what you wanted. "Yeah maybe that would give me a favor" you hummed, looking up at him with a smug grin. He flashed you a quick smile before grabbing your arm and leading you over the paddock and to the Mercedes garage.

This time he didn't talk nor show you around just ushered you into his drivers room, closing and locking the door behind him

"Just for some privacy" he grinned as you jokingly raised your eyebrows at the man.

"Of course" you chuckled meeting him as he walked towards you. "You need to say no if you don't want this"

"I want this" you hummed, loving how his breath fanned your face and how his eyes sparkled in the light.

"Fuck your so sexy" he groaned as you bit your lip, blinking up at him innocently.

You couldn't stop your huge grin as you let your hands crawl up his body to his hair, one hand pulling him down to you so that you could meet his lips.

He answered the kiss immediately, not hesitating a single second before absolutely devouring you, kissing you with a brutal force. His teeth clashed with yours, his tongue swiping over your lips before fighting its way into your mouth, challenging yours for dominance.

His body pressed into you making you feel all of him. He walked you backwards until you reached the couch where he spun you around, sitting down on the couch before urging you to sit on his lap.

You stared down at him, his intense look almost daring you to sit down and take control.

You bent your head down, tilting his chin up with your hand before your mouth met his again. This time you put up a fight, trying to gain the dominance but he had the upper hand, slowly guiding you to straddle him, getting all the control back. He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with an amused glint, lips tilting into a smirk.

"I let you straddle me and suddenly you think you can take control?" he tutted, stroking your chin with his thumb. "That's not how it works here sweetie" he murmured, his voice making your eyes roll in annoyance.

He tutted again, his fingers brushing up over your chest, teasingly running over your collarbone until he wrapped his fingers around your throat, not squeezing but just holding while he stared into your eyes.

One of your hands came to hold his hand over your throat, staring back at him, challenging him but deep down you knew you didn't stand a chance.

He kissed you again, holding you still with his hand as he took control without a problem. You hummed into the kiss, letting your other hand travel up his body and to his neck, combing your fingers through his hair and pulling him more firmly against you. Your hips started to move against him looking as his face faltered for a moment, lips parting slightly and eyes falling close at the stimulation.

"Hmm" you teased, grinding against him again, even harder than the first time, loving the small sound he let out as you did so. His hand squeezed around your throat, like a warning to not get ahead of yourself, but you loved that little control you'd gained from your movements.

The other hand that wasn't around your throat flew to your hip trying to control your movements. This time it was you who tutted, taking his hand of your hip and holding it down. You knew you didn't stand a chance if he really wanted to keep it there but he let you do as you wanted at the moment.

"Enjoy it whilst it lasts" he said lowly squeezing your throat again but it only made you smirk. Lips catching his again, moving softer against them this time, sweetly licking his bottom lip before entangling your tongue with his, humming into his mouth.

He had enough as you sucked down his neck, small purple marks littering his throat, his eyes closed involuntarily, his breath getting heavier as you found the right spot.

"Okay okay I think you have gotten enough" he growled, standing up with you before close to dropping you down on the couch again, quickly climbing on top of you, completely controlling you body as he gripped your neck and slammed his lips against yours, hips grinding roughly into yours making you pant. You were so so ready for him to do something, anything.

Lewis felt the same, dick impossible hard straining in his jeans. His hands tugged at the fabric of your shirt snatching it off your body simply and quickly, a gasp leaving your mouth at the rough movement.

He unbuttoned your jeans but before he could tug them off you stopped him, his eyes snapping to yours with worry he had crossed a boundary but you just smiled, stroking his chin before tugging on the button of his t-shirt. Feeling slightly vulnerable being the only one bare.

He immediately caught on to what you wanted and tugged the shirt over his head, throwing it down on the floor.

You drank in his bare torso, fingers reaching out to touch his stunning body. Fingertips tracing his many unbelievably sexy tattoos, sliding over his defined muscles slowly. Slowly teasing his torso before slowly sliding down to where his jeans sat, fingers dipping in the hem of them, Lewis watched your every move, letting you take your time to touch him and feel him up. He didn't actually have that much time but he didn't care, he would take the time.

Your hands reached his zipper, his eyes trained on your hands, a deep breath exhaling as you unzipped and pushed his jeans down.

He stood up, stepping out of his jeans before snapping back into action. His fingers unzipped your jeans and helped them off of you, drinking in your bare body with widened eyes.

"You're really really beautiful" he murmured, leaning over you again as he mouthed wet kisses up your side. "You are too" you murmured back, meeting his lips in a soft sweet kiss.

He gently rolled on top of you again, helping you crawl up so you were half sitting against the arm of the couch, his hands gently squeezed your boobs through the material of your bra and soon one of the hands abandoned your torso, moving down to your thigh.

His eyes met yours with a serious question hanging in them but all you did was nod, it was what you wanted, what you needed. With that his hand slid upwards, gently rubbing your sensitive clit over the rough material of your lace panties. Your eyes closed shut at the sensation, lips parting as a heavy breath came through.

You opened your eyes long enough to see his cocky smirk but you didn't feel like stopping him to put him in his place, not when what he did felt so good.

You bucked your hips, trying to signal for him to take them off. Lewis looked at you with hot eyes, licking over his bottomlip before his fingers moved upwards, slowly peeling your underwear off.

You couldn't help but let out a small huff as you core was exposed to the cold air. You'd never felt so needy before and especially not after only seeing the guy for barely a weekend. It was like your body was on fire from his touch and you were drunk on the feeling

When he didn't move into action again but only looked at you you lost patience, grabbing his wrist to make him touch you again.

The deep chuckle he let out was set to annoy you but when his fingers circled your clit again it was all forgotten.

"Fuck Lewis" you whined, your hips moving on their own accord to make him touch you just right. "That's it?" he murmured, eyes searching for yours. You didn't answer with more than a hum eyes glazing over.

"Okay stop" you breathed as you felt your orgasm coming, not wanting to come already.

Lewis looked at you confused, not seeing why he couldn't make you cum like this but he didn't question it, stopping as you wished.d

"Can you tell I haven't been laid in months?" you chuckled, trying to gather yourself from the overwhelming feeling.

Lewis chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before connecting his lips with yours again. You let your hands explore again, feeling him down his stomach, loving the way his tense muscles felt under your fingertips.

You let them dip into the hem of his boxers, teasing him before snapping the clothing back onto his skin. You loved the way he looked at you, the way his eyes dilated and the way his tongue stuck to the side of his lips. He was mesmerizingly beautiful but he was just as hot.

He quickly discarded his boxers, tired of the material stopping you both and you gave him a cheeky grin as you watched him before your hand started to stroke him gently.

The moan he let out stuck in your ears as you continued. Not getting to carry on for too long as he soon pushed your hand away "need to be inside you" he breathed, your skin fluttering in anticipation.

"Fuck, fuck fuuuck" you groaned, your whole body arching as he bottomed out inside of you.

It felt timeless as he thrusted inside of you. Your eyes fluttering shut every other moment and all that left your mouth was moans and whines.

You felt drunk on him, something you hadn't felt in a very long time and something you wouldn't expect to feel after the pretty causal weekend you'd spent together. But it was all pent up tension and excitement.

You couldn't tell how long time had gone as Lewis trusts became erratic, his small moans and breathy breaths getting more and more pressured and his head fell back more and more. When he lifted your legs over his shoulders it was a done deal, your moans getting stuck in your throat, your eyes rolling as you came hard, making Lewis cum with you only moments later. His deep groan filling the room.

You didn't know where he had went, to tired to care as he had murmured something after pulling out of you but when you felt the bed dip you opened your eyes, turning to look at him.

"You're really beautiful" he murmured lowly, one hand stroking your face lovingly as your eyes felt to heavy to keep open

"You are too"

#f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fluff

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call-sign-shark · 9 months ago

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Following the heart-wrenching posts of @red-riding-wood, @kittenonpluto and @aurorag98 I feel like I have to write this. By no means I have experienced traumatizing interactions with @mrkdvidal1989 aka Killian Vidal but this whole situation and what he did to girls here make me enraged.

First of all, I want to reassure all the beloved mutuals who have been reaching out to me or who have been worried about my well-being because they saw me interacting a few times with Killian. I am perfectly fine and I'm not much here this week because I have been working a lot.

As for my relationship with Killian... Well, we were barely talking to each other actually. I know I am bad at replying to my DMs but this is not the reason why I ghosted him -- I purposefully did so because, like many of you, the guy gave me the biggest red flags. We talked a few times, and he called me hot when he saw the gym pics/selfies I posted. He quickly suggested we meet together to go to the gym and watch horror movies during my stay in the UK and to this I replied positively while knowing I would never ever do so. Right from the start I suspected him to be a liar and I felt he had built up everything about his life. Also, I come from a military family with many relatives working in special units of the French Navy, and let me tell you something: I screamed at the thought of a former soldier (from the SAS!! lmao) spending all of his time writing reader-insert fanfic for a female audience and discussing with Cillian fangirls. I don't say it's impossible, but it's VERY unlikely.

To me, Killian was just an attention-seeking catfish I'd never meet and who I found both boring and childish. In my opinion, I thought he just wanted to have a small court around him to strut around, nothing more. I tried to search for info about him to warn people, I mean I even doubted he was a man... However, I found nothing plus he seemed to be IRL friends with a few mutuals here who actually chatted with him via phone so I didn't want to take the risk of spreading hate about someone just because of a gut feeling. Never in a million years, I would have imagined he was toying with girls from the Peaky Blinders community, collecting nudes, gaslighting/harassing them, breaking them into pieces, promising marriage, and going as far as to promise a life-saving medical treatment to a dear friend of mine. I am devastated by what I have read this morning, and "devasted" is not even powerful enough. Learning from Red that he talked about fucking me when we meet while we never talk about sex, never flirted or anything (we just small-talked once in a while lmao) might be a bit creepy but it's nothing compared to what he has done to girls here.

I am deeply sorry to all the people who have been hurt by his horrible actions and are now facing long-term consequences because of him, some of them being my close mutuals. I send positive vibes, love, and healing to every one of you who had to deal with this psycho. I know a lot of people have already said that but my DMs are opened if you need a safe place. The Peaky Blinders / Cillian Murphy community is a nice place, maybe the most welcoming place I've ever seen on the Internet but we should all keep in mind that it is not safe from ill-intentioned users and predators. Please stay safe and, for the victims, don't blame yourself. You haven't been naive nor stupid or anything. The only one to blame is the person behind Killian Vidal's persona, and for the evil you've done, I hope you'll get fucked with a chainsaw. Or just fucking rot in hell.

Shark.

#PSA #predator warning #Cillian Murphy #Peaky Blinders #Mrkvidal1989

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oh-no-its-dragons · 4 months ago

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Dead Dove

So over on the RQ server we were talking about dead!Xaden fics and @sarcasticmothwrites mentioned that you can't write a dead!Violet fic from Xaden's POV because of the chain reaction.

And the plotbunnies apparently decided to take that as a personal challenge.

Warning: Dead Dove, Do Not Eat

I feel it when Sgaeyl's life spills out, soaking back into the Source.

It begins with a pounding in my chest, and the sensation of claws around my heart. The daylight turns solid black around me, shadows forming a wall without even needing a command. For a moment I think it's one of those fucking Sages trying to teach me respect again, and I start to throw up my shields.

That's when I realize where it's coming from. The navy blue night sky of Sgaeyl's presence on my hill as if she'd never left, as if I'm not standing on barren earth here now where I used to let her power and her love wash through me.

She'd banished me, but she'd never completely severed our bond.

I wonder what could make her reach out now and when I see the stars falling in her sky I know. She's dying.

The wrench in my gut when I realize she's dying and I won't die with her is harsher than would have expected. It's been years, years of loneliness, of dragging myself up through the venin ranks, learning their secrets and leaving them for the rebellion to find-

For Violet to find-

Oh gods, Violet. If Sgaeyl is dying, then Tairn is going with her to whomeever takes the souls of dragons, and Violet…

There's no way for me to know which part of their bond was reason for it, whether Violet's already gone or taking her last breaths against Tairn's bloodblack scales. The scar on my chest burns, my scarred and faded relic burns, my own breath burns in my chest.

I should be dying with them, Violet in my arms or my hands on Sgaeyl's side. If I was a better man, I would be dying with them, or maybe if I was there I would have saved them.

Instead I'm alone here, wrapping myself in layer after layer of shadow like the blankets I hid in when my mother left, as if I have any right to be upset. As if I have any right to grief or regret after everything I've done.

In my mind, on my hill, the stars have gone out of the night sky now. The dark blue fades lighter and lighter until it's gone, replaced with the parched, bone-white sky that's all I ever see now. Dead sky and dead earth, and me standing here wondering if maybe I've been dead the whole time.

I am realizing just how much the knowledge that Violet was out there, still fighting, kept me tethered to my sanity. I haven't let myself think about it, but now my walls are broken and every feeling I put away in the last three years rushes in. Has Bodhi forgiven me for leaving the burden of the rebellion to him? Have Garrick and Imogen finally gotten around to talking to each other? Has Sloane been able to come out of her brother's shadow?

Are they still alive?

Do I deserve to know if they are?

No, not yet. I've played at this, but I haven't done enough. I stand up and the shadows around me retreat.

I stare at the back of my hand, where black veins snake under my skin and disappear into the whorls of my rebellion relic. My heart never let go of Violet or Sgaeyl, but the rebellion had been my family. It's time to take this fucking seriously.

Back on my hill, I plant my feet on the dead ground and send myself as deep as I can go into the ground. Sgaeyl returned to the Source. Tairn went with her, and a part of Violet would have stayed with him, I'm sure, no matter what Malek tried to make her do. Fallen stars. The inkpot sky on Winter Solstice the first year after Threshing when Sgaeyl took me back to Aretia, hours on her back feeling her breathing and the cycle of energy between us. I know this. I know her. And she reached out to me at the end, so maybe I can even believe she wanted me to do this.

I pull, and I hear her clear as the last words she said to me, "I chose you!" She did. She chose me. She told me I was ruthless, and relentless, and she liked that. She had given me such a gift.

That gift is still mine, the last lifeline. I feel her warmth in my veins, flowing upward. I can almost, almost feel her breath on me as it reaches my heart and mixes with everything else I've taken, everything I've carried, and begins to flow into the rest of me.

I pull and there's more, there's so much, there was always so much and I'm no longer afraid of burning out. I can carry all of her, because that's all that's left, and I feel the burn that Tairn's energy had always felt like at the corner of my hill, like when I snuck into my father's good liquor cabinet as a kid. When I recognize it I drink it in like a drowning man because I know, I know-

Ozone and hope flash through me and I can feel her hands in my hair. Her lips on my neck. I can hold Sgaeyl and I can hold Tairn but somehow my Violence is the one who's always been too much. I shatter, my awareness ghosting through what feels like every shadow on the continent.

Every venin I can find is torn apart by their own shadow. We're hard to kill but not immortal, not when reduced to shredded, rotten meat. I feel the shadows of running feet, of dragons wheeling mid-air to change tactics, the obliteration of shadows that disappear in fire.

I come back to myself choking for air, and somehow, impossibly, Violet is holding me. I only feel the fever when her hands are cool on my cheeks, and I wait for something awful, something I know I deserve.

"Say something," I manage to get out.

"Come home."

So I do.

#xaden riorson #my fic #i am posting this because if i had to spend all afternoon marinating in suffering at least i'm not doing it alone

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trashmouth-richie · 9 months ago

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tagged by miss @bettyfrommars

“A wee game I thought would be fun: choose an excerpt from one of your posted fics, 600 words or less, that will make people curious for more. Share it with the title of your fic and little to no context.”

**from Open Arms: Chapter 3 - Every Now and Then I Fall Apart

tw: text alluding to addiction, forced relationships, depression, self hatred. 780 words whoops 😬

Rick had passed out next to you, his naked body slung over yours in some lame attempt of cuddling. You didn’t know how many lines you had done, or the number of shots you took, before stumbling in here.

Didn’t remember the lick of his tongue in your mouth, the feel of his hands on your curves, your was body numb from the drugs and to him. All you remember is right now, waking in a puddle of tears, the taste of blood on your lips, your nose full of it.

Peeling Rick’s limp form from you, you make for the bathroom connected to his master bedroom. Your reflection was horrific. blood dripped from your nostrils and coated your teeth, eyeliner dragged down your face like a halloween mask gone wrong. Your body, stark naked except for a purpling hickey on your collar bone, and white residue between your cleavage.

You look away in disgust, hatred for the eyes that stared back from the mirror.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake up like this. Having spent the better half of every night for the last seven years the same way. Reaching for his hand, watching him slip through your fingers. Voice hoarse from crying, yelling, screaming his name.

Reaching for the plush hand towel Karen kept, you plop it into the sink and turn the faucet to hot, wetting it completely.

“So I'm a stranger now huh?”

Eddie’s words from early stuck with you long after you had left. Eddie fucking Munson. Seven years…No high or amount of time could ever make you forget his face.

The pain was always there. You were only able to paint over it with each new high you could conjure. But no matter the number of brush strokes, no matter the opaqueness of the paint color, Eddie always showed through. Like a ghost in the background of a photo.

The sink was nearly overflowing before you pulled the towel covering the drain, wringing the scalding water from it as you sat on the toilet lid and draped it over your face. The heated temperature having your skin raw and burning, a welcomed kind of pain.

Seven years and here he was, waltzing back into town like he hadn’t left you in shambles. Although him being back brought forth memories you wished would stop, seeing him alive and in the flesh settled a sore in your soul.

It also dug up anger. And under the wet towel you saw red.

Answers. That’s what you needed from him. You were just a kid then, you couldn’t understand, and maybe you still didn’t want to know why. But you craved to know, your mind gnawing at your skull to make sense of why he would decide to leave.

You had adapted to your surroundings, learned how to survive. He couldn’t. He was weak and spineless, that’s what everyone had said, and after a while you believed it too.

Stronger than Eddie Munson had ever been, you kept going. Living this god forsaken life because you didn’t have a choice.

You had your own place, a cute little two bedroom apartment. One you decorated to your liking. You had a job that paid your bills. You had someone that loved…someone that took care of you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

You were different, and so was he. What did he have? Nothing. No one.

The towel dripped water onto your bare thighs, and you concentrated on that little tick rhythm until it picked up, sending water down in almost a wave.

Maybe that’s how he wanted his life to be, maybe that was why he left in the first place. Maybe you were standing in his way the whole time like a roadblock.

You didn’t realize the heave of your chest, how your breathing was uneven and shallow, choking off.

Then you heard it. The gut wrenching sobs coming from yourself.

It didn’t work anymore. Quite frankly you wondered if it ever had.

Pretending Eddie was an asshole and that you were better without him was the only way for you to deal with him leaving in ‘82.

The lies you continued to tell yourself about Eddie were falling flat. Your brain could be fooled, but the space he lived in your chest couldn’t be coerced that easily. He was inescapable, nightmares or not, you yearned for the hours when he would visit you.

In your dreams he was real. Still in Hawkins.

Your sobs turned hysteric. Lungs burning with no reprieve as you felt the same loss and emptiness that burrowed in your chest seven years ago.

Why? How could he leave without you?

#open arms series #eddie munson

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batrogers · 8 months ago

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I'm glad you picked up this game because oh gosh so many appealing choices! Can. Can I ask about two of them. XD Cuz LU Ravioli Interrupted definitely sounds fun but I'm also curious about some of your personal/general stuff. Like Rabbit Bio Piece?

Oooo two fun ones. Of course you can ask for two!

LU RavioLi Interrupted is one I need to restart, because it's barely a fragment but it absolutely is meant to be a Spicy making-out fic, and maybe PWP if it works out (although the "interrupted" obviously implied it wasn't going to actually get anywhere, bo both boys dismay.) Mostly, it was my intention to write really cute Ravio/Legend ship fic and it's definitely still on my roster, I just probably won't continue that one.

The Rabbit Bio Piece is a That Broken Promise fic. I have a few "Bio pieces" done, like Chief's Coming Home and Skyloft's Where Demons Have Gone Before. I actually have a set of them linked in the main series if you check on AO3, and (try to) link them all in their bios in my pinned post here, although I'm behind on keeping up with that. I do intend to have one for everyone and I actually am done all but Rabbits so far!

I've had some trouble with his. I know roughly what I want to write, but it's uh, extremely dark in directions I don't normally write. I'll include a snippet from the fic (It's technically complete) under a cut, but the gist is that Rabbit had an abusive marriage after LttP that ended with him suffering severe post-partum depression. The trip to Labrynna and the start of Oracle of Ages was part of him trying to move on and recover. So...

As much as I write dark fics, the really dark reality of how abusive long-term relationships go isn't one I explore often and I'm having some struggles making it work as a one-shot that feels satisfying!

Nevertheless, snippet under the cut. CW for abusive partner, and flashbacks/PTSD from combat.

They had a large courtyard; across it was his in-law's rooms, opposite their own. Link thought nothing of it. He exhaled slowly and passed his short sword between each hand, adjusting to the now unfamiliar weight on his arms. It had been too much to pick up a sword again for so long. Too close to the pain.

He waited, as if expecting the memories to sneak up on him, then brushed it off. This was a conversation he’d had with his uncle, while he tried to talk him out of the marriage: that the memories would fade, but still be unpredictable. That the pain was normal.

(Link hadn’t asked him if he remembered dying. He hadn’t asked him if he’d heard, or asked, or spoken to the other guards, in case any of them remembered it, either. He didn’t dare. He knew, and Zelda knew, and that was bad enough.)

The drills came back without much conscious thought. He’d done them since he was seven, and he could practically do them in his sleep. He was so focused, he didn’t notice anyone coming into the courtyard – didn’t think to stop, because he’d grown up a knight.

What idiot would step into his space?

His husband grabbed his wrist mid-swing and wrenched the sword from his hand.

“What are you thinking?” he snarled. “You said you were done with this!”

Link jerked back and punched him in the ribs, hard enough his husband let go, then spun and slapped him, open-handed across the face. Link staggered and saw his sword and only barely didn’t lunge for it. His heart was pounding in his chest and for a moment, all he could think of was the next sequence:

Seize the sword. Stay low, spin. Cut across the left side waist. Hemorrhage from the liver, or severe gut damage. He'd need a fairy or potion, or he’d be dead.

He swallowed, frozen, long enough the man grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face him again. “Talk to me. Tell me you won’t do that again. Look at you, you look ill!”

He felt ill. Link struggled to find his voice, and all he could manage was, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. Please, don’t startle me like that. I could’ve hurt you.”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

He pulled Link into his arms, and Link melted there as he wished for the shakes to stop. He was right. If he hadn’t been playing with swords again, he never would’ve thought of killing him.

#asked and answered #my writing #Ravio #TBP Rabbit #short fiction

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femmmie · 1 year ago

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Whew, so here is the sequel to that one fic I wrote! I'm so glad I correctly predicted that the 'angry letter' wasn't such a big deal lmao and also that it was way more stressful for Anthony than for Ian.

Here is the link to part 1:

And here is a link to that one vine that suits this part of the story LMAO (it was shown to me by my former tumblr and irl bestie who I have sadly no contact with anymore T_T)

youtube

So here it goes...

"Ian, I'm so sorry, I feel so terrible".

"What do you mean?"

Anthony had to pinch himself every morning to check if he was truly awake or still in a blissful dream world. He and Ian were back together. And not only had they reconnected, but they had bought back Smosh! It was finally Anthony's and Ian's again. They had a great work schedule that they had set up themselves, and they also made it a point to just hang out together and enjoy life outside of Smosh. To be honest with himself, he loved the made-up time off-camera with Ian the most. They didn't have to go anywhere fancy: just chilling, just the two of them, was enough. How Anthony had gotten so lucky as to have that time with his again-best friend was beyond him.

And with great joy and happiness come great levels of stress and anxiety. Anthony knew himself well enough to acknowledge that he was freaking out even though he didn't have to. That his feelings did not care about any facts or numbers. They were raging inside him like a gut-wrenching scream - all the time. His nervous laughter, which everyone mistook for joy, pushed its way out over his lips like vomit. He hated that about himself. So easy to make laugh but so hard to actually make happy... there was only one person in the world who actually could do that second thing.

"Dude, it's okay, whatever it is, you're safe here, okay?"

The last couple of months, Anthony found himself yo-yoing between moments of true happiness and then paralyzing fear that it wasn't real or that it would go away again. And surely, one of the first few videos he and Ian did together already sent him spiraling again. What a ludicrous idea to show Ian his old diary.

"Anthony, you don't have to worry, okay?"

Ian's ability to make things alright had been both a blessing and a curse for their friendship in the past. He would focus so hard on the positive that Anthony would - temporarily - forget the bad stuff. So, on the one hand, Anthony really wanted Ian to know just how hurt he had been, all those years ago, and at the same time, he also wanted to gauge whether Ian had cared at all. He cared now, that was for sure. They had talked like never before. They had built an entirely new friendship on the ashes that lay beneath them. A stronger friendship, a more mature one, but he and Ian were still the same puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. So perfectly, in fact, that making sketches together felt like no time had passed at all between Anthony leaving Smosh and present day. But some remnants of Anthony's hurt feelings remained, and he just wanted to have complete closure. The only way to do that - he'd thought - was to read his angry diary-entry to his friend that he loved so dearly. How cruel. He had seen the hurt in Ian's eyes. Of course Ian had cared. Even more than Anthony had hoped for. He had considered him a best friend for years longer than Anthony had done.

"I don't want to lose you again".

Right now, he didn't want to look Ian in the eye again. He'd been so dumb. One of his old bad habits was manifesting itself once again: he was begging. Just like he had begged his ex-fiancée to get back together, only to be rejected, just like he had begged Ian all those years ago to force their friendship back to where he'd thought it should be, even though neither of them had been ready at that time... now he was begging once again. At his best friend's doorstep, no less. Ian had let him in, of course, but he probably wanted to do other things right now than console Anthony in the midst of a breakdown just as they both had bought their channel, their company back...

But two soft and familiar hands placed themselves around Anthony's face and turned it upwards. And two of the brightest blue eyes in the world looked at him with love.

"... and I will NEVER, never let anything come between us, ever again."

"So that was weird, huh!" Anthony let out a high-pitched laugh. It was a few days later, and he was at Ian's place once more. Ian had invited him to a celebration, just the two of them. It was early in the evening, and they were sat in Ian's pool and drinking champagne.

"Dude, it was just the nerves. I know how your nerves get, "Ian replied. "I was still stressing about all of this too, you know, we are in uncharted territory right now."

"Yeah, you're right." Another nervous laugh. Anthony was relieved, though, that Ian didn't think he was crazy or unstable or anything. He looked at his best friend. He was so fond of the 'new Ian', the one who had done serious personal growth, who - off camera - had apologized to him for more than had been necessary, the one who Anthony could really rely on and trust more than anyone, even his own girlfriend. He also loved that Ian was still as goofy, or maybe goofier than before even. He laughed now, truly and from the heart.

"What're you laughing about?" Ian said in his playful tone.

"Oh, I am just happy. But for real Ian, I'm so happy. This is so nice. And damn this champagne is goood."

"You better not be peeing in my pool again!"

"I might."

Ian laughed loudly, a laugh Anthony knew was only reserved for him. He felt proud and giddy that he still had it, the ability to make his best friend break out in laughter.

"So, Anthony, it's time for something special."

Ian got out of the pool. Anthony couldn't help but notice how Ian's body looked so different than when they were younger. Obviously, he had undergone a transformation himself, but he rarely saw Ian without a sweater or a shirt. He looked good.

"Are you coming or what?"

Anthony quickly stopped staring and joined Ian at his outside lounge chairs. Ian looked like he was up to something.

"So, you just wait right there, okay?"

"Sure."

Ian disappeared into his villa. Now Anthony felt slightly anxious again, that inner scream fighting to resurface once more, but he held it in. And soon enough, Ian appeared again, with a bottle of whiskey and a box that looked like some old-timey book or something.

"Oh, I see, we're going to really celebrate!"

"Yea-he-hess", Ian replied with a smile as he poured Anthony a small glass of whiskey.

"Do you usually smoke cigars though?" Anthony had to ask.

"No, babeyy, this is only for the most special of occasions!" Ian looked at him with a mischievous smirk and handed Anthony one of the cigars.

Anthony was about to put it into his mouth when he said: "why is this weirdly sexual?They both laughed. Anthony loved that Ian was still into the same dumb humor as he was. "Shut up and put it in your mouth!" Ian joked as he lit Anthony's cigar. The moment truly was intimate, and as he locked eyes with his best friend, Anthony felt a different kind of nerves swell up inside him. His cheeks turned dark-red.

"Dude, you're not supposed to suck in so much at once!" It was already too late. An intense tingling took over Anthony's senses, even after he burst out laughing at Ian's remark and almost choked coughing. "Wow, this is some good stuff," he said in a throaty voice.

The whiskey and the cigars kept Ian and Anthony talking deep into the night. The LA skyline was beautiful as they looked at it from Ian's garden. They were still in the lounge chairs, but Ian sat down next to Anthony on his chair, so they were sharing one seat.

"Listen up," he said, "we could have done this for a try not to laugh type video or some shit. But in the spirit of our friendship, I'm showing you now." Ian showed Anthony his phone screen. It was memes. They both laughed hysterically at the first few.

Anthony replied: "Some of these are really old but so good, I didn't even remember them until you showed them to me."

"Listen up," Ian said again - the whiskey bottle was significantly advanced - "I have been curating the absolute shite out of this list for years. Only if I had to physically laugh, no nasal or just grinning, I had to really laugh, THEN I added it. And I curated it specifically for you."

"You haven't shown anyone this?" Anthony said incredulously.

"No bitch, who else would laugh as much at dick jokes except you and myself?"

They were no longer smoking or drinking. They were just laughing at the memes. Anthony couldn't think of anything better than this. It felt so much like old times, it was incredible to him. He felt so warm and appreciated. He felt so at home. As his eyes got heavier, he let his head rest on Ian's shoulder. Not two moments later, he was fast asleep.

#ianthony #lmao my algorhitm is forever ruined bc i had to research cigars LMAO #worth it tho

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wisecrackingeric-2 · 1 year ago

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Summary:

Set ten years after the events of Resident Evil 4; Luis, Leon and Chris have been in a long-term relationship and finally decided to have a Son.

Only Luis finds out that being a Father reminds him of his a Grandfather more than he was expecting.

So one night when their Son wakes up crying, Luis decides to take it upon himself to comfort both himself his baby.

Absolute gut-wrenching Fluff ensues.

((While this Fic is supposed to be read as apart of my ‘Luis Serra Lives’ AU, it can be read as a stand-alone too! It can also be easily read as just a Leon/Luis Fic as Chris doesn’t make an in-person appearance))

A/N: Repost cuz I didint realise until now that I actually haven’t posted the fic itself onto Tumblr!!!! If y’all could check it out on AO3 too that would mean the world,, this work is very sentimental to me and yes I did almost cry writing it what of it

———

Luis wasn’t usually a light sleeper.

At least, he didn’t think he was. Not until he had his own child, that is.

Most nights nowadays were spent sandwiched against Leon or Chris- Whoever was home at the time- With his back facing their chests, and their arms draped protectively over his shoulders. Usually accompanied by one or the others’ legs being entangled between Luis’, too.

The two of them usually came home late, and if Luis wasn’t awake, they’d slip under the covers with him wordlessly- Knowing that they’d probably be forced to wake up earlier than their boyfriend in the morning, anyways.

But Luis didn’t mind. He never minded; Putting up with their grouchy, sleep-deprived attitudes and their constant old-married-couple back and forth banter was more than reasonable for him. Especially after everything.

August 2004 felt like a lifetime ago now. So much had changed and so many years passed that it was impossible for Luis to look back and feel any connection towards the man he once was.

He remembered- extremely vividly- lying on that cold, hard concrete and practically begging for Leon to tell him he was a good person during what he was convinced were his final moments. His mouth was full of blood and he could hardly keep a cigarette between his lips, let alone light it.

He’d asked Leon, in an act of desperation, ‘What do you think, Leon? People can change, right?’

It was a desperate plea for forgiveness. He wanted to change so badly yet he always still retraced those same habits that got him in that position in the first place. He thought back to his Grandfather in his ‘dying’ moments; And he wondered if he’d be ashamed or proud.

But Leon had saved him regardless. In every way a person could be saved. Not only did he literally shove some kind of miscellaneous herb into his mouth and pick him up to drape his bloody body over his shoulders- But once they’d arrived back in the USA, Leon did everything in his power to make sure Luis didn’t slip into that self-deprecating cycle of guilt and self-pity he seemed to be oh-so familiar with.

Leon proved to Luis that people could change. And not only that, but people were deserving of love regardless of what they have done.

Luis loved Leon in a way that was so undeniably human and raw and vulnerable it almost hurt at times.

The pair of them couldn’t keep their eyes- or hands- off of each other.

Then Luis was introduced to Chris Redfield; Big, friendly, puppydog-like Chris Redfield who so painfully obviously had the biggest crush on Leon it made Luis feel like he was going insane. The two of them would stammer and blush and shift their weight awkwardly every single time they were alone; And, hell, Luis would be lying if he said he didn’t find the guy attractive as all hell. So they approached him about the possibility of Polyamory;

And here they all were, ten years later, so ingrained and fixed in each other's lives that they practically couldn’t be seen apart from one another. Their day-to-day was so domestic- so routine- And Luis wouldn’t have had it any other way.

If you had asked him ten years ago where he thought he’d be in life, his answer would probably be dead.

Past-Luis probably couldn’t have even fathomed being so unabashedly loved, so unashamedly domestic and genuinely happy.

Was he always happy? No, far from it, in fact. There were plenty of nights where he still felt the ghost of Krauser's knife holed in his spine, or the squirming Plagas inside of his chest like a ghost limb. Sometimes his face still grew hot from the memories of his Grandfather burning alive in his childhood home. He found it hard to fall asleep by himself sometimes- So Leon and Chris would always make an effort to comfort him. One of them would be pressed up against his back, and the other laying across his chest. Reminding him with their physical bodies that he was Ok.

Tonight was exactly one of those nights; Luis had been tossing and turning in his sleep relentlessly since he got home and shed himself of his usual Lab coat. Although the agreement with the US government was that he’d tag along with Leon on missions, he found himself working in the Labs with Rebecca more often than not- And of course, that eventually turned into a full-time job after Leon had finally retired.

Still, though, Luis came home later than expected. And the days stress weighing down on him seemed to trigger some deep-seeded memories from his childhood that he’d rather not forget.

That seemed to usually be his brain's go-to trauma response, at least; ‘Flash some memories of your Grandfather while you try to sleep and you’ll be A-OK’.

Luis couldn’t remember when he had made it to his bed- Nor could he remember when Leon had slipped under the sheets beside him- But he hardly slept regardless. He tried counting sheep and snuggling into his partner's embrace; but nothing helped. There wasn’t even anything specific that was causing this lack of sleep. He just.. Couldn’t. He just had to let his brain replay memories of his childhood with his Grandfather like an awfully cruel movie.

So when the sound of his Son’s crying filled the air in an ear-piercing scream, Luis was already prepared and sitting up on his elbows before Leon had even stirred awake.

“I’ll go get the baby,”

Luis whispered, leaning over to kiss Leon on the temple of his head before forcing himself up straight.

His voice was husky and gravelly, and despite having been awake for at least a few hours his limbs were all still too stiff to avoid a popping noise when they stretched.

Leon responded with a quiet ‘hhhhrmmphhh’ before he shuffled back down under the covers, pressing the ends of his blanket up to his ears in an attempt to drown out the baby’s crying.

Luis just huffed a laugh at the sorry sight of his tired partner and got up on his feet with a groan.

Standing up to exit their shared bedroom, Luis did his best to tie up his long, graying salt-and-pepper hair in a messy half-ponytail with the hair tie he always insisted on having wrapped around his wrists. Years ago, Luis had insisted to Leon that ‘He wasn’t trying to grow his hair out, he just didn't trust the barbers’.

But ten years later with his hair reaching his mid-back at this point, that was obviously a lie. Besides, Luis liked it like this; From what he could remember, his Grandfather always kept his hair long, so it was sentimental in a weird way.

“Loooeeeeesss….”

Leon reached an arm out from beneath the blankets to grab at his’, blue eyes blinking slowly to try and adjust to the light.

“Mwhere are you goin’ love…?”

“I just told you,” Luis chuckled, “I’m gonna go put Matteo back to sleep”

Leon made a noise of protest and tried to sit up from underneath his sheets, pulling Luis in closer by the arm.

“Nonono, don’ get up, I can go get him..”

“Sssshhhh, just go back to bed mí amor,”

Luis gently pushed Leon back down onto his pillow with one hand, leaning over to press a sleepy kiss against his lips.

“I was already up. You just go back to sleep, sí?”

The blonde huffed a reluctant sigh but still sunk back under the covers regardless. His lips were pursed in a little pout as he let go of Luis’ hand.

“But you’re always up to get him. Y’know I’m happy to do it once ‘n a while, right?”

Luis paused for a moment, biting his lip as he tried to figure out how he should respond. Leon was half-asleep, a quarter of the way to being absolutely dead to the world; but he was still right.

Luis was always the one to go put Matteo back to bed when he woke up screaming like this.

He always insisted that Chris or Leon stay in bed, go back to sleep; And tonight was no exception. But being faced with the question he suddenly found that he couldn’t actually figure out why.

Luis always just assumed that it was the least he could do in return. Chris and Leon, despite being ‘retired’, were still constantly called into the office or on smaller Ops- Sometimes for days at a time, even. And while Luis had his day job with Rebecca in the labs, they were much more forgiving when it came to time off.

His two lovers had given him the entire world, in his mind. They’d given him a space to live and to grow as a person and they’d given him more love than any other human being had ever shown him; and most importantly, they gave him the opportunity to be a Father. They all were.

He got the opportunity of a lifetime to look after someone just as his Grandfather had looked after him.

So maybe Luis just wanted to repay them in some way.

They always insisted he didn’t need to do that; that him just being there was more than enough.

But that nagging voice in the back of his head never left, no matter how hard he tried.

“I know…”

Was all Luis could respond with, his voice a little deflated in defeat.

“Just… Just let me do this for you, just this once. ¿Ok, cariño?”

“Okay…” Leon yawned, his voice still slightly reluctant as he snuggled his face further into the pillow. And like a light, he was out within seconds.

Luis smiled and huffed a breath of air through his nose at the sight of his sleepy partner. With one final ruffle of his blonde hair, Luis was snapped back to reality when he heard his Son wailing once more from upstairs.

Luis made his way up to the second floor with a slouched posture and dragging feet; he slipped his reading glasses on somewhere half-way up, and was thoroughly greeted by the high-pitched cries of his baby the second the door creaked open.

Matteo’s room was simple; It didn’t need to be very big, after all (And even so, it was bigger than Luis’ old childhood room with his Grandfather.)

The walls were covered in pastel blue-and-pink flowers painted on courtesy of Ashley one weekend, and the roof was littered in pale blue, glow-in-the-dark stars.

Matteo's cot sat tucked up against the wall, and stuffed toys littering the floor where they must’ve slipped off and landed in a maze-like heap. Luis could just barely make out his Son’s silhouette against the bars of the cot;

And Luis’ heart promptly shattered into a million pieces when he saw Matteo reach out his little baby-arms into the sky at the sound of his entering the room.

Luis skilfully stepped over the pile of toys laying across his floor, before pressing a gentle hand against the wooden bars of Matteo’s cot.

Just as expected, the baby had kicked his blankets off- Probably the cause of his screaming- And had his tiny hands balled up in even tinier fists as big, fat tears fell down his chubby cheeks.

Luis cooed in an attempt to keep himself from crying.

“Ssssshhhhh… ¿ver? Estoy aquí, Teo…”

His words were more for soothing himself rather than the baby as he felt his voice grow wobbly at the sight. Ever since ‘Teo’ was born, Luis became an absolute crybaby- Chris and Leon teased him about it constantly, but never in a mean-spirited way.

Seeing his Son in any kind of discomfort felt worse than any knife to the back ever could; His heart squeezed and all he wanted to do was wipe away those tears forever and never let go of his little boy until he was smiling and laughing again. He wanted to hold and cradle him every second of the day- and if he could, he would.

‘You’re always hogging our son’, Leon had teased one day, watching Luis bounce their kid against his hip. From beside him, Chris reached over to give Matteo a kiss on the cheek.

‘Yeah, you never let us hold him’

‘¡Tu idiotas! You can hold him if you want!’ Luis had responded, feeling a little guilty. But his partner's laughter confirmed it was only a joke.

‘Ignore us, Luis. Teo likes it more when you hold him anyways’

‘He likes it more when you guys tuck him into bed’, Luis had offered, earning laughter from Leon, whose index finger was being held tightly by Teo’s little hands.

Luis was promptly broken out of his trip down memory lane by another sharp, high-pitched scream out of Matteo’s mouth, and although Luis did his best to soothe his Son by rubbing the pads of his thumb across his reddened and tear-stained chubby cheeks- It was no use. Matteo kept screaming and grabbing his hands out into the air, trying to reach for Luis’ long locks.

Through the screaming, Luis couldn’t help but chuckle a little; Teo was always grabbing onto his hair one way or another. He figured it must’ve been some kind of self-comforting baby thing, so he just let him. Matteo hardly ever pulled at it, anyways. He just kinda… held on.

No matter how hard Luis tried to sway his baby boy back to sleep from above the cot, it was all for naught. He just kept crying and wailing, and the longer it went on, the more Luis couldn’t handle seeing his Son in tears like this.

So against his better judgment, Luis cupped his hands underneath his small back and lifted him up with a small ‘There we go…’, cupping the baby’s head inbetween his hand and elbow, firmly grasping onto his leg with the other.

Luis had very quickly figured out that the usual bouncing and ‘there-there’s did not work on his Son. The motion only served to make his crying worse generally, so the brunette resorted to- extremely softly- rocking Matteo back and forth in his arms.

That only worked for a couple moments before Teo was back to wailing again. This time slightly quieter, Luis noted to himself victoriously. He silently wondered if he ever cried as much when his Grandfather took care of him.

He couldn’t tell if he was just tired and therefor had his emotions dialed up to 100 (You know what they say; Never trust your brain past 10:00 PM) Or if he was genuinely upset by his Son’s crying, but Luis felt practically desperate to get him to stop. He didn’t even care about the noise; Just seeing his little bundle of joy’s face all scrunched up and wet from big, fat tears rolling down his face was infinitely more worrying to him than the noise.

So, as gently as possible, Luis bought Matteo up to his face, and after pressing his delicate little forehead against his, Luis started to place feather-light kisses against his baby’s skin. He placed them so tenderly that his own skin tingled from the sensation. As if Matteo was made from porcelain.

And to Luis, he may as well have been.

Every tiny action, every small breath was met with internal cringing- Luis was so self-conscious of just how unfathomably small Matteo was that even just brushing his nose up against the baby’s was enough to make his heart squeeze in worry.

But, at least there was one bright side; Matteo was slowly starting to quieten down his wailing. Every pillowy kiss against his plush skin forced Matteo to stop howling until eventually his voice was broken down to cracked sobs.

But even that seemed to come with it’s own price; Matteo never stopped crying. Screams were replaced with wobbly little whimpers and whines, and his bottom lip quivered every time those big tears of his fell down his chin.

Luis didn’t even know it was possible for his heart to ache with empathy more than it already had, and he secretly wished Matteo would just start screaming again so he didn’t have to see his beautiful boy sobbing silently like this.

“Nonononono, no llores niño hermoso, no llores…”

Luis pressed his forehead up against Matteo’s and squeezed his eyes shut, dipping him just a tiny bit so that his long, curly hair would fall over Teo’s head like a curtain; engulfing the baby in darkness even further. He pressed kisses against Matteo’s small nose and wiped away the tears with his own- At least he tried to with his fast they were falling.

“Deja de llorar por mí, sí? Deja de llorar… Deja de llorar…”

Luis tried to hum in between his words of encouragement, and even though Matteo probably couldn’t understand him- It seemed to be working regardless.

“¿Ver? Ahí tienes, no llores nena, lo estás haciendo tan bien… Tan bueno para mí, Teo”

All Luis could do was let his words of encouragement and comfort sink into his Son's skin, even if he couldn’t fully understand them. He hoped that somehow the message got through regardless of their language barrier, that by some miracle, Matteo understood what Luis was trying to tell him and took it to heart.

“Te amo, Teo. ¿Tú lo sabes? Te amo mucho más de lo que podrías saber. Te amaré pase lo que pase”

Luis couldn’t tell who he was talking to at this point; Matteo or himself. But it didn’t matter either way. His words rung truer than anything that had ever come out of his mouth.

Luis had spent so much of his life lying. He’d spent so much of it running and selling his soul to the highest bidder that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be so open and vulnerable with someone.

His Grandfather’s cottage, Valdelobos, Umbrella, Los Illuminados; The names blended together in his mind at this point.

He’d spent too long running.

He found out what a true chance at life looked like and it looked like Leon, Chris and Matteo.

Every stereotype and throwaway comment that Luis heard about how staring at your baby is like ‘Love at first sight’ was so unbelievably true; Luis just wished he could express his love in a way his beautiful boy could understand.

But Matteo still remained awake. His tears had almost come to a complete halt with Luis’ soft words, but he was still staring up at his dad with those big, sleepless, curious brown eyes; it made Luis chuckle.

“No puedo dormir, ¿Oye? Yo tampoco puedo…”

Luis hummed thoughtfully for a moment, methodically running his thumb across Matteo’s soft, thin brown hair before coming up with an idea. He smiled at the thought alone, and almost felt his heart leap out of his throat when Matteo half-smiled back.

Luis began to rock Matteo back and forth as he began to sing a song he just barely remembered his Grandfather singing to him when he was just a boy;

“Duérmete mí niño, duérmete mí amor,

Duérmete pedazo de mí corazón,”

Luis smiled as Matteo began to quietly babble in response, holding him even closer.

“Este niño mío que nació de noche

Quiere que lo lleve a pasear en coche.”

Matteo reached out his tiny hands to grasp at Luis’ stubble, running his fingers over the hair as his little eyes began to droop lower and lower. It took all of Luis’ energy not to grab his face and squeeze him with a million kisses right then and there.

“Este niño mío que nació de día quiere que lo lleve a la dulcería,”

Luis let his eyes flutter shut as Matteo yawned and lulled his head to the side. Tiny even breaths let the brunette know that his Son had fallen asleep- Yet he kept singing, determined to finish the song. Just like his Grandfather always would.

“Duérmete mí niño, duérmete mí amor,

Duérmete pedazo de mí corazón.”

Once the lullaby had softly ended, Luis just stood there. Cradling Matteo in his arms silently. The only light source being from the small, glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling. Not a single creak could be heard, in sharp comparison to just a moment ago. The loudest noise in that room were Matteo’s tiny breaths.

Luis didn’t want to let go. Leon and Chris teased him about it all the time, but he truly, truly didn’t want to part with his beautiful boy. He didn’t want this moment to end. A moment that felt so precious and so loving that Luis knew he was bound to remember it for years to come.

Luis wanted to protect Matteo with his whole world- he knew it was unrealistic, and that eventually, his Son would grow up to be his very own person- but that didn’t mean the need wasn’t still there. Luis had seen things that no single human being should have ever experienced, and yet his own baby crying was somehow worse than all of that combined. He never wanted to see Matteo cry again. He wanted to hold him and kiss him and shelter him from anything that could ever hurt him.

Just like his Grandfather had for Luis all those years ago.

That was almost entirely the reason Luis had approached Leon and Chris about the idea of having a child in the first place;

He wanted to be just like his Grandfather.

It was strange. The older he got, the less he remembered of the man- yet the more he missed him like a child. Luis thought about him quite often. And even more so now that he was a father himself.

In retrospect, his Grandfather was hardly there in his life for a very long time. He was only ten- maybe twelve at the most- years old when he had died. Yet Luis remembered as clear as day the way his knees trembled and his fists balled up hard enough for his fingernails to be imprinted onto his palms when he watched his childhood home burst into flames. He stared at that fire until it was nothing but ashes in the morning, quite literally.

Luis had gone through all the stages of grief a million times over. He used to be mad at his Grandfather for hiding that wolf’s bite that inevitably lead him to becoming sick; he used to resent him, in fact, insisting that his work as a biologist would be enough to reprimand it.

Luis used to beg for his Grandfather to come back- and, hell, he still sometimes did. He still cried like the grief was fresh, and he still found constant solace and comfort in Leon and Chris’ arms.

Luis remembered nothing but good things about his Grandfather.

He remembered how the two of them would go fishing on warm afternoons.

How he’d make him tomato soup every night after dinner.

He remembered how wise and intricate his words seemed to seven-year-old-Luis, when in actuality, he was just speaking fancy English.

He remembered how his Grandfather still encouraged his Trans identity and love for Biology despite their circumstances.

He remembered how he’d encouraged Luis’ fantasies surrounding Don Quixote- how he’d recreate the fantastical scenes and read him every version of the books under the sun back-to-front just so he could fall asleep.

Hell, Luis still kept an old copy of Don Quixote in Matteo’s room just for good luck; him and his two partners had even agreed on the name for their baby after seeing the name ‘Matteo’ in the credits of a Don Quixote adaptation and finding it stuck. Luis hoped someday he’d be able to read his favorite book ever to Teo and he’d enjoy just as much as he did.

When Luis said he wanted to be a father;

What he really meant was he wanted to be like his Grandfather.

He wanted to give that same undying love and affection to another person. He wanted to be his Son’s hero and somebody who could protect him from anything.

He wanted to be there for Matteo in a way his Grandfather never could before he died;

He wanted to watch Matteo grow up and live a full life.

Just like how his Grandfather always wanted.

Luis wanted to be there for Matteo right until the very end.

Luis wanted to be just like his Grandfather for Matteo. He wanted to make him proud.

“Te quiero mucho, Teo. También habrías amado a mí Abuelo.”

Luis hadn't even noticed he’d begun crying, let alone the quiet footsteps from behind him until a small knock on the door allerted him to another presence in the room. He was forced out of his forehead-touching position with Matteo to look around and see Leon leaning against the doorframe; his appearance tired and disheveled with a soft smile still on his face.

“How’s Teo?”

“He’s good,” Luis smiled, whispering lightly.

“I just got him back to sleep.”

Leon made his way to Luis’ side and cupped his Son’s head with one hand, leaning down to press a gentle, cautious kiss on his head.

Luis’ eyes never broke away from Teo’s face, even as Leon leaned his head against his shoulder. The brunette reciprocated, feeling his partner let out a sigh of relief.

“Where’s Chris?”

Luis broke the silence, desperate for some conversation. He felt like he was about to burst into tears if he didn’t talk soon.

“He’s staying with the Winter’s tonight, remember?”

The brunette just hummed at Leon’s response. Ethan Winters; the name sounded familiar. He was pretty sure they were expecting a child soon, too. Chris seemed to be very protective over him; Which seemed deserved after what he heard they’d been through. Luis hoped he’d get to meet them someday.

Another beat of silence.

“…Luis?”

Leon finally spoke up, his voice soft; as if their tender moment was made of porcelain.

“…Are you Ok?”

“I’m fine.” Luis was quick to answer. Too quick. Leon gave him that look and his partner was forced to relent, shaking his head slightly with a small smile. If he wasn’t smiling, he’d probably be crying.

“I will be fine,”

Luis corrected himself. Leon always knew when something was up, and Luis didn’t have the heart (or the energy) to try to lie. He wore his heart on his sleeve in his old age.

“I’m just… I don’t know. Difícul de explicar. Words don’t seem to cut it.”

“I understand.” Was all Leon said in response, snuggling further into the crook of his neck as his hand remained on Teo’s head.

Luis was grateful Leon didn’t try to pry further.

The silence between them, however, was too much for Luis to bear. To keep himself from breaking down and potentially waking Matteo up, he gave his Son one last kiss on the forehead- letting it linger for a couple moments- before slipping him back into his cot and pulling the up blankets over him.

‘Buenes noches, niño hermoso”

He whispered, running the pad of his thumb against his cheeks for a beat before he reluctantly pried himself away from his sleeping Son.

The second he turned around to face Leon, it was like all of the night's anxieties and grief caught up to him in an instant; his body suddenly felt like lead and his eyes stung with tears.

He could barely make out Leon’s expression in the darkness, but he knew from gut instinct alone that it was one of sympathy.

“L-Leon…?”

Luis whimpered, his lips quivering as his eyes welled up.

“D-Do you think my Grandfather w-would be proud of me…?”

Leon’s posture softened in an instant.

“Oh, Luis…”

Luis couldn’t hold it together much longer; he collapsed into Leon’s arms in an instant, feeling awfully small and vulnerable as he cried silently into his partner's shoulder. He could hear Leon murmur some reassuring words from above him, but he couldn’t make them out; the blondes chin rested atop his head as his arms squeezed him tight, rocking Luis back-and-fourth in an attempt to soothe him.

Luis, ironically, felt a little bit like how Teo must’ve been feeling just a moment ago.

“You wanna know something, Luis?”

Leon finally said loud enough for him to hear, pulling away just slightly so he could cup Luis’ face in his hands; wiping away the tears from his cheeks.

“Your Grandfather would be so, so proud of you. I know that for a fact. He would be over the moon for you”

“B-but w-w-what if I’m n-not doing e-enough for T-Teo? I-I j-just w-wanna be like m-mí A-Abuelo..-“

“You’re doing more than enough, Luis. You’re going so above and beyond you have no idea. Listen to me,”

Leon grabbed his chin and forced him to make eye contact.

“You’re not alone. You understand? You have us. And if your Grandfather were still alive, he would be by your side and telling you what an incredible job you’re doing. You are the best Father, understood? Your Grandfather would be so proud of you.”

That was enough for Luis to break down into tired, open-mouthed sobs against Leon’s chest. The two of them had to return to their own bedroom to keep Matteo from waking up; But it was worth it.

Luis stayed curled up against Leon for the entire night, having his hair combed through by his partner's hands as he cried against his shirt.

Luis eventually fell asleep. And for the first time in quite a while, he actually had a decent night's sleep.

He had Leon. He had Chris, and he had Matteo.

He promised to himself that he would make his Grandfather proud.

He would be a good Father to Teo. He would do anything for his beautiful boy.

And nothing in the world could ever change that.

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 10 months ago

Text

Yellow City, chapter twelve

Parker knew he was still new to all of this. He did. He knew. He’d only been here two months, on the heels of four plus years of… whatever all this was.

Regardless: he could swear there was tenderness there, and that just... absolutely could not be.

Chapter twelve of Yellow City. Warning: this fic is explicit.

AO3

-----------------

Arthur knew he wasn’t right.

He did. He knew.

But that was the trick, wasn’t it? As long as he stayed nuts, and let Hastur play the game, he’d never have to deal with—

“Put ‘em up!” Arthur cried, unafraid of multiple bank robbers because Hastur could hold as many guns as they—

“Please. This vote matters more than almost any other,” he begged, hat (non-existent) held to his heart, peering up into the suspicious gaze (thousands of eyes, incomprehensible terror) of the being before—

“Take him away, boys,” Arthur said to (imaginary) coppers as he covered the crooked judge Tango, whose infamous criminal dealings had finally run their—-

“Well, it would just be rude to ignore this lovely gift of—” (strange, fleshy, quivering) “—cookies you brought me,” said Nodens, who was an easy sell for the vote, and seemed glad to be part of—

But it didn’t always work.

Arthur wailed, gripping his hair in both fists, rocking back and forth, and the only word he could say was Faroe.

Parker was… so done with this.

He had his own shit to figure out. Seriously. Whatever his position under Hastur was, the grief of new information from his ex-god, the point of his entire life—but that didn’t matter, because Arthur screamed.

Arthur screamed, and not the happy type of scream, and Hastur held him, and Parker was confused.

Parker knew he was still new to all of this. He did. He knew. He’d only been here two months, on the heels of four plus years of… whatever all this was. Regardless: he could swear there was tenderness there.

It was something about the way Hastur held him. The way Hastur kept Arthur from clawing at his eyes, or murmured to Arthur softly as he howled. The way Hastur endured these horrible, gut-wrenching times of sorrow that Arthur’s contract demanded.

The way Hastur leaped full-bore into the fantasies as soon as whatever magical period of time required had passed.

Parker was an observant man. He always had been. He didn’t want to see what he was seeing here: The King in Yellow was happier when Arthur was not upset.

That made no damn fucking sense.

Arthur never stopped long enough for Parker to spend much-needed analytical time.

“All right, so their lives are brief!” Arthur declared in (Blackstone Square, still stained by the ichor of an attempted coup centuries ago) the city center, holding his own in public debate. “That makes my point, not yours! That means those lives should be protected and celebrated, not taken away!”

And the murmuring (crowd of horrifying deities who’d existed since before time) gathering of shakers and doers seemed moved by his points and listened.

Parker knew what he was seeing. He did. But he couldn’t believe it. Because change—

No. It wasn’t change. They were bored. Arthur was new. That was all.

Arthur gasped. “The children’s hospital is on fire!” he declared, and took off to interrupt a bog-standard bit of worship with servants and incense and very startled priests.

Parker followed. He had no choice.

It wasn’t change. That couldn’t happen. He was seeing it wrong.

The sex did not help this resolution.

It was easier to dismiss when Hastur initiated. When Hastur initiated, it was violence and screams and the mind-bending horror of Arthur being filleted and made to enjoy it. Parker liked it rough, honestly enjoyed some bleeding and bruising, but that was too much even for him.

But when Arthur initiated—which was most of the godsdamned time—

When Arthur took that lead, Hastur gave. When Arthur made the first move, Hastur opened. When Arthur took things in hand, then Hastur…

Hastur spread, exposed, bloomed some organ Parker could not identify in gold and ebony folds that was literally impossible to look away from, like a fist around the mind, and it took all Parker had not to crawl over there on hands and knees and deliver needy worship.

Arthur just stuck his face right in there without hesitating.

Parker would have hesitated.

(Parker told himself he would have hesitated.)

It was impossible, when that happened, to stay unaffected. Impossible to feel disgust, to keep on his feet in any sense of the word, and Parker sank down or curled up and writhed in his seat or in the corner or wherever he was then, taken on that rising tide, and when Hastur climaxed, Parker always did too, even if he didn’t touch himself, because fuck everything, gods were rude.

It wasn’t like Hastur didn’t know.

(Though if Parker were honest, he would admit he enjoyed it, deep-down loved that he didn’t need to fight, didn’t need to push, that he could just drown in pleasure without clinging to control, could just let go.)

But in those times, there was change again. Those times, there was no fileting. Hastur still took control (which Parker understood), but when Arthur led the way, set the pace, and brought (and gained) satisfaction neither faked nor forced, those times were… were…

They were almost tender. They still ended wild (and Parker would never hear Arthur’s voice raised without thinking of these times again), but the joy didn’t seem to be the violence and mental control. They seemed to be… making Arthur happy?

Parker did not know what to do with this observation.

It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be genuine, because that would invalidate everything. His rage toward the gods. His understanding that they needed to be taken down. His very belief, on which he’d built his house and raised his fort and planted his flag.

If gods could change (never mind learn to love because what even the fuck was that fantasy), then it doubly invalidated everything he’d tried to do.

Not that his life wasn’t already invalidated. It was. But this made it worse. This placed Parker completely, absolutely, totally in the wrong (and unable to earn his god’s love) because it meant his core assumptions were flawed.

(And again, unable to earn—)

Therefore, no.

Nope.

It was not true. He would not believe it. He would endure, and find his way through Hastur’s manipulation, and uncover the reason Arthur was being twisted (it wasn’t love, and if it was, it was wrong), and not think about the way Arthur looked at Hastur as he tried to pleasure him (because Charlie had done that, too, and Parker was in no condition to consider it). Then, when Parker got the chance—because someday, a year from now, fifty years from now, five hundred years from now, he would—he’d strike. Do something. Get revenge. Claim justice. Both justice and revenge.

He just had to hold out until then.

“It’s the docks! The murder happened this morning, and we have to—”

Did Arthur have to run everywhere?

“No, I need to see Matthew Cathode, because if he sells out, we lose the libraries, and—“

Did Arthur have to save everyone?

“Catch her! Don’t let her get away!”

Did Arthur ever fucking stop?

(When Hastur was fucking him. Or he was crying. Or asleep. That one was safe to think about.)

Parker had always been fit, and the Defiler’s false seal had made him strong; but fuck, he had never liked running.

He was gasping like a fish as they all got home this time (home, Hastur’s huge and spooky temple, sure, home), but no matter how tired he was, he couldn’t stop thinking.

Hastur had already moved to the bathing portion of the evening—utterly unnecessary to do this with water and scents, but he seemed to enjoy it—leaving Parker the first bit of free time he’d had all day.

Things had been weird out there.

Not that Carcosa would ever feel normal to him. But even for a zoo of the gods, it was weird.

The constant gaze had changed.

Oh, the fascination was still there. The amusement. The wariness (trying to actually fight Arthur or—heaven forbid, fight Hastur—ended quite badly for most parties). But now, there was… speculation.

Yes. That was the word.

Parker was good at languages, a skill he’d never really used before coming here. Over four years with Y’golonac, he’d picked up bits and pieces as a matter of survival, and now, he picked up other things.

“Could the human be responsible?” was the gist of a lot of questions, and Parker didn’t like that.

“Marked, so we can’t just kill him,” was another (though it took a few to figure out (mgepmggoka for claimed in a permanent verb form), and Parker didn’t miss that.

“Contract didn’t work! Again! It’s got to be his fault!” came a lot, and Parker really didn’t like that.

He saw no reaction from Hastur, but Hastur was hard to read. Struggling with words left Parker keenly observant of body language, and who the hell could understand a god’s?

(Parker could, and read them very damn well, but then he’d have to admit they were changing, so it was easier to embrace incompetence.)

Something was brewing.

Maybe that was why Hastur had marked Arthur (which sure seemed to be a big fucking deal).

Parker wasn’t sure that would be enough.

There came a knock on the temple doors one morning when Arthur was sane.

It wasn’t a weeping morning. It was a pillow held over his face while curled like a shrimp morning, and Hastur let him do it, and it was okay (as much as anything was okay) because at least today, Arthur wasn’t screaming.

The knock came again.

“Curious,” the King in Yellow said. “Though the Mother could send far worse.”

Figured. Was probably Asenath. She showed up sometimes, talking gently to Arthur, being a dick to everyone else. “Fuckin’ philosophical of you,” Parker muttered.

Hastur ignored that and went to greet his visitor.

Parker shifted in the bed. Over the last month, after being placed at the table to sleep several times, he’d realized that whether or not he got to sleep in the bed entirely depended on how well he played along.

Was he a good supporting character? Had he joined in The Questioning? (There wasn’t always questioning.) Had he held down the perps, or chased down the fugitives, or in some other way participated in Arthur’s nonsense?

If Parker did well, he got the bed. If he didn’t, he got the table. Fuck it, he wanted the bed, so he played along.

Not that Hastur had explained this. He had not. He’d let Parker figure it out for himself. The ass.

There might not be playing along needed today. “Having fun under there?” Parker said.

For a moment, it seemed the pillow would not answer. “Sure,” it said.

“At least you’re not howling.”

The pillow took time to answer. “Am I normally howling?”

“Yeah.”

The pillow considered. “Fair.”

Parker wasn’t sure why he was pushing. “You think howling’ll bring her back?”

The pillow inhaled. “You’re an asshole, Parker.”

“Yeah.” It was true.

The pillow shuddered. “I don’t want to get up today.”

Parker laughed.

“Fuck… what?”

“That slick foreign accent of yours, through a pillow, bitching about getting up,” said Parker. “Even funnier than when you’d get bitchy at a crime scene.”

“I wasn’t bitchy,” muttered the pillow.

“Yeah, you were.” Parker rolled onto his back. Above him, a canopy floated, posts unneeded: a sparkling golden expanse, splashed with black stars like some wild fantasy.

Looking into it felt like falling up. Parker closed his eyes.

The pillow sighed. “Maybe I was. But only because you were a dick.”

Parker considered that. “Yeah.”

The pillow’s breath was shuddery. “I miss my kid.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Parker frowned. “What? Suffer?”

“Yes.”

Parker snorted. “Good news. You can just go fucking crazy and not suffer anymore.”

“Oh, go to hell.”

“Says the snooty pillow,” said Parker.

“Fucking… what’s your problem today?” the pillow snarled.

And Parker just said it: “I fucked up.”

Silence.

“What? Not gonna kick me when I’m down? Say, ‘I know?’ Say, ‘No fucking kidding?’”

“Sounds like I don’t have to,” said the pillow.

Parker rolled away from him. “Maybe I wish you would.”

The pillow sighed. “So. Here we are. Blood on our hands. I want to die, and I’m not allowed. You want to suffer, and you’re not allowed. What in fuck.”

Parker snorted. Snorted again. And he started to laugh. “What in fuck. Yeah. That’s it. What in fuck.”

The pillow joined him after a moment. “Gods, we’re… we’re screwed.”

“So screwed.”

“Did it to ourselves,” the pillow choked.

“Yeah,” Parker agreed, and slowly, their shared laughter tapered off.

The pillow sniffled.

Parker wiped his eyes. “I don’t got a plan now.”

“Neither do I.”

“So what do we do?”

The pillow didn’t answer.

Asenath did. “Morning, Tweedles,” she said, striding in like she owned the place, dressed in a sleeveless gown with a slit up one side in a vibrant and beautiful green.

Parker’s eyebrows rose. “What party’d you come from?”

“The ‘glad I’m not you’ party. Get up.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Tweedles?” asked the pillow weakly.

“Tweedledee and Tweedledum,” she said.

Parker scowled. “Why are you here?”

“To keep an eye on you drops of sunshine,” said Asenath, and sat at Parker’s sometimes-bed-table.

“Where’s Hastur, then?”

“Occupied,” said Asenath.

That seemed ominous. Parker really, really didn’t like that. “Since when are you doing favors for that guy?” he said.

“Since the Mother agreed it’s a really bad idea to leave you unsupervised.”

Chills ran down Parker’s spine. “Nobody would just bust in here. It’s Hastur’s fucking temple. It’d be suicide.”

Asenath didn’t answer that. “Get up. I’ll wait.”

Shit. Something bad really was going down. “He gets up, he’ll lose his damn mind,” warned Parker.

“I…” The pillow shifted. “I can do a little. Today.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Asenath. “I’ll make some tea while you do.”

Arthur emerged from the white-linen pillows, face creased, red-gold waves flattened on one side of his head. He stared at Asenath like he’d never seen another human before.

“Give him a hand, would you, sweetums?” said Asenath.

Parker wasn’t sure why he obeyed. “Whatever. Come on, Lester.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re on first-name terms,” Arthur groused.

Asenath carefully presented no expression.

“Whatever,” said Parker as if he did not care. “Do I need to carry you like a bride?”

“No.” The grouchiest no that had ever been said, that. Arthur rolled a few times to reach the edge of this absurdly huge bed and staggered toward the little bathroom area Hastur had set up for them.

Parker followed. “Shit’s happening. Stay sane, if you can. Anchored.”

“What would you know about anchored?” said Arthur, addressing the part of that he safely could.

“Only been worshiping a god of rot for decades,” said Parker.

Arthur took care of business, cleaned his teeth, then headed into the enormous, hot pool.

Parker followed course, but couldn’t let it go.“You think that felt good?” he finally said. “You think that was comforting? Stabilizing?”

“You kept doing it, so you must have gotten something out of it,” said Arthur.

“I believed him,” Parker blurted. Today was a day of hard truths. “Turns out he was stringing me along.”

Arthur sounded unmoved. “Uh-huh.”

Parker bared his teeth. “He treated me nice.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. I mean. We didn’t go on no dates, or nothing. But... he helped me.”

“To trick you.”

“Yeah.” Parker’s voice cracked. “That’s what he’s doing to you, you know. It’s part of something. The King in Yellow doesn’t really love you.”

“Maybe.”

No, it was important they shared this heartbreak. Parker scoffed at him. “Maybe, nothing. You think Y’golonac is tricky? King in Yellow is fucking known for it. He’s fooling you.”

“Sure. But to what end?” Arthur ducked under, scrubbing his hair clean.

Parker got mad, and waited until Artur surfaced to yell, “How in fuck should I know? I’m not a manipulative god!”

“Fair,” said Arthur. “But I think it may be simpler than that.” He sloshed for the stairs out.

Parker stared after him. “What? You think it’s what?”

Arthur looked at him. “Apologize to Hastur.”

Parker stared. “Great. You’re already nuts. Fuck.”

“No,” said Arthur, and his gaze was steady, and his expression was tense. “I’m serious. Apologize, and he’ll feel better. Then it’ll get better for you.”

Parker stared harder.

“They’re brilliant,” Arthur said. “But their hearts are… almost like a kid’s.” He grabbed one of the warmed towels Hastur left for them, then padded around the intricately painted screens and spoke, words muffled. Asenath replied, similarly unintelligible.

Parker stood in the water, staring like a moron.

No. No. That couldn’t be. That…

That fit every damn thing he’d seen.

Wanting what they wanted, and throwing tantrums when they didn’t get it.

Weirdly black and white morality, however distinct from human thought.

I don’t feel better yet said Hastur the Unspeakable, the Feaster from Afar, the Lord of Interstellar Spaces.

“What the fuck?” Parker said. “What the fuck?” he said again, and stomped out of the water, grabbing a towel on his way out.

Asenath studied Arthur’s face. Softly, she sighed. “Really?”

Arthur shrugged again. “Like I said. I’m fine.”

“You look… I don’t know. Physically better, but your eyes, not so much.”

Arthur smiled weakly. “That’s because sane hurts, Asenath.”

She waved her index finger in a circle at his face. “I told you, no one is sane here. This isn’t sane. This? This is not sane.”

“Sure it is. Full acceptance of my situation. Full acknowledgement of what I’ve done.” Arthur’s hands shook. “Fuck, I want coffee.”

“They don’t have coffee.”

He startled. “Sure they do. I’ve been drinking it for years.”

She just gave him a look that decried all arguments. “Better, though. Less like bones.”

Arthur shrugs. “He makes me eat.”

She studied him.

Arthur couldn’t meet her eyes. “What is sane, then, if this is not it?”

“No longer beating yourself up for something you can’t control or repair.”

Arthur shook his head and looked away.

Asenath fiddled with her teacup while Parker finally joined them—in his towel, soaking wet, and scowling

Parker sat.

“Classing up the joint, are we?” said Asenath.

“I killed you once and I can do it again,” he said.

She laughed. It was a surprised laugh, far from angry, and she shook her head. “Really?”

He just looked away.

“Don’t…” Arthur started. “We’re… we’re going through it here. Just don’t. Please.”

“For your sake, sure,” said Asenath. “That, and I think we can all agree I got the better deal, anyway.”

“That’s beneath you,” said Arthur.

Asenath studied him.

Parker was silent.

“You know, you’re right,” said Asenath. “Sorry, trashpanda.”

“What the fuck is a trashpanda?” Parker snapped.

“Anachronistic term for a raccoon, because bud, your face is some colors it’s not supposed to be. Are you sleeping?”

He looked away again.

Arthur took a slow breath. “If you’re going to do that, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Now, they both stared at him.

“I fucking killed her,” Parker said.

“He fucking killed me,” Asenath said at the same time.

“Yeah?” said Arthur. “And look where we all are! Here we are, and we’re stuck, and we’re owned, and maybe it mattered in the beginning when both of you got brought back from the dead to serve your new owners, but how can it possibly matter now?”

Parker stared at him, all eyes.

Asenath touched Arthur’s hand. “Thanks. You’re right. You are. I’m being a dick. Thanks.”

Arthur dropped his gaze. “Not totally useless,” he muttered.

“You think you’re useless?” said Asenath.

Arthur shrugged, not looking her way. “Rescuing tea towels isn’t helping anyone.”

She leaned back.

Parker swallowed.

She conjured a teacup and slid it his way.

Parker took it. “Thanks,” he murmured, meaning so much more than tea.

Asenath did not say try not to break that one, and so progress on all sides was made. “So… tell me, Arthur: what do you think it was like here before you came along?”

“Eh?” he said.

She just looked at him.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Arthur.

“Yes, you do,” said Asenath firmly.

Arthur swallowed. “I guess…like it is now. The gods did whatever they wanted.”

Parker inhaled and held it.

“You think you’re not helping, too,” Asenath said. “Both of those statements are incorrect.”

“In what way?” Arthur said.

“Let’s start with the gods. You know the Dreamlands are wrecked.”

Arthur rubbed his face “Yes. I know that. I mean… I don’t fully understand, but I know that.”

“The only life left for all these gods is contracts,” said Asenath.

Oh, Parker really, really, really didn’t like this. He scowled. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Asenath eyed him. “Guessing the Defiler wasn’t big on catching you up on current events.”

“You know he wasn’t!”

“Right. I’m expecting you to hang onto this,” she said. “Remind him.”

Parker’s jaw clenched. “I’ll try.”

She nodded. “So here’s the thing. All the gods had their own place out there, once. Those places came from accidental worship, from dreams of humans, from people adoring gods they did not know. But when the Fire of Y happened, it ended all of that.”

Arthur just nodded. His strain to stay here was terrible, making his hands shake, writing lines in his face.

She kept going. “Realms collapsed. Entire domains just folded up like fucking napkins, too stained for anything but the trash. The world behind the world collapsed.”

Arthur was trying. So very hard, he was trying. “So why didn’t they just go back to Outer Darkness?”

“Because they would lose the forms that they spent millennia crafting. They would abandon all the flesh and power and individuality they spent centuries hoarding. They’d exist, but not as themselves; it would be almost like being erased. There is no dying for them like there is for us, where some essence of self continues on. To return to Outer Darkness would be loss of everything they’ve become, and as close to death as they get.”

Arthur struggled. “Okay. I think I’ve got it. So they… took their sinking ship, because there wasn’t a lot else?”

“Sinking ship?”

He shook his head. “Please keep going.”

She eyed him. “All right. So. The King in Yellow is this big… plans guy? And they almost always work. He’s fucking brilliant. Everybody kind of hates him for it.”

“Good thing he wasn’t the one aiming for a world filled with rot, then,” quipped Parker.

“Yes,” said Asenath, and Parker’s smirk melted. “He’d have won. He’d have had backup plans, not just one straightforward idea based on one guy who could fuck it all up if he slipped in the shower.”

Parker stared.

“My point is, he saw where this was going,” said Asenath, “he expanded his own domain, and made it… habitable for his siblings and relatives. But that doesn’t mean it’s ideal for them.”

“A sinking ship,” said Arthur.

She nodded. “Turns out you were right. Yes.”

“So?” said Parker.

“So, it’s been difficult to balance this. We are all in his home. Even the Mother, when she chooses to step into the mortal world. But it doesn’t suit any of us because it’s made for him.”

Parker was frowning. “But there’s nowhere else to go.”

“Yep!” she said brightly. “Until two weeks ago, when somehow, this little guy conjured his hometown from his childhood.”

“You don’t know that was him,” said Parker, and wasn’t sure why he was feeling defensive.

“We don’t. However, no one else here has any reason to remember Harper’s Hill.”

“How do you know that?” said Parker. “How would anyone know that?”

“Everyone knows everything they can about this little guy,” said Asenath, gesturing at Arthur. “He’s changed Hastur. He’s changed Dagon. He’s changed the minds of every single god he’s talked to. When I say Arthur Lester is making a splash…”

“Nobody is changing,” Parker snapped.

Asenath’s look said please don’t be an idiot. She moved on. “The Mother set things up in terms of how they could access Earth from now on. She did it to protect us; she did it to punish the gods. Contracts are literally the only way any of them get to go to Earth now—and it’s seriously limited, and always temporary, and if they try to screw over their host, everybody suffers.”

“She made it fair.” Parker looked completely flabbergasted. “She… tried to make it fair.”

“Well, yeah,” said Asenath. “No system is perfect, but she tried.”

“But I thought…” Parker stopped.

Arthur looked so thoughtful. “You thought it was to their advantage.”

“It is to their advantage!”

Arthur had one of his moments of clarity, and he sat up. “They need us. They need humans.”

“Now, you’re getting it,” said Asenath.

“Oh, bullshit,” said Parker.

“It’s not.” Arthur looked at him. “Unless you really think Hastur would have put up with me bossing him around for five years and calling him fucking John for just any reason.”

Parker made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Fine. I’ll give you that. He wouldn’t do that if he had any choice. He would’ve done it some other way.”

“What’s this… why are you… talking about this?” said Arthur.

“Because Harper’s Hill isn’t the only thing that’s gone wonky,” said Asenath. “The Contract system stopped working, and I hate to say this, but Arthur, you’re the only new thing that’s happened here in centuries.”

They both stared at her.

“What do you mean, it stopped working?” said Parker.

“I mean that the King in Yellow worked carefully with the Mother to create the contract system,” Asenath said. “And until this week, it’s worked exactly as intended.”

“This week?” said Parker.

Arthur trembled.

“Same time the weird little town showed up,” she said. “Nobody’s been able to create a contract all week.”

Parker stared.

Arthur rubbed his face, heels of his palms digging into his eyes. “Where’s… where’s Hastur?”

“Doing maintenance.”

Parker couldn’t wait. “You’re not fucking telling me you think Arthur’s fucked up the contract system.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” said Asenath. “But they’re thinking it.”

“Why?” said Parker, who already knew.

“Because he’s changing everything.”

“So I’m destroying what little is left, is what you mean,” said Arthur unsteadily.

“Not what I said, hon. It’s for the better.”

“Because he’s alive,” Parker said and knew it was not true.

“Naw,” she said. “Arthur’s not the first living human who’s been brought here, and he won’t be the last—though without a black mirror, it takes an awful lot of doing. They generally lack the patience for it.”

Kid’s heart, Parker thought.

But Arthur wasn’t hearing them. He looked at her, and his gaze was naked. “Where’s Hastur?”

“He’s coming,” she soothed.

Parker was very good and did not comment.

Arthur rubbed his eyes. “I can’t.”

“We’ll share the load,” said Asenath. “Let go.”

He gave her such gratitude in that expression that Parker’s chest mysteriously ached.

“We?” said Parker.

“He just stuck up for you. Not gonna do the same?” she said.

Parker stared. “You’re more of an ass than I am.”

“Had longer to work on it, my dear.”

And that brought another thing to mind: “I heard them say you’re the last ‘original witch.’ The fuck does that mean?”

“Pre-Fire, dear one,” she said.

“What’s with the pet names?”

“I’m trying not to insult you.”

He sighed. “What’s the significance of being from before the Fire?”

“I’m the… I was the last witch who remembered how things were. Just changes the atmosphere a bit down there.”

“They were talking about it like it’s a sign of the end.”

She sighed. “They’re blaming him for that, too. Stupid, I know.”

Arthur finished his tea and put the cup down. “So. Are we ready?”

Oh, great. “For?” said Parker.

“Cathode. Fuck’s sake, Parker, I’m not putting the briefs together for a hobby. You’ve got to read them.”

Parker folded his arms on the table and rested his forehead on them. “Cathode. Sure. Who the fuck?”

The doors banged open like a gong, and they all jumped.

Hastur floated there, silhouetted against the bright sky. His hide seemed darker than ever, true void enfleshed, and his golden robe gleamed like twin suns, too bright, casting watery reflections all over the temple.

Parker shuddered. He’d never get used to this, he realized. To the presence of a god, of a being so huge. His eyes watered.

Arthur headed for him at once. “There you are! Cathode’s waiting.”

Hastur caught him up, and Arthur leaned in, draping over the unspeakable limb that held him. “I see. Let us make you presentable, shall we, little detective?”

“I’m fine!” Arthur declared, completely nude.

“A different tie, perhaps?” said Hastur, fitting him into a sort of trousers and suspenders situation, all yellow, loose in the legs and cinched around the ankles—and it should have looked so incredibly stupid, but on Arthur, it did not. It made his nipples dusky and his chest well-formed, teased his stomach dipping out of sight beneath the temptingly loose waist.

Arthur looked tasty. Parker already knew he would not look tasty.

“You sure about this tie?” said Arthur dubiously.

“Far better with your eye color,” said Hastur.

“Guess you’re the expert,” Arthur said as Hastur brushed his hair.

Asenath stared at all of this in silence.

“Up,” said Hastur, tossing an identical outfit to the table.

“Yeah, yeah,” Parker muttered, grabbing it.

“Fuck me,” Asenath whispered, still staring at Hastur.

“What, witch?” he said.

“I’ll come today.”

Hastur hesitated. “We are grateful for your aid this day, and relieve you from this burden.”

“Sure, cool, thanks. I won’t miss this. We’re seeing Cathode today, apparently.”

Many of Hastur’s tentacles clenched.

“We need her,” said Arthur. “Cathode and you got a history, remember? Mama Laveau’s approval is going to matter.”

They all eyed him.

“Cathode,” said Hastur.

“Yeah. You remember.”

“Of course,” Hastur lied, and offered a hand to Asenath.

“Thanks, I’ll walk,” she said sweetly.

Parker dropped his towel and slouched forward, looking grim.

“Hey,” she said. “Weird. That actually works on you. Sort of a… Hollywood sexy fireman thing.”

He stared at her. “A what? Fucking… what words are you speaking?”

“True ones.” She vanished the tea set with a wave of her hand. “Let’s roll out.”

Arthur’s jog was steady and smooth.

“He really runs everywhere?” Asenath said, breathing easily. She’d swapped out her dress for the kind of bodysuit she’d worn in Cloud City.

Parker thought she looked more comfortable. “All the damn time,” he panted.

“You know you’re dead, right?” she said. “You shouldn’t be breathless.”

“The Mother brought you back right.” Parker didn’t bother mentioning the more obvious changes, because they had already been clear, if internal. “Mine didn’t want me strong.” And how bad that had been, to be torn from barely-remembered Dark World afterlife, to be reborn naked and screaming, weak and wet, shuddering from strengthlessness he’d never known in his life, even as a child.

“Hm,” said Asenath. “Hastur’s got it bad, you know.”

“No, he doesn’t. It’s a plan.”

Asenath just looked at him.

“It’s manipulation,” Parker stated.

She rolled her eyes. Then her gaze locked onto something far ahead, and her eyebrows rose. “Ooooh,” she said, soft. “Cathode. Kthanid.”

“Oh, shit,” said Parker, and began falling behind.

“Don’t.” She grabbed his arm and forced him to keep up. “Not now. This is gonna get tricky.”

“No shit!” he hissed. “Let me go!”

“No,” Asenath said patiently. “You are not my favorite person, Detective Yang, but Arthur forgave you, so for his sake I’m not going to let you trip yourself up here. Stick with us. United front. I’m here, too. And Arthur’s got his own magic.”

“He’s got—” Parker stumbled and bared his teeth. “What the fuck does he have, anyway? Is there a name for it?”

“It’s Arthur.” She shrugged. “I dunno. I guess we could call it… Lestering?”

Parker stared at her in disbelief.

“Stairs,” she said, and there were.

What she’d seen was a forest, trees well-spaced and free of underbrush, beyond which rose a crystal castle.

The thing gleamed like pain, refracting, and Parker couldn’t look at it clearly. It shone with blue from the sky and yellow from the other sky, with glaring reflections like attacks from the double-suns, and the stairs were just fucky.

Just. Just fucky, no two ways about it.

Asenath subtly fed magic into him, and he was so fucking pissed she had to.

At the top of the stairs, the crystal palace gaped open, no gates or doors, merely a squared-off way through the wall huge enough to accommodate even gods of Dagon’s size. Arthur ran right through, sliding his hands over himself, making motions that were clearly smoothing down his jacket and adjusting his hat and fixing his tie.

(Parker knew part of this madness was his withholding the truth of Faroe’s death, and that knowledge ossified, tumored, so his heart had to beat around it in pain.)

Hastur was uncommonly silent. No prompting, no asking questions (“What now, little detective?”), or any of that. He just followed, and he stopped at that entry, same as he had outside Dagon’s area.

Parker knew the facts of this place. Knew who’d built it, knew why. It hadn’t hit him before that Hastur actually tried to honor other gods’ territories even though he’d built them.

Y’golonac hadn’t done that. Not at all. Any time he could slip a tendril of rot into someone else’s soil, he did—and they just burned it away, and little fuss was made, and occasionally duels, and violence. But Hastur… wasn’t doing that.

It wasn’t respect, exactly. It felt more like… a touch of caution. Maybe even a lack of foolishness.

Moving slower now, Asenath released Parker’s arm. He had a choice to stay with Hastur, or follow. Y’golonac had hated Kthanid. Parker thought Hastur did, too. Whatever this turned out to be, he had to see it play out. He followed.

Arthur jogged into the central courtyard without even an ounce of hesitation. “Hello? Mister Cathode?”

And holy fuck, the god did come.

Huge. Bigger than Hastur (though that was no indication of power), this being walked in absolute silence, warping the air around him as if it shifted essence in response to his presence (which most definitely was an indication). Vaguely humanoid, he had bat-wings, and a face full of tentacles, all of them questing and lifting and moving around as though sensing Arthur’s presence. His eyes were a deep gold, gleaming and polished.

Parker was breathing too fast.

“Shh,” Asenath said. “Let him handle it.”

Arthur took off his hat, or tried. “Mister Cathode. I’m sorry we’re late.” Because he saw—

For one weird moment, Parker saw what Arthur saw: a distinguished man, old, with a long but neatly trimmed beard. He wore a suit with a black cape, spats on his shiny black shoes, and a walking cane that screamed hidden sword and he knows how to use it. Kthanid tilted his head. “Mister Lester. You are late, indeed; but I’m inclined to forgive you. Come. Walk with me. Let us talk.”

“Is it okay if my husband stays at the gate?” said Arthur. “I know you don’t want him in here. I know you’ve had some strife.”

“Your husband,” repeated Kthanid, absolutely unreadable. “Yes, I think that’s for the best.”

The husband growled. “I do so as a courtesy.”

“And it is appreciated,” said Kthanid. He nodded at Asenath. “Mother’s Own.”

She beamed and waved. “Did you like the cookies?”

“Yes. They reminded me of something I’ve never tasted now, or yet, though I like them very much.”

“Speculoos cookies,” she said. “Though to be fair, I stole the recipe from Biscoff.”

The fuck was she saying? Parker made a face.

Kthanid chuckled, low (and what was that sound, how was it so calming), and gave her a nod. “Good. Do as you like.”

Asenath tilted her head toward Parker.

“He still smells of rot,” said Kthanid. “Keep him close.”

“Can do,” she said, and threw her arm around his shoulders.

Parker glared, but did not pull away. “We following?”

“Fuck yeah, we’re following.”

Kthanid walked.

Arthur, who did not seem to have heard (or comprehended) any of that, walked with. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Yes. We share an interest, though I feared your—” owner “—partner might prevent our meeting.”

By the door, Hastur made rude curls with his tentacles.

“Let’s clear the air on that,” said Arthur, walking calmly, hands in the pockets of his silky yellow trousers. “I know he’s got a past with you, sir. I also know you have no reason to believe some guy you’ve never met before, but I stake my honor on the fact that he has changed for the better.”

Changed. For the better. That couldn’t even happen. Parker clenched his teeth. It was why they all just needed to fucking die: gods did not change.

(But Hastur had. And Hastur still was.)

Nope, Parker thought. Negative on that.

Kthanid studied Arthur, face-tentacles tasting the air around him as though to discern what perfume of madness he wore. “I accept that for now. Assuming he can behave.” He had no eyebrows to waggle, but he somehow gave that impression.

Arthur colored a little. “He does when it matters.”

Kthanid’s laugh was an amazing thing. It was the second time Parker’d heard it, and for the second time, it soothed his nerves, flattening the hackled edges of his thoughts. He shook his head sharply, trying to keep his guard up.

“Fair enough. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here today, and let us see if our goals truly do align?” said Kthanid.

So Arthur did. Arthur talked about people without options; about the poor, those without help, who started working at the docks (everyone did) but never really managed to rise beyond that. He talked about education, and funding, and food. He talked about children, and orphanages, and little girls who… who had…

And he stumbled a little, getting lost in his thoughts, briefly forgetting where he was, what he was doing, why.

“And some would take advantage?” Kthanid prompted gently.

“Yes! Yes,” said Arthur, audibly relieved to have found the path through the thick woods of his mind, and resumed.

Kthanid was…

Parker had trouble staying mad around this guy. It was infuriating. Or it would be, if he weren’t around this guy. “Fuck,” he murmured.

“Just let it happen,” Asenath murmured back. “It’s his thing. Calming. Soothing. Even healing. If Arthur stayed here long enough, he might recover.”

“We both know that isn’t going to happen. No wonder he doesn’t get along with blondie back there,” Parker murmured. “This is… this is the opposite of insane.”

“Yes.”

Stupid gods. Parker hated them all.

(Or wanted to.)

“So this vote is going to take away what freedoms they have,” Arthur explained. “They won’t even have opportunities to do more, no matter how skilled, or anything else. It can’t happen, sir. This matters more than maybe any other vote in my lifetime.”

“That may be true,” said Kthanid, and ducked with him through another doorway into a room that blew Parker’s mind.

The center of this palace was huge. Open. A great, vaulted chamber, dark up high and dark all around and fucking bright below.

Many stories down sat an enormous round mirror. In it, a different sky shone; clouds slid across, and birds, and it was the wrong blue, and it scared Parker because it was somewhere else, maybe somewhen else, and he knew he’d never seen that particular sky before but he could have if he’d been born sooner.

“This is my Viewing Room,” said Kthanid, and gestured. “Through my looking glass, I can see any possible outcome to any action by any living thing in the worlds.”

“That’s really valuable, sir,” said Arthur. “But who maintains the lines?”

Parker could not for the life of him figure out what Arthur had translated that into.

“I do,” said Kthanid. “Through my essence. It is a gift from an Outer God, he who is known as Yog-Sothoth. I’m sure you haven’t met.”

Kthanid was probably amusing himself with that statement—Yog-Sothoth was banished, and had been forever—but like always, Arthur did something weird in response. “Oh, sure,” he said. “He’s all right. Mama Laveau is still pretty mad at him, though.”

Kthanid stopped and stared at him.

Asenath stopped and stared at him.

Parker looked back and forth. “Um,” he whispered. “You know he’s crazy, right? He didn’t speak to Yog-Sothoth.”

Asenath stayed quiet.

“Interesting,” said Kthanid. “That was one of the possibilities I saw, but I didn’t think…”

“What was?” said Arthur.

“A gift,” Kthanid said again, as if rewinding to the previous subject. “Such an interesting one, too. Do you have any requests?”

Parker shook his head. Whiplash, both of them.

Arthur stared. His eyes tightened. He licked his lips. “Yes,” he said.

Kthanid waited.

“Could…” Arthur swallowed. “I’m sorry. This is going to… shorten our… our meeting. But could I see my daughter?”

“Oh, fuck me,” Parker said.

“Yes,” said Kthanid, and steadied Arthur, who’d begun to hyperventilate, who’d lost all strength in his legs, who stared up at this god of anti-madness with tears streaming down his cheeks, who—

There was a whump, and Parker found himself at the gate, next to Asenath, as if he’d been thrown there. “Fuck!” he shouted, and tried to run back in.

Hastur grabbed him up.

“NO! Let me go! He’s alone in there!”

“He’s fine,” said Hastur grouchily.

Parker snarled. “He’s seeing his daughter right now. That what you want? You think that’s going to go well? You think he’ll be fine after that?”

Hastur was so still. It seemed even his massive hearts had gone silent, and Parker twisted wildly in that grip to no effect. “He will be fine,” said Hastur.

Asenath paced, exhaling, puffing out her cheeks. “That’s a whole thing. Damn.”

“His daughter, or an alternate?” said Hastur.

“Dunno. Kicked out,” said Asenath.

“What are you waiting for? Go get him!” snapped Parker.

“Arthur is marked,” said Hastur. “Kthanid is… regrettably honorable.”

“Regrettably!”

“He won’t take or harm him,” said Hastur.

“You sure? Because I ain’t sure,” snarled Parker, feeling so much better now that he could be angry again. He kicked the air. “Arthur’s got that whatever that makes him special. All the gods want to keep him. That guy just might want to do a bait and switch, or something worse.”

Hastur ignored that like it was worth nothing. Like the protest made no sense. Like Parker (exhibiting protectiveness for reasons he had yet to analyze) was being absurd.

Parker kicked wildly. It did nothing.

Kthanid reappeared. He carried Arthur in his arms.

Hastur went very still.

“He sleeps,” said Kthanid, handing a very unconscious Arthur over. “He will be all right.”

“You showed him his dead child?” Hastur rumbled, and it was a warning growl.

“Yes,” said Kthanid. “I think you’ll find he needed it.”

“What did he fuckin’ see?” said Parker, louder than necessary, because his anger was slipping again, and it wasn’t fair.

“If he chooses to tell you, that’s his choice to make,” said Kthanid. “I will betray no confidence.”

“We’re done here,” said Hastur, sweeping back down the stairs.

Parker stared.

“Do you want to see something, too?” said Kthanid so gently, so lightly, so kindly.

And Parker knew what was on offer, and didn’t know how this guy knew to give it: Charlie.

Oh, no. No, no, no— “Fuck no,” said Parker, and ran down the stairs, ran with all his might, so hard and so fast that he damn near fell and broke his neck, damn near matched Hastur’s flying speed. Then he had to stop at the bottom and bend over, gasping, exhausted and trembling.

“Come on, tough guy,” said Asenath, fortunately not nearly as kindly as Kthanid had been, because that tone, Parker could take.

“Fuck you,” he said, but because she’d been wry, he let her take him home.

Parker sat at the little table that was sometimes his bed, freshly bathed, feeling utterly wiped out.

He could’ve seen Charlie, but why? What good would it do?

What good… would it do?

Arthur was still asleep. Hastur had woken him long enough to get him to eat some fish and some fruit compote, and that was it. Whatever it had cost that man to stay sane and see his daughter after death, it had wrung him right the fuck out.

Asenath was gone. Parker wasn’t sure when she’d left. She hadn’t said anything.

“Such a unique little human,” Hastur was murmuring (as if anybody cared), finally tucking Arthur into bed.

“Surprised you aren’t fucking him,” Parker said because he was hoping to get hit because that would distract because that would (surely) help. “You usually do when some other guy touches your shit.”

Hastur was silent.

So much for that volley. Parker sighed. He tapped his fingers on the table. And then he figured, Why the fuck not? Maybe he’ll get mad, and said, “Sorry. By the way.”

Hastur grabbed him. Just yanked him out of the chair, up into the air, so close to the mask that the power of Hastur’s magic threatened what little stability Parker felt he had left. “What?” said Hastur.

Parker almost lost it. Held on, grasping what Arthur had said earlier, though now he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or bad. “Sorry. That… before. When we…”

Hastur waited.

In for a penny… “I’m sorry I took him from you. Okay? Sorry.” So graceful, he thought. Terrific with words. This would go over swell.

“Did Arthur tell you to do that?” said Hastur, who never missed a damn trick.

Whatever. “Yeah,” said Parker.

“And you listened,” said Hastur.

“I get it, okay?” said Parker, not sure what he was going to say next. “You staked a claim, or something, and it don’t matter if nobody could see it. You knew. And Arthur still picked me over you that night. Okay? I get it. I’m sorry.”

Silence. Stillness. Parker shivered. Was this it? Was the violence he’d craved before about to be dumped upon him after all, now that he knew it would do no good, would earn no favor? That would just figure, wouldn’t it, to suffer and be shredded and cry, when the god he’d once served wouldn’t even care?

“An unexpected wisdom,” said Hastur, “and most pleasing.” And he tucked Parker into the bed.

No shredding or breaking or crushing or gouging. Parker waited a moment to make sure that was real, then finally released the breath he’d been holding.

Beside him, Arthur did his buzzy little snore, the tiniest sound, like some kind of baby bug.

It was soothing. Parker was here, in one piece. He hadn’t been crushed. Maybe that conversation hadn’t done any good, but it hadn’t done any harm. “Hope you’re happy,” he muttered to Arthur’s stupid limp face.

“Sleep,” Hastur commanded.

Parker could not refuse.

He woke. Woke, to the sound of Arthur singing elsewhere in the room. Woke, to a feeling so familiar, so missed, so shocking in its return.

Parker woke, and was afraid, because for the first time since he’d died, he felt strong.

#malevolent au #malevolent fic #hastur/arthur #the king in yellow #arthur lester #parker yang #the dreamlands #tw:explicit #tw:gore #yellow city #cloud city

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carrrothead-vol2 · 1 year ago

Note

11, 22, & 55 for the fic writer asks - @allthe-queens-men

Thank you @allthe-queens-men for those lovely, and very complicated asks!💜

11. Link your three favorite fics right now

Oh no, the decisions! (going with first three poly fics that immediately popped to my head, tho there are *so* many faves)

The fandom classic Tikini’s “Princes of the Universe”. I rly tried not to binge it; I did.

“Paralax” series by sweetestsight. I still remember that lovely punch in a gut the first time I read it, all those years ago (and then, when I found myself back in this fandom, discovering that the series were now completed)

“Sing a Song (of reckless love)” by sammyspreadyourwings. That’s just heart wrenching and makes me cry every time, and I love it.

22. Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

I don’t rly like ABO dynamics and mpreg; I occasionally might read those tropes, but I won’t write them myself.

First person pov is also tricky, but I’ve done it in another fandom and I rly liked the way it turned out. I’ve been entertaining an idea for a “Stand by Me”-type childhood friends’ story that would be written in first person pov, but we’ll see how it goes. (I might chicken out in fear of ppl ignoring my fic lol)

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

Oh, yes, I love writing sneaky Deaky, the sassmaster, the queen of one-liners, the quiet, yet observant dudebro, who’s both pragmatic and mysterious.

Well, I like writing them all, but I think it’s my John who I was most surprised to get positive feedback for, because I wasn’t rly sure in the beginning how to best write him.

#kaakson likes talking about writing more than actually writing

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ninjagirlstar5 · 1 year ago

Text

Protag Teruya AU - Yuki Maeda's FTEs (Part 1)

I'm BAAAAACK!!!

Dear lord, first of all, I'm sorry I've been mostly radio silent on both of my SDRA2 projects. I was dealing with college, socializing in clubs, I got sick, got better, and then got sick AGAIN, and I've been streaming SDRA2 with my buddy on discord whenever they're available between all of that, so I have! Been! Busy!

But good news is, I've been plugging away at part one of Yuki and Protag!Teruya's FTE during my breaks slowly but surely, and now it's done! Hopefully the next updates won't take as long as before but perhaps we shouldn't get out hopes up too much. It's been a busy semester and I have no doubt it'll get busier now that I'm past the halfway point.

Anyways, are Teruya and Yuki hanging out okay? Let's find out.

AO3 Version

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The Protag Teruya AU was inspired by @/anotherprofessional’s post! Beware of Void spoilers though!

Fic is under read more!

Teruya watches Setsuka and Yoruko leave the U-Mart to hang out. This wouldn’t have bothered him as his own investigation of the U-Mart didn’t yield any clues, although he did get a better understanding of the area. Not to mention that he actually had a bit of fun categorizing and making a list in his head of all the supplies found in the store. It somewhat surprised Teruya that he would enjoy something as bland as this, but he was glad to learn a bit more about himself. Especially since his amnesia had left him with no clues about his own life. But he’s not surprised that Yoruko was a bit more disappointed with the lack of clues to escape the Killing Game. He can also tell that she was getting a bit bored about halfway through the investigation of the U-Mart. So Teruya understood why she’d leave as soon as she could with Setsuka, even if it’s only to take a break.

There was just…He has a hard time calling this a problem but it still left Teruya feeling very uncomfortable.

He slowly turns towards Yuki Maeda, who was also left behind despite investigating with Setsuka just mere minutes ago. Yuki catches his gaze and faces him with a raised brow. Teruya, realizing that he should probably say something, clears his throat.

“So…” Teruya starts, only realizing a few seconds too late that he had absolutely no idea where to go with this. Yuki scratches his cheek with his finger, averting his gaze.

“So.” Yuki said, but didn't add anything else. Almost like he had no idea what to say either. The thought actually gave him a little comfort, knowing that he wasn’t the only one that felt that way. “Um…So you chose the U-Mart as your first investigation?”

“Uhhh, yep.” Teruya gives him an awkward grin, trying to push down the uneasy feeling in his gut. “I didn’t really get a good look around the first time. I…It’s where I found out my amnesia was most likely permanent…” He trails off. Kokoro was the one to tell him that, but can he really trust her word for it? She’s the mastermind, after all. And yet, she’s also the Ultimate Psychologist, so that had to count for…something. Right?

“That makes sense. The U-Mart has a lot more stuff compared to the gift shop on the ship. Honestly, it feels more like a warehouse than an actual store though.” Yuki let out a sigh as if this didn’t really make sense to him. Teruya tilts his head.

“Really? It feels pretty normal to me.” Teruya looks around the store. One side of the store held food for them to pick out from, including convenience bentos that can be eaten cold or warmed up from the microwave, the middle held regular everyday and seasonal items, and the other side had tools that ranged from wrenches to drills. By the register was the alcohol, but he ignored it as he held no interest in it, especially since they were all minors. “Although, I guess if the store was a bit more specific then it would be more odd.”

“Specific…? Like, a clothing store?” Yuki curls his fist near his mouth. Teruya nods his head.

“Yeah, like…You wouldn’t find a clothing store selling food. That would be, like, false advertisement. People would only enter a clothing store for clothes, while they would go to a grocery store for food. Now, if there was a store that sells anything and everything, it’d only be natural that they would have a wide variety of supplies for the customers to search for. It’s not that uncommon…I think.” Teruya pauses. Yuki tilts his head.

“You sound like you know a lot about stores.” He points out. Teruya couldn’t deny that. If there was one thing he was certain about himself, it was definitely this. And yet, he didn’t know why he knew so much about stores. The puzzle piece was there, it’s just that he lacked so many others that there was no way he could understand what it could mean right now.

“It seems like it, haha…” Teruya said, rubbing his head. “I…uh, don’t know what that means about my life. My past life? It’s uh, a lot. It’s a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah, totally.” Yuki quickly goes quiet. So does Teruya and the little bit of small talk they managed to create disappears into awkward silence.

Teruya shifts on his feet.

He wants to say more.

But when he tries to think of something to say, it quickly grows into a struggle. Why? It’s not like they ever met before, at least according to Yuki. So there’s no reason to feel the way he does.

But every time he looks at him, he feels his stomach drop like he had fallen from a tall height. Something that made his chest tighten as his stomach twists and turns. It was a wariness that felt too damn familiar for him to ignore, but Yuki would only stare at him in pure ignorance.

Yuki didn’t know anything.

And with Teruya’s amnesia, he didn’t know anything either.

Which only made these feelings not only confusing but frustrating.

He wanted to talk to him more than anything else but he also didn’t because he doesn’t deserve his attention.

“Um…Teruya?” A small voice reaches his ears, bringing him out of his thoughts. Teruya blinks before focusing his gaze back on Yuki. How long had he zoned out? Hopefully not too long. That would only make things much more awkward between them. “Can we…investigate together?”

“Huh?” Teruya feels floored. And perhaps, a lot more anxious than he appeared to be. He points to himself. “Me? You, uh, want to investigate with me?”

“Yeah! If, uh, that’s okay with you.” Yuki said, giving him a smile. A smile that was stabbing needles into his heart, even as it swells with joy.

“Uh, sure! I don’t mind.” Teruya smiled back as it strains against his cheeks.

He minds. He minds a lot.

“Great. So…where do you want to go?” Yuki asked, adjusting his tie. Teruya pauses before scratching the back of his head.

“To be honest, I already had a…pretty decent investigation of the island with Mikado when we first woke up here. But I barely know anything about the Monocruise.” Teruya then shrugs. “Yoruko brought me outside while I was looking around my room. I didn’t pay much attention to it since I was pretty tired last night.”

“You must’ve spent a lot of energy looking after Mikado.” Yuki said before a smile grew on his face. “You’re really kind for doing that, Teruya.”

“O-Oh, um, thank you.” Teruya felt himself smile more genuinely, a little bashful at the praise. “Just…doing what I need to do.”

“Yeah…um…” Yuki then points to the doors. “Why don’t we make our way back to the Monocruise then? I’ll guide you around and then we can loop back to the entrance when we’re done.”

“Sounds good to me.” Teruya nods and the two of them leave the U-Mart without another word.

Yuki leads the way back to the Monocruise and the two of them are mostly silent as they walk. It was still a little awkward between the two of them, but once they were inside, they immediately focused on trying to investigate the Monocruise. In the hallways were a couple of grandfather clocks but none of them were working, the restrooms, bookshelves filled with books that Teruya didn’t have much interest in, and huge chandeliers that hung from the ceiling precariously. He can only hope that they don’t fall. But what did grab Teruya’s attention almost immediately was the large, double stone door that was to the right of the staircase. But when he tried to enter it, it was completely locked and Yuki explained that “Big Bro,” a.k.a. Shinji, had already tried to brute force it and it didn’t work. In the end, they decided to leave it be for now since there’s nothing they can do about it. At least, not without the risk of breaking one of the school rules.

On the first floor of the Monocruise, there was the infirmary that Teruya had already become familiar with due to taking care of Mikado in it for an entire day, but also a workout room with various equipment, including huge dumbbells, punching bags, and treadmills. There was also a ping-pong table to play, well, ping-pong, a cleaning supplies closet in case there was a spill, a large basket filled with sports balls for the basketball hoops hanging on the walls, and a nearby trash can. There was also a storage room that Teruya had to resist the urge to organize and memorize every bit of supplies and sundries left around inside, and simply said that they should leave this for another time since all of the miscellaneous stuff would take forever to sift through even with the both of them together. Yuki agreed and they left the storage room alone. The auditorium was a bit more of a sad excuse as there was a lot of space in it but nothing else aside from a clock that told the time, a piano sitting next to a desk for someone to speak from and chairs piled up on top of each other by the walls. They stopped by the dining hall to check if there was anything they could’ve missed, but it had mostly stayed the same since they were last there. The large table where they ate their meals together was still where it was left, with the chandelier hanging nearby, and shelves filled with various utensils and cups. Teruya had found some crow cards lying about in those shelves, but otherwise there was nothing useful to be gained by sticking around the dining hall. The kitchen was also attached to the dining hall, fully repaired after Mikado’s poor attempt at cooking nearly destroyed it in a fire. It looked like a fancy cooking station you’d find at a restaurant while still feeling like something you’d find in any other house in the real world. They left the kitchen untouched as well, as neither of them were hungry enough to make something for brunch.

The second floor hallway was pretty identical to the first floor in layout, minus the doorway to the left of the staircase. There were plenty of grandfather clocks and chandeliers, with doors leading to the game room, library, bathhouse, and laundry room. All of which he hadn’t checked out for himself yet.

But the one thing that caught both of their attention pretty quickly was a door almost hidden away in the corner. Unlike most doors, it was metallic with a keypad serving as it’s lock. And to top it off, there was a minigun attached in the corner and aiming directly at the door.

Out of everything they’ve seen so far, this is definitely the most suspicious thing yet.

And yet, neither Teruya or Yuki took a step closer to the door.

“…Do you want to check it?” Teruya asked, making these the first few words he had said in a while. Yuki’s jaw drops as he gapes at him.

“No way! What if I do something wrong and that minigun goes off??” Yuki points at said weapon. “I’ll be turned into Swiss cheese!” Teruya couldn’t help but snort and cringe at the same time.

“Y-Yeah…that wouldn’t be good at all.” Teruya agreed but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the door. Yuki sighs.

“We all tried to think of ways to enter the room, but…none of us has the guts to try the keypad. Not with that minigun silently threatening us with death.” Yuki shudders as he adjusts his tie. “It wouldn’t be a good idea anyways. We don’t have any hints on what the passcode could be, so the effort would just be useless.”

“I think that’s a wise decision. I don’t want you guys to get hurt when our chances are so low.” Still, that door is going to bother him for as long as he's aware that it's here. Teruya forces himself to turn away. "Let's just check out the rest of the floor."

"Ah, right." Yuki doesn't say anything else, leaving the both of them in awkward silence once more.

Teruya almost wanted to say something.

But his mind was blank, so he kept his mouth shut.

The library was, naturally, filled up with books, with the shelves lined up against the walls. The bathhouse has cabinets for changing, a cleaning supply closet, a clock, shower stalls, and, of course, a large hot tub to relax in. Now wasn't the time to take a bath, though, and they left without bringing up the idea of having a shared bath. You know, to deepen their bonds as friends.

He did find some money in the bathtub, though.

("...Who left their card here??")

("I don't know, but it's mine now!")

("You're…surprisingly greedy.")

("Hey, you can't live without money, you know!")

("...Unfortunately, you're right.")

The laundry room was probably the most normal room there was on the Monocruise, being of decent size with a few washing machines and dryers to accommodate everyone on the Monocruise. The game room, though, was everything a minor should steer clear from for their age: roulette tables that reminded Teruya of casinos, slot machines that pour out coins when you manage to line up three of the same images, and a shelf behind the counter that held plenty of alcohol of different types. Teruya can’t help but grimace at the amount of games that are just begging to give someone a gambling addiction.

“I can’t believe there’s a room like this here. Isn’t this supposed to be a school field trip for high schoolers?” Teruya questioned, absently running his hand along a nearby pool table. It was clearly of high quality and he had a feeling that Setsuka would love spending her time here if she hasn’t already.

“Honestly, I’d agree with you if this was a normal school trip.” Yuki said before a random note of a piano key being hit was heard. Teruya turns the corner to see his fellow student nearby the piano, testing it out if only to distract himself. He closes his eyes with a sigh. “But this is the School Trip of Mutual Killing. Nothing about this has been normal since we got here.” He then pauses before furrowing his brow. “Besides, Hope’s Peak Academy did invite the Ultimate Gambler before. Stuff like this on a Hope’s Peak school trip would probably be normal since they would want to see the Ultimate Gambler in action.”

“…That would actually make a lot more sense.” Teruya scratches his forehead. If Hope’s Peak Academy was more than willing to invite students that had more…questionable talents, then of course they’d have the resources to help support and nurture them as well. Hell, they had Yoruko, who was the Ultimate Hostess, and Syobai, the Ultimate Broker. While Yoruko’s talent is a lot more innocuous compared to the literal criminal, she was still breaking the law by lying about her age to work in an age-restricted job. And yet, they were still willing to take both of them. Albeit they had to blackmail Yoruko to agree to come. Syobai…he’s not certain about his reasons for why he chose to come, or if he was also blackmailed, but either way, he was here as well. “…Still, none of us are the Ultimate Gambler so I don’t know why we have this room.”

“Yeah, it kinda just…exists. It’s not as if we can’t have fun here and we don’t really have any money to make any bets anyway…unless you count the Crow Cards.” Yuki then pulls away from the piano, smiling as he points to a set of double doors. “But, hey. At least there’s a gift shop here.”

“Oh yeah! Monocrow mentioned the gift shop before.” Teruya said, lighting up at the mention. He raises his hands as his body automatically moves towards the door without another thought. “So it’s here? What’s in the shop?”

“Well…about anything you can find at a tourist shop, I think. With some…odd stuff mixed in.” Yuki said, scratching his cheek with his finger. Teruya pauses upon grabbing the handle, turning to direct his raised eyebrow at Yuki. The student simply shrugs as he smiles awkwardly. “I think you’ll understand once you see it.”

“Alright…” Despite acknowledging the strange comment, it didn’t stop the feeling of excitement rising in his gut. Teruya tugs on the handle and the door slides open, revealing what was inside.

And his heart nearly lept in joy.

Inside were rows and rows of shelves filled with all sorts of supplies of different varieties. Art supplies, notebooks, snacks…you name it, the gift shop probably has it. It was decently large for the amount of goods it had in store, and even had a register counter by the front to pay for the supplies, although no one was there to man it. Teruya almost wondered if someone had tried to shoplift from the gift shop but he quickly shoots that idea down in his head. With the existence of Crow Cards, Monocrow would clearly want that currency to be used throughout this school trip. And while there was no repercussions from taking anything from the U-Mart, it may be because the mart was on the island since it was founded and would have convenience goods that wouldn’t be out of place for its store. The gift shop, on the other hand, was a part of the Monocruise, and is under Monocrow’s jurisdiction. If Monocrow wants them to pay for the goods in the gift shop, he will make them even if he has to threaten them with punishment.

Not that Teruya found himself caring.

He was just…so excited and comforted at the sight of the shop.

He doesn’t know or understand why he’s reacting the way he is now. It was just a shop, after all. One that you can probably find anywhere in the world, as long as the concept of currency or even bartering existed. A place where you can find goods that range from daily necessities to snacks to entertainment to unnecessary knickknacks and decorations.

But, Teruya didn’t care.

It made him happy to be here. And for once, he allowed himself this moment to bask in it, regardless of the circumstances that surrounded him.

“Oh…Oh my god…!” The words slipped out of Teruya’s mouth without thinking about how he looked. He just runs over to the nearest aisle, unable to keep himself from bouncing off of his heels as he goes. The aisle seems to be where the toys are, and he grabbed a rainbow spring toy off the shelf to let it hang from his hand. Yuki, who seemed to have followed him inside, watches as the amnesiac played with the toy in his hand. “Yuki! Yuki, look at this! There’s so much to look at!”

“I-I can see that, Teruya.” Yuki laughs like he was unable to comprehend what he was seeing before him. “Geez, you look like a kid exploring a new place for the first time.”

“I mean, technically, it is a place I haven’t been to before.” Teruya tosses the spring toy back to its little basket. Not a single bit of his memories have come back to him yet, but that didn’t mean he was going to push away this sense of comfort. He walks over to Yuki and wraps an arm around him. Yuki blinks in surprise at the closeness and Teruya was too distracted by his own joy to take note of the uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He points as he speaks. “But there’s loads of stuff you can get here! There’s shampoo and conditioner in that aisle, snacks over there, some stationary supplies and…” He falters when his eyes land on something he feels like he shouldn’t be seeing so out in the open. “Is…Is that bondage gear?”

“Yeeep.” Yuki closes his eyes with a grimace. “Like I said before, there’s some odd stuff.”

“I, why is there bondage gear here!??” Teruya scrunched up his face, pulling Yuki closer to him. “We’re…We’re minors! And this is a school trip, I…What the hell??”

“Let’s, uh, just ignore it! We’re here to investigate, not, uh, get distracted by weird stuff.” Yuki suggests, taking his arm off of his shoulder. Teruya ignores the jab of disappointment upon the lack of contact but he gets over it pretty quickly.

“Right, right. Let’s just…avoid that aisle then and look around.” Teruya agrees, deciding that it was best to move on unless he wished to waste any more time. He heads to the back of the room and finds two other oddities in the shop. One was a vending machine that was half black and half white, like it was shaped in Monocrow’s image and he instantly didn’t like it. The other was the rows of arcade games that ranged from Pac-Man (shaped like, again, Monocrow) and a dancing game that wasn’t Dance Dance Revelution, but definitely similar where you have to time your steps to the beat of the song. He approached the games with curiosity, and Yuki almost instantly appeared by his side like he was also interested in the arcade. “Huh…Why do you think this is here? It’d fit more in the game room itself.”

Yuki opens his mouth to make a suggestion but—

“Allow me to answer that question.”

They couldn’t help it.

They screamed, jumping into each other’s arms as the person — no, that damn thing called Monocrow — suddenly pops out of nowhere in front of the arcade cabinets. The minute they realized who it was, their fear was immediately replaced with disdain.

“You — You son of a bitch!” Teruya snaps, nearly swatting Monocrow off of the cabinet. He squawks indignantly, flapping his wings as if to make himself bigger.

“Hey, hey! Violence against your teacher is against the school rules!” Monocrow says, reminding Teruya that he was on thinner ice than he liked. Yuki scowls at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“You’re not our teacher! You’re a part of the mastermind’s scheme!!” Yuki yells as he clenched his fists. Monocrow sighs, lowering his head.

“Both can be true, you know…” The crow then shakes his head. “But nevermind that. I will let go of your near violation since the hit didn’t land. But you best not risk that again, Mr. Otori.” Teruya grimaces but slowly nods his head. He shouldn’t put his life in danger for something as stupid as breaking a school rule. Especially one that can easily be avoided. “Anyways, you’re curious about these arcade machines, are you not?”

“I mean…yeah.” Teruya admits and slowly nods his head. Yuki lowers his hands but he was watching Monocrow warily. Teruya eyes the arcade cabinets. “Why are they in the shop instead of the game room?”

“Well, to put it simply, I thought having these games in here would be more convenient for you all.” Monocrow said, raising his head. Yuki frowns.

“Convenient?” Yuki adjusts his tie and Monocrow nods before rubbing his wing against his beak.

“Indeed. You see, not only did I hide Crow Cards all around the island and Monocruise, I’ve installed these games to reward you!” Monocrow spreads out his wings, almost as if he was proud of himself. Teruya didn’t understand what he meant by that until Yuki’s eyes go wide.

“Wait…Are you saying that these arcade machines can give us Crow Cards?” Yuki cranes his neck at the machines and Teruya does a double take. Arcade games that give out free money? Even with his amnesia, this feels like a first for him.

“Absolutely! I know not all of you are willing to go on a scavenger hunt for the Crow Cards I’ve hidden throughout the island, even though I encourage investigation…But I couldn’t just leave my students penniless! Consider this as an…alternative way to gain money. To an extent of course.” Monocrow nods his head at the cabinets. Teruya managed to catch his last words and frowns.

“‘To an extent?’ What do you mean by that?” Teruya raised an eyebrow at the bird. Monocrow simply huffs, turning his beak up at him. Which would’ve been funny with how small he is compared him, but the amnesiac only found it annoying.

“I mean that you all only have a limited amount of tries for the games. I can’t just let you get rich so easily by spending all of your hours playing games!” Monocrow flaps his wings at Teruya again. “Each student has about three tickets on their e-handbook+, and regardless of which games you play, the cabinets were made to keep track of the amount of tickets you have. In other words, you can’t spend three tickets on Crow-Man and then try to spend three more tickets on DanceRush Stardom.”

“Please tell me that’s not your version of PAC-Man.” Yuki asked, despite already knowing the answer just by looking at the arcade machine in question.

“Regardless, the tickets will be replenished by the end of the week, and you’ll only get enough Crow Cards according to your high score.” Monocrow said, completely ignoring Yuki’s words. The student narrows his eyes at the bird but sighs, completely giving up on the topic.

“So, basically…” Teruya frowns as he tries his best to understand Monocrow’s words. “If you get a good score, you’ll get plenty of cash. However, if you sucked at the game and get a bad score, you won’t get much and end up wasting your time.”

“Precisely!” Monocrow blushed (somehow), speaking almost cheerily at Teruya’s words. Teruya wasn’t sure if he should be proud of himself or disturbed that Monocrow was praising him at all. “So do choose your games wisely! There’s nothing wrong with having too much cash, after all.”

“I…see.” Teruya eyes the arcade cabinets before him. Now that Monocrow explained what their purpose was, it made more sense to have them inside the store than the game room. While the game room was literally one door away, having the one and only arcade games that give out money inside the store made sense if you want your customers to spend their money there. After all, you can’t forget to spend your money when you’re literally inside the store. And if you want a specific item but don’t have enough cash, you can just walk over to a game right then and there and play a round in the hopes of getting a decent score that would reward you. Teruya brings his gaze towards the black and white vending machine and points to it. He might as well gather as much information that he can squeeze out of Monocrow while he’s here. “What about that one?”

“Oh, that’s the Monocrow Machine I mentioned before.” Monocrow lowers his wings and turns towards the vending machine in question. “For five-hundred Crows, you can get any item from the gift shop for cheap, however, it is completely randomized and based on luck. So you’ll have to hope you’ll get what you wanted. But who knows? Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get some special gifts.”

“Special gifts? What kind?” Yuki looks over the Monocrow Machine, more curious than anything else now.

“That, I will let you find out on your own.” Monocrow brushes his wing against his beak. “If that is all the questions you have, I shall be taking my leave.”

“…You wouldn’t give us a reason on why this killing game is happening anyway, would you?” Teruya muttered as his gut twists. Monocrow chuckles, only confirming his suspicions.

“Is despair simply not a good enough reason for you?” And before Teruya could tell him ‘no, it isn’t,’ Monocrow disappears behind one of the machines and is gone. He knew the moment he left his sight that there was no point in trying to chase down the stupid bird to grill him for answers. It would just be a waste of time anyways.

“Well…I think that’s all we can get from the gift shop, right, Yuki?” Teruya said, turning to his classmate. Just in time to see Yuki pull on the lever of the Monocrow Machine. He gapes. “Wha — Yuki!”

“Huh?” Yuki jumps at the sudden call of his name. He turns away from the machine with wide eyes. “What??”

“Why are you using the machine?? You don’t need to use it when you can just buy what you need here, right?” Teruya gestures to the shelves with all the goods that were in plain sight. Yuki winces but frowns.

“I mean, you’re right…but, if you can get anything from the machine for just five-hundred Crows, that’s actually really cheap and some of the stuff here can be really expensive.” Yuki said, scratching his cheek as if he was embarrassed. Teruya frowned before glancing at the nearest price tag, which just so happened to be for a Playrotation4 and…

Oh.

That’s actually pretty steep.

Even Teruya, who had been scavenging every nook and cranny to find Crow Cards, didn’t have enough Crows to buy it right off the shelf.

“…Okay, I can see your point — wait a minute!” Teruya whirls around when a realization hits him and he points at the game station. “Why would anyone spend money on a Playrotation4?? It’s not like we need something like this and we’re in the middle of a killing game! We shouldn’t get ourselves distracted by stuff like this.”

“A-And you’re right! It’s just…just…” Yuki hesitates, mumbling something under his breath. Teruya raises an eyebrow at him but remains patient as he tugs on his tie nervously. “Sorry…I just…I can't concentrate on the killing game all the time. When I do, I…I get really, really scared. And then I remember how Syobai nearly stabbed me, and start thinking that anyone might be willing to do that, and then it just…just spirals from there. You know?”

“Ah…” That…actually makes sense. It’d be natural to suspect that everyone was out to get each other. Especially since one person already tried to take a life, even without hearing all the rules. How can Yuki not be paranoid? Teruya feels himself soften up as he presses his hand against his chest. “I think I understand. It is a dangerous situation, and you could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Yeah…Which is why I’m glad you were there, Teruya.” Yuki smiles at him, almost stopping Teruya’s heart as it clenched tightly. “If you hadn’t intervened, I might not be standing here right now. Even if you could’ve gotten hurt in my place…”

“O-Oh, it’s…it’s no problem.” Teruya forced himself to smile. “I…I mean, anyone would do that if they weren’t frozen in shock. Hell, I bet Shinji would’ve done everything in his power to protect you if he wasn’t carrying Mikado at the time.”

“Haha, y-yeah, I bet he would.” Yuki chuckles as he closes his eyes, scratching his cheek. The Monocrow Machine goes off and something clatters into the drop-off box, but neither of them paid much attention to it right now. He sighs, the smile falling off of his face. “I’m…grateful that you did that for me. But I also wished you didn’t have to. You could’ve gotten hurt in my place.”

“Hey, don’t say that. You, You’re worth protecting.” Teruya ignored the way he stuttered on his last words. He means it, he really does.

So why was it so hard to say it out loud?

“Mmm…Still…I wish I can repay you back. You deserve something in return for protecting someone like me. And protecting Yoruko, too.” Yuki slumps over and Teruya can’t help but feel surprised at the sight. He didn’t think Yuki had such a low opinion of himself. Sure, he was an ordinary student that got into Hope’s Peak Academy through a lottery, but he had still made it, didn’t he? Teruya didn’t even know his own talent or his past thanks to his amnesia, and the few clues he had were small things that barely told a full story. He didn’t know himself, but at least Yuki knew who he was.

Right?

…He should try to cheer him up. Maybe…

“…Maybe you should take me out for lunch?” Teruya suggested before he could doubt himself again. Yuki lifts his head, opening his eyes wide with surprise. The amnesiac just gave him a shrug. “You won’t stop expressing your gratitude to me, even though I’ve already accepted it. Sooo, if you want to do something more, you can just take me to your favorite place to eat and we can call it even. Once we get out of here, of course.”

“Teruya…” Yuki said, almost like he was in awe. Teruya tried not to shift. It’s not like getting lunch with someone else was anything weird or noteworthy. It’s something people do all the time. Yuki then smiles. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Huh? Really?” There it was again, that surprise. An emotion that only lasted for a moment, but it was there.

“Yeah. There’s actually a really good ramen shop near my house. I’ll take you there, alright?” Yuki said, almost like he was happy at the thought. Teruya…wasn’t sure how he felt about this. He thought for sure Yuki would have turned him down. But he returns the smile, feeling more genuine this time around.

“Then it’s a promise.” Teruya then gestures to the Monocrow Machine, trying to keep up this nonchalant air about him. There’s no need to make a big deal about it. “What did you get?”

“Oh…! Right, uh…” Yuki turns towards the machine, kneeling down to grab his item from the drop-box. The minute he pulled it out, Teruya felt his heart leap at the sight. It was a spray bottle, one with a black cover that made the rainbow stand out in contrast. Yuki furrows his brow. “Oh, it’s just a spray bottle…”

“It is, isn’t it??” Teruya couldn’t stop the excitement that leaked into his voice. Yuki gapes at him as he hovers right over his shoulder. “D-Do you mind if I see it? Just for a second! I’ll give it right back!”

“Uh, sure. Go nuts.” Yuki gives up the spray bottle pretty quickly, letting Teruya snatch it right out of his hand. He takes a moment to marvel at it, rubbing his thumb along the rainbow colors of the spray bottle. He then lifts it up, keeping the button angled away from him before pressing down on it.

A beautiful spray of rainbows comes out and Teruya grins from ear to ear.

“Good golly! This…This thang is the real deal! Look at this color here, Yuki! It’s so vibrant!” Teruya said, spraying the color out a few times to emphasize his point. Yuki laughs, albeit awkwardly and perhaps a little confused.

“Wow, uh…what’s with that sudden accent?” Yuki asked, and Teruya raised an eyebrow at him.

“What accent?” He said, completely missing the way his accent had changed in his excitement.

“…Nevermind. It’s not important.” Yuki is quick to drop the topic and Teruya wasn’t interested in pursuing it anyways. He looks down at the spray bottle in his hand, almost reluctant in giving it back even though it would be going against his word. The student stares at him before smiling. “You can keep it if you want?”

“Really?!” Teruya can feel his eyes shining as he raises his head. “Y-Ya sayin’ I can have it?! For free?!” And when Yuki nods his head, Teruya tosses his arms around his classmate before he could think better of it and starts jumping up and down. “Thanks, Yuki! You have no idea how happy I am about this!”

“I-I’m glad you’re happy, Teruya…” Yuki said, although his voice was a bit muffled due to having his face buried into Teruya’s chest. Before he can complain about it, though, the amnesiac lets him go and starts putting away his precious gift. The student sighs and straightens his posture. “I think that’s everything we can investigate from this place. Right?”

“Mmm…I think so?” Teruya looks back at the aisles, thinking over what he saw and had been told. “…Even with just a glimpse, I can tell that this spray bottle isn’t in stock.”

“Huh…Is that what Monocrow meant when he said you can get special gifts from the machine?” Yuki asked, curling his hand near his chin. Teruya frowned.

“That sounds like a gacha system.” Teruya said, before approaching the machine to test that theory out for himself. With just a quick examination of how it works, all Teruya had to do was swipe his handbook over the scanner to use the Crow Card function, and then pull the level. After some loud scattering sounds inside the machine, it rings as it drops its prize into the drop-off box. He kneels down and pulls out…another mineral water bottle. Which he can get anywhere else, even at the U-Mart. The disappointment was palpable. “It is a gacha system.”

“You sound so disappointed.” Yuki deadpans, which only prompts Teruya to tighten his fists.

“Of course I am! It’s a money sink that relies purely on luck for the one thing you desire. A system that practically encourages gambling in exchange for a single item you may not even get. And even if you don’t mind having the common items, you’ll run out of space eventually if you’re aiming for the ‘best’ prize. You’ll need some good goddamn luck to get what you want in your first few pulls, otherwise you’ll just be wasting money you could be spending on something else.” Teruya huffs as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I worry about the customers' wallet sometimes.”

“Wow, you’re…surprisingly passionate about this.” Yuki points out, surprised at his sudden rant.

“Of course I am. How can people spend money if they’re spending too much of it on this one thing that isn’t guaranteed to give them what they want. Not to mention the kind of repercussions a gambling addiction can have on someone’s life…” Teruya trails off.

Why…is he so passionate over something like this? It’s not as if it’s his business on how much money people spend on something they want, right? But…what if they need that money for something they need? Like, food, water, clothes…If they spend it all on a prize that may not have much use of, how can they support themselves?

…Teruya decided to simply chalk it up to human decency. No one in their right mind would want someone to end up with an addiction of any kind.

“Well…whatever. Here, you can have this, Yuki.” Teruya said, raising the water bottle up to his classmate. Yuki blinks his eyes before his hand hovers over the drink.

“Are you sure? I think this is mineral water.”

“Yeah, I already got one back at the U-Mart.” There was no point in having two when he hadn't even opened the first one yet. That seemed to encourage Yuki to take the water bottle from him with a smile.

“Thanks, Teruya. I was feeling a little parched from all the talking.” Yuki immediately opens the bottle to take a sip from it. Teruya brings his attention back to the Monocrow Machine, frowns, before swiping his handbook over the scanner again. Yuki sputters on his drink. “Y-You’re using the Monocrow Machine again?”

“Yep.” Teruya pulls the lever down. “…You said you wanted the Playrotation4, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I do, but…you don't have to go out of your way to get one. Especially when you don’t like the Monocrow Machine. And like you said before, I don’t really need it…” Yuki tries to get him to back out of the idea but Teruya just smiles at him.

“Because you said that you can’t concentrate on the killing game twenty-four seven, right? When you do, you get scared and paranoid…That’s not good when we’re in a killing game.” Teruya kept his tone gentle and tried not to sound overbearing in the process. “If playing games helps distract you from your thoughts and keep you calm, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it. Besides, I wanna get you something and I don’t have enough Crow Cards right now to buy it off the shelf.”

“But…”

“No buts! I’m getting you that Playrotation4, I swear it.” Teruya wags his finger at Yuki and he starts to crack a smile again.

It was then that the Monocrow Machine started to act out.

It rings, signaling that the prize had fallen into the drop-box, but then it shakes and rattles violently. Teruya and Yuki both jumped at the sounds as it felt as though something was going to go wrong. But, nothing else happens and the Monocrow Machine goes silent again.

Teruya didn’t take another step forward. He only turned to Yuki with a paling face.

“…It didn’t break…right?” Teruya asked nervously. After all, it was against the rules to break school property, and that would include the Monocrow Machine, right?

“Uh…” Yuki looks around. Even when a minute passes, no one shows up and he shrugs. “I think you’re fine. Monocrow hasn’t popped out of nowhere yet, so…”

“I-In that case, I should grab my prize before anything else happens.” Teruya leans over and reaches into the drop-box. However, when he grabs a hold of its thin, seemingly rectangular frame, its side hit the opening of the drop-box and couldn’t be slid out. Teruya frowns, trying to pull it out again but even when he tries to tilt it at a different angle or wiggle it out, the results are the same. “Shit. I think it’s stuck. Hey, Yuki, can you keep the flap open for me?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” Yuki kneels down beside him and Teruya scoots over to give him a bit more space. After what felt like more than five minutes of wiggling, adjusting, and a little bit of cussing over the prize, they finally manage to slide it out of the opening.

And Teruya nearly drops it when he sees it.

It was a portrait of a young man, probably — no, definitely their age and staring straight at them in boredom. His hair was a mess and his tie was undone along with the collar of his button-up, but he knew this face.

He knew it was Yuki Maeda.

Yuki Maeda, who he should know.

Yuki Maeda, who was his classmate.

Yuki Maeda, who was his friend.

And Yuki Maeda was standing before him, bored as he felt himself sink to his knees. Hearing the words he was saying but struggling to comprehend it all.

To deny it all.

And yet, he kept talking.

He kept talking about a truth he was desperate to deny.

“—your money. So, your friends’ deaths? They’re all your fault.”

And Teruya Otori felt himself sink.

Teruya.

“Teruya!”

Teruya blinked.

He stares at Yuki, who has started to shake him by his shoulders.

“Teruya! Finally!” Yuki sighs, as if he was relieved. Why? “You looked so pale and stopped responding to me when I tried to talk to you. Are you okay?”

Okay? How was he okay?

“…It’s you.” The words slip from his mouth numbly. Yuki blinks at him and Teruya’s gaze slowly goes back to the portrait that laid between them. “That’s you in the portrait.”

“Ah, the portrait…” Yuki let’s go, finally. He stares down at the portrait and visibly shudders. “I mean, it’s really uncanny. I won’t deny that. But…”

He frowns.

And then looks Teruya straight in the eye.

“But that’s not me.”

….It’s not?

“Uh, yeah. It’s not.” Yuki said, almost pouting now. Teruya swallows as he realizes that he had said that out loud. “I’ve never had myself painted before, so it couldn’t be me. I mean, I’m pretty sure the guy is wearing my school’s uniform but…” His frown became deeper as Teruya kept staring at him. “Look, maybe it’d be easier for you to believe me if you compare me to the guy in the picture.”

“Uh…” Teruya tried to come up with something to say. To tell Yuki that no, that really is him in the portrait. That this repulsive person looked too much like him to deny it.

But, he couldn’t say it.

Not when his heart ached so much in a way he couldn’t describe.

And when Yuki carefully props the painting beside him so Teruya can better compare their looks, he slowly realizes that he was right.

The differences were subtle. Sure, when you ignore the bored expression and messy appearance, they still looked similar enough to be mistaken for each other. But when you actively compare them side by side, it'd be hard not to notice those subtle differences. The one in the painting had much tanner skin in comparison to Yuki’s obviously paler complexion, along with dark brown eyes and a rounder facial structure. The Yuki Maeda sitting before him has lighter brown eyes and a slightly sharper face. Even their ginger hair was different, as the man in the portrait had a darker shade that leaned more towards yellow while Yuki’s was brighter and more red. And to top it all off…

“...He’s missing your ahoge.” Teruya noticed out loud, almost dumbly. Yuki blinked, looked back at the portrait, and then started to pout again.

“That’s the most important thing you noticed?” Yuki said, clearly exasperated. The tone of voice actually got Teruya to chuckle, feeling the tension slowly seep out from his shoulders as he sagged. It was still there, but he started to feel…a bit more like himself. A bit more ingrained in reality now.

“Sorry, sorry. It was just the first words I thought to say.” Teruya felt himself smile a little bit as Yuki’s pout only got stronger.

“Seriously…? It’s not my fault that this is the only cowlick I can’t get rid of.” Yuki muttered, even though Teruya could still hear him. It was obvious that the ahoge is a bit of an insecurity with the way he kept brushing his hand over it the minute it was brought up.

“If it’s any consolation, I think it’s cool. It makes you stand out.” Teruya reaches over and flicks the ahoge with his finger. Yuki swats his hand away.

“Stop that! I sometimes spend an hour trying to get rid of it. Don’t you do the same??” Yuki points at the tall ahoge Teruya sported himself. Teruya felt a smile grow on his face, even though it was definitely an awkward one.

“...Actually, I have to use hair gel to get my hair like this.” He admits sheepishly. Yuki’s stare quickly becomes incredulous.

“...You do it on purpose?!” Yuki gaped at him with those wide eyes again, and Teruya finally laughed. The student huffs before pushing the portrait into his space. “W-Whatever, just take your prize already!”

“Alright, alright!” Teruya takes the portrait from Yuki, still chuckling over his classmate’s overreaction. Yuki rubs his cheeks as if to forcefully get rid of the smile that Teruya had caught a glimpse of before going back to a neutral expression. Teruya looks down at the portrait, his smile falling off of his face as the man stared back at him. “...He feels familiar.”

“Well, he does look like me. It’s really eerie.” Yuki mutters as he closes his eyes and a sweat drop forms on his cheek. Teruya frowns.

“No, I mean…” Teruya tightens his grip on the portrait. “I think I knew this guy.”

“...Oh!” Yuki opens his eyes in surprise. “Did you remember something?? What is it?”

“I…don’t know.” Teruya lays the portrait on his lap. He stares at his bored eyes and wishes he could wipe that damn look off of his face. “...I think I hate him.”

“...Oh.” Yuki deflates upon the realization that it wasn’t a happy memory. If Teruya could even call it a memory. It was more of a gut feeling than anything else. He sighs. “Well…Not everything in your life is gonna be sunshine and rainbows.”

“I guess…” Teruya hesitates, his eyes darting between the portrait and Yuki. He swallows and takes the plunge. “Yuki. Are you…sure we have never met before?”

Yuki was silent.

And for once, his eyes were really scrutinizing him. Like he was actually trying to figure out if he had seen him before or not.

But he slowly shakes his head.

“No. We’ve never met personally.” Yuki said, before looking down and curling his hand near his chin. “…Sorry.”

“Oh…” What else could he say to that? It’s not like he can just tell Yuki that he’s a liar. He’s not the one with amnesia. Teruya was. And he doesn’t have any evidence that would contradict this.

Aside from the very heavy feeling on his tongue every time he speaks his name.

But besides that, he can only take him at his word right now.

“…Okay. Sorry that I keep bothering you over this.” Teruya said, even though this probably isn’t something he had to apologize for. Yuki gives him a small smile.

“H-Hey, you don’t have to apologize over that. I wish I could do more for you but alas…” Yuki waves his hands placatingly as he trails off. He then drops them into his lap. “Anyway, should we keep investigating the Monocruise?”

“Hm…” Teruya thinks it over his head, wondering if he should keep investigating with Yuki. But then he takes his eyes off of him, sees it — or rather, her — and thinks better of it. “Actually, I think that’s all we can do on the Monocruise. We explored everything we could…at least, not without spending hours going through every nook and cranny in the storage room. And the next two floors are for the dormitories, so I’m sure everyone explored their rooms to the best of their ability.”

“That’s true…There’s nothing else up there other than the bathrooms.” Yuki said, scratching his finger at his cheek. He then stands up, sending Teruya a smile. “Then, I guess I’ll go investigate somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna stay here for a couple more minutes. Maybe stop by the storage room later.” Teruya nods his head towards the exit of the store. “I’ll see you around, Yuki.”

“See ya, Teruya.” Yuki then turns to leave the store, sees her, and tries to ignore her as he leaves. Teruya watches him go until he disappears, and then brings his attention back to the portrait.

…He could throw it out.

No one would be able to stop him if it did.

And it was technically his, so he had the right to do whatever he wanted with the portrait.

But…it’d be a waste for him to do that.

He just spent five-hundred Crows for this prize. Even if he didn’t like it, he should at least find some sort of use for it. Or just give it away to someone that may like it. Maybe Iroha or Emma would take better care of it than him.

Even if his heart tugged in a way he had trouble explaining.

Teruya manages to put the portrait into his backpack, and clasp it back closed, hefting it back onto his shoulders with a grunt. His eyes rove over the items in the store, lingering on the pens and journals in the school supplies section. Something that he considers buying right this second. But eventually, he turns back to the Monocrow Machine and pays the necessary Crows again. He felt a bit of shame in playing into the gacha ploy. But even he couldn’t resist the idea of getting those rare items.

And Teruya did swear he’ll get Yuki that Playrotation4 somehow. He just has to be careful with how much he spends on the Monocrow Machine.

At least hanging out with Yuki wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be.

He just can’t shake off this uncomfortable deja vu he’d been feeling this whole time.

…Or the drone that has been watching his every move since his investigation of the U-Mart.

Your relationship rank with Yuki Maeda has risen from 0 to 1!

Yuki Maeda’s information has been recorded in the e-Handbook+’s profile page.

#SDRA2 #Super Danganronpa Another 2 #Protag Teruya AU #Teruya Otori #Yuki Maeda #SDRA2 Spoilers #here comes the boooooys!

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greenhikingboots · 2 years ago

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Hey, for the bts of Fic Writing : 4 10 12 15 17. Thanks and Happy New Year🥰❤️

LOULA! Thanks for playing along. I'm so flattered you care to know. Here are my lengthy answers because I do not know how to be concise.

4. Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline? I outline but I stray A LOT. Wait, let me explain that more accurately. It’s more like a continuous cycle of outline, write and stray, publish a chapter, re-outline the next few chapters, write and stray again — and on and on like that. Usually the straying happens because I can’t commit to secret pining as long as originally intended. Like, I give in and let my characters reveal some feelings too soon, then I have to figure out how to make the later plot points I have planned fit into a different emotional context. Which sometimes means changing the plot points. And then! Because the other changes that have occurred, I often feel as though I can no longer include some gut-wrenching conflict I had planned. I'm like, “They've come too far for that buffoonery now." So I have to soften the blow instead. Basically, I’m not as good at letting my characters suffer as I’m “supposed" to be according to typical writing advice. But that’s when I remind myself it’s fanfiction and I'm here to have fun! So it's all good. ❤ 10. Do you enjoy writing dialogue, exposition, or plot, the most? That’s a question for me. I think I’m pickiest about dialogue because I value it the most. I mean, these are romance stories I'm writing, right? And people fall in love by connecting emotionally which happens in large part through dialogue, right? That’s how I see it anyway. So it’s a double-edged sword. Dialogue is the part I like least because I put pressure on myself and then overthink it. But it's also the part I like best because it’s so important and feels SO GOOD when it turns out well. Plus I just LOVE making Jon say romantic things to Sansa — in both understated and over the top ways. It's my favorite thing ever. BUT! I’ll also add that I have some stretches of exposition I’m really proud of. In Chapter 1 of Inevitable I did a big background information dump right away, which (to bring up typical writing advice again) is a no no, right? But I don’t care. I think the whole chapter flows really well and it sets up Jon’s characterization perfectly. AND! Him thinking he can never be as good as Ned or offer Sansa a relationship as good as her parents is the whole crux of the story dammit! And it’s all subtly included right there in Chapter 1. Hell, it’s all right there in the first sentence! And I’m proud of that. 🤪 12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to? I had a S7/8 Fix It Fic that I took down while it was still a WIP. I re-worked and re-published the first half, ending it in a happy but intentionally ambiguous way. Mighty Love & Better Dreams — one of my less popular works, about 25k words if anyone is interested. But anyway, I’ve got another 12,000 words or so left — the second half of the incomple version I took down — that I’d still like to clean up and get back on AO3 someday. To finish it, I have to lean further into Political!Jon and Dark!Dany than I’ve done before, which I find intimidating (especially writing Dark!Dany. I agree that's how it'll go in the books, but how do I write it!? Someone help!) But like I said, I’ve got about 12,000 words already and a lot of it I really like. So it would be a shame to waste it, so to speak, by never finishing. So that’s my answer: Fix It trope featuring Political!Jon and Dark!Dany. 👀 15. A Hollywood producer tells you that they want to film just one of your fics? Which fic would you want it to be?

Sorry, this answer might not be fun because it isn’t a Jonsa fic. Also I'm going to cheat and say I want it to be a TV show not a film. No that that's out of the way... I have a Dramione story I took down quite a while ago, Between the Lines, because I want to eventually rework it and republish it. It’s got the makings to be a 300k word epic told in a non-linear way (which is an idea I revisited recently when I wrote A Good Chance) and a teen ensemble cast type thing, which is popular on TV, right? Also... okay I’ll admit it, I daydream about changing that fic enough you can no longer recognize it as fanfiction. Then I could publish it as a traditional, original book (slim chance but that's why I called it a daydream).

I’m pretty over Dramione though, so maybe if I started thinking of it as a Jonsa AU it’d be easier to to craft it into something new but with some of the important plot points I still like. Maybe?

Woof. Really letting my true self show here. How embarrassing! ☠

17. What fic are you most proud of?A Boy in His Cups might still be my favorite fic I’ve ever written — my first Jonsa one-shot. IMO, the emotional beats are a tiny bit rocky towards the end, but otherwise it’s a very polished fic (maybe because I’ve gone back and edited it so many times.)

It’s Jon’s POV with pining and angst and fluff and confession of feelings and it fits so well with canon concepts. So bascailly all of my favorite things rolled into one. I am the target audience and I just love it!! Maybe someday I’ll write a sequel from Sansa’s POV and call it A Girl in Her Cups. 💋 Holy cow! That's a lot of words. Did you even read it all? Won't blame you at all if not. Thanks again for the ask, Loula. You're a gem. XO.

#fanfiction #writing thoughts #asked and answered

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ya-bug-boy · 1 month ago

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Just wanted to pop in and say that I love love LOVE your self-aware reader x submas fic!! Especially the most recent chapter that I'm not gonna say much about other than I hope that what happens makes golden-eye happy. Also all the lore?? The dramatics with the contrasting feelings of realising your entire life was fake but finding solace in the actual humans??? Chef's kiss 10/10 love it so much

oh Oh gosh haha thank you. That last chapter I posted on Ao3 was like a burst of energy, wrote all of that in one session. For a fanfic, it's probably one of the more creative things I've done in terms of writing. The scenes are in my head but not so much the writing and I'm really surprised and pleased with myself of how I was able to tie in the importance of food to be a later point of interest. (very much inspired by things like animes that have the value of food and the people you eat with in mind, like Dungeon Meshi.) The first chapter of the reader: Golden Eye getting food from the restaurant to the most recent chapter being crucial to the plan was completely unplanned and something I came up of on the spot while writing. I tend to write fanfic when I'm in a particular groove because when the inspiration and motivation to write is in sync, I can do full chapters in one or two sittings. I do have the next chapter in mind and a plot twist that I think would be really gut wrenching for the reader to have. (Maybe not to the extent of Golden Eye literally watching the world die around them before everything goes black but something definitely along the lines of comfort/angst.) What I want to explore in writing Golden Eye is something hard to describe. For most self aware character reader plots, the virtual character is only given a brief description of how they develop full feelings for the reader before coming to their world. What I wanted to do for Golden Eye was to provide a somewhat more realistic relationship growth of how I imagine one develops feelings for another person. (Coming from someone who doesn't have a partner, not dating anyone currently because the men I encounter don't meet my standards, and being incredibly unsure if I would find a partner to begin with, romanticizing romance itself is what I do as of right now.) Golden Eye is an aged character, who has lived decades longer than the twins to the point of being over a century year old. The way that they would form feelings is much different compared to an ordinary adult in their 20-30's. I try to convey this as such because of how apprehensive Golden Eye is initially, as he breaks unseen boundaries. Which is why I think the plot twist that eventually comes up will be emotional in terms of speaking.

However, gonna say this now, Golden Eye does get a happy ending. You'll even get little epilogue chapters of them adjusting to their new life in the Pokemon world too because in this scenario, you're the video game character and not the other way around. In your world, you have dangerous monsters and animals so adjusting to your new surroundings is going to be the comfort/fluff portion of your new life with them. Thanks for the anon message, I'll try to work on that chapter soon.

#anon asks #self aware reader

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lotusbxtch · 1 month ago

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Whew. Okay. If you all haven't read this fic by @for-a-longlongtime yet, you absolutely should.

It's devastatingly bleak but incredibly beautiful at the same time. The relationship between Santi and Frankie is so palpable, raw, vulnerable, and real, and for that reason alone, you should read it. The way magical realism is woven into the story as well as the plethora of references to Norse mythology is striking. And if you didn't know already, @for-a-longlongtime writes stunning works, always. I've been privy to her working so incredibly hard to get this out, and boy, was it worth the time!

I am usually a fluffy & spicy fic kind of gal, maybe with a splash of angst, but I will tell you -- the emotional gut-wrenches of this story are completely worth reading. My heart!

Okay, let me dive into some of the details I'd like to scream about (SPOILERS & EXCERPTS AFTER THE CUT):

First off, the way your writing morphs as you go along, mirroring the simplicity of being a child to the more complicated emotions of adulthood... amazing. Your writing as always is so immersive, and this is just another way of you doing that.

The way you explain what's going on outside of Santi and Frankie is very well done too. It bring a wholeness to the sense of the world you've built in there, and puts things into perspective.

The characters are all so separate and different as well. At no point did any of them seem to meld into the others unless it was intentionally done.

Finally, the dream sequences are phenomenal. The way that you weave them into the story, and how they increasingly become part of reality, until they meld together at a time when it makes total sense for them to mix with reality.

The second time Frankie read those words to you, about a year or so later, you realize it isn’t about going to hell for the work you do. It’s about not being alone in hell since you’ve got someone by your side.

Hi hello it's me and I'm crying. I love these babies.

Someone’s steel toe boot lands in your stomach, startling you with the hit of pain, and this time you yell at Frankie as they drag you away - that it will be okay, that he has to lay low and look after himself. The same way Joel had yelled at you when they had ripped you from your home and thrown you in the back of a van.

The way Joel and Santi both become protectors of those that they love!

Out of that cell, his warm body under yours, it really sinks in what you’ve known deep inside already for months, despite knowing the risks and consequences. There’s no way you can ever give this up. Give him up. Not even if they try to beat it out of you.

Crying again. THESE TWOOOO

Most people fear him and it doesn’t take you long to figure out why. The man moves and fights like a killer, striking without hesitation, and you can’t help but wonder if he has had military training. He was right about what he had told you at the start - he did make you better and stronger, in physical combat as well as verbal expressiveness.

Love how you talk about how dangerous, cunning, and smart Ezra is! I feel like that's overlooked a lot with him.

You know he tries to not show you that side of him because it scared you the first time; it was still Joel, but mostly just bones and muscles and tendons, someone who stands half in the world around you and half in the underworld. Worse than a ghost. But still Joel.

The details! The way you wove the mythology in is fanastic.

But Ezra will always opt for a much cleaner kill; out in the street, in a bar or at a roadstop when it’s least expected. If it didn’t all come down to the same thing - killing people and moving coke or arms -, you would almost call it more ethical.

Again with the mythology. You do such a great job at showing the differences between Ezra and Tovar/Lorenzano.

“What keeps happening here, buddy?” “Trusting the wrong people has consequences.” You look up when you think you hear Joel’s voice from nearby, except it’s not him - but your father leaning against another palm tree, his face solemn as he looks back at you.

Girl, the way I SCREAMED when I read this scene!

News spreads fast through the camp, and by the time you catch up with Frankie that evening, you can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows. Of course he does. He’s the only one you’ve never been able to lie to.

i STG every time these two get protective over each other, I squeal.

“Oh.” Her voice is light, tingles like icicles, and she laughs softly, sounding surprised. “Yes. You really are his.”

AGAIN: I cryyyyy

Okay I'm going to stop here because I could literally quote the entire fic, and really what i want to tell you is: YOU DID THE DAMN THING, BABE! I'm soooo proud of you!!!

Little Beast

Written for @perotovar 's writing challenge 'An Offering of Frith'. The P Boys they had planned were already taken, so I asked for Santiago Garcia and got Fenrir assigned! Pairing: Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x Francisco 'Catfish' Morales Word count: 18.5K Warnings: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI. 🏳️‍🌈 (DDDNE) DARK fic, AU. Extreme angst from A to Z. Lots of violence (guns, knives, beating, kicking), swearing, hate crime, homophobia (repeated use of a slur), abuse, repeated assault and murder, kidnapping, many mentions of blood and injuries, raiding, (body) horror, nightmares, substance use/abuse (alcohol, cocaine), smoking, arms trafficking, sex work, mental health struggles, trauma. M/M pairing, frotting, masturbation. Norse mythology meets Santi + P Boys meets magic realism in Colombia in the early nineties (so: Narcos related references like Escobar, the Castaño brothers and the Cali cartel).

A/N's: Written in Second Person - not reader insert, but Santiago's POV (aka you are Santi). Not gonna lie, this one is A LOT; writing it turned into some out-of-body experience. More about the gods & characters (and thank you’s) in foot notes.

main masterlist | read on AO3

Bogota, Colombia.

You’re five years old and your name is Santiago. The house you share with your brothers and parents is small, deep in the comunas, and most people know where to find it. Lots of them will stop by, because of papi’s work, sometimes very early in the morning or really late at night. When you ask what kind of work he does, mama hushes you, and your brother Jay looks away. Your brother Joel however will quietly stare at your dad - too calm, while his eyes are so angry.

You’re seven years old and you still don’t know what your father’s job is. Not a teacher, or someone at the market. Not one of the guys who cleans up the trash on your corner. For a while you thought that maybe he was a butcher, because mami was often cleaning the blood from his clothes. “It stains so bad.” But you’d never seen him in the market, selling his wares.

Every few weeks he is gone for a long time, and often the police will visit the house, which always makes your mom cry.

Every now and then a new face will show at the house, asking to speak to your mother. The girls are always very pretty, dressed in bright colors. The guys often have shiny guns; some of them will let you hold it when mami isn’t in the room.

You see your father all the time when you’re waiting with her at the store. Often he’ll wear a funny looking hat, and sometimes his face looks different. But you know it’s him, always, by the smile and wink he gives you. When you tell mami, she never sees him and starts crying again, so you stop telling her about it.

Jay doesn’t come home often anymore. When you ask Joel if that is your fault, if you made him cry too, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’re okay.”

You’re not sure if you are.

When it’s your eighth birthday, your father suddenly shows up with presents that make you the envy of your friends. Boxing gloves, a large pocket knife - that your mom right away tries to take away from you -, and you all eat so much dulce de leche cake.

You wake up in the middle of the night because you hear your father arguing. The loud bangs that follow are unmistakingly gun shots, and you find one of the casings the next morning near the front door. When you ask your mami about it, she gets so angry that you run away from home for the afternoon to hide, until it gets dark and she’s had the drinks that make her happier.

When you got the boxing gloves, you didn’t know that they would also give you more time with your father - but they do. He teaches you how to throw a punch, how to avoid an attack, read someone’s body language. When to attack someone if you need to defend yourself. Which parts of the body are most vulnerable, and where to stab somebody to make them bleed out quickly.

He’s proud, always, as he tells people about how good of a fighter you’re becoming. “Takes after me.” You don’t - not really, but you do your best to make him continue to believe that. Until you start to believe it too and knock out a guy who is twice your age.

When you’re ten, they try to burn down your house. You don’t know exactly who ‘they’ are, but you’ve heard the name El Gran Señor Lorenzano often enough to know that you should fear him.

The first time it happens, your dad is just in time to stop the fire from escalating. The second time, he’s not home, so you do put out the flames together with Joel.

The third time starts with a flaming bottle being thrown through a window, and as you all stare at the sight, the door gets knocked down and men with masks on their faces storm into the house

Your father runs away, seems to escape the men somehow. Your mom is hysterical and won’t listen to anyone, not even when the tall guy hits her in the face, and you want to beg her to not cry because you know it makes men more angry at her. Not even with your fight training do you stand any chance, and all you hear when somebody shoves a bag over your head and drags you outside and into a van, is your brother’s voice - Joel yelling at you to not fight the men and just protect yourself.

You’ve been away from home for almost a year when you turn eleven, to the point that you don’t think of it anymore as an actual place you can go to. You think you’re still in Bogota but you’re not sure. Sometimes they make you get in a truck again, or a car. Almost always you have to hide; you know that they don’t want people to see you. Sometimes there are other people, or even kids, and you’re pretty sure that you’ve seen at least a dozen dead bodies over the past months.

It’s when they send you to training camp that you realize there’s no way they’re ever going to let you go. The training unit is not the army, but it feels like a military group somehow. Maybe this is like the guerilla fighters you’ve heard about, defending your country.

This time you fight without the boxing gloves, using only your hands or sticks, just like the other kids your age are also being trained.

There are five of you, and Ramiro explains to each of you how to get to the location. The white powder isn’t heavy, tightly packaged in plastic, and every step of the way to your contact person you’re terrified of losing it somehow. You know the consequences - have seen the boys who were shot in the head, and the ones who weren’t lucky enough to die so quickly.

The man who is waiting for you is tall, fat and smells like grease and blood. You don’t remember much of what he says, your heart thumps so loud that it feels like it’s inside of your ears as you accept the package he hands you in return.

You’re one of the four boys who make it back.

Gustavo, the fifth boy, shows up two days later. His lifeless body is covered in bruises and blood, and when someone dares to ask what happened, the answer is that rats will be dealt with accordingly. “Exterminated.”

After three nights of solid nightmares and another mutilated body that’s found outside as a warning, you stop trying to think of ways to escape.

You’re almost twelve when you meet Francisco.

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He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but he’s not shy. When some of the older boys mistake that for fear, deciding to taunt him, he doesn’t respond initially. Only once the biggest bully steps right up to him, a sneer on his face, does Francisco lift his eyes to him and stares him down - and you can feel the tension.

You see the twitch of Francisco’s jaw, and even before the other guy takes a swing you know this is not going to end well for the bully.

It’s impressive how fast the new kid tackles his attacker to the ground, blood streaming from the boy’s noise as he scrambles to get away. But Francisco’s hand closes around his throat, keeping him pinned down. In a flash you see a piece of glass held against the boy’s neck, and that’s when you know for sure Francisco learned to fight the way you did. Your father’s voice echoes in your head, “If you stab someone there, it’s all over.”

You want to be his friend.

Not because he’s a good fighter; he’s far from the only one around here. It’s because he seems to be one of the few kids who doesn’t want to fight, just like you.

By the time you’re twelve, you and Francisco - Frankie - have become inseparable. You know that he’s never known who his mother is and that his father was recently killed by Pero Tovar, one of Lorenzano’s most feared men.

While the other kids try to get their hands on cigarettes, or booze, Frankie is just interested in books.

You like watching him read. On the very rare occasion that nobody else is around, he’ll often read something out loud for you. Mark Twain. Something about going to heaven for the climate, and hell for the company.

The first time Frankie reads that aloud, you have your eyes closed while listening to his voice. It makes you think of the ‘business’ your dad would do, or the way Lorenzano’s men would refer to ‘the company’ and ‘the big boss’. Bullet casings and dried up blood, the smell of your mami cooking beans with pork, and how some nights you fell asleep listening to her cry when your father still hadn’t returned home.

The runs you’re sent on to drop off the product are not that bad at first. It’s a relief to be able to walk the streets, not be holed up inside or be in training.

Most of the kids that work for the cartels still live with their families in the comunas. You, Frankie and the others don’t have that freedom.

There are curfews to follow, gun practice, different kinds of training. It’s not the army, but it might as well be.

There often is discussion about the ACCU, Autodefensas Campesinas de Córdoba y Urabá run by the Castaño brothers. But when one of the other boys mentions FARC, he’s immediately silenced with a hard slap to his face by the instructor. “Those fucking communists. They’re the problem, you understand me?”

Pablo Escobar, however, turns out to be one of the few topics that’s welcomed for discussion by your instructors. Sometimes you have to think of the prayer candle your grandmother would light at the small altar in her living room, the framed picture of Escobar on the wall almost as large as the one of your late grandfather.

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Frankie is the only person you confide in, and you listen to the stories he tells you about his father. In return, you tell him about your brothers, Joel in particular - but the nightmares you have that night are enough to stop you from bringing them up again. It’s better not to think of your family; keep them locked away in small boxes in the back of your mind, where you can pretend they’re okay.

You’re both still not sure how you ended up here. When Frankie points out Tovar one time in passing, you recognize the man with the scar on his face as one of your dad’s frequent visitors. And the person who tried to kill him that night they took you away.

You’ve been getting some attention from the girls, but it’s nothing to the amount that is directed at Francisco - not just the girls in your group, but even during a drop-off in the brothels at times. That’s how you’re both urged to ‘take some time with a girl you like’ when you join Juan for a drop-off. While you’re fucking a brunette who is a few years older than you are, Frankie is getting busy with a pretty red head on the other side of the room. You try to sneak a peek every now and then, but you know you have to be careful. If anyone catches you looking, you’ll get your ass beaten up - but you still can’t keep your eyes off him.

The girl - Rosa? - under you moans, calls you ‘papi’ as she asks you to fuck her harder, and you do so. She’s tight and wet around your cock, and pretty, and you like her small tits, but your head is too focused on not openly looking at Frankie, making it hard to come. Once you do, Rosa kisses your cheek as she gets up, gives you a towel and she tells you she’s gonna clean up. Frankie finishes up not long after that.

When you’re both waiting in the dark alley out back for Juan to wrap up business inside, sharing a cigarette with Frankie, you can’t help but ask him. “Was it good?” You’re hoping he says no - that you’re not the only one who barely got off. Because maybe you’re not the weirdo if there’s at least one other person who feels the same, who isn’t thrilled like you know the other boys would be. “The girl.”

Frankie shrugs as he inhales the smoke, closing his eyes. “She was friendly. Nice.”

You wait for more words, but they don’t come from Frankie. So you try to force your own words out. “Yeah. Friendly.”

When Frankie opens his eyes again, he looks tired and conflicted. Unsure perhaps. He lifts the cigarette to his lips again, and your guard is down too much to stop your eyes from following that movement.

His mouth.

Fuck, now you’re really hard.

“We’re friends, right?” Frankie’s voice is hoarse, and somehow that sound makes your dick throb even more.

You nod, then clear your own throat when you realize it’s not really all that clear in this dark street. “Yeah, of course,” you manage, trying to remember how long it’s been since you two met. Four, five years?

More of Frankie’s lips around the cigarette, and more tiredness in his eyes. Perhaps the uncertainty in his expression is more like the fear you’ve had beating in your chest now for half an hour already.

“Good.” Frankie nods, and before you can ask him why, he pushes you back against the brick wall, covering your mouth with his. You groan softly, your breathing suddenly so fast as he kisses you in a way you’ve never experienced before - in a way that, until now, you’ve never wanted to kiss anyone.

The sigh that escapes from Frankie’s mouth into yours is quiet, but you can feel the relief in his body when you kiss him back, feel how he grabs your hips and presses closer against you. You’re so hard that for a moment you can’t think straight, not until you feel him grind his cock against you, and then everything just goes electric in your head, because he’s just as hard as you are, and there is no time, because anyone can walk in on you two right now. It’s such a fucking dumb thing to do here - or anywhere.

He whispers your name, making it sound like a question, and when you nod and suck on his tongue, his hands slip from your waist to your ass, grabbing you tight and oh - fuck. Fuuuck.

It’s not even a minute of desperate kissing, panting, the uncomfortable but so fucking good rub of his cock against yours through your clothes, and before you know it you’re whispering his name too, the word turning into a plea, because please, Francisco, please - and then it’s no longer just rubbing against each other, it’s Frankie actually fucking you against that wall, right through your clothes, neither of you breaking the kiss until you both come just like this. Right in your pants, not even having put a hand on each other’s dick, just pressed so closely together while you’re drowning in the taste of his mouth.

“Hey, assholes. You ready to go?”

Juan’s loud voice booms through the alley, and Frankie immediately lets go of you like he’s been burned by fire. He moves several steps away, nearly tripping over his own feet, and the fear in his eyes is as loud as the fear beating inside of your rib cage.

You drop down to one knee and tug at the laces of your sneakers, pretending you’re tying them, giving you just a few more seconds to catch your breath before you need to look Juan in the face, who seems completely oblivious about what he almost walked in on.

“Shithead. Took you long enough to keep us waiting.”

You’re both eighteen when someone catches the two of you. Your hands and mouth on Francisco in places they shouldn’t be, and his hands and mouth all over you. The fact that you’re both still fully clothed is probably the only thing that saves you from a much worse treatment.

You beg them not to hurt him, tell them to give you the beating twice, even swearing that you were the one forcing yourself on Francisco.

Somehow you manage to convince them, and it’s the comfort of knowing Frankie isn’t hurt that helps just a little against the abuse. Against the ringing in your ear which lasts for almost a week, the bruises on your ribs where they kicked you. You let it happen, know that it would be better if you didn’t fight back even though you could probably take out at least three of them. It would be one thing if it were just some guys bothering you - but a few of them are part of the leadership, and there’s no going around that.

You see the anger and helplessness in Frankie’s eyes, the way he balls his fists and looks like he’s ready any moment to tackle the guys. But you know there’s no point in letting him get in between them and you, because you know better than to show any sign of weakness.

It is only once the tallest and older guy grabs you by your jaw, his other hand undoing his dirty pants, that you fight back. In less time than it takes him to growl “let’s see how good you suck my dick”, you kick out another guy’s legs from under him and swipe his knife, knocking your assailant down in the same move.

“You want me on your dick?”, you yell as you grab him by his balls, jerking his pants down roughly so his dick and balls flop out. Your knife is against the base of his cock before he can even blink, and you stare him down, pressing the razor sharp blade against his skin and not caring if it draws blood. “Dare me,” you hiss at him as you spit into his face. “I’ll fuckin’ cut it off you right now.”

The other men jump you before you can slice into the man’s sweaty pale skin, just a hair away from cutting off his pathetic excuse for a dick and shoving it into his mouth to choke on. Frankie meanwhile has had enough, now launching himself at the biggest men who are holding you back - and if these were any normal circumstances, you’d welcome the help. Instead you just shake your head, begging for him to see that you’re dead serious about not wanting him to interfere.

“No,” you mouth wordlessly, then gasp out loud as you bite your lip until you taste blood, working hard to swallow your cries as someone pulls your arm behind you and breaks at least two of your fingers. There’s no way you’ll give them the satisfaction of hearing you cry, so you just stare at Frankie until you trust your voice to not crack. “Fish, get out. Go back. I’ll be-...”

“Fuckin’ fag.”

“You need to be smarter.”

The voice is suddenly so close that it makes you wince. Especially after having been locked up in silence and darkness for two days, without anyone coming to let you out or even say a word to you. “Please, just stop, okay?”, you manage as you get up to your feet, leaning against the cement wall as your head won’t stop spinning. “I haven’t done anything since. Can you…”

“They feed you?”

You stare at the man who interrupted you, trying to focus on the vague outline of his body as you can see - no, feel - him move closer through the darkened cell. “What? Who are…”

“Esdras-... Ezra. I asked you something, boy.”

“No. They didn’t.” You raise your chin up in defiance, even if he can probably not even see it. “I’m fine.”

The stranger hums, pushing some food into your hand. “You need to stay strong. Get stronger, and smarter.”

You can’t help but shove it right into your mouth, and by the time you’ve swallowed all of it your stomach is already hurting. It was a stupid move, and you usually know better; small, slow bites are the best way to eat after having gone without for a while. But the hunger and loneliness had gnawed at you these past two days, making it hard to think straight.

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You’re locked up for a week, but Ezra keeps showing up daily with food. With conversation, too, even if it’s mostly him talking. It remains unclear how he fits into the organization you’ve been with for years now. When he mentions ‘El Gran Señor’, you suddenly remember Lorenzano, the fires at the house, your father as a fading face in the crowd.

After they took you away, your father never showed up anywhere again for you. Not in your dreams either. You wonder if it’s because you failed him, because you didn’t fight well enough - even though Joel told you not to fight, keep yourself safe. Maybe if you’d been more like Jay, this wouldn’t have happened.

You only get a decent look at Esdras’ face once.

His eyes remind you of Francisco.

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Once you’re finally released and sent back to the barracks, it takes just a few hours for you and Frankie to sneak off somewhere. When he kisses you, both of you pretend to not notice the tears that are flooding your eyes.

Out of that cell, his warm body under yours, it really sinks in what you’ve known deep inside already for months, despite knowing the risks and consequences.

There’s no way you can ever give this up. Give him up. Not even if they try to beat it out of you.

When Ezra shows up one night, standing at the back of the communal dining area, Frankie tenses up in the seat next to you. He nudges your leg with his foot as he continues eating, then draws your attention to the other side of the room with a barely noticeable flick of his index finger.

Even when you tell him this is the guy who gave you food when you were locked up, he won’t take his eyes off Ezra. Frankie has always been taller than you, broader, and when Ezra passes your table you can tell by the way he sizes him up that Frankie has already considered at least three ways to take him out.

“Santiago. Tell your guard dog to stand down.”

Slowly you close your fist around the fork you’re holding, your anger right under the surface, but the smirk tugging at Ezra’s lips makes it clear that his words were a test rather than a challenge.

“I can train you. An hour every night. You’re good - but I can make you great.” Ezra nods at Frankie without taking his eyes off you. “If anyone besides him finds out, we’re done and they’ll probably take you away.”

“And do what?” Francisco is still staring at Ezra, and you’re sure he’s figured out at least one more way by now to take him out.

“Kill me,” you say, with zero doubt about that outcome, at the exact moment Ezra also says, “Kill him”.

Frankie’s eyes narrow immediately, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he tries to control himself. “What if he says no?”

“He won’t,” Ezra replies simply, at the same moment that you nod and tell him you’re in.

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Ezra is a study in contrasts. He speaks like someone from Francisco’s books, with a slight accent that makes him stand out as much as his blond patch does, and often more candidly than most people are expecting. It’s only much later, when you hear him speak to an American guy, that you realize he’s likely not from Colombia.

“The origin of my story is fairly irrelevant, Santiago.” He waves off your question when you ask him about himself. “Besides, people are never quite so hard pressed to go find Parson on a map.”

He’s worked for Lorenzano for many years now, initially a mercenary who became one of the people highest up in the system. The nickname most people use for him is The Judge, or, if you are to believe the most wild stories about it, La Venganza - The One Who Brings Retribution.

Lorenzano and Tovar primarily run the organization, neither of them shy about the opulence and violence around them. But Ezra is a third pillar whose sober green-brown clothing often makes him blend in anywhere. Anything but quiet, but focused on other things than his two partners. He’s not keen on having a public face as he prefers to move quietly, getting both the impossible and the unspeakable done.

Frankie notices it too, even only a few weeks in. “When you get back here, you always look like you’ve been fed,” he remarks one night as you sit on the rooftop with him, gazing out over the thousands of city lights sparkling in the dark sky. “He said yet what he wants in return for all the teachings?”

You shake your head. “I’m sure that’ll come later.” And see, that’s something you still haven’t learned in all those years. It’s hard to look ahead when you don’t know what to expect and don’t have something specific to look forward to.

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You’re still eighteen - or so you think, because it has become impossible to keep track of the days - when you realize that you actually love Francisco.

As you slice the throat of the guy who tries to attack him, you know that you would do anything for him. It doesn’t matter that it takes you hours that night to wash your blood soaked clothes.

Your mother was right all those years ago. Blood stains are hard to get out of fabric.

Once killing becomes a regular thing of your work for the syndicate, so do the nightmares. It’s not like you didn’t have them before; they’ve always been there, ever since Lorenzano’s men took you away from home. But this time you keep seeing the faces of the men you’ve killed; sometimes one by one, other times all of them together in a room.

They keep coming back, unwilling to let you rest.

Sometimes they try to speak to you, other times they can’t. Occasionally you need to kill them again, but their screams get drowned out by Frankie yelling for him - but you can never find him, see him.

You see your brother Joel every night that you dream of the people who died by your hand.

Half of him looks normal, even though he’s older now: a man instead of a boy, still several years ahead of you in age, and you wonder if this is really what he looks like now. The other half of his body he keeps out of your sight if he can help it, turned towards corpses or soon to be dead bodies that are bleeding out.

Every time you see him, he tells you to keep yourself safe. “It’s not your fault.” But unlike when you were little, he doesn’t try to tell you that you’re fine. You both know that you aren’t.

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Others also notice how good you’ve become over the past year. How training exercises are a breeze for you, how much faster you are at tactical planning than most others. Now you’re eighteen, both you and Frankie are being watched carefully to see if you have potential to move up in the ranks - something Ezra had already mentioned and prepared you for.

“Beat them at their own game, little beast. You’re smarter than almost any of them.”

At first you hate the nickname, because it feels like he is mocking you. But that was not Ezra’s style; he is always upfront and open, at times to a fault. Too many years in this place have made you hyper vigilant and protective, quick to attack with bared teeth and intention to take the other person down. But around him that’s not necessary. So you reluctantly accept the nickname, work to do justice to it.

Once they start sending you off on serious engagements, you find that Ezra tends to be in charge of many of them - the raids, the more undercover missions, occasionally dealing with conflict among stakeholders rather than just being there to clean up a mess. It’s not surprising that you and Frankie work well together in the field whenever you’re teamed up; you both know each other so well, including limits and strength, to the point that you can easily anticipate each other’s moves, and that puts you front and center for effectiveness.

On the rare occasion the two of you are split up in different teams, Ezra is always assigned to Frankie’s group - something none of you comments on. They’re not exactly on friendly terms with each other, particularly to Frankie always being cautious, but then again they don’t need to be. The mutual respect is reassuring, especially because you’re sure Ezra knows there’s more going on between you and Frankie than the syndicate allows for.

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The next time you dream of Joel, there’s a black wolf cub playing at his feet, gentle and even tempered, playfully nipping at Joel’s fingers. When he sees you, he immediately bounces over to smell you, then happily paws at your legs - just like he’s just any other stray puppy, excited to get your attention and become familiar with your scent. His joy is contagious, and it’s not long until you’re sitting down on the ground to play with him, where eventually he falls asleep in your lap.

When something in the darkness catches your eye, the pup stirs almost immediately from his sleep, picking up on your body language. In the blink of an eye he’s put himself in front of you and Joel, suspiciously eyeing the wisps of smoke that curl from the darkness. He growls low, baring his small fangs as he tries to make himself bigger than he is to face the unknown.

Joel hushes it gently, assuringly. “Little Beast, you’re okay.” When both you and the cub simultaneously look at him, you wonder which one of you two he is talking to.

Even if the days have become more bearable and lighter since you met Francisco, you still don’t think you’re the one who is okay - and sometimes you wonder if you ever will be again.

Ezra fights dirty.

Knives, guns, hand-to-hand combat; he always has an extra card up his sleeve somehow. But it’s not the moves or weapon mastery you learn from him that make you better and faster.

It’s the resilience he teaches you. Clearing your mind, striking without hesitation. Thinking ten steps ahead and not giving away what your next move is. You’ve seen him out on the streets or during raids, and unlike Lorenzano and Tovar he tends to hang back, take a moment to take in the scene. While they go in guns blazing, often blasting an actual path through people to get what they want, Ezra is more deliberate. If he can take out just a single target to get the job done, he’ll opt for that - he knows that other syndicate members will deal with the rest of a DEA team, guerilla fighters or a competing cartel.

He’s also one of the few in leadership who makes calculated decisions regarding the location that he will take out a target. You’ve seen Gilberto kill more than a few sicarios by simply showing up at their houses - no regard for any wives, children or elderly people who either get into the crossfire or are witness to it. But Ezra will always opt for a much cleaner kill; out in the street, in a bar or at a roadstop when it’s least expected. If it didn’t all come down to the same thing - killing people and moving coke or arms -, you would almost call it more ethical.

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One night, you hear the pup whining before you see it - a low, unhappy sound that chills your blood. It takes too long to find him in the darkness, and you’re tripping over things in front of you, something telling you it’s probably for the best that you can’t quite see what or who they are.

You finally find the pup when his eyes open and look right at you, the golden pupils and white of his eyes a stark contrast to the darkness around you. As you kneel down to examine him, you see the golden cords wrapped around his fur, and a wave of terror washes over you. He didn’t just get tangled up in them; somebody deliberately put those bindings on him.

You hush him softly as your fingers slide over the cords, trying to find any knots or weak spots where you can start prying them off him. “I’ll help you, okay? We’ll get you out of this.” But as you do so, the wolf starts wriggling around, his sharp teeth snapping at the cords around until they all break and disappear into the darkness, along with the rest of your dream.

“I’m moving to Cali in a few weeks.”

Ezra offers you a cigarette, and you take it from him, your head working overtime as you digest the news dropped on you. “Shit. Alone?”

He shakes his head, sharing his lighter with you as he brings his own cigarette to his lips. “There are some relocations happening in the structure of - well. You’ve seen it out here,” he gestures at the city you’re overlooking from the hill you’re standing on. “The Army is withdrawing support from ACCU. Some new government people are acting surprised about the Field Workers Self-Defenders ties with the Castaños, which is bullshit. But dynamics are changing in Córdoba and Urabá, which also affects Cali.”

“Does that mean-...”

“Do you want to come along, Santiago?” Ezra blows out the smoke before he looks at you. “You can stay here, of course. Nothing much should change aside from my… influence.” You both know that means Lorenzano will make the decisions, and that without Ezra’s influence, life becomes a lot more unpredictable in the syndicate. “But Cali will give both of you the opportunity to move up. Be in charge of operations, eventually.”

You don’t miss the casual reference of ‘both’ that he uses, and you feel relieved that you don’t have to ask the question out loud - if Frankie would be able to join you, too. Part of you wants to say no, because leaving Bogota would also mean leaving behind the scraps of life you remember before the syndicate kidnapped you that night and roped you into their organization.

“Think about it,” Ezra interrupts your thoughts before you can respond. “Your choice to make, your consequences to bear. I know you never asked for all of this - neither of you did, of course. But owning your choices and what results from them makes all the difference.”

When you ask Frankie later that night, he doesn’t hesitate for a second. “I’m in.”

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The move to Cali is uneventful in a good way, and the new living space is both brighter and larger than Bogota. Some things don’t change though: there are still about ten of you per sleeping quarters, but at least the beds are better and the facilities aren’t as old.

It surprises you how it feels a little easier to breathe. You hadn’t expected it, but there’s a relief in just seeing the city as it is - not thinking about who had died on that corner, which house is a drop off spot or a brothel, or where you’d gotten beaten up. Even when you know it won’t last long.

The warmer weather means longer evenings outside, too. New spots that you and Frankie discover, where there’s just enough privacy to be together for a few minutes. You kiss him in new alleyways, let him press you against the wall behind a quiet church. Let your hands roam and grab when you’re on the rooftop and you’re sure that nobody is around.

It’s never enough, and the waiting in between opportunities is torturous. Sometimes it takes weeks until you can take him in your mouth again, have him slide inside of you, or when you can fuck him - rushed and hard and frantic -, leaving marks that were made within minutes but that last for days as dark bruises on your hips and shoulders and thighs.

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Your nightmares remain the same in Cali as they were in Bogota. A constant every single night, at times in different settings than before, matching the buildings and streets of this new city.

You dread all of them, but Joel’s presence in those dreams makes it manageable. Even when he’s not around, the wolf cub is always there with you. Protective and affectionate, at times bigger than you - but never intimidating.

Part of you wants to tell Frankie about your dreams. Not just about the cub, but Joel too. You just don’t know where you’d even begin to explain it without sounding insane.

Ezra gives you more space those first couple of weeks in Cali, training only every other day with you, then informs you that you and Frankie will be joining him on an assignment out of town. You’ve done this before and know that lodging is always together with leadership in the same room. Except this time that seems to be different.

“It appears there has been a miscommunication. They didn’t have any rooms with two beds, only singles,” he informs you, his face uncharacteristically neutral as he hands you a room key. “You two are across the hallway from me and will have to share a bed.”

Your jaw nearly drops as you stare at him, and you can feel the disbelief radiating from Frankie, too. But Ezra pretends to not notice it as he turns away. “I trust there will be no disappearing, Little Beast. You know the fatal consequences of that.”

The room is shitty, there are only three channels that work on the tv, and there’s a concerning smell coming from the toilet if you don’t close the lid completely. The bed is a full size though instead of a twin, creaks every time you move, and has some threadbare sheets and two thin pillows.

It’s perfect.

It has never happened before that you and Francisco had more than half an hour of privacy to yourself in a locked room - let alone nine hours in one that also has a bed.

You fuck so, so very much that night.

It’s deliriously intoxicating, having each other in every possible way you can imagine - and a few more ways you hadn’t even considered before. By the time it’s 5:30 am, neither of you can move anymore. Sore, exhausted and beyond spent you fall asleep, curled up against each other.

For the first time in eight years you don’t have any dreams, let alone nightmares.

The newness of Cali lasts about three months. By then, the city has gained the same marks and blood all over it that you had left behind in Bogota; the drugs, fights, but this time there are also bombs.

It’s a lot more damage than you’re used to, the number of victims making your stomach turn when the news reports on it later those nights. Some of the other guys are thrilled when they see the result of their work on tv, bragging about it, but it sickens you every single time.

It’s bad for you, but it hits Frankie even harder. He has lost family and friends in the past because of bomb attacks, and you know that when he wakes up at night screaming, it often tends to be exactly that which replays in his mind.

You’re both used to helping each other through hard times, but you see his eyes become more distant as the weeks pass. You do what you can, from stupid jokes to trying to find him new books, but you can’t help but feel it’s your fault.

Maybe he wouldn’t be in such bad shape if you two had stayed in Bogota.

Maybe you did this all wrong.

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Frankie is fast. Really fucking fast.

Not when it comes to running, although he does well if needed. But it’s when you see him behind the wheel of a truck, with Ezra, you and a handful of other guys, that you realize just how good he is. Driving a getaway car, chasing down another truck through the city, diversion techniques. You don’t know where he even learned them, because it’s not that often that any of you get to drive.

It’s Ezra who decides that this is going to be a regular thing for Frankie. “I want you as our transportation guy next time we venture out on an endeavor,” he says, eyes sharp as he observes Frankie switch gears, avoid a child who runs out into the road, then rev the engine to catch up with the other vehicle in your party. “Are you interested in cars?”

Frankie just nods affirmatively, his eyes locked on the terrain in front of him. You can’t help but chime in, also realizing this could mean that the two of you won’t be assigned to different teams anymore. “His uncle had a garage, so he grew up in it. Learned how to work on cars before he was eight,” you offer.

It earns you a warning look by Frankie, who is clearly not thrilled about you offering that information - but you know it only helps his case. Ezra only asks things for a reason, and you know it would not be to fuck Frankie over. “He really knows his shit.”

“Good. That will get you far.” Ezra pulls out two guns, checking the ammo, then suddenly looks at Frankie like he just got a bright idea. “Francisco. Did you ever fly a helicopter before?”

This time Frankie actually takes his eyes off the road, and you can tell by the twitch in his jaw that he’s very hard trying to not show his enthusiasm. You know him well though, and his eyes suddenly look more radiant than you’ve seen in a long time.

“Not yet. But I bet I can with some training.”

The first time they put you in charge of a raid, you end up puking behind a bush once everything is over. More than just a few bodies are scattered across the property that’s about to be set on fire, and that’s not new - but being the leader of a raid hits so much harder than any time you had to merely participate. The only relief you have is that you don’t need to deal directly with the losses, or gather the money and drugs.

When one of your men calls you over, he points his rifle at the three kids huddled against each other on the back porch, and you can only get yourself to look right at them once you feel Francisco’s hand on your back.

“Not worth the trouble,” you inform the guy who called you over, ignoring the way your stomach turns, and you turn back to the children once he has left. A six year old girl is the oldest of the kids, her eyes blank as she holds a baby in her lap and a four year old boy pressed against her side. Something about that look in her eyes reminds you of Joel - not the brother you grew up with, but the one in your dreams with that side he tries to show you as little as possible.

“Are they dead?”, she asks you, still not showing any emotion despite the crying boys clinging onto her, and you nod. Whether it’s her parents or someone else she’s referring to, none of the adults in the raided house are still alive.

She nods back at you, no sign of surprise on her face. “Please don’t hurt the boys,” she then says, sounding so much older than her age. “They didn’t–...”

“We won’t.”

You breathe in deeply when Francisco speaks for you, then reach for the wad of money that you had put into your pocket a few minutes earlier. Stealing from El Gran Senor always ended badly, but these raids were the only options you had to get your hands on anything of value.

The girl flinches when you reach for her, and once again it’s Frankie who reassures her. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Do you know how to get to the village?”, you ask her as you put the money in her hand. She nods, and for a moment you could swear that you see a wolf cub staring at you from the trees. “Find someone to help you. Don’t show them the money.” You bite back the words of apology that are on your tongue, knowing that they won’t help or would even be believed. “You can do it. Be brave.”

“We have to go.” Francisco’s voice is tight but decisive, and you nod as you let him tug you along, back to the men who have loaded up their cars with all the valuables they could gather. Drugs, money, guns.

Like the next raid will be. And the next. And the next.

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“You exceeded expectations, little beast. A mission well planned and executed. Congratulations are in order.” The look on Ezra’s face is one of pride as you debrief him. As he scribbles down some more notes to wrap up his report, you hesitate for a moment, considering one last thing.

“There were three kids.”

Ezra’s eyes flick up at you much faster than you expect, but then he shakes his head. “It appears that you are mistaken about this,” he says as he resolutely puts away his paper and pen.

“I saw them. I…”

“You’re exhausted.” Ezra’s voice cut you off sharply, the tension in his jaw suddenly clear and reminding you of Frankie. “I appreciate you doing the debrief at this late hour, but you should probably rest. There’s nothing more I need for the final report.”

You know when to take a hint; know that the walls have ears, too, so you take the dismissal in stride. The walk back to the barracks is short, and most of the other guys are already fast asleep as you get in.

Francisco’s bed is only a few feet away from yours, one of about a dozen in the room. The moonlight offers just a small stream of light into the room, and as you start to take your clothes off, you can feel Frankie’s eyes on you. You’re both showered and cleaned up hours earlier, but somehow you still feel the smoke in your lungs and ashes on your skin, like some kind of phantom feeling.

Frankie watches you quietly as you strip down to your underwear. He knows that you’re aware of him looking at you, and you swallow hard when you see him shift under the blanket - see his hand move down to touch himself.

There’s no privacy here - there never is, maybe even less so than there was in Bogota. But at least there’s this, knowing your bed is just a few feet away from his. Being able to see glimpses of him in the moonlight. His hand moving further down, still under that blanket, and when his eyes close momentarily you know he’s got his hand on his cock.

You get into bed and pull the sheets up over yourself, laying on your side so you can still see Frankie. When his eyes flutter open again, you slip your hand into your underwear to touch yourself too, and you see his eyes flick over your body as he realizes you’re joining him.

It’s hard to control your breathing, especially when it’s so quiet at night, but you’re both experts at this by now. Hungry eyes focused on eachother in the mostly dark sleeping quarters. You pretending your fingers are his - him pretending his fingers are yours. It’s not much, but it’s something; anything to make you feel alive during nights like these.

Frankie is in your dream.

And Joel is looking at him.

Right at him - both Joel’s living half as well as the one that is in decay. It chills you in a way that’s so startling that the fear grabs you by your throat out of nowhere.

This isn’t supposed to happen. Frankie isn’t supposed to be in any of your dreams that are also occupied by Joel. It happens all the time that you hear Frankie scream in your dreams, but it is always separate from where you are - like he’s in a different space and the sound just happens to carry.

Not now. At least he’s not screaming, but he and Joel are looking at each other from a distance, before Frankie’s glance meets yours. Full of questions.

You try to keep your voice calm, but you hear the trembling when you speak. “Don’t take him from me.”

You don’t know how you would do it; prevent Joel from taking Frankie with him the way he does with the other people, the other bodies. All you know is that it can’t happen.

“I never would.” Joel shakes his head. “Besides, he’s a warrior. And she wouldn’t allow me to. She’s the one who owns his head.”

“What does that even mean?”, you ask, suddenly noticing the woman behind Frankie. She’s taller than he is, dressed in a style that seems very out of place, not in the least because of the brown fur that’s a prominent part of the outfit. But something is familiar about her.

When she puts her hand on Frankie’s shoulder, he glances at it for a second before he brings his eyes back to you.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Joel says, and you shiver from the cold wind that blows past you.

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By the third raid you lead, you understand why Ezra assigns you to these missions. You’re good at planning, leading your team, getting the work done, taking down the people that need to be eliminated - but you’re pretty sure that it’s really about the children.

There never is any mention of them in the information you get beforehand; those reports are only about the adults, the snitches, dealers who don’t hold up their end of the deal, or the sicarios who have taken wrong steps. And you’ve seen what happens at other raids. Many of the others won’t hesitate to shoot a child, use them as collateral, and you don’t doubt that there are situations that end even worse than those two options.

You quickly develop the habit to let the others chase the targets while you - and most often Frankie too - will explore the premises to find any children. In some cases, they’re barely teenagers, the fear in their eyes clear enough to indicate that they are in the wrong place at the wrong time. Other times, they’re infants, toddlers, held close by siblings who are barely older than them.

Getting them out becomes a priority for you, particularly when after every mission you see Ezra’s relief when you make a subtle remark about any kids. There’s a lot he can’t say out loud, not just because of his position in the syndicate, but also because wiretaps have become frequent these days. So you keep it very brief, often will only mention it when the two of you are alone - a quick update on what happened to the kids.

“She was brought to her older sister.”

“They ended up at the neighbor's house.”

“Someone knows where her other relatives live.”

You always swipe money from raids when given the chance, stashing it away in an air vent in your sleeping quarters that only you and Frankie know about. But as the raids occur more often, each leaving behind an even bigger impact than the one prior, you start to put most of the money in the children’s pockets before whisking them off to safety.

It never stops feeling like you’re trying to fix a broken dam with a band-aid, but it feels like the best possible option. Especially when you think back of how you landed in this position, and how you’d been taken away from your home. In an ideal world, you could decide to defect – find a way out for you and Frankie, take the money and run. But throughout the years you’ve seen that almost every single person who attempts to get out of this world will end up dead; not just murdered, but tortured first, before it’s all inflicted on the people closest to them, too.

So you run the raids. Find a way to get the kids out. Have nightmares - then repeat. And repeat. And repeat some more.

The problem is that you’ve gotten really good at this.

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The next time you see the tall woman covered in furs, you’re not dreaming.

It’s the middle of a raid, and you and Frankie are chasing down a guy who is trying to escape from the rooftop. He jumps over to the next building, and Frankie is about to leap the same distance between the roofs, when you suddenly see that woman right next to him.

Calmly she puts her hand on his shoulder and Frankie stops abruptly, turning around to look behind him with a bewildered expression. “Santi, we-...”

A terrible scream sounds from the other roof, and when you look over, you see your target scrambling to hold onto something, while the roof shingles under his feet are slipping away. With a loud noise, the foundation of the roof falls apart, yanking the man’s body down with brute violence and you hear him scream more until a loud bang silences him.

“Fuck,” Frankie croaks, staring at the destruction, and you grab his untouched shoulder tightly, needing to feel him under your hands, that he’s really still here by the grace of not having made that same jump as the man did. “I think he’s impaled.”

The tall woman on his other side looks right at you, then nods as she steps away, disappearing into thin air in that same move.

These days, when Tovar and Lorenzano make a stop in Cali, it happens more often than not that one or both of them will talk to you; an extremely rare occurrence for somebody in your position.

Sometimes they’re there for a debriefing with Ezra, other times one of them will remark that bigger things are waiting for you in the near future. Trying to find a balance between doing the work that’s expected from you and keeping your head straight has become increasingly difficult, and you’re not the only one struggling with it.

Francisco oscillates between extremes most of the time. As a co-pilot, he’s mastered skills that very few in the syndicate actually have to offer, not to mention his skills when it comes to engineering and fixing up vehicles. Flying clears his head, grounds him in his body in the best possible way it seems. But once he’s back on the ground, especially when they need to go on raids and he’s dealing with anything but transportation, you often see him shut down and try to dissociate, something that’s hard to bring him back from. It gets even worse during moments when he decides to partake in the cocaine that’s always easily available.

A year later, you still haven’t figured out a way to get the two of you away from all of this. The money in your stash isn’t enough, and you know Lorenzano has men everywhere across the country - there was no way to make it anywhere without being shot in the head sooner or later. So you work. You learn from Ezra. You take the praise. And the nightmares - during the nights and during the days - keep getting worse.

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Leaving Cali happens in a rush, with none of you expecting it - including Ezra. ‘Reassignment to a rural area’ is the official message, which in practice means a camp right in the middle of the jungle.

“We’re here to take out those fuckin’ communist guerillas,” was the more extended explanation that everybody who relocated from Cali to officially join ACCU. Also known as ‘Peasant Self-Defenders of Córdoba and Urabá’, the group had been founded by the Castaño brothers after their father was kidnapped and killed, in retaliation to the left-wing Marxist guerillas. ACCU was knee deep into the drug trade, and, as you had discovered years earlier, a lot of people fighting for them got here the same way you and Frankie had.

FARC, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia known as the guerillas, stood out because they did employ tactics like kidnapping, but weren’t involved in the drug trade. Instead they fought for ‘social justice and the rights of the poor’, which in practice meant a whole lot of enemies.

“These aren’t the usual raids,” Ezra told you in the first couple of days on the ground, as he’d been filling you, Frankie and the others in on the different stations, people in charge, and what to expect. “This is a lot of combat, sometimes involving hostages.”

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‘A lot of combat’ is an understatement, as you and Frankie find out right from the start. The amount of assault rifles was overwhelming, as were the number of casualties per week. No more flights for Frankie for the time being, now mostly driving trucks of various sizes. What perhaps is the worst of it all is the complete and utter lack of privacy, even by the low expectations you already had.

With all the communal areas even more exposed than in Cali, there barely was any opportunity to sneak off. Here, finding a good hiding spot meant doing so in the jungle, risking death, because the odds were too high that you’d run into FARC members.

At times there were reports coming in from the major cities. Whispers about a pact between the DEA and some narcos, competing cartels. American reports on what was happening in Colombia, which often had barely anything to do with what was really going on. Rumors about the commies having grown massively in numbers. Everything is urgent, all the time, but now with a constant threat of being hit severely worse than would be the case in the city.

Sometimes you wonder if you and Frankie should’ve stayed in Bogota all along.

The second time you dream of the wolf cub in bindings, you immediately notice something is wrong - even before it cries out for you. This time they look like proper chains, the metal scraping against the cub’s fur and skin, and your first thought is that these are going to be much harder to remove than the first ones.

They’re also not merely restraining the wolf; this time it has properly been captured, the chains secured to a palm tree like the ones you see every single day around you. The pup howls, clearly more agitated this time, and you hush it gently, petting his fur while examining the restraints. “What keeps happening here, buddy?”

“Trusting the wrong people has consequences.”

You look up when you think you hear Joel’s voice from nearby, except it’s not him - but your father leaning against another palm tree, his face solemn as he looks back at you.

Your FATHER?

The wolf cub growls, and this time it’s not the usual angry growl of caution that he tends to make — it’s more like a snarl, layers of rage and destruction underneath. It yanks hard at the chain that has him tethered to the tree, sharp teeth biting at it until the chain breaks, and before you can do anything, it bolts over to where your father is standing, leaping up to attack him viciously.

You wake up screaming so loudly that you wake up all the others in the sleeping quarters, only calming down somewhat once Frankie physically shakes you out of it.

Going back to sleep turns out to be impossible, and it’s only after you try to skip sleep for the next two nights that your body finally caves in, knocking you out into a deep sleep, while you’re exhausted and scared of the dreams that might come back to you.

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Choices have never been an option with the syndicate. Either you do what you’re being told, or chances are that someone puts a bullet into you. That’s how you find yourself leading a team that is much bigger than you’re used to, not to mention with more challenging missions than you’ve done before.

Running drugs or arms in a city is pretty easy - even collecting it by force, or dealing with money. When raiding a building, there’s always a clear plan beforehand: assign people to specific spots, have a backup plan, keep the escape routes in mind, and make sure there’s enough ammunition.

Taking over a small FARC outpost is an entirely different thing. The unpredictability of the jungle, poorer communication methods, and with sightlines often being blocked, it’s not all that straightforward to take out a group of guerillas.

If it hadn’t been for Ezra’s training over the past years, you wouldn’t know where to start. But as always, you adjust - particularly with Frankie by your sight. The outpost gets conquered, another group of armed fighters elsewhere is taken down. But the guilt you were sort of able to remedy in Bogota and Cali, by helping to get some of the kids out, gnaws at you constantly here in the jungle. When twelve year olds are as heavily armed as you are, and even more eager to put a bullet in between your eyes, there’s not much of a chance to find some redemption.

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Just because Ezra is a good killer doesn’t mean he’s comfortable with it, you’ve noticed. You can see it eating away at him, just as it does with you. He still talks plenty to you about everything, but you can tell the isolation out here in the jungle is getting to him as well.

“I did a lot of work as a freelancer, Little Beast,” he replies when you ask him one day while you’re training with him. “I’m a floater, and some might say a merch, but I’m not merely a hit man. To be completely candid, this situation out here has… proven to disappoint.”

You want to ask him if he’s ever thought about getting out, but you don’t dare to - not with the lack of privacy around you. It’s not like you expect him to just offer you a way out; you know it’s not that simple, but throughout the years you’ve considered every possible option. Being here in the jungle has led you to consider defecting and joining FARC’s side, but you’re not naive enough to believe that will be a solution in the long run.

The one thing you’ve been able to keep secret out here is the money you’ve saved throughout the years. You carry it on you most days, as there is no proper hiding spot out here, carefully folded into a small pocket bible as that’s the one thing that won’t get searched during inspection.

Sometimes you try to remember the prayers your mother would say as she’d ask for help and protection. Even when you’re pretty sure none of her saints would listen to you, after everything you’ve done.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Something snaps inside of you when you find Frankie doing coke.

He swears it’s not a common thing, that it has only happened ‘two or three times’, that one of the guys - that bastard David - just offered it to him to be able to make it through a mission he was dreading. You know Frankie has been struggling, has just as many nightmares as you do, and the complete lack of privacy here is making it so much harder to find moments to sneak away and find a moment of peace together. But you also know it always ends very badly when anyone starts doing coke to be able to make it through the days.

The next day it’s hard to control your anger - not at Francisco, but at everything regarding ACCU. You make him stay back in the camp, despite his protesting, leading your team on an afternoon attack, and the blind rage that takes hold of you in the heat of the battle is all consuming. It takes less time than expected to carry out the siege with your team, with more casualties due to wrongly estimating how many rebels you were attacking, and just when you shoot their leader you suddenly realize David is on your left, fighting someone else.

Fucking David who gave Francisco that coke.

You aim your gun without even thinking twice and shoot him straight through the head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tovar is not amused when he finds out David didn’t make it. “He was one of our best. What the fuck happened?”

“I’m not sure. Didn’t have eyes on him.” You calmly look at him, giving him an opportunity to respond, and you know that you’re too good of a liar to give anything away. When he doesn’t say anything, you continue with the rest of your briefing. News spreads fast through the camp, and by the time you catch up with Frankie that evening, you can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows. Of course he does. He’s the only one you’ve never been able to lie to.

Ezra also doesn’t ask you what happened.

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When you were younger, running around with Joel and Jay in the neighborhood, your grandmother would always be the one to tell you boys to get home before dark. “It’s not that I don’t trust you - I don’t trust others to not get you into trouble,” she’d say.

You trust Frankie when he told you he wouldn’t take coke again. But now, you understand what your grandmother meant.

David’s buddy Arturo is the next person who offers some coke to Francisco, clearly hoping to make a deal. When Frankie turns it down, he keeps pushing, then eventually tries to persuade you.

You give it six days. Then, when you’re out in the field, you send him into a situation that you know is going to get him killed. He gets ambushed by two kids who take him out with their knives. Even though you could’ve taken down both of them with your rifle, you don’t shoot, and you see the relief in their eyes as they run away.

Arturo is still breathing when you check on him, but your own knife quickly deals with that before anyone else finds him.

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This time when you dream, you don’t see the wolf cub in chains. It’s you who is tied up, and after struggling in disoriented panic, you realize that you are the wolf. Thick dark fur where there should be your arms and legs, claws instead of your fingers, but the overwhelming feeling are the bindings wrapped around all of your limbs and the rest of your body - so thin that you can barely see the golden shimmer, but so sharp that it feels like it’s made from razors, pressing into your skin.

You can’t scream - or howl -, you can’t even move. And all you see in front of you are Lorenzano and Tovar, each heavily armed, dragging your human body along with them up a mountain, leaving a trail of blood on the rocks.

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“I want them all DEAD.” Tovar nearly spits the words out at the group of you, banging his hand on the table with the map that has several FARC camps drawn onto it. “All of them. I don’t know how the fuck they got their hands on the product, but if it doesn’t all come back here…”

He’s terrifying like this, especially because you know he won’t hesitate to act on his threats. Somehow FARC had gotten a hold of internal intel, it seemed, not only being able to avoid being attacked for almost a week now but also having confiscated a massive amount of Lorenzano’s cocaine that was being packed and processed at a nearby facility.

The first two missions that week are done from the sky, and unsurprisingly Frankie is the co-pilot. You have a select team that goes up in the air with you and Ezra, two of your crew each armed with a M60E4 machine gun and one person with a Mk 153 SMAW launcher. It’s not your first time running an attack with this kind of artillery from the sky, but it still makes your stomach turn to see the damage that’s inflicted, the only small relief being that at least it’s not happening up close like would be the case with a ground attack.

On the third day, it’s back to the ground with your team, and you manage to overtake a building that holds at least half of the missing cocaine. At least half of the FARC fighters that are assassinated are still practically kids, who had been repackaging the drugs in the building. You and Frankie, as always, try to focus on the adults rather than the young teens, and at the end of the day you see Ezra’s expression is similar to how you feel: not just empty, but hollowed out.

Whether it’s the exhaustion setting in or bad strategizing, you’re not sure, but on day four the mission goes awry, and your team barely manages to pull through. Tovar is with the group though and aggressively moves in on the remaining cocaine that someone finds, but seeing how a large amount of it got shot up during the attack makes him absolutely furious. Eventually, he splits the team, sending half of your crew back to your camp with the repossessed drugs, while you have to do another sweep of the premises to make sure everything got covered.

It’s when Frankie pulls open a side door that seems to have been overlooked, and you step in with your gun ready, that you stumble into her. She’s young, younger than you, bruised and bloodied, but what stands out the most is that she’s pregnant - and very far along, it seems. It’s extremely unusual to come across someone in her position, here out in the jungle, because you all know that FARC does not exactly allow any of their fighters to start a family.

You see the hysteria on her face as she realizes that she’s been discovered, know she’s about to scream and fight, so you move on instinct, putting your gun behind you as you hush her and urge her to not yell. “You’re okay, you’re okay- I’m not gonna hurt you, alright? We’re not…”

She stares at the both of you with wide eyes as she nods, and you hear Frankie curse behind you. “Fuck, Santi, no – they’re gonna fucking see her, man. This place is going to get torched in five minutes from now.”

“Please, don’t hurt my baby, I’ll do anything.” She’s sobbing, on her knees now, and you turn to face Frankie as your head is working overtime.

“But we can’t– she’s pregnant,” you say to him, and he nods sadly, his jaw clenching as you can see him think. You curse, peering outside to check if anybody is watching, then close your eyes as you say a quick prayer. Please let this work. Not for me, but for her. “You need to get to the others and tell them it’s clear,” you tell Frankie as you nod to the front of the building. “I’ll get her out of here and to the back of the premises. Just tell them… something, okay? I’ll join you soon.”

“I don’t fucking like this.” But Frankie nods and disappears back outside, while you help the girl to her feet and explain to her how you’re gonna get her out.

“You can’t make a sound. You can’t trip. If they catch us, we’re both dead, okay?”

She nods as tears are rolling down her face, then tries to take a few deep breaths to calm herself. Meanwhile you listen closely to what’s happening outside, hear Frankie’s voice louder than usual - but not exaggerated - as he’s calling out to some of the team members. There’s no time to overthink matters, so you grab the young woman’s hand as you tug her outside, making sure to keep her covered with your own body as you rush her towards the trees that are at a small distance from the building.

Your heart is thumping so loudly that you feel like everybody in the vicinity must be able to hear it - but finally you get her there, pushing her behind a palm tree as you press the handle of a small knife in her hand. “Stay out of sight until we’re gone. Not a fucking sound,” you hiss at her, and she nods again at you, tears brimming in her eyes. She mouths a silent thank you before you turn around, and you don’t look back as you rush back to the property.

Somehow you manage to make it back to the front without raising any questions. Tovar is directing some people around, distributing gasoline, and mere minutes later the whole place is on fire. You’re exhausted, and not fully aware of how you all get back to the base camp, where you do a quick briefing with Ezra, then go find your sleeping spot in the tent to pass out even though it’s still early.

You wake up by Frankie sitting down on your makeshift bed, his hand on your back briefly as he hands you a plate with food. “Told them you got hurt getting back here and needed to rest,” he says, and you’re so grateful that you could almost cry. “Good job.”

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The next two days Ezra puts you, Frankie and the team on rest, giving you the opportunity to catch up on sleep and deal with the bruises and injuries most of you have. Then there is patrol duty, and you’re separated into pairs to guard between your camp and the other ACCU location. It’s hot, as always, but the vegetation mostly offers some shade which makes it more bearable.

Once you’re at least twenty minutes away from your camp, you tug Frankie behind a large tree and kiss him, unable to go on any longer without feeling him against you. You can feel him sigh in relief as he returns your kiss, his tongue eager as he takes over your kiss and presses you against the tree trunk.

“I thought this week was gonna fuckin’ kill us,” he whispers, and you nod as you brush his curls back, twirling a few around your index finger. You want him, in each and every way, but at the same time you feel so utterly drained that you can’t even imagine doing more than kissing and letting your hands roam for now - and you can tell he feels the same way.

You stay like that for a few minutes, just kissing each other, glad to have the slightest bit of time together. The tiredness ebbs away eventually, comforted by the touch of his body against yours, and just when you start to feel his hands drift lower, you realize that you need to stop this now before it gets to the point that neither of you can dial it down anymore.

“We gotta get going,” you make yourself say, and he groans softly, not happy about it, but he lets go after giving you one more deep kiss.

The path to the other camp is mostly easy to follow as you’ve walked it so many times before, a few tree trunks in the way here and there, and eventually the scenery around you changes, going up a hill to higher ground. Francisco talks about the helicopter maintenance that’s scheduled later this week, and you’re glad that they’re keen on keeping him in that aviation position - he really is good at it and still enjoying it, a welcome change from most of the field work.

You halt when you suddenly hear a sound that isn’t common around these parts, and you look around at you try to locate the sound. “Did you hear that?”

Frankie shakes his head. “What?”

“I heard a… Almost like some kind of howling.” You stop abruptly at the edge of the path, grabbing Frankie’s arm as you stare at the sight thirty, forty - maybe fifty - feet away from you, at the bottom of a steep slope. Surrounded by the lush rainforest vegetation stands a large adult wolf, eyes locked on you but not showing any signs of intending to approach you. You blink repeatedly, for a moment wondering if you’re making things up. “You see that?”

You stop abruptly at the edge of the path, grabbing Frankie’s arm as you stare at the sight 30 or maybe 50 feet away from you, at the bottom of a steep slope. Surrounded by the lush rainforest vegetation stands a large adult wolf, eyes locked on you but not showing any signs of intending to approach you. “You see that?”

Francisco gives you a questioning look, then follows your line of sight. “No. Somebody there?”

“The wolf, Frankie.” You have a hard time taking your eyes off the animal; you’ve never before seen one in real life. Meanwhile Frankie is looking at you as if you’ve grown three heads.

“A wo-… Santi, there are no wolves in Colombia.”

“Yes there are, look.”

Frankie smacks the back of his hand against your cheek, the frown on his face growing deeper. “Oye, pendejo. There’s nothing over there. You sure you’re okay?”

“No,” you say absentmindedly as the wolf tilts his head, and for a moment you wonder if it will attack you. Then you hear it; the sound of branches breaking behind the two of you, several pairs of footsteps, and you realize the wolf is not a threat but a warning. And for some reason you can’t explain, you just know that one of the guys behind you will be Tovar.

You take a deep breath as you take one more look at Frankie, drinking in every detail of his face and presence next to you. You wish that you could kiss him one more time, but you don’t dare to risk it.

“Something is very wrong, go back and find Ezra,” you say quietly, and you see his eyes widen as he reaches for his gun, but you stop him immediately as you shake your head. “No. You can’t win this, I’m so sorry - I love you.” Then you shove him, hard, so he trips over the edge and falls down the slope of dirt and vegetation, towards where you saw the wolf moments earlier.

You turn around while you pull out your spare gun, shooting down the guy closest to you without even blinking, then aim at a second and third person. You’re determined to do as much damage as possible to give Frankie a chance to get away.

Tovar’s eyes are dark and furious when they meet yours, and within moments he has overpowered you, dragging you away from the edge of the slope as he bangs the metal of his gun against your fingers. The pain is so sharp and hard that it makes you scream, and you drop your guns involuntarily, blindly reaching for your knife.

“You son of a bitch,” he hisses at you, but your fingers close around the hilt of your knife and you sink it into his leg with all of your strength, before you get hit over the head and lose consciousness.

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When you regain consciousness again, there’s arguing, loud banging against things, and yelling happening all around you. It takes effort to focus when you open your eyes, but finally you can make out some of the faces around you. Tovar, unsurprisingly, a gun in his hand as he’s leaning against the wall. Lorenzano, also armed. And surprisingly - Ezra. On the floor, half kneeling, and with Lorenzano’s gun pressed against his head.

“You made him this way!” Lorenzano practically spat at him, looking like he’s about to have an aneurism out of rage, but Ezra merely looks at him all calm. “You… you conspired. With those faggot boys. And now you’re trying to take me-…”

Tovar cleared his throat. “Us,” he said sharply.

“Yeah, and now you’re trying to take us down,” Lorenzano continued, moving the gun from Ezra’s temple to his forehead.

“I’m afraid I must interject. I did no such thing, boss. Neither did Sant–” Ezra’s words are cut off as Lorenzano hits him hard across his face, and you wince at the sound of what possibly is a broken nose.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.”

Ezra takes a moment to compose himself, then shakes his head again, wincing as it seems to hurt him. “I am not a greedy man. You of all people should know that after all this time.”

“Then how did those fuckin commies get their hands on that stash?” Tovar speaks up, looking irritated. “They clearly had intel. Not to mention that ambush the other day.” He wanders over to you, and you groan as you try to sit up on the floor, but your hands are cuffed behind your back and your ankles also tied together. “And you. You let that whore escape the other day. Did you really think you could get away with that?”, he sneers. “Did you deliver Esdras’ messages to her or something?”

Your head is spinning as you’re trying to follow the conversation even though the pain is making it hard to listen and speak. “I didn’t do — I never tried anything like that,” you manage, trying to keep your eyes open. “Please. You have to believe me. Ezra never…”

Tovar grabs you by your neck, pressing his gun up against your chin. “We found your money stash,” he hisses. “Do you know how many of your comrades were eager to speak about the shit you pulled in Cali and Bogota? Letting people get away from raids while they should’ve been six feet under?”

You fight the urge to argue that it wasn’t just people, that it was mostly children and some women, because you know that’s not gonna help your case. “I’ve done as I’ve been told to do. All of my missions. Every single one of them was successful and profitable…,” you wince when you hear Tovar take the safety off the gun, and you close your eyes as you speak faster, trying to focus more on convincing him. “Ezra was just training me so I would be better working for the syndicate. That’s all, I swear. He never… we wouldn’t.”

“What about your faggot boyfriend, huh?”

“What about him, gentle man?” Ezra speaks up before you can even begin to think of an answer. “He didn’t do anything. Neither of them did, nor did I. If we had, you’d have concrete evidence, my friend.”

Tovar ignores his words, and you feel the gun barrel press even harder into your chin. “Where is he? That pilot boy.”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. Clearly that’s not a good enough answer, because a moment later you’re kicked in the stomach and collapse, gasping for air. “God, I swear, I don’t…”

“Are you religious, Santiago?” Lorenzano walks over to you with slow, menacing steps. “Because you’d better pray to your god that they won’t carry you out of here in a body bag.”

Nausea rolls around your stomach, and you brace yourself for what you know is going to be another kick or punch. You manage to hang in there at first, but when another blow lands on your head, your dizziness quickly overtakes you while the sound of an electric tool whizzes in the background. You hear Ezra scream as the smell of burnt flesh fills the room, and then everything goes dark again.

It’s so dark.

You’re not sure where you are, but you know you haven’t been here before. It doesn’t feel like a dream either, not with the briny ocean air that you smell all around you.

Painfully slowly the darkness begins to clear eventually, showing that you’re standing somewhere high up on a cliff. There’s a man near the end of the cliff, his back turned to you, dripping wet like he just got out of the ocean.

It’s your brother Jay.

This is the first time you’ve ever seen him in a dream. You know it’s him, even from the back, and even if that looks nothing like how you remember him. When he turns around to face you, something wells inside of your chest and crowds your throat - tears of fear or relief, it’s hard to tell. You just know you’re exhausted, and in pain, and bleeding profusely.

Jay reaches out to you, seemingly offering something he’s holding, but when you take a step closer to him you see it move and realize it’s an animal. A snake, or - no, a sea serpent, biting its own tail, immersed in water that Jay is able to hold in his hands somehow.

“Brother. It is time. Come join me.” You hear Jay say the words, even though his lips don’t move, and you notice that his eyes are swirls of blue and white. Like waves in the ocean, or a stormy sky.

You know this is Jay, but none of it feels like when you’ve been seeing Joel in your dreams. Something is seriously wrong.

All of a sudden the choked up feeling in your throat turns into a sharp, blinding pain. It’s like someone jammed a knife into it, or a sword, that goes all the way up to the roof of your mouth. The taste of blood takes over your senses as an alarming amount of it begins to pool into your mouth.

“Were you not looking for me?” Jay’s voice grows louder while the serpent in his hands grows bigger, wriggling in the water. Again offers it to you, stepping even closer, and the ocean smell grows stronger. “Come. Take its tail out so he can breathe and live.”

The words are a bitter irony since you’re nearly choking on your own blood. You feel delirious, your head spinning as you’re already nauseous from the pain. Right when you’re about to reach out and grab the creature from Jay, you hear someone screaming behind you - loudly.

It’s Frankie. And it’s not even the screams that you would normally hear in your dreams with Joel. This is much, much worse. It reminds you of raids gone wrong, sicarios going after you, and that time the both of you almost died falling off a roof. It’s the kind of screaming that’s full of despair instead of just fear, only rivaled in intensity by the sudden sound of a helicopter that you can’t see. It’s so foreign in this setting that it shakes you out of your delirium, just long enough to see three men step out from behind Jay’s back.

Tovar. On the right. Teeth bared, the scar on his face looking an angry red color, a M16 in his hands that’s aimed at Jay’s head.

Lorenzano is standing behind Jay, the expression in his eyes dead and vacant as always, with a barely concealed sneer on his face. There’s a Beretta in his hand that’s aimed at the back of Jay’s head, and for some reason you know that if there’s anyone who wants to kill Jay - it’s gonna be Lorenzano.

“Little Beast.”

Your attention gets pulled to the left of your brother, where the third man stands: tall, a familiar shock of blond in his hair, green brown clothing. Ezra. Unarmed and chillingly calm in contrast to Lorenzano, Tovar and your brother, he extends his left hand to you.

"Every moment of our lives is filled with choices, Little Beast. Your choice and your consequence to bear."

“BROTHER.” Jay’s eyes flash in anger at you, the blue of his pupils turning almost black. “Do not ignore me. Come join me. Kill him as it has been prophesied in word and song.”

Somehow you know ‘him’ isn’t about the men on either side of him. It’s about Lorenzano, still behind Jay, now staring at you as his finger rests against the trigger of his handgun. But before you can respond to Jay, something soft pushes firmly against your leg, followed by the low warning growl of your wolf cub.

You can feel the bindings around the cub before you even look down. It’s like they’re chaining you too, the pressure thin and sharp around your chest and legs, feeling both impossibly delicate and permanent in how strong they are. For a second it shifts your focus of pain away from the blade that’s still lodged into your throat and mouth, but as the wolf cub looks up at you, you can tell that you’re not going to be able to help him with these bindings - and it feels like the biggest failure.

The cub isn’t deterred though, his eyes locked on Jay as he grows loudly at him, and you wince when you feel the wolf’s claws scrape over your leg - you know it doesn’t intend to hurt you, it just wants to protect and be close to you.

Jay furiously yells at you, the expression on his face asinine and enraged, and Lorenzano suddenly no longer standing behind him. So you don’t think - you just reach out for the hand Ezra is offering you, clutching on to him for dear life as you also swoop up the wolf pup in your other arm.

The screams of your brother turn into the roaring sound of the ocean, overtaking all the other sounds around you, and you watch in horror as water starts pouring from his mouth in excessive amounts, in the same way you feel blood pouring from yours.

Jay’s fingers wrap themselves around each side of the serpent, scraping over its scales as he pulls and pulls and pulls with all his might. It doesn’t work initially, nor the second time - but the third time proves to be a charm at last. He forcefully rips the snake’s tail out of its mouth, releasing a loud hissing sound from the creature as it contorts and starts to grow bigger.

Several claps of thunder sound in the air at the same time, and as Ezra’s hand closes around yours and pulls you over to him, you see the assault weapon in Tovar’s hand has turned into a massive hammer.

When the hammer hits Jay, the flash of lightning on impact is almost blinding, cracking his skull, and Jay screams as he throws the serpent at his attacker. The creature immediately wraps itself around his calves, and when its teeth sink deep into Tovar’s leg, it pulls a scream from him that rivals all the other deafening sounds around you.

Tovar stumbles away from Jay and the snake - four, five, six steps, and when his eyes meet yours, you feel another wave of nausea rolling through you.The rage in his eyes when he sees you with Ezra is terrifying, and his path abruptly changes and he moves towards you, one step followed by another. But as he takes one more step, he suddenly pales, grabbing at his leg where the serpent bit him moments earlier.

The creature still has its fangs sunk into Tovar’s leg, acidic looking venom now dripping out of the wound, and it seems like all of a sudden Tovar realizes that this is not something he can beat.

He is a tall, broad man, his right hand still gripping tight onto the large hammer - but when he falls, you can tell there is no way that man is getting up again. The massive hammer hits the ground, making everything shake as a crack forms into the ground, zipping from left to right as more additional cracks happen faster than you can even count.

Then, the tip of the cliff just… breaks off. A moment of complete destruction, happening much faster than seems possible, because within seconds it just plummets all the way down, dragging Tovar and Jay along with it. So fast that you don’t even hear them scream; the only sound you hear is the massive thud as everything crashes down into the ocean, being swallowed up whole by roaring waves that pull it down into its depths to never be seen again.

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This time you're not sure that you are even fully conscious when the room around you comes into focus for a moment. The air smells metallic, like blood and burnt things, and the floor around you is red.

"Little Beast," you hear Ezra gasp, and you want to look at him, but the darkness pulls you under again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Everything around you turns red. Dripping with blood, which then turns into bright orange flames, leaping up to the sky like it was their only purpose in life. But the wolf cub is now taller than you, wrapping its tail around you and Ezra as he tosses you onto his back.

You scramble to hold onto his fur as you grab Ezra’s shirt, making sure he won’t slide off. But then you see his right arm is missing, he’s bleeding out all over the three of you - and you don’t know what to do.

“It’s the consequences, Little Beast.” Ezra is calm as ever as he looks at you, the blond streak barely visible in his hair as it’s also covered in blood. “The choice was mine to make. Certain actions ferment the threat of appropriate reactions.”

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Somewhere there’s the sound of guns. There’s screaming, and then you hear a voice that you’d recognize anywhere.

Francisco.

“Is that…” Ezra’s voice is shaking, unable to talk without wincing and gasping from pain. “Fuck. Frankie?”

More gunshots sound and just when the door is slammed open, you once again lose consciousness, your head hurting so much that you wonder if this is the end of it all.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’re cold.

Everything is white, but you can still smell the flames.

You know the fire is finally gone when the white begins to weigh heavy on you like snow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you open your eyes, brought back to consciousness by the sound of the wolf cub whimpering against you, there’s a large wolf standing across from you two. Not black, like your cub - brown, like the color of trees, and Frankie’s eyes and hair.

Francisco.

You black out again.

When you finally come to your senses again and open your eyes, there’s a small arctic fox standing next to the brown wolf in the snow. It raises its head when it sees you move, then looks at something behind it in the distance.

It’s only when you see the bloody knife in the crisp snow in front of you that you realize it’s no longer lodged into your throat, and that there’s no blood pooling in your mouth anymore.

Heaven for the climate, hell for the company.

“Frankie.” His name slips from your lips as you start to cry, and the wolf cub whines softly, now curled up against your chest. His paws are bloody, and you’re not sure if it’s his blood or yours, nor where the large piece of bloody meat came from that’s staining the snow between you and the brown wolf who is still standing in front of you.

Brown fur.

Brown curls.

The tall woman in front of you is covered in brown furs, keeping her warm against the snow. She kneels down in front of you as she picks up the piece of bloody meat and puts it in her pocket. Then she reaches out of you, and as you feel the wet brush of her hand on your forehead, pushing back your hair, you feel yourself starting to lose consciousness again.

“Oh.” Her voice is light, tingles like icicles, and she laughs softly, sounding surprised. “Yes. You really are his.”

There’s even more blood than before. Your hands, all the way up your forearms. In your mouth. Hair.

Frankie’s face. His legs. So much blood, and he’s crying.

Someone’s dismembered arm lays on the floor, not too far away from you. You try to figure out if it’s yours, but everything hurts too much - you’re just not sure.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’re not sure how you make it to the truck, delirious from blood loss - you just know that somehow you do, Francisco’s hands on you almost the entire time. Once you’re in the vehicle, you promptly black out, coming to your senses later while Frankie drives the truck like he is possessed, several guns in the passenger seat next to him.

You want to ask him what happened - how he found you, and where Ezra is, but every time you think you’ve found the words to ask him that out loud, you black out again, and again, and again. Sometimes you wake up screaming, other times the pain throughout your entire body and head is almost too much to stand - but each and every time, there’s Frankie’s reassuring hand on you.

Somewhere between reality and dreams, or maybe even a worse place than that, you’re drowning in a river of foaming blood. The current is rough, making it incredibly hard to hold on anything as you try to hold onto rocks, a tree trunk, and anything else that’s near you.

The pain in your head is stabbing, overwhelming, and you can’t tell if the blood around you tastes the same as the blood in your mouth - whether it’s both yours, or if some of it is Frankie’s, or maybe even Ezra's.

After what seems like hours it starts to rain, while you’re still trying to stay afloat. At first you’re convinced it’s going to be the final push that’ll make you drown, but somehow as the rain mingles with the bloody river, it starts to dilute the thick red blood little by little, until eventually the blood has disappeared and there’s only water surrounding you, while the sun breaks through the clouds, warming your skin at last. You grit your teeth as you try to make it to the shore once again, and this time you’re successful, finally getting your body out of the water as you lay down into a wheat field, the wolf pup suddenly by your side.

You lurch up when the truck Frankie is driving comes to an abrupt stop, gasping for air as you’re jostled into consciousness for a moment. The wolf cub whines softly, licking your face, and you can’t figure out if you’re actually in the car or in that field next to the river. You hear voices somewhere nearby, and when somebody talks who is clearly not Frankie, the pup bolts up with his teeth bared.

That’s when you see the horse in front of you, just a few steps away, his dark brown coat looking almost black as it shines in the sun. You don’t understand how it’s possible, but you can swear that the horse smells like freshly baked bread and some grain alcohol - maybe it’s whiskey. The horse slowly starts to change shape, and eventually looks like a man wearing yellow aviators and tight jeans, standing there with a cocked hip and an expression somewhere in between annoyance and concern.

“Peña,” you hear Frankie say, but some part of your brain struggles to accept that name for the man.

“Freyr,” you mutter as you close your eyes again, burying your face against the soft fur of the wolf cub curled up against you. You’ve seen that man before, you just don’t remember where. Bogota? Medellin? Maybe talking to Ezra? Fuck - Ezra. Where is he? Is he still alive? “Esdr-...Tyr.” Your head hurts so much that it feels like it’s going to explode.

“Santiago. You’re going to be okay.”

Your eyes fly open when you recognize Joel’s voice, so nearby that for a moment it feels like he is right next to you. Until everything goes black again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Every time you dream of Joel, you ask him.

Every time you ask him, he has no answer for you.

“He’s not here, Santiago.”

“Please. You must be able to find out somehow.”

“I don’t know where Esdras is, hermano.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The medication that Javier and Frankie got for you makes it hard to focus on anything, but at least it keeps the pain away. It makes the nightmares worse though, so you find yourself desperately trying to stay awake.

This is what you understand:

You’re at the El Dorado airport in Bogota, with Francisco and Javier Peña, who is a DEA agent. The three of you are getting on a small plane that’s headed to the United States, but you’re not quite sure where. At some point, you’ll be testifying anonymously about Lorenzano, Tovar and the rest of the syndicate.

“Ezra set this up a year ago,” Javier tells the two of you as he hands you each a passport and some paperwork. “Residency and work permits. The rest will come.”

Francisco is staring at him, looking just as confused as you are feeling. “I don’t understand.”

“Ezra is an American citizen. Was.” Javier hesitates, and you can tell by his expression that the man genuinely doesn’t seem to know whether Ezra is still alive as he looks at you. “When Frankie found you two… well. He should tell you about that some time. But Ezra sent him to me, so I got things moving. Most of this was already set up.”

“Why?”, you manage to ask, and Javier sighs as he takes his yellow aviators off.

“Insurance policy. I know Ezra wanted out, but he didn’t quite seem to think that he would survive that,” he then says. “He figured that if shit hit the fan, at least you two could get out and start over.”

You close your eyes, trying to process the words, but it’s impossible to understand. The idea that Ezra is probably dead is just as unbearable as the thought of what state he might be in if he is still alive.

“Did he lose his arm?”, you ask, and you don’t recognize your own voice - but you can tell the words sound slightly hysterical. “Frankie, where…”

“You should rest. Both of you,” Javier gently but firmly interrupts you, then gives you some pills and a bottle of water. “These will help. You’re safe for now.”

The woman, Lydia, apologizes for the small apartment, saying that’s all she was able to arrange on such short notice. Javier and Francisco assure her it’s perfectly fine, and you can only nod, your tongue and brain still heavy from the medications.

Once Javier had checked all the entrances and exits, feeling good about how secure it is, he leaves you and Frankie alone, saying something about Lydia picking up groceries and clothes for you soon. Only when he’s gone, you’re able to take in the apartment. Lydia may have apologized for its size, but to you it feels like a palace - and you can tell by the expression on Frankie’s face that he feels the same way.

Somehow it reminds you of your childhood home, and when you two sit down at the small kitchen table, you suddenly don’t feel twenty-two anymore but only ten years old at the most. You’ve never had someone give you a place to call home, even if it would be temporary. Hell, you’re never even been in a place that had locks and was intended for only you and Frankie, with exception of that one motel night a long time ago.

You watch Frankie get up from the table and grab two glasses, filling them from a bottle of water in the fridge - the only thing that’s in there. As you drink from it, you take in his appearance. He looks as exhausted as you feel, some cuts and bruises on him, but not as many as you have fortunately.

He lets you look at him, the soft smile on his face indicating he understands you’re still loopy from the drugs, then touches your hand softly as he gets up. “This looks nice,” he says, gesturing around him, and you laugh without meaning to - because if there’s one thing Frankie normally doesn’t do, it’s small talk.

“Shut up, pendejo,” he says as he rolls his eyes at you, but you can tell that he doesn’t mean it. “I just mean - well, this is fucking huge.”

You shower together, mostly because you can’t stand up straight without swaying, but you realize that you quite like it. The water is hot and plentiful, neither of you having soap or anything, but just washing the dirt off your skin already feels like a blessing.

“I can walk,” you object when he seems inclined to help you to the bedroom, and you do so, ignoring when you almost fall twice. The sheets seem old but are so soft against your bare skin, and you drift off so fast while you hear Frankie moving around and letting someone inside the apartment. When he returns, it’s with a small pile of clothes and a bag with deliciously smelling food.

You’re both starving and eat mostly in silence, still trying to understand what happened in the past forty eight hours. When your eyes become too heavy, you curl up under the sheets and breathe a sigh of relief when Frankie does so as well. His naked body is so warm against yours as he wraps an arm around you, laying against your back, and you both fall asleep this way.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“America.” A smile tugs at Joel’s lips, and for a moment you’re not sure if you are actually dreaming. Everything indicates that you are, except for the way Joel looks. There is no decaying half to his face, or his body - he’s all in one piece, standing in front of you. Even looking relaxed, which is not exactly a characteristic you associate with him.

There are no dead bodies anywhere near the two of you.

Nobody is bleeding out on the ground, or screaming.

It should be comforting, a relief, but after so many years of always having dreamt of Joel one way, your brain is struggling to understand what’s happening.

“Are you okay?”, you ask Joel, feeling stupid asking the question when he’s clearly looking better than he has before. “I mean…”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Santiago.” The expression on Joel’s face softens further, looking almost wistful, and suddenly you know with alarming clarity that this is the last time you’re going to be dreaming about him like this. “You got out.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The footsteps down the hallway are firm and moving closer to the room where you and Frankie are seated. He gives you a short nod as you both get up from the chairs, standing straight as you wait for the door to swing open.

A tall blond man dressed in uniform enters the room, and you can tell that it takes him just a second to size up the two of you - make a quick judgment about what he sees too, probably.

He closes the door behind him, then walks over to shake your hands briefly. He gestures at the chairs you were seated earlier as he takes a seat of his own, behind the desk.

“Mr. Garcia, Mr. Morales. My name is Captain William Miller. What can I do for you?”

A/N II: I need to give a nod to @oliveksmoked’s incredible 'Nothing That We Need' (Narcos x Supernatural with Javi x OFC) and @ohforficsake’s The Margay' (Frankie x Audrey, POC OFC) which ended up influencing this fic a lot, and are both absolute must reads. Finally, thank you to @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @qveerthe0ry @mountainsandmayhem and @magpiepills for all the support and feedback (and letting me cry when I needed to for many reasons). Dividers by @saradika!

Here’s a little overview of Santi + the PPCU characters in this fic, plus and the Norse Gods that Erin assigned to them. Click on their names to go read the other Frith stories written by some amazing writers! @perotovar, thank you so much once again for organizing this incredible event, love you so much!

Santiago Garcia → Fenrir. Most famous of all the wolves in Norse Mythology, bringer of Ragnarok a.k.a. the end of the world. Joel Miller/Santi’s brother → Hel. Goddess of death and guide to the underworld. Jay/Santi’s (oldest) brother -> Jormungand. The serpent banished to the ocean, will rise at the end of the world.

Francisco Morales → Skadi. Goddess of winter, skiing, bow-hunting, and mountains. Ezra / Esrads → Týr. God of victory, law, and justice.

Maxwell Lord/Lorenzano → Odin. The All-Father. God of wisdom, magic, war, death and trickery. Pero Tovar → Thor. God of thunder, lightning and the protection of humankind. Max Phillips/Santi’s father → Loki. The Trickster God of mischief and chaos. Javier Peña → Freyr. God of fertility, harvests, and peace. Rules over weather.

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#santiago garcia #oscar isaac #frankie morales #pedro pascal #triple frontier #frith challenge #joel miller #javier peña #maxwell lord #max lord #max phillips #pero tovar #ezra prospect #skadi #odin #thor #freyr #tyr #fic recs

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