#it's a whole lot of words and very lacking substance

[wonder-worker]

It is said Elizabeth Woodville retired to Bermondsey Abbey 1487? Did she live humbly at the time of death?

Hi! To get straight to the point - we don't actually know when Elizabeth Woodville took up residence at Bermondsey Abbey. It is popularly claimed by most historians, including her own, that she moved there in 1487, but there is no actual historical evidence to support this date. According to J.L. Laynesmith's newer research, "this tradition [may have arisen] from confusion with the date of the council that Vergil said was the occasion on which her estates were resumed." In reality, Elizabeth could have moved into the abbey in 1487, or sometime in the subsequent years, or close to her death when she was ill and may have wanted to seek treatment. We just don't know.

I'm also personally hesitant to claim that Elizabeth was "retiring", because I'm not quite sure what she was supposed to retire from. For one, as the dowager queen who was mother to the queen consort rather than the King, her position was very anomalous and entirely unique, especially since the King's own mother, Margaret Beaufort, was alive and active. Elizabeth was not stepping back from any role she could have otherwise played, because there was no role or precedent for her to play in the first place; no post-Norman queen had been in a position like this before. Secondly, while several dowager queens and noblewomen had the option of managing their estates during their widowhoods, we know that Elizabeth's dower lands had been transferred to her daughter in May 1487*. So, considering she lacked both options traditionally available to dower queens (the role of king's mother and major landowner), there was really nothing that Elizabeth could have actively been "retiring" from. Her residence in Bermondsey could have been a retreat of some kind...or could have been a pragmatic living arrangement, a way to give her daughter space to establish herself as England's new queen, or simply a desire for an alternate residence that gave her some privacy when required. Or something else altogether. Once again, it's unclear.

(It's clear that Elizabeth would have had a visibly powerful and direct role in governance during her own son's minority and reign, as described here).

We also don't even know if Elizabeth resided in Bermondsey Abbey permanently. For example, in July 1486, we know she leased a mansion within Westminster Abbey called 'Cheyne gate'. Arlene Okerlund believes this is proof of her religious commitment and desire for seclusion, but as Susan Higginbotham pointed out, Elizabeth could have simply been "interested in obtaining a residence convenient to the court when it was at Westminster". We don't know if Elizabeth ever even stayed at this residence, and if she did, we know for a fact that it was temporary, because she ended her life in an entirely different abbey. In my opinion, the same logic and same questions can and should be applied to Elizabeth's stay in Bermondsey. It's entirely possible she had other residences she was living in, or even a place at court, that we simply don't know about, due to a lack of surviving evidence and/or a lack of sufficient research.

What I want to point out is that Elizabeth very much was present for at least some court occasions in the years after 1485. She took a central role in the christening of the dynasty's new heir, Arthur, standing as his godmother and presenting him with a 'rich cup of gold'. (She took precedence over king's relatives, including his mother Margaret Beaufort, who doesn't even seem to have been present for the occasion). She was present during her daughter's childbirth confinement and received the Luxemburg delegation. She was also recorded attending mass and receiving papal envoys along with her daughter, son-in-law and Margaret Beaufort in 1489. We also know that Elizabeth was considered as a potential wife for James III of Scotland, which would enable her to possibly again take up the role of queen consort once again, though his death in June 1488 prevented this from potentially materializing (it was by no means guaranteed, though*). So, whether or not she was residing in an abbey or somewhere else or alternating between different residences, it's clear that Elizabeth remained firmly connected to court. She may have been with the royal family on other unrecorded occasions, such as the time when Henry VII ordered the Exchequer to pay her some money "by way of reward for a tun of wine" in 1488 from Windsor Castle. We don't know - but the possibility is very much there.

This is getting into more speculative territory, but another thing to point out is that according to the Colchester journal, Elizabeth had originally petitioned parliament for restoration of her “castells and oder possessions that she was possessed of in King Edward’s day" in 1485. According to Lynda Pidgeon, this was initially turned down, although it was later confirmed that she ‘shall have and enjoy henceforth all such estate, dignity, pre-eminence and name as she should or might have had or done if no act of parliament had been made against or concerning her in the time of Richard III'. It seems to me that Elizabeth may have originally had very different intentions and expectations for her widowhood: she seems to have initially wanted to retain her own lands and administer her estates by herself, which was her right as dowager queen. It suggests that her priorities may have either changed over the years or were forced to change due to external circumstances (the financial constraints in the early years of Henry VII's reign, Simnel rebellion in 1487 which threatened her family, etc). It's unclear.

Lastly, it's often claimed that Elizabeth had "cultivated a lifestyle of comparative simplicity" (Laynesmith) by the time of her death. While we don't know this for sure, I think it's very plausible: she explicitly specified she owned very few goods in 1492, requested for a modest funeral that surprised the herald recording it, and wrote a very short and simple will in contrast to the elaborate ones of, say, Margaret Beaufort and Cecily Neville. But if this is true, we don't actually know when Elizabeth's decision for such a lifestyle came about, let alone what actually prompted it. Was it directly after 1485 (very unlikely, based on what I mentioned above regarding her petition)? Was it over the years due to now-unknown reasons? Or was it simply because Elizabeth was nearing her death, and this was her way of expressing acceptance/closure/penance? Once again, we simply don't know.

Obviously, I dislike the popular idea that Elizabeth plotted against Henry VII and her own daughter and was subsequently banished for it. (This isn't limited to Yorkists/Ricardians but the vast majority of general histories, the vast majority Tudor historians (including ones I admire greatly like Lucy Wooding) and the most academic of Elizabeth's own biographies till date***). But I equally dislike the revisionist interpretation that she entered into a "quiet retirement" or "relative seclusion" post-1487 that Arlene Okerlund and the latest Fifteenth Century XX book are so keen to propagate, usually with exaggerated claims that she was "beyond conventionally religious" (there is no evidence of this). Like I said, we don't know when Elizabeth began residing in Bermondsey, we don't know why, and we don't know if it can even be called a "retirement". It's as much a stereotypical interpretation as the vilified one, and ultimately contributes to the exact same narrative - Elizabeth is conveniently shoved or nudged out of the way, forgotten and irrelevant until her death in 1492. It's just so disingenuous when you keep in mind that she initially wished to administer her estates and that she remained connected to the court. This is aided by the fact that analyses of Elizabeth during this time almost always focus on Henry VII and his circumstances rather than her circumstances or what she might have thought or wanted (see: her unique role as queen who was mother of the queen who lacked estates, etc), and it's...incredibly frustrating. I think historians just need to get comfortable admitting that we know significantly less about Elizabeth's life than we think, and that what we do know is incredibly haphazard and can't really be used to form definite conclusions on most things. Analyses of all aspects of her career have been hindered by their utter unwillingness to acknowledge this.

*We don't know what Elizabeth felt about the transfer of her estates, or her proposed marriage to James III, or the annuity she received from Henry (which was initially lesser than the 700 marks she received from Richard III in 1484, despite her degraded status from queen to the king's concubine with illegitimate children during Richard's reign, though it was also very understandable given the financial difficulties in Henry VII's early years). She may have agreed to them, she may have been prompted/pressured to agree by circumstances or by others, or she may have suggested/initiated some of these things herself. We do know, however, that she remained close to Elizabeth of York and appointed her as supervisor of her will when she died – so I personally think she would have wanted to support her daughter. At the very least, interpretations should keep their closeness in mind. **According to David Baldwin, the proposed marriage was supposedly mooted as early as 1486, before the Simnel Rebellion. The sources he provides are: Rotuli Scotiae, ed. D. Macpherson et al., 2 vols. (1814–19), ii, pp. 475–7. ***Beyond this one instance, I find it incredibly frustrating and ignorant/disingenuous in general when people try to downplay how widespread Elizabeth's negative image really is by claiming it's "only" propagated by the Yorkist/Ricardian community. I can assure you it's far more widespread than that and is used by most general/popular histories and historical fiction of the 15th century, regardless of which "side" they're on (also, there's an assumption that because most Ricardians hate Elizabeth, the opposite is true and that criticisms of Richard lead to sympathy for Elizabeth; but the reality is that the vast majority of histories and fictional works that critique Richard are equally critical of the Woodvilles). That's not even getting into how there are literally no actual reassessments on pretty much all important and controversial aspects of Elizabeth's life till date: her position as the first post-Norman Englishwoman to be crowned queen and what that actually meant for her on practical terms, her family's role in the factional conflict/divide in the 1460s (revisionist histories pretty much always dismiss it outright, which makes no sense as it very much happened and needs to be properly explored and dealt with rather than ignored), her highly unconventional position in royal councils, her role in 1483, the propaganda against her and the many unprecedented official accusations levelled against her, etc. As I said before, there is very lacking academic interest in Elizabeth's individual life beyond the bare basics, be it in popular vilified interpretations or more limited "revisionist" histories. That's completely fine, no one needs to or should should force themselves to study her, but people have got to stop simultaneously pretending that she has been adequately reassessed when she very much hasn't been. (ie: you can't "debunk" something you haven't even acknowledged in the first place, lol). Nothing that has been written about Elizabeth till date has ever come close to the excellent and genuinely revisionist analyses that have explored and/or vindicated several other "controversial" post-Norman queens of England (Empress Matilda, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Isabella of France, Margaret of Anjou, Anne Boleyn, etc) sans only Isabella of Angouleme. People need to stop claiming the opposite and start acknowledging reality.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Rotten Apple | JTK

Karmic relationships indicate feeling or expressing a passionate response very early on in a relationship. Oftentimes, instant chemistry is mutually felt. Sometimes, the drain of that connection or addiction to a partner is described as exhausting rather than feeling calmly settled in a grounded partnership. (Elizabeth Keohan, LCSW-C, LICSW, LCSW)

Listen while reading: (the entire fic is based off this song so I highly suggest at least reading the lyrics before reading 😁)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 16k

Warnings: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS BEFORE READING AS THIS STORY COULD BE POTENTIALLY HARMFUL/UPSETTING TO SOME READERS//SMUT 18+, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), sir kink, choking, touch of orgasm denial, dom/sub, possessiveness, jealousy, degradation, name calling, praise, rough sex, toxic themes/relationships, heavy implications/explanations of cheating/infidelity, actual cheating/infidelity, chronic cheaters, gaslighting/manipulative phrases, fighting, arguing, crying, insulting, mentions of bad relationships/relationship trauma, mistresses/home wrecking, self hatred/self sabotage, remorse/regret, depression, anxiety, (lots) angst, (some) fluff, drinking, swearing, sorry if i miss any!

and im back 😙 please tread carefully with this one if any of the aforementioned warnings are personal to you. this definitely isn’t some people’s cup of tea! aside from that, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🤍 (so sorry, very lightly edited. just wanted to get this posted so i can keep going with more stuff 😁) (also another side note, I do not condone cheating at all. was just an idea that sparked some creativity is all)

Innocence is over

Hey ah na na, over

Ignorance is spoken

Hey ah na na, spoken

Confidence is broken

Hey ah na na broken

Sustenance is stolen

Hey ah na na, stolen

Arrogance is potent

Hey ah na na, potent, yeah

“Y/N!” Your name screamed over the busy chatter of the crowd around you, catching your attention and turning your head.

House parties had always been so overrated, and since high school, it seemed the scene hadn’t changed a bit. Even in your late twenties, the spill of alcohol on the floor made your soles sticky and the haze in the air choked you as you breathed. The home you were in was familiar, but certainly not comfortable, and the memories that lived inside the walls were haunting as they flashed before your eyes. The crowd of people around you only made it harder to escape the stalemate remembering had put you in. Still, you pushed a smile on to your face, holding the hand in yours a little tighter as you marched forward toward the greeting.

So many questions flooded your mind as you closed in on the perpetrator of your punishment. You knew they would all be here; they invited you, after all. The text message exuding formalities and lacking substance was the whole reason you stepped foot in the door in the first place, and you knew without a doubt that they would be waiting to greet you soon as you showed.

Well, three of them, anyway.

You swallowed your pride, leading your company through the swarm of bodies. The weaving was tiresome, and you had only just begun navigating your way through an exhausting journey. It was too early to be tired, too soon to be so cynical, yet it was all you could do. Something about the story was too repetitive for you to believe the night would end any differently than you imagined when you received the invitation.

The questions continued to beat against your skull, twisting around the guitar riffs and raspy voices flowing through the speakers in the living room. It made for a violent pair, and your eyes began aching from the pressure behind them. Your body was telling you it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t listen. You had faith that the night would be different, that you would be different, stronger than you were before.

You could turn around, submit to your already guilty conscience and run out the door. You could pretend you never heard your name at all, and more importantly, pretend you never read the message in the first place. You responded too fast to a person who should have been long deleted from your contact list, but if you played the game well enough, you could climb out of the hole you already dug yourself in. You could come out on top of this, you could conquer the world that previously held you back from succeeding. All it took was turning around, leaving, walking away from him.

For some reason, your feet continued forward, neglecting every warning your psyche could give. They carried you far enough that you landed before the person you knew you should walk away from.

No, not the person.

Just the closest one to him.

“Hey, Josh.” His name felt like poison on your tongue, already seeping through the gaps of your teeth and searing holes into the flesh. You could feel the pain deep into your jaw, running down the back of your throat and circling around your neck. The sensation was lethal, but it was addicting. Something about the brothers made you a sucker for the pain. You hated the names now, but you hated yourself more for never having the willpower not to speak them.

“I’m glad you came! I didn’t really think you would message me back.” He confessed, leaping forward and extending his arms outward.

He wanted a hug, innocent and warm, a sure way to greet you with all of the love he still had for you.

To you, it was none of those things. Instead, it served as a reminder of your catastrophic failures and the life you once lived. A life that was painful, ugly and cruel, but still seemed shiny, like a dream you craved to see in your deepest sleep. The person that used to hug Josh Kiszka was not someone you wanted to be, but it was someone you could not escape, someone who only showed herself when she was around him. You could not be around Josh without being near him, too, and for that reason alone you had pinned Josh with his brothers crimes, too.

Still, your arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him closer and torturing yourself with the scent of his cologne. As his arms closed in around you, the anguish of the familiar touch nearly sent you to your knees.

It wasn’t the same, but it was the closest thing to what you truly wanted.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I figured I’d stop by and say hi at least.” You replied, your head still swimming with uncertainty over the interaction. “I should probably be on my way soon, anyway. I can’t stay long.”

“Oh come on, stay a while! Don’t leave yet, you just got here!”

What game was he playing?

He knew the consequences of your presence in their lives, and he was lighting a match that would fuel an unstoppable fire.

“Maybe just for a little while.” You gave a soft smile, hiding your longing for the connection you had so long ago. His words were kind, more generous than they should be, but the weight of your past mistakes were heavy between you.

Maybe that was why you didn’t have the heart to turn him down. Subconsciously, you were stuck in some repetitive cycle of trying to right wrongs you were not fully responsible for.

“Who is this, anyway?” Josh turned to the man standing next to you, eyeing him carefully as he took in the sight before him. His gaze traveled from his face down to his arm, piecing it together once he saw your fingers still interlocked with his.

“This is Cole…” you said, slowly while Josh’s eyes moved back to meet your own. “My boyfriend.” You didn’t need to say the word. The implication was already painfully obvious, and all you did was rub salt in your open wounds.

Why did you bring him with you?

Why did you come at all?

“I see,” Josh grinned, but it was just as fake as your own cheeriness. You were both thinking the same thing, without a doubt for the future when the night came to an end. “It’s nice to meet you, Cole. I’m Josh.” He extended his hand for your new boyfriend to shake, the formality only slightly off putting as Josh’s eyes remained locked with yours.

‘Not tonight, Josh. Not this time.’ You tried to plead with him, silently telling him that tonight would be different than all the ones that came before. ‘It’s different now. You have to believe me.’

He did not, and you could not blame him. You did not even believe yourself.

By the end of the night, your relationship with the boy beside you would be no more. Jake Kiszka would see to that, and your undying desire for him would solidify it. It was a matter of time before you crossed his path, and not long after that would the incessant cycle resume exactly where it left off.

“Nice to meet you man.” Your boyfriend's voice was cheerful, and unlike yours, genuine. If only he knew the hurt he would endure, he would have left long before he ever experienced love at your hands.

No matter how hard you tried, it always ended the same way. No matter who it was, they were never able to compare to the boy who forever stole your heart.

“So how do you two know each other?” Cole asked, looking down at you now. You bit the tip of your tongue, standing stoic for a moment as you tried to come up with a quick lie. Without being too obvious, you tried to silently warn Josh to keep his mouth shut. You should have known better.

You have always known better.

“She’s never told you about Jake?” Josh laughed, finding the notion incredulous. He was too drunk to lie, but it wasn’t like he could ever do it sober. Your cheeks flushed and your eyes pointed towards the floor, feeling your heart jump to your throat and your head begin to ache. The poison of Jake’s name melted your tongue entirely, leaving you wordless and unable to defend yourself.

“Jake?” Your boyfriend asked, wearily speaking the name aloud as if it were a curse he was desperate to avoid. “Your uh… your ex?” He wanted clarification, or assurance that he was wrong, but it was something you could not give to him because he was right.

“Y-yeah.” You choked out, feeling your throat begin to close and air become scarce. “This is his brother.”

Innocence is over

Cole formed a tight-lipped smile, but did not let go of your hand. In an instant, he understood that attending the house party was not a mindless effort at a drunken date. He was not meeting your old friends, and he was not out to have a good time. Instead, the intent ran much deeper, and he was being used in a pissing contest for bragging rights to the ex he had always felt inferior to.

You wanted to assure him it wasn’t like that, but it was, and speaking would get you no further ahead of the game.

Why would Josh tell him? Why would he say it like that, as if Jake was the reason why you were there?

You closed your eyes, silencing your brain for a moment as you digested the truth.

Jake was the reason why you were there, and he was trying to spare Cole the heartbreak.

“He was barely an ex, Cole. You know that.” You spoke, bargaining with the distaste already forming in his heart.

Out of all of the dishonesty you had already dealt, that was the truth. An ex was not what you would classify Jake as, because you barely dated him. In fact, you hadn’t really dated him at all. You spent weeks secluded behind the walls of the very house you stood in now, nights wrapped up in him, tainting his sheets with the smell of your shampoo, but you were never his girlfriend.

You wanted to believe that if you had stayed just a little while longer, gave him a little bit more, maybe you would have been, but holding on to that belief was painful more than it ever served a comfort.

“Right,” he whispered, his hand still in yours. It felt wrong, just like it had the first time he ever held it. Cole never should have been in the middle of this, because he never should have been yours at all. You had no idea why you ever said yes to the title of girlfriend, because you never wanted it, and you had no idea why you invited him here tonight, especially knowing how it would end.

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see Jake, I came to see you.” You said, pointing the finger at Josh to get yourself out of the spotlight. “You asked me, remember? What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t come to celebrate your new album?” You forced another smile, begging them both to believe that’s why you really showed up. Cole seemed to relax slightly at the sound of your words, but his chest still ached at the idea of being in Jake Kiszka’s house.

Was Josh encouraging you to fall back into old habits? Was Josh playing martyr for a cause that would only hurt everyone in the crossfire?

You could not believe he wanted to see you, because if he missed you so much, he would have shown up at your door. You would have went for coffee or shared dinner like you did so many times before, but instead he invited you to a party hosted by the one man you needed to stay away from.

“The worst.” He joked, playing along with your poor excuses. An awkward silence hung heavy between the the three of you. Nobody knew what to say, because no words could ever turn the conversation to a positive tone.

“Did you want a drink, baby?” Cole asked, looking over his shoulder to the liquor bottles on the kitchen table. You followed his gaze, eager for him to leave you alone so you could pry into Josh’s head.

“Yes, please.” You nodded, giving him a smile.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He said, clearly looking for a way out of the tense situation.

“I’ll be right here.” You promised. He seemed reluctant to leave you, but after a shared glance and silent reassurance, he retreated to the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Josh again, desperate for an answer.

“Why did you invite me, Josh?” You asked, your tone turning grievous in an instant. The sweetness you held seconds before disappeared without a trace.

“He wanted me to.” Josh admitted, giving a shrug of his shoulder. “I didn’t know you’d bring a date.” He continued, his words more accusatory than you liked.

“Is it a crime?”

“When you know the consequences, yeah.” He answered, truthful with his response. “Listen, I’m happy to see you, Y/N. Whatever the fuck happens between you and Jake is none of my business. You’re my friend, and I’m glad you came, but I do think that you should be mindful of him before anything happens.”

“I’m not here to see Jake, Josh. I came because you invited me, because we’re friends. Remember, before all of this shit happened?”

“How could I forget?” He chuckled, thinking back fondly on the memories. Josh had been your friend first, the whole reason you knew Jake at all, but after all of the pain, your friendship with him seemed to get lost in the mess. “As much as I’d like to believe that you’re here to see me, we both know it’s not true.” He paused, thinking carefully before he spoke again. “And as much as I don’t want your new guy to get hurt, it would be nice to see you and Jake catch up, especially after it ended the way it did.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to him, Josh.” You crossed your arms over your chest, accentuating the cleavage in your already skimpy dress. You had picked it with Jake in mind, even if you would never admit it.

“You have lots to say, mama. We all know that.”

With that, a body presented itself beside you again and a drink was being offered to you. You sent Josh a pointed stare, letting the action finish the conversation for good. Josh nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze before walking away.

Cole noticed, and you couldn’t blame him for his questioning gaze, but it did irritate you beyond belief. He was treading in waters too dangerous to survive.

Instead of asking, he opted to keep quiet in fear of the answer he would receive.

Ignorance is spoken

“It’s really nice of you to support Josh like that, even after Jake fucked you over.” Cole said, sending a small smile your way. You took a moment to admire him, his beauty, and his bare-faced stupidity.

“We’ve been friends for a long time. It’s the least I could do.” You shrugged, brushing off his sweet sentiments.

Cole knew you were not there to support Josh, but he was forcing himself to believe it. It was easier for him to digest, thinking that your intentions were friendly and honest. When he focused on the alternative for too long, he thought he would be sick.

Before you could respond, you were pulled into a whirlwind of emotion as your eyes fixated on something within the crowd. In the distance, you saw a flash of familiar brown hair. The sight made your stomach turn and your palms turn clammy.

He wanted you to come.

Josh’s words repeated in your head, making it hard to think of anything else. Jake wanted you there. He asked for you. He knew you would never answer if he asked you himself, because you had never been keen on giving him what he wanted.

That was yours and Jake's biggest problem; you wanted too much from each other, and neither of you had ever been very generous. He wanted more than you could give, and you wanted what he could not provide.

Despite knowing that about yourselves, there was this incessant temptation in both of your minds, forcing you to believe that you were the best the other could ever get, even if it never worked out, and even if all it ever caused was pain.

The familiar head was not pointed in your direction, but you were certain it would be soon. The two of you had an awful attachment to one another, the bond extending into the realm of spirituality and likely even far beyond it. If you walked in a room, he knew, no matter how far away or how invested he was in something else. If you left, your absence hung heavy in the air and haunted him, even if he did not witness you leave. He was completely in tune with you, knowing your next move without you saying a word.

Even if you tried to ignore it, you knew you felt it just the same when it came to his presence and absence.

He was a habit you couldn’t kick, a guilty pleasure and an addiction far more lethal than one to substance. You would search for him in every room, cry out for him and him alone in the darkest nights, and long for his company after he disappeared from sight. His voice was like venom, seeping under your skin and tainting the blood supply the minute it reached your ears. His eyes, easy to get lost in and your definite demise.

He was not good for you, and he never would be, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him. He was the most karmic relationship you’d ever engaged in, punishing you for wrongs you’d committed long before you met him. At the same time, he was making you engage in far more at his hand than you ever believed possible. You didn’t want to want him, but it was impossible to deny. The thought of not needing him was obsolete, because you never knew a moment of peace after he walked into your life.

You could not be with him, and you knew even in the future it would never be in your cards, either. For some reason, even while knowing he was actively ruining your life, you jumped at the chance to love him one more time. You destroyed every opportunity given to you in favor of his twisted agenda, and you did it without regret or second thought. New relationships blossomed after he walked away from you, and failed when he decided to walk your way again. You needed to stay away, to put a boundary in place, but you loved his sin too much to refute it.

You had slowly come to terms with the fact Jake Kiszka would be your kryptonite until you took your dying breath. He was inescapable, and even if you would never truly be his, he would always have a part of you.

No, he would always have all of you, but he would never be yours to keep.

And just like the world ensured it a million times before, the head turned, and the familiar brown eyes seemed to be staring into your soul once more.

You couldn’t run, because he would always find you. You couldn’t run to him, because the boy by your side would know the truth behind the situation you had been trying so hard to keep a handle on. You were stuck, glued to the floor and locked in position until he decided to walk your way.

He was in control, and always had been. Since the moment you met him, you were happy to leave your fate in his hands, blindly trusting a man who only ever did what he could to fuck you over.

You couldn’t see all of his face, but you knew how beautiful he looked despite the crowd standing in his way. You could picture it crystal clear, the pout of his lips and the heavy-lidded eyes filled with lust. You knew the wrinkled furrow of his brow better than anything else in the world, and the softness of his skin and how good it felt under your touch.

As he stared, only his eyes visible to you, you knew he was envisioning all the same things.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Cole asked, his voice concerned. His hand on your back was excruciating, the overwhelming feeling of wrongness growing by the second.

You wanted to tell him, to send him away before he met the same fate as everyone who came before him, yet you couldn’t bear the thought of confessing all of your secrets to him. Some small part of you even believed you could avoid it this time, even whilst you felt the gravitational pull all the way across the room and through the crowd. You wanted to be the good guy and spare him, and you wanted to be the best person and end the cycle, but you knew neither would happen.

There were two reasons why you could not do those things; one being that Jake Kiszka made you into the worst version of yourself, and two, he was walking towards you now with no intent to slow.

“I-I’m okay,” you tried to assure him, but your voice was shaky and your words were weak. It did not take a genius to understand why, and as his eyes moved to look in the same direction of yours, his stomach was sick with fear. He did not know Jake by looks, but he knew you, and he knew that your pompous reaction would not be caused by anything other than him.

“Y/N, let’s go.” Cole said, trying to get you out of the situation before it began, but you were already in his sight, and there was no shying away. The hunter settled on prey, and you could only hope that Jake had enough kindness left in his heart to spare you from the suffering he so often inflicted upon you.

“I-I can’t.” You shook your head, noticing his grip move to your arm. He was trying to force you away, almost as if he knew his fate before it began to unfold.

“The fuck you can’t.” He scoffed, nudging you in the opposite direction of the man approaching you. “Let’s go.” He said again, harsher than the last.

You should listen.

You should leave.

It was too late, anyway. Your choosing of Jake over anyone else was a disaster, but it was something no outward intervention could have possibly changed. It was your own personal law, and when it came to a competition between Jake and anyone else, the contender always lost.

He was in front of you again. Months of static silence and breaking hearts, months of longing and yearning for something you could not have, finally came to a bitter end. It had been so long since you were face to face with Jake that you almost managed to forget how intoxicating his aura was. Almost, being the key word, because deep down you knew you would never forget a thing about him.

“Long time no see, sweetheart.” His voice was like liquid gold, washing down over you and curing any ailment that plagued you. The pout of his lip had only become more irresistible, and his chocolate coloured irises locked you in for eternity. Even if you wanted to leave, you knew it to be impossible.

“Could have kept it that way.” You replied, your lips turning down into a slight frown. Your eyes, though, told a much different story that he was quite privy to. You were good at keeping the feelings between the two of you a secret to anyone looking in, but inside, you were dying for him to touch you. Just once, just for a second so you could ascend to heaven again. It was a feeling only he could give, and you had been deprived of it for a long time, constantly in search of the high since his absence began.

“Right,” he chuckled, remembering your snarky tone all too well. “That’s why you came to my house? To bitch at me for saying hi?” His words were evil, and so was his tone, but you nearly went weak in the knees hearing the domineering voice once again. His eyes held emotion different from the venom of his words, and you could feel how thrilled he was to see you again.

“It wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t bitching at you for something, Jacob.” You reminded, keeping your expression stony so he could not use anything to his advantage.

“Of course, angel. It’s what I love most about you.” He smirked, nodding in agreement. You noticed his eyes flicker to the man beside you, the one holding your arm so tightly in hopes he could pull you away. Jake bit back a bigger smile, knowing there was nothing strong enough in the world to pull you away from him.

His black dress shirt was held together by the bottom three buttons. A fitted suit jacket was settled neatly atop it, but it was not screaming anything overly fancy. The cheap necklaces around his neck dumbed down the expensive clothing, but you cursed how remarkably well it worked together. His dress pants hugged his hips, and the tanned skin of his chest held your attention. It was not the clothes that sent you mad, but the fact you had before studied the beautiful intricacies that lie beneath.

“Are you going to introduce me to your little friend?” He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, raising his eyebrow in inquiry.

Little was a term he used only to assert his dominance. Cole stood heads taller, and his shoulders were much wider, but in the moment, Jake appeared much bigger than the man beside you. His ego was so large that it left no space in the room for anyone else, and his confidence made Cole pale in comparison to him.

“Boyfriend.” Cole corrected, his jaw clenched and his grip on you growing tighter by the minute. At that, Jake laughed out loud, unable to hold his feelings on the matter. Cole swallowed back the bitter taste it left in his mouth, but opted not to respond.

“Okay.” Jake nodded, looking back to you for clarification. “Your boyfriend.” He reworded his question, putting emphasis on the term and making it painfully apparent he had no interest in talking to Cole at all.

“This is Cole.” Was all you said, your nostrils flaring slightly at Jake’s egotistical expression. As much as you craved for him to touch you, you weren’t blind to his abhorrent tendency towards cockiness.

“You move on quick, sweetheart.” He noted, glancing back at the other man for a moment. You scowled at his willingness to shame you for dating another when he was the one who drove you to it in the first place. Before you could comment on his misplaced belief, a blonde haired woman appeared beside him, making the situation all the more tense. You forced a smile on your lips, watching closely as she clumsily grabbed his arm, claiming her territory without a trace of humility.

“Seems like you do, too.” You shot back, biting down on the tip of your tongue hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste filled your senses, but the pain did nothing to deter the rise of anger in your chest.

She did not say a word, but she did not have to. She was the same to Jake as Cole was to you: a placeholder.

As much as you were a victim to Jake, he was just the same to you.

You moved on, found another to replace the hole he left in you when he walked away. He found her, hoping she would feel as good in his arms as you did, but she could never give him the same thing. She could try until the end of time, but both of you knew she could never come close.

“Was nice seeing you, Y/N. Don’t be a stranger.” His words were equal to a dismissal of the conversation, but his eyes spoke something completely different. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. He approached you with intent to start anew, and he would see through to it no matter who got caught in the crossfire.

He slung a lazy arm around her waist, giving you a subtle wink before pulling her off in the same direction they came.

You thought you were going to be sick, your entire body aching with the knowledge he was touching someone other than you. You wondered if you loving someone else plagued him with the same illness, or if he viewed it as a game. You constantly feared that he did not feel for you what you felt for him, but you’d always been too afraid to ask.

“What a fucking douchebag.” Cole muttered, only loosening his grip on you after Jake was out of sight. As he let go, you raised your opposite hand to the same spot, rubbing the sore skin where his fingers rested moments before.

“He’s not that bad, Cole.” The defense slipped out without a second thought, and his misplaced confidence was shattered entirely. You looked up at his face, wide eyed and regretful of your words, but the damage was done and a fight was unavoidable.

Confidence is broken

“Not that bad?” He echoed, practically scoffing the words out.

“Yeah, Cole. Not that bad.” You repeated, rolling your eyes. “He’s full of himself, yeah, but when you get to know him, he’s actually got a pretty good heart.”

“Good enough heart to fuck someone else in your bed?” He questioned, remembering the tearful stories you had told after too much wine. Your expression dropped, your heart plummeting to your stomach as you were forced into a memory you were committed to forgetting. “Did you actually come here to see him?”

“Yeah, he’s an alright person, but a shitty fucking boyfriend.” You nodded, swallowing back the lump forming in your throat. “Which is why I’m dating you, and not him.” You clarified, averting your gaze to the ground. “No, I didn’t come here to fucking see him, Cole.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered, realizing his harsh words were not needed.

At the same time, they were. You were playing the victim to avoid being the bad guy. You hated being the bad guy, and when it came to Jake, you couldn’t seem to escape the title.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” You forced the words through your teeth, feeling the whirlwind of memories wash over you like acid rain. Your skin burned as they continued to flow, and you knew that you would die before you could ever outrun them.

“Babe, come on.” He pleaded, reaching out for your shoulder to hold you in place. You shook him off as soon as his fingers connected with your body, stepping away without a second thought.

Without any regret, you left him amidst the swarm of people in the house of your ex whom you knew you’d end up in bed with by the end of the night.

Even though the thought normally settled your upset stomach, not even the promise of sex with Jake could cure the sickness that washed over you. Remembering was the biggest curse of your entire relationship, and unfortunately for you, most of your relationship was remembering. You went without him more often than you were with him, and even the sweetest of memories were tainted with sins and sourness.

You navigated your way to the bathroom blind, your sight ridden with pictures of Jake shirtless in your bed, and worst of all, shirtless in bed with someone else.

If not for you knowing the house so well, you would have gotten lost in the endless sea of flashbacks.

From the very beginning, yours and Jake’s relationship was bound to fail. It began from lies and deceit, and it would carry on the same way until the next bitter end.

“And this is my twin brother, Jake, and his girlfriend, Suzanne.”

“You can call me Suz,” she flashed you a breathtaking smile, extending her arm towards you.

You barely registered her hand in your face, nor her friendly introduction, because you were too busy gawking at the blinding beauty of the long haired man beside her. You cleared your throat, swallowing hard and blinking twice to bring yourself back to reality. Even as you reached to shake her hand, you were unable to focus on her. As disrespectful as it was, even if it was her boyfriend, he was someone who was meant to be admired.

Plus, his wandering eyes and lustful gaze made it all the more easy to completely discredit the woman offering you her kindness.

Of course, it started that night. It started the minute his eyes locked with your own, like an unavoidable omen of the horror you would soon endure. The connection was instantaneous, and the desire followed not far behind. Although you didn’t sleep with Jake the first night you met him, you were no better than a mistress without ever taking your clothes off.

It started with lustful glances, then came the flirting in secrecy. Within days, he was going out of his way to catch you in the hallway or alone in a room to profess his affection for you. Weeks after that, the touching began, slowly but surely. It started with a lingering hand on your back, or hugs that never should have been initiated at all. Then, his hands drifted closer to your hips, and even worse, your ass. The hugs lasted far too long, and his lips treaded dangerously close to your skin.

You hated thinking about what you did to that poor woman, the tearful eyes as she berated the two of you as one. She was kind, she was beautiful, and she deserved better, but Jake Kiszka had always been too much to resist. Now, he was a habit you could not kick.

Over the years, the women became countless, and then men from your relationships, too. Everyone else saw that you could never keep a relationship, but it ran far deeper than that. You did exceptionally well at hiding your affections, and even better at hiding your betrayals. Jake and you never felt the desire to commit to one another, so instead you ruined other people while you committed to your relationship in every way other than officially. You did not intend to hurt so many people, and you never planned to betray others on behalf of each other, but it always seemed to happen no matter how hard you tried to stay away.

And then one day, the two of you had enough. You had lost too much humanity on your endless quest to be with each other, sacrificing too many people in the process. You decided to try, to be with each other in an honest and sincere way, just to make the world a little bit better for each other. You wanted to love each other openly, without anything or anyone standing in the way.

But, you didn’t want to be in a relationship.

Exclusivity was agreed upon, but labels were tossed in the garbage. The two of you convinced yourselves you were happy with the arrangement, and for a while, you truly were. At first, you kept it very quiet. You went on dates and stayed the night at each others houses, but only rarely. Most of the time, it was quick hookups whenever you had the opportunity to do so.

Then, things changed, and in his opinion, for the worst.

Both of you fell in love, completely and utterly, without question or care. Your apartment was forgotten after weeks of you staying in his bed. You shared meals together, sat outside on the porch and watched sunsets and sunrises, and said I love you in every action, but never aloud. Jake was indefinitely intertwined in your life in every way possible, and you were happy with it, until he said the dreaded ‘L’ word aloud.

It slipped out, carefully and quietly while you laid in his lap on the couch, watching reruns of your favourite shows. At first, you thought you misheard him, but the silence that hung in the air told you the truth about his words.

You loved him too, and you cursed yourself for not being able to say it back. You thought that it was too much too soon, despite living with love surrounding you constantly. It scared you, and you reacted with fear, even with your heart screaming at you to stop.

You didn’t say it back, because you neglected labels and thought it was not possible to be in love because of that. And, true, genuine love scared the absolute shit out of you.

It scared him too, but he seemed to harness more courage in that moment than you had in your entire life. Instead of applauding him for it, you effectively slapped him in the face.

For a few days, things carried on like normal, but you could notice the tension in the air. Every day, you could tell he waited to hear it, that he needed you to say it back, but it never came. After a while, he began to pull away, showing the old Jake that made you fall in lust with him in the first place. There were no more shared meals, and definitely no more sunset gazing. The television was off more often than it was on, and the blankets on the couch remained neatly folded on the back. The bed felt empty, even when both of you lied in it, because the distance between you two grew larger by the day.

But the sex?

It was better than it had ever been.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him too, but you were so paralyzed with fear that the word got stuck in your throat every time you tried to speak. Instead, you let him distance himself, knowing you’d already pushed him too far away. You continued to fall more in love with him, and he forced himself to fall out of love.

Then, you came home to him in bed, but he was not waiting for you. Instead of anticipating your arrival, so you could live as roommates rather than lovers, you found him wrapped up in another woman who gave him more than you could in the moment.

It was tearful, angry, and loud. Things were thrown, shattered on the floor, and your throat was raw from belittling the man you had only ever wanted to love.

You had finally gotten the karma you had rightfully deserved, and you finally understood the horrible pain you had inflicted on so many others.

The story finally ended the same way it started, but the two of you never recovered.

You moved out, but you were never able to rid yourself of Jake Kiszka. Intermittently, drunken and sad, you’d show up at each others doorstep and give in to your needs once more. He hated himself for hurting you, and you hated yourself for letting it get to that point. Blame was abundant, and regret plentiful, but one thing never changed; the fact that you two never fully fell out of love.

Too fearful of hurting each other the same way again, you fell back into old habits. You and Jake could never commit to each other, but could never stop loving one another enough to put an end to your toxic ways and commit to someone else. The second time around, it was much more difficult, and a lot messier. Your secret-keeping abilities had greatly decreased, and worst of all, everybody knew how you felt about each other.

When he left for his last tour, ready to release a new album and move forward in his career, you took it upon yourself to try and end the curse indefinitely. You blocked his number, removed him from your life in the most brutal ways possible, and you never spoke to him again. You vowed to start over, to be better, to love someone properly without the memory of Jake Kiszka tainting it before it could begin, and you did well.

For a while, at least. Until Josh sent you the damned message that landed you at his house that night.

With a boyfriend who you’d been with for long enough to take a bigger step, you crawled back to Jake like a dog who’d been lost without him. All it took was a single glance, and you knew Cole would meet the same fate of so many others, and you would meet the same fate that would inevitably ruin your life.

Your hands gripped the countertop of the bathroom tightly, holding yourself upright as the grief did all it could to break your bones. Your chest was heavy, your heart aching and your mind overrun with thoughts of a man you could never fully comprehend. He hurt you, and you hurt him, but never enough to put a stop to it for good. There was something deeper, something so incomprehensibly strong tying your souls together, even if you wanted to sever the bond. You could run to the ends of the earth, away from him and all of the mistrust and deceit the two of you had created, but you knew you would run so far that you would end up behind him, whispering in his ear as you pleaded to start anew.

You looked up at the mirror, trying to understand the woman staring back at you. She was a stranger, a shell of the woman who existed before meeting Jake. She was barren, cold, and tired. She wanted to love, but could not love anyone other than him, no matter how hard she tried. The bathroom door was cracked open ever so slightly, the glow of the hallway light illuminating your tired features, only worsening the sorrow you had for your former self.

As if on cue, the door creaked open by the push of a hand. The yellow glow of the lightbulbs were blocked by a body, casting a shadow over the already dim room. You did not need to look to know who it was; you could feel his presence without ever seeing his face, and it was just as beautiful as you remembered.

No matter how much you hated yourself for the relentless cruelty you inflicted and endured, it could never amount to the love you held for him in your heart.

“What are you doing up here, all by yourself?” The words were sickly sweet, settling in your spine and relieving you of all the tension that gathered over the course of the night. Without even looking at his face, you felt yourself stepping towards him, gravitating to the one thing that continually held you to the earth.

Jake closed the bathroom door behind him, locking the two of you inside together, looking at your sad expression with the utmost regret in his heart.

If only he could do it right, to take back all of the wrongs that got you to where you were, he would do it in a heartbeat, for you.

But you had always been better off as a dirty little secret, and he made a much better whore than he did a lover.

“Waiting for you to come and find me.” You quipped back, covering the sadness in your eyes with a soft smile. He stepped towards you, meeting you in the middle. He reached forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he gazed down over your face.

“You look like a fucking whore.” He rasped, his voice quiet but not hateful. His eyes raked over your body, taking in your low cut dress revealing more of you than he’d seen in a long time. His hand dropped from your face entirely, instead reaching forward and anchoring itself on your hip.

You leaned closer, your painted lips barely hovering over his own. The warmth of his breath on your skin was enough to make you forget about your sadness, and any remorse for your actions fled the minute he touched you.

“You don’t like it?” You asked, pushing your bottom lip into a pout. It grazed his own, sending a rush of emotion straight through the both of you. In an instant, you were one again, two bodies combined into a single entity after being forced apart.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head ever so slightly at your dramatics. “You know better than that.” His other hand rose, settling on the back of your neck. The pressure of his hand on the base of your skull caused your head to tilt upwards towards his just a little more, just enough for him to see your eyes. “I love it.”

“Did you miss me, baby?” You asked, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him alone. His cologne was suffocating, but it was so delicious that it helped you forget about the dying itself.

“Do I have to answer that?” He smirked, his body nearly completely pressed into your own. The space between you was non-existent, blatantly showcasing your lack of growth during your time apart.

Sustenance is stolen

“No, because I know you did.” Before the words even left your tongue, his lips were on yours in a heated reunion.

The sensation was euphoric, something you’d been searching for without ever realizing it. The whine that rattled your chest sent a shiver down his spine, only encouraging his bad behavior further. He drank in the sound like a man dying of thirst, desperate for a drop of anything you could give him. You were the only woman in the world who could do such things to him, and despite pledging to stay away, the two of you would always end up in each other's arms. Whether it be morally right, or morally wrong, his arms were where you were always meant to be.

In an instant, you were no longer the woman who came to the party with a boyfriend who treated her well. That title was ripped from you, stolen from his grasp in exchange for a single moment alone with the man who forever plagued your mind. Just like every man before, he stole you from him like a thief in the night, never satisfied unless he could make you his own again. He knew the love you gave was addicting, and anyone who received it was dependent upon it. He did not commit such thievery for any reason unjust, but because he remembered the effect of your affections so well. Without you, he thought he would die, and because of that, he was willing to sacrifice any other man’s life so he could survive off your love alone.

The taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue, making the moment all the more enticing. His touch was burning, but only ever pleasantly. Right and wrong did not exist; only he did, and you submitted to the knowledge that you lived solely to be his. You were not cut out to be a wife for a man who had his life together, and you were not meant to mother a child or start a family with a man who earned his keep honestly and loved sincerely. You were a mortal being who’s soul had been blackened with lust for an entity with more power than you could comprehend. You were born to play Jake’s twisted game, and over time, you had grown happy to be a part of it.

You were a whore, but only he knew how to pry that out of you. His words were laced with poison, his tongue made of opiate, his touch of ecstasy, and every action completed with intention to kill. You would not commit the crimes for another, because there was nobody else worth the effort.

“Taste just as sweet as I remember, Angel.” He withdrew a long breath, parting from you for just long enough to utter the praise.

“So good you couldn’t stay away.” You whispered, wishing he would kiss you again. It had been so long since you experienced such pleasure that you thought you might die without it.

“I can never stay away from you, sweetness.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and in his defense, it was.

He backed you up against the countertop, locking you in place with his hips. As he leaned his top half towards you, you leaned backwards to allow him easier access. His lips landed on the side of your neck, his kiss gentle and nowhere near what you remembered of him.

For a second, you let yourself believe there was some kind of sentiment behind his action, like he still cared and wanted to appreciate having you again.

Then, you pushed the thought from your head. The worst thing you could do to yourself was imagine that Jake cared about you, even if it was true.

His mouth traveled downward, drifting over the column of your neck and brushing over your collarbone. His tongue trailed over the soft skin, reminding himself of all he missed out on while he was gone. He was a man gone mad, driven to insanity just from the taste of you on his tongue. As tempted as he was to leave a mark behind, to claim territory that had always rightfully been his, he knew he couldn’t. He did not want to make the fallout any worse than it needed to be.

Instead of showing his true feelings, he spoke it into existence as an insult, inadvertently begging for you to validate his feelings on the matter.

“What would your little boyfriend think of you now?” He muttered, his face buried in your chest as his mouth ghosted over every available inch of skin. The hum of his voice against your body made you weak in the knees, but his words plagued you with guilt. You were not the person to get off on infidelity; in fact, before you met Jake, you despised it. You were not sleeping with him for any twisted desires or hidden kinks, but because you loved him too desperately to walk away. You would take him any way you could have him, even if it was despicable.

“The same as your girlfriend would think about you.” You reminded him, assuring he knew you were not the only one at fault. Your tone was breathy, your heart thudding against your ribs as his hands scoured your thighs. His fingertips settling just below the hem of the skirt, begging to go further but waiting for your permission.

“As if I’d ask her to be my girlfriend.” He scoffed, revolted just at the thought of it. His hands trailed higher, in search of the seam of your underwear. He seemed to freeze in place, his fingers inspecting your hips underneath the cool fabric of your dress. Slowly, his head raised from your chest, looking up at your face with a wondrous twinkle in his eye. He could not find what he was looking for, because they did not exist. His hands felt only the softness of your skin, without barrier as he smirked up at your rosy cheeks. “For me, sweetheart?”

“It’s always for you, Jake.” You averted your eyes, an unfamiliar feeling burning in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure why you were so sheepish of the fact; both of you knew it all too well.

“You’re too good to me, angel.” He commended your efforts to please him only because they worked so well. He bunched the skirt of your dress in his hands, pushing it up past your hips to reveal your lack of underwear. The sight of you exposed in front of him was nearly too much for him to bear, but he persevered through the abundance of lust he felt for you in hopes of drawing the reunion out a little longer.

His fingers slipped between your legs, pushing them apart so he could continue his tyranny without interruption. You watched him closely, inspecting every move as if you needed it to survive. In some sick way, you did. You felt as though if you were deprived of his touch for too long, you would succumb to death and waste away to nothingness. His touch hovered above your heat, but he was unwilling to give you what you wanted so easily.

How foolish of you to believe that Jake would be kind, even after such a long absence.

“Please touch me, Jake. Waited so fucking long.” You whined, looking down at his hand between your thighs, taunting you with the power you knew he possessed.

“Oh no, sweetheart.” He shook his head, chucking at your neediness. “You don’t get to call the shots.” He said, his eyes flickering up to meet your own. “You left, remember? You blocked my number and went off and found someone else to take my place. You don’t get to complain about it after you finally decided to come back.”

Arrogance is potent

Oh, so he was mad. Good thing for him, you could play that game, too.

“Quit it with the fucking pity party, Jacob. We both know you’re not innocent, either.” From sweet to sour in a second, your entire demeanor changed in response to his ridiculous claims.

“You should see yourself.” He smirked, moving his hand a little closer to your aching cunt, but not close enough to touch you, yet. “Just as desperate as you were the last time I saw you, still so eager to be fucked while your boyfriend waits for you downstairs.” He spit the word as if it were a bitter taste on his tongue, easily telling you that the old game of cat and mouse had changed. He was going to fuck you, but he was angry that you had tried to move on despite him doing the exact same thing.

“Oh, you poor thing.” You seethed, feeling the rise of anger begin to take over your body, too.

Clearly, leaving silently had deprived you of the release you so desperately needed. There were too many loose ends, too much emotion hanging heavy on the both of you. You had waited nearly a year to get it all out, a year of suffering before you could even begin to release some of the pain you locked up so securely in your heart.

“Don’t tell me your feelings are hurt, Jacob.” You raised an eyebrow, condemning him for feeling any kind of sorrow over your new relationship.

“Over you? As if.” He sneered, the momentary sweetness from earlier fleeing him completely. Touching you again was euphoric, telling of all he still felt of you, and he didn’t mind letting you know he missed you. Unfortunately, it brought up a whole other whirlwind of emotions that were far less appealing.

“Still doing whatever you can to convince yourself you don’t care about me, hmm?” You snipped, taking the opportunity to slide your dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed before him. “We both know why you’re upset, Jake, and it’s not because you don’t care.”

His hands shot to your hips, lifting you on the counter and setting you down on the cool surface. Now that you were locked in, his own body ensuring you could not run, his hand was between your legs again and finally connected with your cunt.

“What is it then, if you think you fucking know everything?” His fingers sliding through your folds, gathering the wetness on his fingertips and circling around your clit made it hard to respond. The feeling was so grand, even if the action was small. It was something you’d been waiting for since he got on the plane that flew him away from you, severing the twisted ties that held you two together.

The most harrowing revelation came when you understood that it was even better than you remembered it to be.

“You’re j-jealous, Jacob. Just fucking say it.” You spat between waves of pleasure, looking down at his face with a distasteful look in your eye. He was silent for a moment, opting to watch his hand working at your cunt instead of responding to your accusations. Eventually, after an unusually long bout of silence from him, his eyes flickered back to your face.

Without him saying a word, you knew you hit the nail straight on the head.

“You think it was nice to see that you found someone to take my place after I was gone?” He whispered, his tone dangerously low. “That he’s been taking up space in your bed where I used to sleep?” He growled, the curl of his lip resembling him as more of a wild animal than a man who had been hurting on your behalf. He raised his other hand to your neck, the back of his fingers gently caressing the side of it as he let his words sink in. “Do you think I liked the way he was touching you, like he was protecting his territory? Like you haven’t always been mine?” The possessive claim caused you to clench around nothing, desperate for anything more than he was giving you.

His fingers closed around your neck, the grip loose but foreshadowing of all that was to come. His face was close to yours, so close that the tip of his nose brushed against your burning cheeks and his lips were ghosting over your own.

“Answer me.” He whispered, letting his middle finger slide down to your entrance, feeling his way through the arousal he was responsible for.

“No, sir.” You shook your head, almost finding yourself sympathetic for the pain he was masking with his cruel words.

“So why did you bring him here, sweetheart? To rub it in my face? To piss me off?” He asked, slipping his finger inside you and letting his thumb drift over your clit. He began a steady pace, clearly getting himself worked up as he made a point to berate you for your decisions. “Did you want me to get jealous so I would start a fight with him and show everyone how much I fucking care about you?”

“N-no, sir.” You whimpered, feeling the flutter of an orgasm begin to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The curl of his fingers was addicting, and with every pump of his hand he was hitting the sweet spot inside you only he knew how to find.

“Don’t lie to me, baby.” He said, his fingers tightening around your neck a little further. He wasn’t ready to take it all the way, because he wanted to hear the truth before anything else. “You’re a little attention whore, and you wanted me to tell everyone out there that you’re mine. That’s all you ever fucking wanted, right? To be mine, and for everyone to know it?” The conversation was taking a dark turn, but you were too needy to complain about it. You thought if you kept talking, telling him what he wanted to hear, he would give you what you needed.

You were too stupid to realize you were only digging yourself a deeper hole, and the one you were already in was much too steep to climb out of.

“Yes, Jake. I did. That’s all I wanted.” You nodded, hoping he could feel your sincerity. You were not lying, because it was all you ever wanted. To be his and his alone was what you craved, with no one standing between you and no more secrets.

“So instead of telling me that, what did you do?” He snarled, moving his fingers a little faster. The change in pace caused your whole body to quiver. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and your mind was consumed with him entirely. He wanted you to confess, to tell him you understood the mistakes you made and atone for your sins. He needed it more than he ever needed anything else in his entire life.

“I-I left,” you choked out, feeling his fingers tighten on your pulse-point. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears, so powerful it was pulsing behind your eyes. “I was scared. I was too scared to say it, Jake.” You wheezed out, feeling your head begin to swirl from the pleasure and the lack of blood flow.

“Yeah, you fucking left. You were too scared to say it, so you left me to feel like an idiot for saying it first.” You were no longer speaking of the significant others you had left downstairs, nor your absence in the months prior. He was talking about that same dreaded instance that replayed in your mind every single day.

He was talking about it.

Aloud, he spoke the words, for the first time since the war began.

“M’so sorry, Jake.” You pleaded, feeling so strung out that the apology seemed misplaced. Recounting your mistakes did not seem fitting with his fingers inside of you and an orgasm threatening you. “I felt it too. I should have said it.”

“But you didn’t. You never fucking did, because you only ever cared about yourself.” Your eyes shot open, suddenly being pulled from the euphoria taking over your entire body. Your nostrils flared, your pupils blazing with a fire that only he knew how to ignite. He knew he struck a nerve, but it was exactly what he was intending to do.

“You fucked someone else in our bed.” You seethed, your words weak from his palm pressing against your trachea. Even in your rage, your hips moved down on his hand in search for more.

Just like always, sex was the most important thing to both of you.

“Instead of talking to me, you fucked someone else and tried to play the victim!” Your words were stronger now, fighting against his power with ease.

You were the only person in the world who ever had enough courage to challenge him.

“I guess we finally got what was coming to us, then.” He muttered, scowling at the thought of the pain you two caused each other, scowling at pain you’d caused so many others. “You still haven’t learned your lesson, because you’re back here begging for more, doing the same thing to him.”

“You don’t get to chastise me when you’re doing the same thing.” You spat, enraged at his self-righteous response.

“I never said I was any fucking better, sweetheart.” He reminded you, a small, sick smile toying at the corners of his lips. As angry as you were, and as much as your chest ached, you still knew you couldn’t walk away from him. You were destined to want Jake in the most despicable and destructive ways until the very end. The only comfort was that you knew he was destined for the same fate.

Without removing his hand from your throat, he moved forward and captured you in a kiss, sealing the evil you spewed within you forever. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, your need for him animalistic and unnatural even after his cruel treatment. The only reason it did not bother you was because you knew you deserved it.

As he kissed you, his hand continued working at your cunt, pushing you to the brink of an orgasm with great ease. You let out a moan into his mouth, giving him a taste of the pleasure he was granting you. He drew in a sharp breath, the sound settling deep somewhere in his soul and making home there for eternity.

He parted from you, but not because he wanted to. He would kiss you until his lips turned blue and his lungs collapsed, happy to die at your hands. He broke away because of need, and one that much much stronger than his urge to kiss you. His grip loosened around your neck and his hand dropped to your hip. He withdrew his fingers from you, causing you to let out a hiss of displeasure at the sudden loss of the orgasm he was so close to giving you.

Before you could get a complaint out, he dropped to his knees before you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. He guided one leg over his shoulder, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh as an apology for his sudden change in pace. At the knowledge of his next move, you were all but upset with his decision.

“Oh, fuck.” You groaned, your head falling backwards as his tongue connected with your clit. Your hand reached for his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue ran through your folds.

The sweetness of your arousal was something he’d missed so dearly, something he could never find from another. It was more addicting than any substance and it was the very reason he could get himself out of bed in the morning. Being with you in such an intimate manner was the only reason his heart continued to beat, and the only thing he continued living for. His tongue circled your clit, continuing his torment in a whole new way.

With just a single swirl of his tongue, you felt like screaming his name, just to tell the whole world how good he could make you feel. It was almost comical, how you searched far and wide for someone who could make you feel a shred of what he could, and nobody could even come close to him. Your whole body had been begging for him since you stepped foot into the familiar home, and now that you had him, it still wasn’t enough. You needed everything all at once, things he could not give to you and things you could never ask for. You needed Jake far beyond any other person, and far beyond what was possible from him.

You needed him to be more than a dirty secret, a betrayal of trust in a bathroom at a house party. You needed him to be yours, but you knew he would never be.

Your desperation was immeasurable, and your entire body was aching for the orgasm he previously denied you of. It was a terrible feeling to have, knowing that your life was completely in his hands. Whatever he decided to do with it, you would go along happily so long as it pleased him. It was a terrible thing to know you would never truly belong to yourself, even if Jake was long gone from the world.

He was living for your shallow breathing, surviving off of your choked moans. Pleasing you was his favorite thing to do, even if he hated you in the moment. There was something so gratifying about his name on your tongue, and something so beautiful about how easy it was to make you feel good. He tried his best to ignore the incessant thoughts in his head about another man touching you the same way, about someone else believing that you were theirs.

Both of you knew you were Jake’s, and he was undeniably yours. The facade you put on and the games you played with others were just that; the only thing either one of you knew to be real was the way you felt for each other. It was painful, harmful and frustrating for the two of you to constantly avoid the way your hearts felt for each other, but it was all you knew. It made more sense for the two of you to deny and lie about your feelings than it ever did to fess up.

He pulled away from you, catching his breath as he looked up at your face from between your legs. “Come on, angel. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.” He hummed, moving his thumb over your clit so he did not lose the momentum.

“You want to hear it, baby?” You breathed, looking down at him through your lashes. “Did you miss it?”

“Dreamt of it every goddamn night.” He said as a matter of fact. You let out a whine at the sound of his words, pushed even closer to the edge at the knowledge he thought of you just as much as you thought of him.

You were in no position to deny him anything, because he was giving you the entire world. As he leaned forward, his mouth connecting with your core once again, you let a long slur of curses fall from your lips. The moan that followed could only be classified as pornographic, carrying through the door and echoing into the hallway for everyone to hear.

He was doing exactly as you wanted; he was making it so the entire house could hear how much you meant to him, even if it was not in the way you so badly wanted from him. Still, it was enough to keep you on his hook, and that was the very thing he wanted to ensure.

“God, feels so fucking good, Jake.” You gasped, feeling your abdomen tense with a particularly strong wave of pleasure. He hummed against you, speaking encouragement for the show you were putting on for him.

You knew if he continued on like such, it would not be long until you descended into an orgasm. He was waiting, just as desperate as you were to feel you let the pleasure take hold. He brought his fingers to your entrance, slipping his middle and index finger inside of you to add to the sensation. You inhaled a sharp breath, feeling the curl of his fingers hit the same spot he found so easily just moments before.

“Fuck,” you hissed, feeling yourself clench around his fingers as the knot in your belly threatened to snap. At the familiar sound, he took it upon himself to suction his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, adding more pressure to the already otherworldly feeling. Your grip tightened in his hair and your entire body was rigid as it prepared to be pushed over the edge. “Oh god,” you cried, your throat raw from the primal sound that tore through you.

Had his mouth not been so intently focused on you, you knew how sweetly he would have talked you through it. No matter how vicious or volatile he spoke to you, he never missed out on the opportunity to coddle you as you came. It was his favorite thing in the entire world, an excuse to show you the softness his heart had for you when he usually felt like he needed to keep it hidden. He continued pumping his fingers and moving his tongue, guiding you through the high with expert precision. As he noticed you relax against him, he tapered off his movements before pulling away completely.

He rose to his feet, already tossing his belt on the floor before he was even upright. Your mind was still swirling with the lingering euphoria, your skin electrified and your heart pounding in your chest. You watched him, wordless as he unbuttoned his pants after he threw his shirt to the ground alongside his belt. He freed himself from his boxers, the sight of him nearly too much for you to handle. You missed him so dearly and needed him so badly.

He stepped forward, landing between your legs as he gazed down at you. His lust-blown pupils turned his eyes near black, and he was aching for relief just like you had been minutes before. “I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Say what?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He gave you a soft smile, void of any malice for a moment. He wanted to admire you beneath him, so desperate to have him. He wanted to enjoy the beauty of your heart being his despite being promised to someone else.

“You were just as jealous as I was, angel.” He said, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. You put all your trust in him, knowing that if he faltered, you might fall to the floor.

“So what?” You huffed, your cheeks turning red at his accusations. He smiled down at you, moving his hips forward ever so slightly. The tip of his cock rested against your entrance, already wet with your arousal.

“Do you really think I’d give her half of what I give you? That she means nearly as much to me as you do?” He questioned, his grip loosening slightly now that he had you in the position he wanted.

“No, baby.” You shook your head, wondering if tonight would be the night that things would change. “I know that.”

“You know she has nothing on you, beautiful.” His hand trailed up your side, the light touch tickling your skin as his fingers drifted over your stomach. “Nobody does.”

With that, his sweet sentiments had come to an end. He slammed his hips forward, the size of him coming as a surprise and filling you completely. A gasp left your lips as your tried to recover from the shock and adjust to him again, realizing that in the time spent away from him, nobody felt as fulfilling as he did.

To him, no one could compare, either.

“That’s it, gorgeous.” He muttered, clearly strung out from the pleasure too. In just a moment, he was back where he was all of those months ago, in love with you and desperate to hear you say it back. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

His praise was exhilarating, and his love was blissful. As he began a slow pace with his hips, the grief was almost overwhelming the pleasure. You wondered why it couldn’t feel this good with him all of the time, and you dreaded him walking away after the night came to an end.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for a moment, likely mourning the same fate that the two of you so often fell into. Loving you was all he wanted to do, but he was so afraid of falling again that he convinced himself he wasn’t already long past in love.

His tongue danced over yours, the taste of his sin too much to bear as your chest began to ache. You wanted to remain strong, to carry on with the one thing that the two of you were good at, but it felt so different than it did all the times that came before. The emotion you had neglected to acknowledge was finally pushing to the surface, angry about being ignored.

It wasn’t the right time, but you feared the right time may never come. You had to stop being afraid, to find the courage he once had and utilize it.

You could feel it too, even in his cruel words and his harsh insults. The love was there, lingering in every touch and screamed in every kiss. You could not allow yourself to remain in the same incessant cycle of pain, but you could not will yourself away from him. There was only one way to change your ways, but it was the hardest thing you had ever done. Loving someone so completely, no matter the circumstance, was terrifying. Saying it aloud only made it all the more real.

He pulled away, breaking the kiss and in turn, breaking you from your internal brooding. He looked down over your face, his hips still rocking against yours. The pleasure in the pit of your stomach had nothing on the yearning of your heart, and he could see it in your eyes. He had to look away, to hide his heart from you so you could not break it again. He feared the longer he stared, the closer he was to confessing the same thing all over again.

In a moment of desperation, he withdrew from you entirely, letting his hands settle back on your hips. Before you could complain, he pulled you from the countertop entirely, landing you on your feet in front of him. He had to change the pace, to harness that same carnal desire and rank it more important than how he felt for you emotionally.

Without a word, he spun you around, forcing your top half down towards the counter. The cold surface was a shock to your system, especially after growing comfortable with the warmth of his body against you. He pulled your hips back towards him, positioning himself at your entrance again.

“I think I’m being far too nice to you, sweetheart.” He muttered, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of his hair. “If I remember correctly, you only like to be fucked like a whore.”

This time, when the insult slipped past his lips, it did not feel good nor did it prompt any wave of arousal. It hurt, and it hurt achingly bad.

Still, knowing you were not strong enough to utter the proclamation of love, you went along with it despite the ache in your chest.

“Yes, sir.” You hummed. Despite the sadness of the change of position, you were still excited at the idea of fucking him. If you could not love him, you knew it was the next best thing.

Slowly, he pushed inside of you, knotting your hair around his fist as he pulled your head off the counter. He leaned down, his lips hovering just over your ear as he continued at the agonizingly slow pace.

“Just like this, sweetheart?” He asked, making sure that when his hips connected with yours he added a little extra force. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so good, baby.” You whined, the intimacy of the moment sending a shiver down your spine. His breath was hot on your neck, his voice barely above a whisper but loud and clear to you. As you answered, he let his teeth sink into your earlobe, the light pressure prompting a flutter in your stomach. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him in further and locking him there indefinitely.

Despite the pace being slow, the power behind his hips was what mattered, and with every re-entry, he added just a little more force than the last. As his cock brushed against cervix, your knees went weak and your stomach twisted into a knot. You had no idea how he could make you feel so good, but you knew you never wanted him to stop.

“He can’t fuck you like this, sweetheart.” He whispered, his lips still hovering above your ear. “He can’t make you feel this good.” He continued, his hand on your hip tightening with every word. He was mindful, careful not to leave any bruises despite his desire to. “Can he, angel?”

“F-fuck no, Jake.” You shook your head, feeling him press a kiss to the sweet spot just below your ear.

“Right, baby.” He hummed his approval, his words muffled due to his lips on your skin. “Nobody can make you feel as good as I do because you’re mine. Do you fucking understand me?”

“God, yes.” You nodded against his hold, desperate to agree with him on that fact. No matter what, you were undeniably his.

“Did you think of me when he was fucking you, angel?” He asked, his tone growing stronger by the second. He was pissing himself off the longer he thought about it, but he was willing to make that sacrifice in order to chastise you for your decisions. “Did you wonder when I would come home, when I’d come back to take care of you?

“I did, baby.” You whimpered, feeling the effects of his presence finally begin to take hold. You were strung out on pleasure, at your end already despite him being far from done with you. You were tired, but your body would not accept the fact. You thought if he stopped, you might die from the withdrawal from him. “I thought about it every fucking day.” You confessed. “I needed you, because nobody else knows how to do it right.”

“Exactly, sweetheart.” He hummed an agreement, happy to hear it from you. “You knew I’d never leave you behind. You knew I couldn’t fucking stay away.” Even if he wanted to, he never could. The confession was heavy, despite the fact already being known to you both. “God, what do you do to me?” He growled, the slam of his hips rocking your thighs forward into the countertop. Another groan tore through your chest, vibrating your entire body as he continued to fuck into you.

“Jake,” you warned, feeling your legs begin to wobble and your mind start to haze.

“I know, baby.” He crooned, placing another sloppy kiss to the exposed portion of your neck. “Being such a good girl for me. Just hold on a little longer.” At that, you let out another whine, loud and impatient, clearly unhappy about his plea to wait. In response, he roughly pulled your head to the side by your hair, craning it upwards a little further so he could press his lips to yours.

The kiss was enough to satiate your undying need for him, but the taste of his lips made the sensation in your stomach grow tenfold. The only difference was, now you could not warn him about the climax creeping up on you.

Luckily for you, he did not need to be warned about anything. He knew you better than anyone or anything, and he could feel how close you were just from your body alone.

“Oh, angel, you make it so fucking hard to say no to you.” He let out a long sigh, breaking the kiss as he let his hips rest against the curve of your ass. He had to slow down or he feared he might let go, too.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You gave him a weak smile, your eyes heavy as you looked back over your shoulder at him.

“With you? Always good, even if it should be bad.” He chuckled, placing a kiss to your shoulder blade before he straightened up again.

His hand remained in your hair as he took a deep breath, calming himself down before beginning again. The feeling of him moving inside you again after the short break was intense, amplified by a million. Although he believed stopping might allow the two of you more time, as soon as his hips reached the same speed as before, you were both just as close to the end. He couldn’t deny you the orgasm again, and he could not hold himself back. After so long without you, he needed it more than he needed food to survive.

“Can you cum for me, baby?” He asked, pushing your head down into the counter. Your cheek was squished against the surface, and his hips were moving with such strength that it made your head spin. There was no question that you could reach the climax, because you had been doing nothing but trying to hold back.

Instead of responding, your eyes closed and the burning in your stomach reached a whole new level. You had never gone so long without him, and now you had no tolerance for the pleasure that came with his company. A choked moan filled the air, letting him know that you were doing exactly what he asked of you.

His hand on your hip tightened as he pushed you further down on the counter. “That’s my girl.” He muttered, looking down at your face as you descended into pleasure. Your legs trembled and your lungs burned, but you were on top of the world. You felt better than you ever had, and likely better than you ever would. It had nothing to do with the sex, nor the stimulation of him inside you, but rather just the thought of being his.

You managed to sing his name through the mess of moans and curses, the sound heavenly to his ears. He waited so long to hear you say it like that again, and it sent him over the edge just the same as you. As you reached the high together, the world felt right again, like coming home after an inexplicably long and tiresome day. He spilled his release inside of you, feeling you relax against him as he slowed his thrusts. He leaned down, pulling your head to the side with much more caution than last time, and kissed you with all the love he could muster in his whole body.

You stayed like that for an abnormal amount of time, neither of you keen on the idea of parting from one another. Eventually, he broke the kiss, looking down over your face with adoration in his eyes. He did his best to snap himself out of it, knowing he shouldn’t be feeling such things about you, but unable to stop. He straightened up again, making sure to admire the entire scene of you below him, too fucked out to form a single thought. Then, his eyes traveled to the mirror, catching a glimpse of your position from a whole new perspective. He swallowed hard, his jaw tensed as he let out a shaky breath.

“How am I supposed to let him take you home tonight after seeing you like this, sweetness?” He asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror. When he realized your head was pushed too close to the countertop for you to see too, he used his grip on your hair to pull you upwards.

Staring back at you was a mess of the woman you walked into the bathroom as. Your cheeks were streaked with mascara, your skin red and blotchy and your hair a mess. Beside your reflection, you could see him watching you, studying you. His eyes were fixated on your face, taking in every detail you were noticing. To him, you were not a mess; you were the most beautiful thing to ever grace the earth. The mess just made it all the better, especially knowing he was the one who caused it.

‘I don’t want to go home with him, Jake. I want to stay here with you.’ You thought it, but did not dare say it aloud. The flash of sadness in your eye was apparent to him, for he had the same one in his.

What I see is unreal

I've written my own part

Eat of the apple, so young

I'm crawling back to start

If you did not speak now, you never would. Could you remain the same forever, or did you need to change to survive? You did not know what to do, or how to feel. If you said it, would it even mean anything, or would it be a waste of breath? He did not want to hear the words a year later; he needed it way back when the two of you were curled up together on the couch, when he used every last ounce of courage to say it first. He didn’t need to hear it now. He didn’t need you fucking up his life again. He didn’t need you.

But if he did not need you, why did he abandon his date in search of you, in search of what you used to be?

There was no more anger between you. Your eyes locked together in the mirror, housing a silent battle of uncertainty as you watched each other's every move. If you spoke the truth, the world would change indefinitely, but you did not know if it would be for better or for worse.

Oh, what did it fucking matter anymore?

You had to say it, to know that you exhausted every option to keep the man your heart sang hymns about. You could deal with the consequences later, because right now, you both needed to hear it.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” He asked, knowing there was some kind of war being waged in your head. He was afraid, not of what you wanted to tell him, but because he thought you wanted to end the constant debacle between you.

You could deal with the aftermath later, but you were done being sad. He waited so long, just the same as you, and you had to say it.

I repent tomorrow

Hey ah na na tomorrow

I suspend my sorrow

“I don’t want to go home with him, Jake.” Your voice was strong despite your worry the words would not make it past your lips.

“Then don’t.” He could not help the spark of hope that ignited in his chest. He rested inside of you, terrified to move as he awaited what you would say next.

“You mean it?” Say it, or forever hold your peace, coward.

“You know there’s always a place for you in my bed.” He was unsure if he was taking your confession in the way you meant it, but by god he hoped that was what you meant. Your eyes caught his again, holding him captive with your stare. There was not enough courage in the world for you to say it, but you could not hide it any longer.

“I love you too, Jake.” You said, your tone strong and your intent true. Nearly a year later, you finally said it.

The world was still. The commotion outside of the doorway stopped, and your relentless thoughts wasted away to nothing. For a moment, you even believed your heart ceased to beat.

“I love you, Jake. I should have said it a long time ago, but I’m saying it now, and it has to count for something.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he said, statue-like as he stood behind you. For a moment, you thought you might die from the pure grief that encased your heart. You waited too long. It was too late. “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I should have said that a long time ago.”

Neither of you moved, and neither of you knew what to do next.

You got what you thought he could never give, and he heard what he feared you might never say.

Was it over? Was that it? Did you end the curse that had plagued you since the very beginning? Had you repented enough for the rottenness of your actions?

Could you really have him with no secrets and no more lies? Could you love him without restraint, without any pain?

“Let me love you, Y/N. Let me do it right this time.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your eyes never leaving his face. “Please, Jake. The world hasn’t felt right since that night, until now. I want to try again, and I don’t want to be a terrible person anymore.”

Carefully, he withdrew from you, trying to limit the mess as he helped you up off the counter. He turned you to face him, bringing his hand to your cheek to swipe away a tear that escaped your eye.

“I have been waiting a lifetime to hear you say that, sweetheart. I would be a fucking idiot if I gave it up twice.” You lifted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry I was so stupid.” You said, reaching out and wrapping your arms around him.

The hug was simple, but to the two of you, it was everything.

“I was stupid, Y/N.” he said, burying his head in your hair. He took a deep breath, finally feeling the tension in his body fade away into nothing. The smell of your shampoo, and more specifically, the way his pillows used to smell when he was sleeping next to you, was his favorite thing in the whole world, and he’d been deprived of it for far too long. “I don’t want to be stupid anymore. I just want you.”

“I was always yours, Jake.” You whispered, closing your eyes as you rested your cheek on his bare chest. “From the minute I met you, until my very last day on earth.” He did not need to reply for you to know he was yours, too.

Finally, after writing your own wretched tale, you had grown enough to rewrite it and atone for all of the mistakes you made before.

Finally, you could love him without having to worry about anything else, without pain, and without suffering.

Finally, he was yours, and only yours, like it always should have been from the very beginning.

[nym-wibbly]

You think endverse Cas was really human? I mean was he a reliable narrator in that script or doing this whole performance to hide himself in plain sight while being more than human less than angel?

Good question! I didn't come away from that ep believing he was fully human, personally - his ability to both instantly spot time-travel!Dean and effortlessly identify what must've happened to him speaks to that. His senses aren't fully human, maybe - at the very least, he retains a mind free from the confabulation and confusion that humans can't avoid when perceiving the world. He sees - and trusts - exactly what's actually there in front of him when the 'wrong' Dean walks in. No hesitation or bewilderment because his brain's telling him two different things - just a few pertinent followup questions to get the context of Dean's time travelling. He still has the uncomplicated, uncomfortable clarity and directness of angel!Cas.

It says a lot that this timeline's Cas describes being human as a step down. Endverse!Cas equates his relative lack of power with becoming human, but losing his angel powers isn't enough to leave him fully human, I don't think. Mortal, maybe, and functionally diminished as a warrior, but not human. It's like he's using it as a catchall word for his fall from grace, and as a derogatory label for his own limited capacity to make a difference in their fight. I don't think he thinks less of humanity than he did before, but he thinks a lot less of himself. Not because he's human, or humanlike, but because he's failed.

I'd suggest that Endverse!Cas's ability to function as an ally who Dean can tolerate (or even allow to live) means that he's less affected by the substance abuse than a human would be. I can't see that version of Dean tolerating any liability in his ranks, let alone in the leadership tier. Maybe Cas walks a thin line with it, always a misstep away from Dean having to take decisive action about him, but he seemed ultra-competent, and trusted, for a guy mixing uppers, downers, and probably sideways-ers, with apocalyptic stress levels and the loss of his very identity.

I do think hiding in plain sight could be a really big part of what we saw from Endverse!Cas. Hiding from himself as much as anything else. Hiding what? Despair, I think. We see hints of that same bitterness and acting-out in regular Cas later in S5, when he thinks that Dean's about to surrender to Michael; that his faith has been (once again) misplaced and the fight is lost. Cas needs something to believe in and fight for because that's how he's made. He takes failure very hard and very personally. There's something defensive about Endverse!Cas, prickly and difficult, even when he's smiling and appears body-comfortable. That easy geniality vibrates with an edge of, "Just try me", like a neon warning sign. I doubt anyone but Dean ever gets the opportunity to see past it.

The End is such a brilliant script, such a well-made episode that it feels like a complete 'verse, but there are so many unanswered questions about how the characters ended up where that story found them. It's a headcanon and fanfiction goldmine because it's so sparing, and I love it. (But I'd just about kill for a Camp Chitaqua or Sam-as-Lucifer spinoff serial to tell me much, much more about it.)

[longing-for-rain]

Just so you know, some of your anons are coming from a blog called @mal3vol3nt

I do not know if you’re aware, but she’s chronically obsessed with you and has also been sharing your ao3 on Twitter and inciting harassment there too, saying you’re “racist” and a “degenerate” and accusing you of writing underage. Her blog lately is mainly posts about you and it sounds very similar to some of your anons

I had to check this out for myself and...wow. All I can say is just...wow 🤣

No, I actually had no idea who this person was but from the looks of it she's been obsessed with me for months? I guess that explains the anons, I knew these people were mad, but apparently they've been over here steaming over my takes and are legitimately terrified of me. And I didn't even know them! Didn't realize I've been doing numbers on Twitter (or X whatever it is now) despite never having an account.

(The rest is below; please don't click if you do not wish to see insensitive discussions of rape or if you are not in the mood to read opinions so malformed they will melt your brain)

I guess I have another angry little troll who doesn't know what a captial letter is obsessed with me. Wish I could say it was the first time, but alas. A lot of particularly funny things here though.

> Advertising your terrible ragebait Twitter like anyone finds you important

Lmao.

> "write fanfiction of katara being raped so zuko can save her"

What a terrible misread of the point of that story, but then again, I don't expect much else from a terminally online crybaby who exclusively consumes media for children. If you can't handle adult discussions about adult topics, maybe don't read stories that are clearly marked 18+ and with far more extensive trigger warnings than any mainstream media will give you.

> "measuring the size of her breasts and hips"

Lmao. I said she is drawn differently in different scenes. That's it. You guys are another level of unhinged.

> "obviously fetishes and racism"

It's kind of creepy how they sexualize Zutara, while simultaneously accusing us of doing that. Why do you assume a fetish is the only reason behind someone liking a ship? Why would you say this about a group of people including many black, brown, and indigenous women? And minors? And if you want to get into the whole fetish thing, don't even get me started on the shit I've seen from the kataang fandom. Hint: when I say some of you have a "mommy fetish" I mean it in a very literal sense. Not to mention the whole kataang rape discord debacle.

> "sick fantasies about these minor characters"

I have never depicted a minor in a sexual situation. I make a point to explicitly avoid doing that, and all characters are depicted as adults. Your lack of media literacy isn't an argument. If you're going to criticize my writing, at least read it, which you clearly didn't. And if the content is too upsetting for you, you clearly lack the maturity to engage in these kinds of discussions.

Imagine treating ship discourse this seriously, actually unhinged. Who said that Ember Island Players is the real Katara? What? She talks a big number about coke-fueled rants, must have given it a try herself. How do you expect to be taken seriously when you never say anything of substance and screech "racism" or "colonizer" every other word but can't even articulate the significance of those terms? Honestly, at this point you sound like a right-winger who thinks saying "but I'm [identity] and I agree with [opinion]" is a golden ticket to winning every argument.

And look at this: apparently I deserved all the things she and her friends sent me? Actually I respect this take, at least she's honest about it unlike the people who cry and backpeddle when they get caught red-handed.

I'm actually cackling at this one. Genuinely laughing; my neighbors are probably concerned. It's like you took every single Bad Person Allegation and threw it into a blender. And to top it all off, apparently 24 is "pushing 30" now LMAO. And apparently I, a lesbian, could only possibly like Zutara because I think Zuko is hot. Not to mention the way they entirely miss the point of Zutara, but ATLA itself, by insisting that Zuko is a "violent imperialist" who is apparently unworthy of love by anyone who does not share his skin tone. Kind of ironic coming from the people crying that I'm a racist who doesn't understand the show. Next level clownery.

This is so funny. These people are absolutely terrified of me, no amount of unhinged anons will hide that. It's fine for men to tell me I deserve rape and death, that I'm a dirty pervert for daring to speak out about sexual trauma, and that women's sexual trauma is nothing but a fetish, but if I respond to that man telling him he should die for being so disrespectful and misogynistic to rape victims, I'm the monster? I stand by it. If you think what he said about rape and rape victims is acceptable, especially if you're a man, die! Hang from ropes, as I said.🥰

I guess I should be really scared though. This is clearly a very influential figure in the fandom who is renowned for her enlightened wisdom on the plight of fictional cartoon characters against evil imperialists like me (adult with job).

...oh wait. I was excited for a minute, I thought I was dealing with a celebrity. But even the "callouts" struggle to hit 20 notes :/

And to everyone sending me positivity during this time, thank you very much! But I wanted to show you this to assure you I'm doing just fine. People can act as weird as they want behind a gray face, but after seeing the kinds of whiny little brats they are in reality, it's pretty hard to take it seriously. "I got my plane ticket" my ass, that would require you to leave your decaying, trash-filled apartment.

[chokchokk]

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 | choi san x fem!reader

PART TWO of : have your way with words, be my people pleaser 

"Why? Am I not allowed to care now?"

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: He usually doesn’t drink this much. No, maybe he does, but it definitely shouldn’t make San act like this.

It must be a trap, you think, but you’ve already fallen for him, so there’s nothing you can do except not getting your heart broken.

"As if you could care."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: smut, angst, fluff (if you squint)

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 7.1k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): alcohol, san is drunk, reader doesn't fuck drunk people, lack of communication, non-penetrative sex, fingering, squirting, aftercare, showering, sleeping together (in a bed)

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜: prologue + main part, finished

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: please know that i wrote this before ateez drank in their video so any sign of projection is like just ... bad luck LMAO but uhhhhhh yeah here's the start of the A N G S T of it all so enjoy lol !!! <33

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲

unknown number: sannie i think i left my phone at your place

unknown number: oh wait

unknown number: yeah i’m an idiot

unknown number: how do i delete this message

unknown number: btw is my name still “unknown number”

unknown number: because you should really change that

“That’s our thing,” he laughs, “she’s smart and all, but every time we hook-up, it’s like, I’m seriously fucking her stupid.“

His roommate snickers and looks at the contact name.

“So, uh, what are you two?”

“Hm?”

“You guys have good chemistry! Or are you going to keep up with the whole “sex-buddies” schtick? She seems cool, why not give her a chance?“

“Nah.. You know I can’t get myself involved in that again, Seonghwa. My last relationship.. I get goosebumps just thinking about it, really. I think she wouldn’t even want that, too. It’s all just jokes and fun between us.”

“Really?“

He turns off his phone.

“Okay, only sometimes, I guess.” He smirks. “But I really like that about her, actually. She doesn’t do it as much now, but, uhm.. she compliments me a lot?”

“San, you’re so fucked up.”

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞? 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡.

“Hey, it’s me! Open the door~!", his voice rings and San should be very happy you’re still awake at 3 AM on a Sunday. “Let me in!”, he repeats and it’s not a loud, aggressive shout, but urgent enough to snap you out of your mindlessly scrolling-cycle on your phone and make you question whether you’ve heard correctly or are imagining things.

It’s a very bold move, really, thinking that your home is free for him to come at any given time, and if it wasn’t for the unnecessarily sweet drunken “pretty please?” that follows right after his demand, you would have gladly let him walk all the way to his own residency, but you’re weak, weak for him, so even though you do hesitate, the door is opened with almost no significant time having passed.

“Well, good morning,” you chuckle and watch the man lean against the frame with his head, his legs unable to hold the weight of his upper body. He’s wearing his usual fit of a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but his blushed cheeks, the smell of sweet tangy fruits and other sour substances tells you more about his evening than you need to ask for. It’s also not helping that his lips look swollen, smudged with red lipstick that he definitely tried to get rid of with a lot of rubbing on the way here — San's had a long night and he's waiting for it to get longer.

“I can’t drive like this,” San explains and his eyes are barely opening while he tries to keep a serious tone as he speaks in short-cut sentences, “and you were nearby... so now I’m here.”

“Did I ask? Get in here, Sannie.”

You grab his arm, or at least try to get your hand around his thick bicep and drag him inside, the door closing with a thump. “Thank you~,” San giggles and it takes a lot to not make him stumble completely onto you, you managing to put him down on your couch with your whole body-power, his face immediately plunging into one of the pillows.

“Where’s your jacket?”, you ask, as you stare holes into his muscular back and broad shoulders.

“Didn’t wear one,” he lisps through the fabric and his voice is raspy.

“Dumbass."

Trying to help him, you decide you’re going to get him a cup of water, but before you can let loose of him and disappear into the kitchen, San grabs you by your hand, immediately crossing his fingers into yours.

“No, stay,” San begs with a soft-spoken voice, face still planted into the couch, and he doesn’t know what those words are doing to you. Yeah, you guys have been having one or two one-night-stands too many with the unspoken promise to plead no hard feelings, but it’s him. Catching feelings for San hasn’t been something you’ve deliberately made the attempt to avoid.

But maybe you would have, if you’d known how painful it was going to be.

“Your hands are so soft,” he daydreams, a melody accompanying his rambling, “so soft and warm, like- like everything about you. I was actually just thinking about that on the way here! I don’t know if you noticed, but I really like holding your hands. They fit so perfectly around everything, and really everything— it’s amazing, really, really… amazing.”

“Funny of you to say that,” you comment on his drunk sweet-talk with a tired— but still entertained— sigh and stand there, dumbfounded, his hand sweating into yours. Is this the same guy that told you that he was uneasy when someone (namely his girlfriend) held his hand?

“Why funny? It’s my truth! Your hands are one of your best assets, second to.. your lips, maybe?”

“How shameless!”

Of course he’s absolutely boozed right now, but it’s been well-established to you that San only wears his silly loveable himbo-mask only when he’s subconsciously benefitting from it. Once you two had met up enough to have gotten comfortable with each other, San’s “nerdy” personality had magically disappeared, leaving you with one confident, prude-ishly sex-seeking macho. The “Sannie” you were looking for has somehow vanished into small moments and yes, it’s not like you haven’t been the one trying to crack through his shy façade for your own enjoyment in the first place, but you do miss watching the cheeky guy push up his glasses during your studies, glancing over at you from time to time, blushing, when he catches you staring back.

“Shame finds no place between us, does it~?”

Yet, exam season is over, has been over for a longer time now, which only makes it more evident that San is trying to find excuses to come over for reasons that go below bonding emotionally by miles. Sure, the hook-ups have been fun, exhilaratingly so. He’s all yours, San says repeatedly, but once you’d realised that he was still casually seeing other people, and it was just a saying, but worse, had felt an aching sting inside your breast when you had done so, yeah, fuck, that has been the moment you’ve known that having sex with this man isn’t enough: You have fallen in love (or something similar) with San and a serious relationship is the seal to quench your thirst for his affection.

“I guess we’ve got rid of shame a long time ago, huh,” you answer non-chalantly.

His hands are soft too. His lips are like one addictive book you can’t help but stick your face into, breathe in the words they say, inhale the soothing scent and make it your perfume — you’re smitten for him. You can’t begin to fathom the dread you feel when something inside you ever-so enchantingly tickles when San giggles, acknowledging your ways: "That's who we are!"

He knows that it's not who you "are" as he sits there on your couch, fingers interlocking, it’s… well, who you had been.

Two people who didn't have to think before they said anything, be free with their thoughts in order to relieve them from the stress that came from maintaining concentration and quality. Have you been with him enough to say you miss the older San? The sweet, sometimes silly Sannie?

"You’re my stupid whore, don't you forget!”

No, time alone can’t tell that. But even the sweetest strawberries mold when they're not eaten and waiting is a tiring process.

“Yeah.”

For the short time you've known and yearned for San, he’s been in multiple committed relationships, which is one of the reasons why it has taken you two so long to finally fuck, and it hasn’t really bothered you while you hadn’t, since you couldn’t know what you were missing out on.

But now— though you’ve never seen him be with his girlfriends— you have gathered enough information to know that San’s got it in him. He doesn’t like talking about his endeavours and you could only get a little bit of small-talk with Seonghwa about it, yet from what you know now, your college “love”-experiences don’t come even one inch close to the romances he’s been in; you can’t help but find yourself fantasising about his sweet ways of loving.

You have had enough of half-assery, enough of hangovers, and the thing is, you desperately don’t want San to be your next failed situationship. Knowing that he is single, that right now, he is able to be taken— taken by you— but him still not being yours; it makes you question things you haven’t stopped to question about yourself when being with other people. Like, what do you have to do, what do you have to be in order for San to not visit some dumb party in the first place? He hasn’t visited as many parties when you were just “study-buddies”, why is he visiting them now?

It— whatever “it” is— has developed into something like a challenge, making San want you and only you. Turns out though, that stuff is more difficult than anything you've been doing for college. At least when you had to study, San wasn’t going around having fucking other women.

“Were you gonna leave me?”

Yes, of course you feel pathetic thinking about it like this; you know it’s all an error in communication in regards to your “friends with benefits”-lifestyle you and San are carrying out, but if it has gotten you two together the first time around, the manifestation must work the second time: That’s the only trust you have and it’s enough to keep you going and engage in San's unannounced rendezvous.

"No, you sound like you needed water, that’s all.”

For a while, San just breathes heavily into the pillow and you caress his finger. It does remind you a little bit of the movie-nights you've had with him in the past, when you tried to make your hands touch inside the popcorn like some lovesick child. Maybe it has never been about the sex.

His finger twitches as if he's already gone to slumber, but when you scuffle to get him a blanket at least, San yanks you back down.

“No! Noo, I need you, nothing else! Stay here, please,” he thrums, lurking from the pillow to wink at you, though before you can react to this sentence, San mutters, "I'm not going to fall asleep. I'm not tired, I'm just exhausted." That's the same thing, Sannie.

“Where were you, anyways?”, you ask and make yourself comfortable, San’s and your hands placed on the edge of the sofa, while his stomach lays flat over the whole surface, legs extended out.

“Where I was? Good question,” San lulls, laughing a little bit, "Seonghwa brought me as his plus one to one of his friend’s birthday party, that’s where I was!”

“Sounds nice,” you hum. “Didn’t know you were a cocktail-type of person, though.”

“Oh, do I smell?”

“Mhm—“

“But you’re right, actually, I’m not a long drink-drinker,” San falls in. Your eyes still being closed, you feel his soft, heated cheek against the surface of your hand, his swollen lips chafing subtly against your fingers. “But some girls came by with trays of self-made cocktails and… we couldn’t say no, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” you answer to just have answered something to fill in the silence. You can smell the saccarine scent in his T-shirt and you fear it's going to paint off from his saliva he's spreading onto your palm as San places kisses around your hand. "What do you think you're doing?", you ask sarcastically.

"Nothing?", San giggles, becoming a bit more eager with the smooches.

You've experienced him drunk a lot of times already, but usually he only drinks just up until the point where he can keep his “educated” tone to a perceivable level of sobriety. But as of right now, in contrast, he seems to be way loose, swimming somewhere in between of lust and senselessness, which irritates you more than it should.

That is another thing that has changed after a while you two had sex. You are perceiving him differently, more and more differently each time San exits through your door, leaving an emptiness inside you that another person can’t fill, by whatever measure possible. But apparently, the same doesn’t happen for him with you, and you have to convince yourself you can change that every single day.

“We should party together more often,” he inclines, “what do you like to drink?”

“Whatever’s available and does its job, I suppose.”

He giggles, gasping at your answer. “You don’t care about taste?”

“I mean, drink enough and everything is going to taste the same anyway, no?”

"Let's do it."

"Huh?"

"I'm in the mood right now~ Are you in the mood right now?"

You scoff and open your eyes, revealing a San piercing his sunken gaze through you, cupping his cheek with your hand surface like you’re a saint healing him, his nose glazed red, and his lips remain pinkishly stained — in the mood.

This is not Sannie, but your guts still churn in amazement at the sight. The fatigue is wearing off; the sight of the black-haired man caressing himself with you is... "appealing" to say the least. It looks like he’s devoting himself to you, but you’d be a lovelorn fool to think this to be true.

“Or am I too drunk?”, San asks, pouting. “I may sound like this, but I’m really not that drunk anymore, I swear!” He pushes his eyebrows down, seemingly trying to appear serious, but failing to do so.

“You don’t need to swear anything, San.”

Gritting your teeth, you try to maintain a smile towards the drunken man as benevolently as you can. Of course he came for only one thing and one thing only, regardless of how cute he's huffing against your words; here are you, thinking that San was trying to get you as his plus one just like Seonghwa did.

Fuck, he’s still so hot though, there is no way of denying that. The first attraction has never worn off and you’re still head over heels for this man who’s booping your nose tip with his finger on the hand that is intertwined with your own.

“So, what do you say, sweety?”

It only takes one look towards his private area to know that San’s pants are almost exploding from how hard he’s become, his bulge being a face-forward sign inquiring sex.

“San, you know I won’t. It didn’t work the last time, don’t recall?”, you whoop.

He tries to kiss you, but fails to do so, as San misses your lips by an inch and falls to the floor. Your hands finally separate and you rub the inner burning space between your fingers as you remind him of the time when he’d drunk-texted you a message asking for "a quickie". San had made no spelling mistakes, but it had been very clear he had went to a party and returned sexually unsatisfied.

“Yeah, but that was via SMS. Now I’m here, and like, I even found my way to you, and they lived— like three blocks away, so I'm able to orientate myself, see?”, San corrects you.

“Impressive, but it doesn't change anything.”

“Morals?”

“Yes, morals.”

"You know I want to fuck you," he mumbles sulkily. Shuffling around, San sits up straight and looks at you with a saddened expression, his eyes trying to focus on you as he continues to talk you over: “But if you’re also drunk, you would?”

“Don’t even start."

“Which means you would?”

“San.”

“Come on, I’m being— I’m really being serious this time!”

You chuckle and brush his messy hair to the back, approaching his face to a dangerous distance, San’s lips opened by a slit, heavy breathing leaving his mouth while he watches you, his lip corners slightly turned upwards. He’s panting, his penis must be fighting for its life right now, and you’re just petting his head.

“At least watch me do it, then."

“Watch you masturbate?”

“Yep!”, San nods and unbuckles his belt without hesitation. “I bet you’d enjoy that! You would enjoy it, wouldn't you?”

“Maybe. Only if you don’t hold back your moans.”

“Consider it done, baby!”

You let out a laugh and search for a better position for seating to apparently enjoy the view. The drunk man takes a while to get rid of his pants, his legs getting tangled up and all, but once he kneels there, in his underwear, it’s showtime.

Or at least something like showtime. He’s being way too interactive with it for you to just sit back and relax. Whining your name in a needy pitch, he starts to pump his hardened cock inside the boxers, leaving whatever is happening there up to your imagination like a suggestive soft-porn video. However, you’ve seen his penis enough to know what it looks like, so this task is not too difficult for you. You can draw a picture of his cock down to each vein in your mind and you catch yourself drooling a bit, when you see his glistening tip peak from his waistband. You have to keep yourself together.

While letting out low groans, rubbing the head of his erection and creating slick sounds, San searches for your vicinity: “You like what you’re seeing there~?”

“What are you, a camboy?”, you tease and inhale sharply, when San grabs the seam of his T-shirt and bites down on it, revealing all of his abdomen, whining through his teeth. He’s definitely seen the same things as you online and his abs look phenomenal. Those things aren’t necessarily connected, but it’s the two thoughts shooting through your head as he begins to move his lower body to pump himself through his hand, chasing his own high.

“I don’t know!”, he lies, “I just like pleasing you!”

San purrs, his pelvis moving in round circles to accentuate his V-line and muscles flexing and un-flexing as he does so— leaving you quite speechless.

“Ah, really?”, you pant, him answering a very well-behaved “yeah, really~” right after.

“What do you want me to call you when I cum? Mommy?”

“Oh my god, is alcohol bringing out the submissive side out of you?”, you try to defuse the tension (mostly to hold yourself back from going savage towards this man as you always do) and chortle.

“Hmm, I don’t know about submissive~,” San answers, the saliva from his mouth soaking his black shirt, “but I should get naked first, no?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Taken aback by how you're anticipating seeing San jack himself off, you turn a bit too honest too quick like an avid viewer.

He grins and pulls the remaining clothing over his head with both hands, and his tip is still squeezed between his pelvis and waistband. By now, you really want to lick up the precum that’s leaking out, but you try to take your role as the sober audience seriously.

“You know, at the party, there was a girl,” San narrates, throwing his shirt to the side and looking down at his naked torso, “she told me I had nice pecs, so I said thank you, as one should.”

As an attempt to not interfere his performance, you wordlessly follow San’s hand trailing down his chest area down to his pelvis.

“But then someone told me she was flirting,” he continues, theatrically gasping to re-enact the surprise he felt after his friend had lectured him, “oh my god! I didn’t know! So naturally, I made out with her.” Which explains the red-stained lips, okay. Where is this talk going?

“But, the funny thing is,” San laughs, continuously brushing over his skin to give himself goosebumps, finally taking off his boxer-shorts up to his knees, his fully-erect, hardened cock jumping out and slapping against his abdomen as he plays with it, “she was so distracted by them, we didn’t even have sex. Like, she was massaging them and nothing else!”

You gulp at the sight of San lick over his finger and spread the spit on his lip with an opened mouth, making him look very erotic and naughty. His masturbating doesn’t seem to be speeding up any time soon though, San’s little tale isn’t over yet.

“I mean, it didn’t get me frustrated,” San admits, “but it did make me realise that some people can be in it for different reasons~!” That’s where he’s going with it, huh?

Okay, maybe you aren’t being very truthful to yourself, if you think that you've succeeded in hiding your feelings from San.

Let it be the one instance when you told him you were currently only hooking up with him and nobody else, or the other, when you woke up earlier than him and Seonghwa was the one to make you breakfast, San hearing his roommate joke that he should “join you sometime” and you dismissed it by saying you prefer it “private” — San has been presented the picture numerous times now, the picture being you wanting more than this, more than playing around with each other.

Which makes it all worse.

“… And she was in it for my boobs!”, San giggles and you notice you haven’t been listening for some while, staring at his hand installed around his dick, pre-cum dripping onto your living room-floor.

“San, less talking, more making yourself come.”

“Heyy, where'd that come from?”, San wheezes and leans against the couch, propping himself up with one elbow, “I haven’t asked you yet, what you are in it for, my lo—“

“Stop, fucking hell, I wanted to see you cum! Do it, San. I thought you were going to give me a show, not tell me a bedtime-story.”

“Geez, I just wanted to ask you about your kinks~!” Of course.

Grinning, San pumps himself quicker, hissing and whimpering, enjoying having all your attention on him. And even though there's nothing you'd love to do more than sucking him off, you’re still keep your hands to yourself, massaging your own tits as somewhat an homage to his dubious anecdote, but also compensate the vibrating between your legs. You’ve gotten unbearably aroused.

“Shit, keep touching yourself like that,” San responds and hopefully he’s forgotten what he was asking for. Filled with a sudden rush, he sings: “Do you want to masturbate too? With me? Do that, it'll be so hot. I will watch you too! Please, touch yourself with me.”

Too irritated and horny to do anything else about it, you let your hand slide into your pyjamas, and you meet your wet pussy immediately. You drive your fingers over the slickness, silently exhaling.

“That’s so hot,” San admires you and his vocabulary seems to have minimized due to his drunkness. He intensifies his masturbation, the grip around himself becoming tighter, and as he begins to thrust his pelvis through the hole he’s created on his own with his balled fist, San hisses erotically. Still not in control of his body, his arm holding him up folds unintentionally. San trips, and you twitch out of worry which you quickly realise you shouldn’t have. It's just a short moment, dismissable at best and to he honest, San is the one who’s naked, but in this moment, you feel more exposed than you’ve ever been. Fuck.

He doesn’t say anything, thankfully so, but as San moans and laughs simultaneously, almost with a mocking undertone, you don’t know whether the feeling inside your guts is your lust multiplying or your heart dropping. To get rid of bitter thoughts, you hope it’s the first and insert your fingers into yourself, trying to match the pace of San’s movement.

“You sure— that— you don’t need my help?”, San asks with not-so innocent intent, and his voice is strained from letting all the moans out as you told him to. “I really want to eat you out right now, there wasn’t anything to eat at the party… No food and too many cocktails~ Too many— oh, fuck…”

Becoming faster with his hands, it appears San is slowly approaching his orgasm, murmuring drunken words while you just started having fun with your own masturbation.

“Hold it,” you groan, trying to quicken up your pace.

“But,” San whines, working his ass front to back as he’s edged himself, “I even asked you, I— I can make you cum! I can make you cum without penetrating you, so please— just— let me cum! Didn’t you say you wanted to see me do that?”

“Changed my mind,” you say, scoffing at the whimpering man, sweat forming on his chest and dripping down his skin. “Now be a good boy and don’t cum until I say so.”

San is definitely exploring his submissive sides here, his brain almost doing a complete revamp when he hears himself be called "a good boy", a pant leaving his mouth, trying to follow your command. It’s like he’s become even more drunk, bathing in your praise when you hum: “Ohh, yes..”

Eyebrows pushed together, his dazy eyes disappear somewhere into the breaths of arousal in the thick air that’s been created between you two. San is crushed in between the pressure to perform well and his pure desire, the devilish voice inside his head whispering words of profanities to him. The blush accompanying the florid stains on his lip— San looks absolutely, endearingly fuckable.

“Oh my god," you gasp, hoarsely laughing at him, but mostly out of amazement, "you should see yourself right now."

"What? Do I look that good?", he snaps back, thrusting as fast as he tries to keep up with you, almost competing with the pace you're pleasuring yourself. Short of breath, San wheezes: "You sound so wet, and I bet that was all me, wasn't it? Because I look so good? I'm your type, aren't I? Nobody gets you like I do?"

"San—!”

Using your thumb to circle around your clitoris, you fall victim to San's provocative teasing that you’re not comprehending at all. All it takes is his sly, foxy side grin for you to understand that San is asking questions he knows the answers to, knows them a bit too well maybe, but he will not back down.

"Say it! You wouldn't have opened the door if I was someone else, would you?", he asks and you don't notice that he's leaning forward to you the more you fall back so you can reach your g-spot better. “Tell me, tell me what’s on your mind, you stopped doing that! Praise me more, aren’t I your hard-working camboy?”

"Don't act like you'd care!", it sizzles out of your mouth, a light-hearted chuckle following your answer as your finger slides over the spot that gets you moan the loudest, sparks of pleasure forming and exploding in your pants.

"Why? Am I not allowed to care now?"

San is special, but so are you, and for the faint of your own feelings you won't allow this man to destroy your will just yet. You're already struggling to drive yourself to an orgasm all by yourself when San could do it so much better, but you can't afford a drunken confession (even if you're not even the one who's drunk) even for the sake of it.

"As if you could care," you joke with a wheeze and you catch yourself stopping to care about it. There is no inherent shame in liking San, but if there was, you aren't going to be embarrassed within the safe walls of your own home. You need the orgasm first.

"Well, yeah, I don't, but I'd still like to hear it out of your pretty mouth," San gutters huskily with the same grin, approaching you even more so you can see his abs tense up— thighs almost shaking from the withheld orgasm— up-front. “Take your clothes off.”

There's that again, this shift of power that San loves to abuse. Like a fucking metronome switching from one side to another, San changes up, which makes it impossible to get into his head. He's too smart to be sabotaged into submission, he must do it by himself. He's a wild animal that way, preying on you with hungry eyes, waiting for the moment you're too distracted to fight back. "Distracted" meaning wanting his cock in your cunt, that is.

Hurrying the hell up, you hastily pull off your pants and panties over your legs, revealing your pulsating, throbbing pussy that has been rubbed to a numbingly sensitive state.

"Yeah, I knew it, you're so fucking wet, shit, you’re leaking," San sighs in awe, gulping at the sight of your labia be moved around by your fingers, still wanking. "You should know that I’m so mad that I can’t bury my face between your thighs— you're so, fuck, you're so gorgeous, you should be the one who's the camgirl, shit.”

By now, your and his face are mere centimetres from each other, and there’s this heat that drives both of you, his lewd words melting against your skin.

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up," you sneer, flattered by his empty-minded eulogy, "I'm not going to let you fuck me even if you're being nice."

"Can you even make yourself cum with your own fingers?", San hisses pettily, watching them go in and out of you, daring you to go deeper, "I bet it doesn't feel like I do!”

"It doesn't, thank you very much," you quarrel and throw your head back for a moment to moan, accepting his challenge of resisting his soliciting. He’s piercing through you with lusty eyes— glassy from the orgasm he's been fleeing from since the beginning of your dispute, almost crying from being restrained that much.

"Are you close?", he whines, getting a bit impatient. "Please be close."

What? Do you think I'll let you cum?

"I'm so close," you whine back, speedening your fingers inside you, trying to thunder them as forcefully as possible to simulate the thickness and vigour of San.

“Good, that’s so very good.”

Sighs and pants leave through San’s opened lips and he looks for greed inside your irises, as you watch his shaft shimmer under the night-lights, imagining it pulsing through you, all of its girth stretching you out in a way you can’t achieve with your fingers from this angle.

“San,” you whimper, feeling your climax approaching quickly.

“Hmnh?”, the addressed man reacts, and his voice is shivering, waiting for you to say the magic words.

“San,” you moan again.

Tell me that you want me. How bad you want me. That you want to be mine, that you want me to be yours. That you’re thinking of nobody else, that you’ll only think of—

“I’m here, baby,” San answers and swings one hand around your neck, closing the small distance by pulling you closer to him; your lips clash together and his tongue eagerly slicks against yours, him heavily breathing inside your mouth. His saliva tastes of a life on the other side of the globe and as he thrusts into his grip with an unbelievable velocity, orgasming with strings of cum landing on your pyjamas, you feel otherworldly.

But San won’t stop milking himself until you have come to exhaustion as well: When he sees you push your lower body up, San throws his unoccupied hand under yours to take over your onanism, burying his digits inside you immediately. Surprised by his sudden gesture, you back your head away from the kiss, your body spasming together because of the overwhelming pleasure.

“You know you need me, don’tcha?”, San beams.

This is wrong, this is all wrong, this is not how you planned this, you cry, but by itself, your hand rubs over your clitoris repeatedly and because San has become a master in knowing where, when and how to finger you, it is impossible to not cum with him and become a moaning mess under his touch. It’s whirring, it’s sparking, San is trying to send you over the edge of the world and you’ll risk everything for it.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you whimper, feeling like you’re being intoxicated with the poisonous sucking at your neck and the stirring in your pussy; your body is being stimulated at so many points that it can’t catch up anymore. Not missing one beat, you scream out your orgasm, falling into the embrace of the muscular man who is barely any safety, his fingers not leaving your pussy.

“Be happy I’m not gonna shoot my second load into you, because your tiny pussy would feel so fucking perfect around my big cock right now and I could stretch it out so fucking nicely,” San growls intimidatingly, and you notice that his dick has become hard again right after his first orgasm, his stamina continuing to be one ridiculous weapon.

You moan, and apparently you’re not able to say anything except this, swinging your arms around his shoulders to not fall deeper into his fingers that are stirring your insides, “San!”

“What?”, he sneers and bites into your ear, “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

“San, I—,” you start begging and reinforce the clasp to somehow make him slow down, tugging at his hair.

“Hmm? Yes? What are you? Coming? Being stupid for me again? Say it, say it for me, baby.”

“I, o- oh, stop, fuuck—!”, you whimper with the way he’s quaking you through and through, but your request gets lost in the sounds of your squirt meeting the floor. You see a lightning bolt strike in front of your eyes, your consciousness sent into the wide space of otherworldly dimensions: all you can hear his San’s stunned gasping once he realises what he’s achieved and him ejaculating the second time because of it, right on the spots he didn’t get the first time round.

“Holy fuck, mom~my,” he coos, finally letting you free, his own tension being relieved as well. San lets himself relax against the couch, taking you right with him on his bare, sweaty chest, your arms rested on his shoulders. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

You’re too busy catching your breath, the once-gone fatigue coming right back, hitting you like a wall. There’s nothing else on your mind rather than to cuddle into San’s arms and get some well-deserved sleep.

“Do you think you could do that on my dick?”, San asks and you can’t bear to answer. You’re lucky that his penis has gone limp, because you know that this man could continue for hours if he wanted to. “I think that just kicked all the booze out of me,” he pants and you know he’s lying by the way he’s continuing to lull. “I’ve made many girls squirt, but that was really something else. Maybe it’s because I never came with them. And I wasn’t even touching myself, can you believe that? You made me cum untouched, fuck…”

San has forgotten your first time.

And yeah, you want to blame it on the alcohol, you don’t know if he’s just mixing things up, whether his memories are hazy because of the months that have passed since the incident— but it’s the only way his surprised face makes sense. Of course people can forget and get confused, it’s just sex and fun after all, but it still feels… disappointing. Like the first time you found out he wasn’t all that “yours” after all, it’s not like he’s breaking any promise, rather than being a moment of “oh, but I thought— well, never-mind”.

“Hey, you can’t sleep now,” San reminds you, “you got my cum on your shirt.”

“I don’t care,” you mumble and rest your temple at his collarbone, stealing a glimpse of what appears to be San being on his phone that has been stashed inside his pants.

“You sure? ‘Cause I’m gonna go,” San smiles.

“Go?”

“Not home! Did I scare you? You clutched me like there’s no tomorrow.”

You bite into his flesh to get him to shut up and he scrunches his nose.

“You make a very comfortable bed…”

“Yeah?” San puts away his phone and installs his arms around your waist, grabbing your ass in the process. “I’m glad.”

Ignoring that your naked privates are touching, you sigh into his skin. Because the taste has already entered your system, he doesn’t smell like alcohol anymore, he smells sugary sweet, the mild scent of his body leading you to further sleep. “Mhm, it’s the best,” you purr thoughtlessly, feeling safe in his hug.

“You’re only nice to me at times like this~,” San remarks with a pout and stands up with ease, carrying you to your bathroom. “You’re always so... gutsy when we have sex. Are you that dominant?”, he rambles silently, putting you down inside the space of the shower. While he talks, he does a little shimmy to instruct you to get your arms up. “You know I don’t mind, but I’m not lying when I ask you to call me stuff. Like nice stuff. Sexy nice stuff. Gets me on~”

“How are you still drunk?”, you ask, too exhausted to take your top off by yourself, letting San pull it off with his hands.

“Why?”, he asks sassily, throwing your shirt inside the clothing bin, quickly rushing to the living room and back to get his own clothing back, explaining: “It’s just something I noticed! Other girls don’t do it like you can! Like, calling me camboy was something, but then you were so mean with it—“

Returning back to the bathroom, he crosses his arms and leans against the shower door.

“If that’s too mean, you must really not like degradation,” you chuckle, sitting naked in front of him. “And you do dirty talk and call me whore.”

“You know that’s different!”, San argues, taking off his socks and grabbing the shower hose behind you. “I at least keep a balance with pet-names, don’t I, darling~?”

“Quite convincing,” you remark, barely perceiving the whole scene.

“Wait, can you—“

“Here you go.”

You stand up and walk back a step so San can have the same amount space inside the shower. You actually have never showered together before, so this one is a first, but who knows whether San is aware of this or not.

You don’t want to be too grim about it.

San turns on the water only to realise that it’s not going to get warm. “This is bad~!”, he pouts. “It’s too cold…”

“Maybe you’ll sober up with the shock?”

Getting some water in his hand, you fear he’s gonna splash it to you, but San only applies it to his arm which doesn’t even need the water by how sweaty it is. 

“I dunno if I’ll get it on my hair, I just don’t wanna leave the alcohol stink over your bed~!”

… Sweet, angel boy. Don’t you be so nice to me. You’ll mistake it for something else, if he doesn’t stop.

“Hey, you good over there?”

“You,” you stammer, “you still have lipstick stains on your face.”

“What’s that mean, “still”? Did I come here with lipstick on my face?”

Okay, so maybe he hasn’t tried to get rid of them at all before he came in. Ouch? — Ugh, who cares, let’s get you to bed first. Over-thinking is for tomorrow, you’re fucked out of your mind and San will be tomorrow too, if the alcohol stays this long in his body.

A sigh which turns into a scoff leaves your mouth. “Yes, yes, you did.”

“Do you think it’ll leave a stain?”

“It should go away.”

“Help me~”

San lowers himself a little bit so you have better access to his flushed face and turns the pressure low so you can wet your hands with a little bit of water, before you carefully brush them over his lips which feel hot in the cold liquid.

“Thank you,” he whispers and you stare onto his soft lips as you answer, “no need to.”

“No, I should, like a nice ladies’ man is to do, right?”

San throws an award-winning, a bit loose-eyed smile at you and uncontrollably, you smile back at his dimples. It’s a heart-warming moment, though you fear the warmth is not going to last long. These lips aren’t yours, he’s proving to you that they’re not yours— shit, fuck, damn it— you will probably not get over this for the rest of the night, if you don’t change the topic soon.

“Yeah. You.. ladies’ man.”

“You said that!”

“I did?”

“Well, actually, I don’t know, I think it was “people-pleaser” or something, actually, but I like.. Well, I actually like both!”

“You like being called a ladies’ man and people-pleaser?”

Rubbing his lower lip with your thumb, you question San’s understanding of the words he apparently enjoys to be described as. What a San-thing to do, you smirk to yourself.

“Seonghwa agrees!”

“With what, that they’re good words?”

“No, he said that they describe me pretty well.”

“Ah.”

“Do you agree?”

You inhale sharply and bite your lip, meeting his sunken eyes, a bit droopy from the exhaustion finally hitting your black-haired apprentice as well.

“I,” you start to say, “I don’t know. When I said that, … I meant something else, I think.”

“You think so?”

You know so.

“Because it’s, hm, I don’t know. Nice, isn’t it? The thought of being wanted by two groups? The ladies~ The people~ I’m their man, I’m their pleaser, you know?”

“Yeah, you please ‘em very well. There you go. Praise. Are you happy?”

San nods enthusiastically and hugs you, forgetting that he has ice-cold water running inside his hand, getting your whole back stunned.

“SAN!”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so—!” His eyes are big, but he’s laughing, he’s laughing very loudly, getting the shower off and hugging you again, leaving balmy kisses all over your face. “Sorry, oh my god, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, I’m unforgivable!”

Except maybe he is.

When San tugs you in, waiting until you don’t answer his late-night questions of “who invented the camera” and “who was the first live-streamer” to tell himself goodnight and fall asleep immediately, you feel at ease: Disregarding that it took alcohol, will again take alcohol to have moments like these, there’s hope that there is still a little bit of Sannie that you can salvage.

He may not be yours yet, and for what he ensues it will take a damned long time for him to be, but San is here, laying in bed with you, one hand extended out, perfectly formed for your hand to fit in it and oh, how fit in it does.

part three: “the red he leaves is different [i wish it was]”

[bibibbon]

I started this with a silly joke about the best frenemies but we can take a lot here. I think.

Shiga never earned the respect of LoV...do you think he cares? Or LoV cares? Bc they follow his plans ...and from what I get...Shig is not noisy, so if they have a side hustle....shig is fine with with it "what a nice boss" not really!

This supposed side hustle could have been a problem for Shig ...and the fact he doesn't even asks what they do...is concerning, but even if we go "LoV wouldn't do anything to prevent Shig's insane dream to be true" it's also a huge leap hori wants us to take...regarding shig bc dude has no interaction or desire to know LoV. He manipulates them...and sure he give the sushi but it was more to manipulate them "you all did a good job, here take a reward" than anything

(btw that in itself is miles better than what Izu has. You say A1 has potential. I agree but as I mentioned many times...this potential is not in being nf IZU's friends. If I had to give friends to Izu ...I would make him befriend people who aren't from A1)

Shiga is a pretty incompetent leader. His goals and plans make no sense.

And as much I like dabi and I think his past is better, writing wise, than Shig...doesn't mean he is better. Bc I don't get what was Dabi's plan before joining LoV. What was he doing? Killing random people? Did Endy even cared?

Also if we go "it was essential for dabi to join LoV" ok...show us why. Bc the way I see dabi had no real plan, a goal yes but no plan. The video thing could have happened without LoV.

Sorry it's just ...dabi has some blank spaces and it leave me confuse me.

Shigarakis character and his whole substance/arc/development or whatever you want to call it is underdeveloped and very much lacking

In my opinion this is one of the reasons why we as readers can't say much. Before shigaraki dies his last words are dedicated to spinner and the league but we haven't seen Shigaraki really care for the leauge and grow into a reliable leader for the leauge. This in my opinion stems from horikoshi doing tell don't show instead of doing show and tell when it comes to his story.

Shigaraki as a character is never truly explored in depth. The MVA and overhaul arcs could of been great arcs for him by giving focus on his relationship with the league and izuku himself. After the kamino arc shigaraki should be in a somewhat tough position having left behind three members of the league some of the league members would feel vulnerable and may not trust shigaraki as he literally abandoned three team members!! Shigaraki also lost AFO at this point so he would be in a tough position without advice or anything really so the overhaul arc would help him to grow into the role of a leader and prove to the leauge that he can be trusted. He could do this by getting revenge on maganes death and all and he could use overhaul to learn more about the underground and izuku in general.

I would also have it so that it's Izuku that gets kidnapped in the training camp arc (not bakugo or have both izuku and bakugo be kidnapped) and that would establish a connection between the leauge and izuku even if it may start on a bad foot.

when it comes to the MVA arc the leagues loyaltly and shigaraki's loyalty is put to the test. We would get more bonding time with them and just see their overall other goals that may contradict with the league itself.

Shigarakis interest in Izuku doesn't disappear and he actually uses the MVA resources to actually reach out and get to know izuku or he tired to get to know more about izuku be all.

Dabi first joined the league due to the influence stain and had and in my opinion he also joined due to needing a place to crash and free food. His goal was to take down and kill enji but I guess during that he lost his true goal and ended up doing things to build his reputation as a villain (like burning people alive)

In the end I would very much change this and build up on the leauge of villains characters and explore their personality, goals and how these two things can contradict or compliment eachother which can cause conflict .

[nkgrimmie]

4

hehehahahsbhshs. this is the most developed one i listed

i call it hkxava

the whole premise is that Alan finds himself in pre-fall but still infected Hallownest. and just has to live there. it sounds like a slice of life and some of it is. as all aus are. but there are Conflicts. very bad ones.

like literally less than a week in he makes a mistake that he very quickly comes to regret. that was a whole. thing. listen. when you're starving you become a little desperate. he becomes Changed Forever

and it's also so funny to me but also so. horrific. imagine slipping on a banana peel (NOT how he actually got there. i swear) and just. finding yourself in magical bug land. that apparently has a plague going around?? what

im wording it like it's a fun silly adventure. it is not. he hates every bit of it. he is so unhappy there. Things Keep Happening and the moment he thinks he's safe Something New Occurs

oh yeah also uh.

one of the more important things about it is that uh. in this, human souls are composed of the Stuff. like. Soul (the substance), Dream, Nightmare, Lifeblood, and also Void. around 50% of it is composed of the other magics, while the other half is Void in order to balance it out, since humans still give off magic, even though they also... absorb it from the surroundings. like if you're around Alan and he's been in the same place for long enough then you can just feel the uncanny lack of magic around him. very uncomfy for most bugs to be too close to him for too long. no touching. touching bad.

but uh. yeah that's it. there's a LOT more but that's the gist of it

[onyx-archer]

Hunter: A Casualty of Cancellation

Been a hot minute since I did one of these for the Owl Show, and because someone I don't think is very smart tried to act like my opinion on Hunter was "objectively wrong," I'm writing this out of spite. That said, I am still going to approach this much like I did my previous posts about TOH of this ilk (which you can find HERE and HERE if you wanna see those and haven't yet, the latter actually hints at the existence of this post as a possible thing, so the prophecy has been fulfilled).

As post's title should explain, the subject of this post is Hunter, a very popular character in the TOH fandom. He's a character that I have pretty mixed opinions on because of how he was handled. On one hand, I think he meets the criteria to be a "good" character (for whatever that subjective view is worth), but on the other, I don't think he's got much in the way of substance. While I don't have a problem with a character lacking a bit of depth, it's one of those things where I don't get the hype. A lot of that comes down to how the show is written in Season 2, namely it's second half. I'll explain what I mean under the cut.

Now, as I mentioned in the Stringbean post linked above, there are a few things within the show I consider "casualties" in the writing department due to the cancellation. Stringbean was the highest on that list, for reasons stated in the other post. The Collector is second highest, because I don't really care as much about him getting trimmed down to the bare minimum. And bringing home the bronze is ironically the Golden Guard himself.

I want to make something abundantly clear: I don't hate the character of Hunter. I'm not his biggest fan, sure, but I don't think he's a "bad" character. I think he meets a sort of "bare minimum" standard of "good," as I mentioned earlier. I'm only putting the words "bad" and "good" in quotes because quality is an extremely subjective concept, and while this is a post detailing my opinion, I know some more anally pedantic people reading this are going to try and insist otherwise. Those people know who they are, and I hope they know I think they're stupid.

With that said, I don't think Hunter has a lot of substance/depth, or at least to the capacity that other fans do. I've seen the show a number of times, and I've never really saw him as anything special. Given what I've said about him in the past, I think it's obvious that a lot of why I think this comes down to him being a Cancellation Causality™, having been unable to reach his true potential as a character.

A lot of people like to latch onto a character based on the potential the character has, and not necessarily the character as they are written in the source text. This isn't an inherently bad thing, as we all do it. I do it all the time. It's fun to think of all of the fascinating things you can do with a character that an author doesn't really utilize to their full potential. I think Hunter is one of those characters for a lot of people.

It's undeniable that the character is not "whole" as far as his character arc is concerned. Yeah, he has a complete arc, for all intents and purposes, but much like a lot of things within The Owl House, the cancellation had an impact on how he was written. Part of this is because the show had to expedite a lot of things that they likely would have spent more time on had they gotten more time, with Hunter's growth as a character likely got some changes when they needed to get down to the bare essentials to have the show end in a reasonably satisfying way.

As I mentioned in the Stringbean post, I'm aware this is fueled by a lot of speculation, but I'm willing to bet that Hunter's arc to becoming a member of the "Hexsquad" (as the fandom has collectively agreed to call Luz and her Hexside friends' group) was going to be a more gradual process. We likely would have seen him be more prickly with the group for longer than we do in the final product, even if a lot of key events of Season 2B stayed the same. I personally doubt that would be the case, given the pacing ramping up more, and plot points being dropped.

We know that starting with Season 2B, there were cuts. We know that the Galdorstones because Dana herself stated as much. We also know Galdorstones are an "ingredient" in making a Grimwalker, and what is Hunter? Oh, right, a Grimwalker. The Galdorstone plot elements likely would have been in Hunter's arc as a character, with some kind of self-acceptance of his Grimwalker identity.

Hunter being a Grimwalker in the series feels just like a convenient way to have him feel isolated from the rest of the main group (outside of his lack of natural magic abilities), and ultimately means nothing for the character. Him being a clone of Caleb Whittebane means basically nothing in the greater context of the narrative, and like a footnote of Hunter's arc. Part of this is because we don't have much context for Caleb beyond brief mentions and whatnot, but also because we know next to nothing about Grimwalkers. At the end of the day, this is a thing that adds the illusion of depth without really doing much.

Of course, I understand why we don't get the details/additional context for Grimwalkers and Caleb Whittebane; those details don't really matter for Luz's arc, which, as the main character of the series, takes precedence over literally everything else. Dana and the team had to make a choice, and they chose to focus on Luz's arc (which I cover in my post about people "not getting" what her arc is), rather than Hunter's arc, or any other character's arc. It was more important for the sake of the show ending in a satisfying way in what little time they had.

With that said, however, it does leave Hunter as a character with this vague idea of having substance under the surface (i.e. character depth), but it's been shaved down to the bare minimum for the sake of brevity. We can all assume things about his upbringing and whatnot, but that ultimately doesn't mean much because we don't see that stuff. It's not in the show, and because the show has a distinct lack of in-universe supplementary material, it means nothing. We can assume a lot about who Hunter is because of how Belos views him as an object, and subjected him to things that we can certainly label as "abusive," but as an abuse survivor, I don't really need Hunter for that when Amity exists and has a more tangible arc that involves her abusive parental figure.

Speaking of, that abusive parent thing is really only used well in one episode for Hunter, in my view, and that's in the episode "Eclipse Lake." Hunter contrasts Amity in that episode in a very good way from a writing standpoint. Both are kids that come from crappy homes, and both of them are hunting the same thing. He is able to effectively weaponize Amity's insecurity caused by her mother's abuse to make her think Luz is going to break up with her if she fails in finding the Titan's Blood, and he's able to because we know he's in a similar boat to what he projects onto Amity and Luz's relationship. It's the one time where Hunter's arc highlights what the character's journey could have been, as they could have returned to this insecurity angle later in a proper Season 3, and have Amity be someone who helps Hunter understand that his new friends won't cast him aside if he "doesn't get results." They could have done this in either realm, but they didn't have time.

Then there's his budding feelings for Willow. It's a sweet relationship at it's core, and the fact that the show never got the chance to properly explore it in canon, it's become the fandom's favorite ship to write that isn't Lumity, and sort of dominates a lot of the fanfics I see now because Lumity has been explored so much by comparison (it's honestly a little annoying, as a Lumity fan). Dana even implied that it's canon in a livestream after the finale, but because it didn't get explicit confirmation within the show, it is just that: implied. It could have been something that not only expanded on Hunter's character, but also Willows (not that I think she really needs the added depth at the end of the day, but that's a discussion for another day), and that's just what cancellation does to the non-essential characters in a story.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying a character needs to be "essential" to justify their existence in a story, nor do I think characters like Hunter or Willow are "unimportant." I'm just saying they simply become less essential to the broader narrative of the series.

Ultimately, that leads into why I think Hunter is such a bloody frustrating character to think about: all of the things that make him who he is feel like they were done better elsewhere with other characters, or had to be trimmed down to a sliver of relevance for the sake of getting things done within the time limit the cancellation of the show put on things, because it wasn't an essential piece of the plot when cuts had to be made.

I can't really accept that he has "depth" in the way a lot of people do because I don't equate headcanons and assumptions with depth. Hunter's a character that has the visage of a character with depth and intrigue and all of the qualities of what most would consider a "good character" on the surface, but lacks a lot of that, at least to me, because he didn't get the time devoted to him that is required.

Amity serves as a strong point of comparison to me, because she has the time put in pre-cancellation to be interesting. We see her gradual arc from "Mean Girl at the top of her class" to "dorky sapphic girl that's happier than she's ever been" over the course of her many appearances, and I feel like if the show had gotten a proper 3 Season order, we would have seen more of that from Hunter. We would have seen him gradually open up to others, and gradually become happier and have his "Amity breaking the pendant" moment equivalent where he gets to finally accept that he deserves to be happy.

We get hints that he's happier in the Human Realm because he is allowed to spread his wings and discover things he's passionate about, but we don't really get much beyond that because the show didn't have the time to properly explore Hunter's progression as a person up to that point. It's like a sandwich that had chunks of it's filling taken out of it before you get it. You might still enjoy the sandwich, but you might also be like "man, I wish it had more stuff in it."

Those are my thoughts on Hunter put into a post. Ultimately, I know there's gonna be people who say that I'm still "objectively wrong" about any of this, because some people don't actually know what objectivity is... but that's to be expected. Hopefully there's enough people out there who understand where I'm coming from. I'm not really looking to debate my position, but I'm open to hearing others' opinions.

Until the next random Tumblr essay!

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Sherlock & Peaky Sister - Kiss

Previous Parts:

Original Request

Extras

Warnings: Kissing

He woke every time you shifted. He was afraid of accidentally crushing you and wasn't used to this type of embrace or sleeping with someone else. Sure, he wasn't a virgin but those were fleeting moments when people often collected their things and left shortly after. 

People didn't take comfort in his behavior. Something he did very little to fix, he wouldn’t dim himself down for other people to continue being fragile. It was a ridiculous concept. 

Looking down at you he wondered why you bothered with him at all. It was already a risk, you were half the size of him, and while the fight you put up the other night was impressive it certainly wasn't successful. Not to mention he had extensive combat training, size and build, and the knowledge of how to get away with the whole thing. 

It wasn’t a smart decision at all, and your family thought nothing of it. He certainly wouldn't have approved of Enola being in such a situation. 

Moriarty - he could be Moriarty for all Thomas knew. Although, he wasn't. With new emotions and worries trampling over him, he wasn't sure what he was anymore. 

All those potential threats and there you were tucked into his side, hand curled in his shirt as if to prevent him from leaving. Actively pulling him closer after a lifetime of being pushed away he didn't know what to feel. You had no idea about the worst parts of him, but how did you show a person all of those things at once? 

Your reaction to the drugs prescribed to Enola, surely you wouldn't be impressed by his lack of control. Substance abuse was a friend that always had a hand on his shoulder. He let out a sigh trying to think of all the things he felt someone should warn you about and got tangled in frustration that he would have to be the one to warn you. 

Most people could grasp those things immediately and you weren't stupid by any means. Your fingers tightened and he felt your breathing change. Your eyes fluttered open and registered his face. You gave him a small smile before moving even closer to him. 

“Morning?” You breathed closing your eyes again, resting more of yourself on his chest like a lizard finding a warm rock. 

“Not yet.” He answered feeling wildly uncomfortable or concerned. Probably both. 

You let out a content hum. “Excellent.” You looked so content lying there and he assumed you were going to fall back asleep. He thought about his situation, how badly he wanted you, weighing it against what was moral. 

“Sherlock?” 

“Yes” 

“What time is it exactly?” You asked sweetly. 

“‘Round 5” 

“Technically morning.” You mumbled looking up at him and the mystery of why you were asking was answered. Your eyes were searching his face for an answer, wanting him to give in first. He was not going to initiate anything, if you wanted it bad enough you would come to him. 

He looked over your face, thick flush, racing pulse, eyes blown out in the darkness. Eventually, you got brave and pressed your lips against his. This kiss was different from the kiss in the bathroom your lips more determined as your hand rested on his cheek keeping him in place. 

Determined. Not a word he would have used for any kiss he had experienced. Your lips were soft and he kissed you back gently. Something that seemed to cause agitation to run through your skin like electricity. To steady you he grabbed your neck the power dynamic shifted. He wanted to give you lots of room to change your mind. 

“Stop” You breathed and his understanding of you was correct. You were too good for these types of things. “You- don’t have to hold back” You stuttered slightly as your chest heaved. 

“Hold back?” He let out a hum while looking at you in your state of desperation. How far was this going to go? 

____________________

You gave a slight nod all doubts and fears had been washed out by the consuming desire for him. You didn't care how far it went. You just wanted him to kiss you back in the way you knew he wanted to. 

He was looking down at you with those piercing blue eyes. The first pink light of morning was streaming across the tops of dark walls. The warmth of his body and the slight hitch in his breath was driving you mad. You thought it might have been a mistake. He was kind enough to let you into his home, his bed and here you are throwing yourself at him. 

The self-conscious feelings started to grow in your stomach just as he flipped you onto your back. 

“What makes you think I’m holding back?” He whispered as his hand tightened around the back of your neck. He settled himself over you placing a kiss to the top of your neck. All the air left your lungs and his teeth pressed into the sensitive flesh. 

His body felt like heaven pressed against you. The weight that he allowed to fall onto you made you feel grounded. You lost your words as his massive thigh settled itself between your legs. His teeth sunk into your skin and you let out a moan. 

Just then the door flew open. 

“Oh good you're both awake! I think I figured out why Moriarty is after your brother!.” Enola looked at both of them like she’d just won some big award. Her features were completely unbothered by your compromising position. 

“That’s great Enola,” You said weakly as Sherlock moved away from you. 

“But -Erm- I- well, I should think about it a while longer - you can just rest a while.” She said after catching Sherlock's eye. She quickly shut the door and ran off. 

You let out a laugh at the expression on his face. His eyebrow lifted and you only laughed harder. 

“I don’t understand you.” He said. 

“I know.” You said grabbing his hand. “That’s why this is so fun.” 

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Can i request for a eyeless jack x fem reader hcs? thank you ♥️

Thank you for requesting!

TW!!!: Slight mentions of gore! If this topic triggers you, feel free to skip this post!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eyeless Jack x fem!reader

Ah yes, yet another silent yet loving type

He's kind of irritable though, so beware

Typically you can tell when he's in a bad mood though, so it's not horrible

His mouth tastes absolutely rancid

Since he eats pretty much anything and everything, especially human organs

So good luck making out with him

He loves kissing you though, so you'd have to get used to it anyways

Also mind the teeth

They're razor sharp, made for tearing flesh and meat

Sometimes when he's doing his daily routine of kissing you senseless anytime you so much as breathe, he'll nip you a bit

Wether that be with his claws or teeth, it happens

He feels horrible after

Sometimes 👀

He's absolutely terrible at washing himself, always covered in scabs from where he's scratched himself by accident while washing

Especially in his head

If you'd be willing to do it for him, he'd be ever so greatful

Scabs be no more

He's studied every medical science he can get his claws on

From surgical studies to psychology...

He's a total nerd, but he's your nerd

So expect him to just spew medical stuff at you randomly

"I was thinking maybe we can order a pizza for tonight?"

"Your use of the words 'I was thinking' and 'maybe' show a lack of confidence. As well as the want for pizza, rather than a healthier option, or even making your own pizza. You sound burnt out. Have you ever considered that you're depressed?"

"..."

He likes to cuddle you a lot, and nuzzle you

Mostly to get his scent on you

He marks you in a plethora of ways, fun fact

Oh and don't get me started on when you wear his clothes

He fully endorses it, btw

Encourages it, even

You basically don't even need your clothes anymore, because he's offered you so many of his

He also goes on runs a lot, so expect to wake up to him being gone, and him coming back filled with energy and covered in sweat

He smells like an old library and generic men's deodorant

(One of the very few who actually does wear deodorant fun fact)

He only really wears it because he sweats a lot more than average, and he gets hot really easily

I like to imagine that since the ritual was only half completed, he didn't grow all of the hair his species of demon normally has, so when he's scared or trying to look intimidating, only the hair on his head stands up as he hisses in warning

He thinks he looks so bad ass

He really just looks like he's gotten electrocuted, but you don't have the heart to tell him

His ears can move, which is another thing that gives away he's in a bad mood

Sometimes when you're feeling upset, he'll wiggle his ears to try and get you to laugh

He loves to hear your laugh

He adores it, really

He's a really big fan of classical music, and listens to it a lot as he's reading

He also loves to sit you in his lap as he reads, that way he knows where you are, and knows that you're safe

When he sleeps, he typically curls around you with a hand pressed to the back of your head

He has the ability to purr

You'll know he's in a particularly good mood if he comes up behind you, rubs your hips and hums

He's particularly fond of your hips, actually

He just thinks your whole form is so perfect

He literally thinks you're a goddess

He treats you like one too <3

He's kinda skinny and lanky

He gets kind of insecure about his demon-ness so just rub his big floppy ears and kiss his pointy nose and he'll be fine again

For the most part

Sometimes it's worse, and you have to just take his hand and lead him to the bed, laying him down and petting his head

Sing to him, please

He loves it when you sing

Even if you're totally tone deaf, he just loves to hear your voice

His tears are a black sticky substance his eyes seem to ooze on the regular

No one really knows what it is

BEN's eaten it once

It didn't taste good.

Ej laughed his ass off for a week after that one

BEN describes it as a mix of so spicy it tastes like fire and burnt dirt

Ej loves to lay face down on your stomach

And I mean face down

He literally won't breathe for like, 4 minutes

If you hear animalistic growling, simply pretend you didn't, walk in the opposite direction, and go about your day

That usually means Ej is feeding

And he loses control when he's feeding

So who knows what he would do if you weren't careful

[sercezgazety]

He thought about writing a letter, it’s not like he didn’t. West was his roommate, after all, and well, maybe he fucked up a lot of times and in so many ways that words can’t even begin to describe it, maybe he got what was coming to him, and Dan’s only regret is that it happened so late. True. But he was still, well. At times, it’s hard to say what he was to Dan, exactly. An abuser, Dan’s lawyer used to claim, at least while the trial lasted. Any sympathy Dan might have felt for that monster was just Stockholm syndrome. Yet another proof that Dan was a good person, capable of so much compassion, and look how West went and twisted it.

He does that. He manipulates people, takes their kindness and uses it for personal gain, the prosecutor said, and everyone was nodding, so it was probably true, Dan assumed back then. Now, he knows that for a fact; yet another sign that he got better.

But it was even more difficult to say what Herbert was to him in these first months that followed the trial. Dan had more important shit to sort out, losing his medical license, having to move to another town because Arkham’s become unlivable, then another county, then a whole different state because everyone here has seen the footage. He had to cut his hair and grow a mustache so that people wouldn’t stare. The mustache sort of turned into a beard. It’s all just as hazy as the trial itself, and that’s probably because Dan spent really little time being sober. So yeah. Not his proudest moments, though come to think about it, there were very few proud ones. Maybe getting kissed by Meg for the first time. That one homerun that let his team win for the first time in a year back when he was fourteen. Graduating from high school perhaps, because graduating from the university sure as hell wasn’t it. There was West by his side by then, he’s even in the one and only picture from that day that Dan has, and he’s scowling at the camera, pale controlling hand clasped over Dan’s shoulder as if holding him in place. Fucking West tainting every little success of Dan’s and making every failure three times worse than it could have been without him; West dragging him, kicking and screaming, wherever West goddamn pleased, and Dan’s pretty sure there indeed was some creepy pleasure involved. Shoving a hand up a living human being’s ass and turning him into a puppet, managing to control him like that for years? Must have been a way to compensate for the absolute lack of control West had over those corpses of his. Maybe Dan looking a bit like one nowadays is just West’s parting gift. That, and losing the license, along the deposit on the house, not to mention all of his friends and self-respect. Everything. Dead fiancée, cat killed, car crashed, panic attacks and a huge scar across Dan’s abdomen. Asshole was pretty generous, wasn’t he.

But Dan manages on his own pretty well, it turns out. Finds a job at a pharmaceutical company, and it’s pretty concerning how little they care about him being a disgraced doctor and all. They say he knows the market. At least now, he’s not losing patients. It pays good money, and what if he can’t look in the mirror without cringing? That’s certainly not something new. When it comes to contributing to someone’s substance abuse, he has experience, and at least this time, the stuff’s not glowing. It’s been tested, and nobody would allow for it to be sold if it were really harmful. He’s amicable, funny, and when he smiles, he still has some of the sway he used to hold over women — the middle-aged ones, at least. With the guys, he can talk about the last game, cars, or barbecue techniques, who gives a crap. Anything. They like him, and he likes the normalcy. He’s not half bad at doing what the management tells him to do, even if at times they complain he lacks initiative. He rents a house, an entire house just to himself, and after a couple years, he probably could afford buying it, but nothing really feels that permanent. There might be something better somewhere else.

His sense of humor changes slightly. He cracks jokes by the water dispenser and everyone at the office laughs most of the time, except for those moments when they fall silent or just chuckle nervously and leave in a hurry. One time, in the men’s room, he says something about dropping the soap, and he can’t stop laughing until everything hurts and there are tears streaming down his cheeks. Everyone just stares, and he can’t catch his breath for so long he ends up choking and almost hurling. Bent over the sink, and yes, he appreciates the irony. It makes him wheeze even harder.

Besides, what would he write, exactly? Sorry it ended this way? He’s not. Why in hell would he be. He is sorry he let West in when he came knocking at his door that night, oh, that’s for sure. Sorry he didn’t listen to Meg and didn’t stop for a second to consider that perhaps West arriving at his porch, having already brought all of his things, was something odd. What the hell was he thinking when agreeing to this? West made the decision about moving in long before consulting Dan, and Dan didn’t find it alarming at all. So yeah, Dan’s sorry, really sorry for all the deaths he contributed to, for the larceny, animal cruelty and corpse desecration, those are things that really haunt him at night. And they should. The stuff West had him do was fucking horrifying.

So no, if he were to write a bloody letter, it wouldn’t be about oh, how sorry he is for how things ended. He’s glad, actually. He’s not going to apologize for the world becoming a slightly safer place without Herbert West in it.

[continue reading about Dan being in complete denial about so many things here]

[huachengeye]

Only Friends Episode 8: And they were all messy

Hello there! Episode 8 has been out for some days now, but after watching a reaction os YT and scrolling through the comments, I wrote this piece to add my two cents to the whole Mew victimization and Ray the supreme asshole (I don't actually think he is tho).

For organization and better reading comprehension, I'm going to separate this into sections, starting off with Mew going wild, then Ray, the fandom's favorite broken boy, and ending up with little about the relationship of the friend group.

Mew, one of the nasties.

First off, I'm a Mew apologist. He is, in fact, my favorite character as of now, but I'm down to criticize the hell out of him, because loving is caring <3

I want to start with the whole discourse around his and Ray's relationship. The fandom seems to be separated into 3 categories (and yes, I'm generalizing a lot for the purpose of making my point): Mew apologists, Ray apologists, and everyone else who thinks they are as messy as everyone else without needing to explain their behavior.

In contradiction with my very first sentence, I belong to the third category in the sense I think they all do bad things to one another. Starting with Mew, we already know that he puts himself on a pedestal compared to his fucked-up friends, but my boy was kicked out of his high horse and now is like us, failed humans. One of the discourses I've been seeing, and that some characters in the series agree with (Cheum and Top), is that Mew is being dragged down by Ray. I completely disagree. Mew is an adult, and although he is experiencing heartbreak for the first time, the way he is acting is very realistic. Mew's first honest conversation with Top was about how he is afraid of getting his heart broken. He confided that to Top, about how he lives through his books because of his fears of getting hurt. And it happened exactly as he feared. It would be weird if he just behaved normally after finding out his boyfriend cheated on him with his friend. So his way of hurting is not hurting at all, is numbing his pain and he does it in the same way as Ray because that's the way he thinks it works.

As the theories go for this BL, I've seen a lot of people saying that it is Mew that it's enabling Ray's substance abuse. Honestly, in my opinion, they are using each other. Mew made it clear that he doesn't love Ray romantically, he said it himself in this episode, Ray is the one he should love. I genuinely don't think Mew is using Ray with the idea of making Ray drown more in his addiction, I think the reason Mew is clinging to Ray right now is the same reason Ray clings to him: they were there when the other was going through his worst time. They are like lifesavers to each other. In this sense, they are mutually using one another, the difference is that Ray is also clinging to the idea that he is in love with Mew, when it's already clear to us, the viewers, that this boat has sailed. If Ray was certain that he wanted a future with Mew, and Mew only, he would've let Sand go. Because Ray didn't go after Sand only when he was under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol, he also went when he was sober, actively trying to keep Sand in his life, even if their relationship was never a friendship, and was always sexual/romantic (for Sand, at least).

Still analyzing Mew, I saw this brilliant post by @wen-kexing-apologist (this post right here, highly recommend for you to check it out) where they analyze Mew, and his personality (or lack of, for that matter). As soon as Mew told Top that he decorated his place with ideas from Pinterest I felt bothered, especially with his whole introduction in the first episode, about how he is the table keeper (I honestly don't remember how he worded it). I felt bothered but I couldn't quite say why, so when I read Wen Kexing Apologist's analysis, it all made sense.

Lao Wen's (I'm sorry for the use of the cannon nickname of wkx, saying the whole username is a task lmao) thesis is that Mew has no idea who he is, and I completely agree with them. The thing that was Mew's whole personality is that he was a virgin, which was the thing that most set him apart from his friends. Yes, he is also a bookworm and a smart person, but these were secondary things when it came to who he was. Mew was the "pure" one of the group, the one that was waiting for the right person, for the person that was worthy of his virginity (just typing this makes me want to wither away). After Top, he is no longer a virgin, he is no longer that different from his friends. So once he found out about Top cheating on him, he had lost more than his virginity, he had lost his own ideals, because he wanted his first time to be with someone worthy, as I said, and well, Top wasn't worthy, but Mew didn't know that at the time.

Now, Mew doesn't have the one aspect of him that defined him, so he is utterly lost and is now mimicking the one person that offers him some type of stability, one person that he knows truly cares for him, Ray. I really don't know how Mew will react if he knows that Ray kissed Sand at the party, I don't if he won't care because he isn't in love with Ray or if that will only make him go down to the worst path. I think he will get mad if he finds out, especially because it's Ray, his best friend, the one who was there for him when Top cheated on him. Oh, the drama it's gonna be.

Now for Ray. I'm gonna be straight with y'all and say that Ray is the character I dislike the most in this BL, but also the one that I pity the most.

From the get-go, I knew Ray wasn't better than Boston or Top, but after this episode, I can't understand why people still treat him as the victim. He keeps on stringing Sand around as if he is his personal doll, even after Sand makes it clear that he doesn't want to be Ray's second option, that he wants Ray to let him go. Ray does not let him go, and more than that, he clings to Sand as a spoiled child clings to his favorite toy, not out of love, out of possessiveness. I don't really see Ray and Sand's relationship as one of love, Sand is basically Ray's parent, and for Ray, Sand is a thing he can own, just like he can own anything else with his money. For this topic, I recommend this post by @wen-kexing-apologist (yes, I might be a little obsessed with their analysis, sue me) and this post by @emotionallychargedtowel.

I saw some people saying that Ray doesn't know he is addicted, and that his substance abuse doesn't excuse his behavior but certainly explains it, I disagree. I think that Ray knows that his actions hurt others around him, and he knows because his friends and Sand already told him when he was sober. Sand said more than one time that he should drive whilst drunk because he could hurt someone. Sand in the hospital made it clear that he should take accountability for his actions. Mew keeps on chewing him about his drinking behavior (even if he doesn't in a very judgmental way). So he knows, he might not be able to control himself when he is drunk, but he never takes accountability afterward, not really. Even after his accident, what was his punishment? Community service, and even when it comes to that he tried to make Sand help him.

As for the idea that he doesn't know he is addicted, I think he does. I think he does, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it. If I remember correctly (and I might not, please correct me if I'm tripping), when Ray and Mew kissed back when they didn't know Sand or Top, Ray says to Mew that if he hadn't found Ray in the bathtub, he would've joined his mother. At the time, I hadn't watched the flashback of his mother on the floor, but I got the impression that he meant that not because he would die like his mother, but because he would've joined his mother in the same way that she went. Now, I think that scene was Ray's way of acknowledging for a brief moment that he is going down the same path as his mother. Again, I might be way off here.

So my point is, I'm a bit tired of people trying to blame Ray's trauma for all of his actions. Of course, his traumas and mental issues are a big part of it, but he still chooses to hurt others, even when sober. Trauma doesn't mean you can treat others like shit. And as someone who grew close to a person that dealt with alcohol abuse and turned a jerk because of it, it's fucking tiring and emotionally consuming to have someone berating you. It doesn't matter at the moment that they are out of their minds, because in the end, you are hurting.

THEY ARE FRIENDS, BUT ARE THEY REALLY?

Now onto the Fantastic Four. After this episode, I saw some people talking about Cheum never actually caring for Ray or that neither of the friends did. I saw someone talking about how Cheum shouldn't have said that (her whole monologue) whilst Ray was being held down by a cop. I agree with all of it, except maybe for the part that his friends don't care. I think Mew does care, although he certainly doesn't look like he does now. But we need to remember that he was there for Ray when he tried to take his own life. And I believe that there are still things we didn't see from them because they are best friends. Before Top, before Nick, before Sand, the one that Ray could lean on was Mew and from the way Ray behaves around him, it seems as if Mew wasn't the worst friend around.

As for Boston and Cheum, it is VERY clear that the one person who keeps these 3 people (Boston-Cheum-Ray) as friends is Mew, he is the glue of the friendship. Things are starting to look bad for their friendship now that Mew is acting out, because even when Boston did what he did, Cheum-Ray-Mew were still together. We also have to take into consideration that maybe Cheum and Boston don't know the scope of Ray's problems, maybe they don't know that Ray tried to kill himself, because from what we saw that was something that only Mew knew. Cheum clearly knows that Ray still suffers from his mother's death, and that's why she walked away when he said that his mother is dead, but we don't know if they actually know why Ray behaves in such a way.

Let's look at the situation from Cheum's POV for a minute. She is watching her friend, Mew, acting the same way as Ray, when Mew used to be the one to try and make Ray stop. She sees that both of them are making decisions about the hostel that the FOUR of them worked on, without her (or Boston). She knows that Ray did the whole hostel thing because of Mew. She is feeling left out as if no one cares for her like Ray was feeling before he started going out with Sand. When it comes to their friendship and this scene of Cheum's explosion, we need to remember Ray did a similar thing to her on Mew's birthday. He told everyone about her private business, and for her, it doesn't matter that he was drunk, because it hurt her and could've possibly ruined her relationship (ofc if it did the blame wouldn't be on Ray, because he didn't lie about the things she said about her girlfriend). And as she was talking, she mentioned that she and Boston were always the third wheel, which makes me think about all the times Boston talked to Ray about how he needed to stop his bullshit and be real about how much he wanted Mew to stay away from Top - and he was so right about that, because what was the thing Ray did when Mew was heartbroken? He asked Mew for a chance.

For my last point, I just want people to try and be in the friend's place for a second. In everyone's place actually (except for Ray's). Would you be a pantheon of peace and calm when your friend keeps on doing things that hurt you? The series did a great job at showing how Ray's traumas hurt him, but it also did a great job at showing how Ray's substance abuse hurts everyone around him.

As I said, when you are close to someone who has an addiction, you want to help them because you know that it's hard, but at some point, you get tired because, in the end, you are putting your own mental and emotional health in line for someone else. Most of the time, the person doesn't accept your help. It's not that they don't know they are addicted (sometimes that's the case tho, not trying to generalize, but I'm using my personal example and Ray for this), is that they don't want to assume it, they honestly want to believe they are in control.

Ray doesn't have the best support friendship, but in the end, not a single one of his friends is well enough to help him out, not even Sand. Not one of them has the capacity to help him, so I think it's unfair to place them as awful friends for not helping Ray out every time. Again, you can't help someone who does not accept help, but that also doesn't mean that they should just leave him to go crazy and drink like a madman, snort like his nose is made of steel. That's not it. But I think we should stop minimizing his acts just because of his mental issues and substance abuse. As someone who has mental issues in a way that I had similar thoughts to Ray, it does not mean that I'm allowed to treat others badly because of it. And I know people ain't trying to place Ray (only) as a victim, but I feel like the bar is raised high for everyone that isn't Ray, just because of his traumas and addiction -- let me also remind some of yall, that Top snorts too, he looks like he may have or may have had an addiction to his sleeping pills, his house caught fire and his parents weren't there to help him because his parents don't give a shit about him. From what we know the thing that sets him apart from Ray is that his mother didn't die in a very traumatic way, but still, I don't see anyone trying to justify his wrongings by using his traumas (as it should be).

This whole essay is just to say that no one is fully right here. We have people messing up and people trying to better themselves. Right now, Mew and Ray are messing up, but I'm sure at some point they will get better, and hopefully Ray will get the help that he needs because now he is looking for the help that he wants (aka Sand and Mew).

[possum-quesadilla]

The last chapter of Time is a Flat Circle is up! So sorry in advance. (No I’m not.) Be sure to read the trigger warnings and tread carefully! This one is a doozy!

Here are the details for this specific chapter! Time is a Flat Circle as a whole will have a “post mortem” itself before Part 2 comes out. If you have any questions you’d like answered, send them my way!

- The lyrics from this chapter’s title is from “This Woman’s Work” by Kate Bush! Heavily inspired by a scene using a song in “Our Flag Means Death”, I listened to this song endlessly while writing this chapter. I believe it fits it so well for obvious reasons.

- “His senses weren’t overly reactive, recently. It was easier to spend more time outside, or among the humans’ excited chatter. It was nice. It made them feel… not peace, but a lack of unease.” - he is experiencing overstimulation less and less due to the humans helping him have access to accommodations!

- “(where the hell even was “Miskatonic University”?)” - This is a reference to H.P. Lovecraft’s work, since it inspired Beetlejuice’s last name, but also more to the movie “Re-Animator”! It kicks a lot of ass if you can stomach it. Check the trigger warnings before watching. Highly regarded in the trans autistic community.

- Beej’s favorite pizza toppings being pepperoni and mushrooms is a reference to That Beautiful Sound!

- “one of the “fidgets” she was particularly fond of; a singular key of a keyboard.” - This is based on my favorite fidget!

- “Can you even blush?” - He can!

- “ the gaudy floral wallpaper.” … “the tackily patterned yellow wallpaper. (How repellent. How dull.)” - The appearance of the wallpaper and the way Beetlejuice describes it is taken straight from one of my absolute favorite horror short stories, “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman!

- “I promised I’d get you all out of this, and ‘m a… thing of my word.” - Taken straight from my own vernacular. I’m not a man or a woman of my word, so I say “thing” as a joke!

- “Hot damn!” - this is a reference to one of my favorite “Brooklyn-99” cold opens.

- The TV show Barbara and Lydia start while the boys are busy with the model is “The Fall of the House of Usher”, which is one of my absolute favorite shows ever. It is an amalgamation of Edgar Allen Poe’s stories! Lydia would go nuts, I think.

- As Adam states, Beetlejuice has very sensitive eyes! They’re built for darkness, so they don’t know how to handle an abundance of light properly. Also, the sensory nightmare of ‘sun in your eyes’ sucks.

- “Gardening with Barbara was like a short dream conjured up from a summer afternoon nap.” - Although altered, this comparison is taken straight from my absolute favorite story Stephen King has ever written: “Laurie”. It is phenomenal. Highly recommend you listen to MrCreepyPasta’s reading of it.

- The soup Beetlejuice helped make was loaded potato soup! One of my favorites.

- “It should be a comfort, shouldn’t it? No one else got a chance like this, to have the precious moments mapped out, to have their time left set in stone.” - This is taken straight from my own thoughts. As someone with many chronic illnesses and a projected shortened lifespan, this is something I often tell myself.

- “after he’d wrapped her up in blankets and tossed her onto her bed.” - Fun sibling activities! My older brother used to love to wrap me up tightly and toss me across the room onto my bed. I also loved it.

- “I don’t keep anything strong on me after Adam freaked out about my flask.” - My version of Adam has trauma related to alcoholism/substance abuse. Beej took his concerns seriously and stashed away most of his ’goods’.

- “ “There is no… other side for me.” He gently squeezed her hand. “This is it.” ” - This is, of course, one of the hardest lines ever written, from “BoJack Horseman”. Made me bawl my eyes out when I first heard it, and I bawled again writing it into my fic.

- The various smells!

- Black tea and perfume - this has already been addressed! Beetlejuice mentioned how Barbara smells like iced tea and perfume a few times before.

- Isopropyl alcohol and tung oil - aftershave and woodworking materials!

- Vinegar-y chemicals and formaldehyde - Lydia has traces of photo-treatment chemicals on her. And she likes taxidermy things.

- Beetlejuice’s reaction to being called sweet is a direct mirror of my own. I have no idea how to respond to being called kind and such and act all grumpy.

- On the “diagnosed” conversation - everyone but Beetlejuice knows that that’s about. Lydia has been diagnosed with a few things as well! Perhaps we will get into it in Part 2?

- “The evening passed at the speed of a dream. Dinner, dishes, laughter. Pajamas, blankets, rounds of Clue and tossed game pieces.” - This is meant to parody General Gibson’s speech in “Asteroid City”. Specifically when he says, “twenty years passed at the speed of a dream. A wife, a son, a daughter, a poodle.” This movie literally altered my brain chemistry, no hyperbole. It will be referenced again.

- “Eric is returning to his grave.” - This is meant to be foreshadowing for Beej’s plan!

- “Lydia suggested they watch “The Exorcist”. Despite the Maitlands being terrified of the film, they stuck around to watch it. But the humans did not make it to the ending. They fell asleep huddled together, all pressed up against the demon’s sides. “God damn you, take me!” It wasn’t so funny this time around.” - This has a few layers; it’s referring to how movie Beetlejuice has seen “The Exorcist” 167 times, and says it gets funnier every time. The scene that is being quoted is when the priest character, Karras, tells the demon to take him instead of the girl it’s possessing. He then jumps out the window to kill the demon along with himself. For obvious reasons, this is not quite as funny to Beej anymore. (And, I mean, it’s about an exorcism. And he is dreading an upcoming exorcism. Not fun!)

- “How exquisitely stupid. How perfectly splendid.” - These are both references to two of my favorite pieces of horror media. The first is from “Nope”, the second is from “The Haunting of Bly Manor”.

- “They tried, desperately, to hold it all within their grasp, to savor it, to hold it close. But it’s hopeless. The last day with their BFFF passes like sand through his fingers.” - This is meant to be a reference to “So Long” by Tokyo Elvis, which was the song for one of the previous chapters!

- “7pm arrives like a thief in the night, sure and swift and inevitable.” - the phrase “like a thief in the night” is from “The Masque of Red Death” by Edgar Allen Poe. Lydia’s love of the poet is rubbing off on him!

- “He empties out their belongings from his hammer space and leaves them in tidy piles in the basement.” - this is a reference to a line from Mitski’s “The Last Words of a Shooting Star”, which was almost the song for this chapter. The lyrics it references are “And I am relieved that I'd left my room tidy, They'll think of me kindly, When they come for my things”

- The scene where Lydia calls Beetlejuice “BugBeverage” is meant to parallel the goodbye hug they exchanged at the end of the musical, just somewhat reversed!

- “Of all the billions of breathers that coulda seen me and said my name, I’m so glad it was you.” - this is meant to be a homage to a very impactful scene in “Fantastic Mr. Fox”. Shout out to all my fellow autistics that this movie made cry.

- “W-Wiggog Y-” - This is a cheeky reference to Wiggly from the Hatchetfield Universe! I have my own Tickle-Me-Wiggly!

- “I bid you, full foul in your fury, to smother this profane blight with your icy cull,” - This is a rephrasing of one of the best monologues ever from the best movie of all time, “The Lighthouse”. (I have seen it 103 times. I am not joking.) The original lines were, “rise from the depths full foul in his fury!” And “smother this young mouth with pungent slime”

- “His feet shifted, teeter-toter- Deep breath, it’s time.” - Taken from “The View from Halfway Down”, a poem read on “BoJack Horseman” from the same episode as the other quote in this chapter. It is a haunting, distressing poem from the perspective of someone who has jumped off a bridge to commit suicide, but regrets it halfway down. I thought it was extremely thematically relevant here.

- “Morning Frost.” - Morning Frost is a creation of my own. It’s a play on the ‘Morningstar’, or Lucifer, the original demon. The original head honcho of the Netherworld. Not much is known about them by Beej, so we are too for now! The only way to kill a creature born of hellfire is to freeze out that fire.

- “Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.” - This is taken from a similar scene in “Slay The Princess”, one of my favorite games ever!! A horrific timeloop, a twisted romance. I won’t spoil anything, but the character saying this is doing so to keep his body from shutting down, like Beetlejuice. I say this to myself over and over again sometimes when I’m having a panic attack and it’s helped!

- “They hope it’ll lull them safely into a gentle goodnight.” - this is a reference to a famous poem, “Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas.

- The feeling of warmth returning is a bad thing, which is why Adam freaks out more when he notices! One of the last stages of hypothermia is feeling incredibly warm and stopping shaking. There’s also disorientation and confusion, hence why Beej can’t talk or think quite straight after this point.

- A fun little lesson on treating hypothermia from the Deetz-Maitlands! Warm the neck and core with blankets, get heated blankets if possible, and give them warm, sweet beverages. Starting to shake again is a great sign.

- “… he couldn’t let them see him as he was) and stepped forward to greet the pair, shaking on his humanoid illusions and Ghost with the Most persona.” - Beeltejuice is afraid that he can’t take anything back now. He wants to make a good impression on Charles and Delia. Sucks to suck, buddy!

If you’ve made it this far, wow… thank you! This monster of a fic wouldn’t be possible without the serotonin boost every like, comment, and FANART (still can’t believe that one) sent my way. Thank you so much. Can’t wait for Part 2! I will add hints and teasers for what’s to come in the Post Mortem. I’m going to keep working on my crochet sandworm now.

[halfdeadgemini12]

Some of my inchoate late night thoughts

I have thoughts in my head They go smoothly They are unspoken Without awareness

Each dressing of something in words is an attempt to recreate a reconstruction of a reconstruction; a conscious process of grasping subconsciousness

And how I recreate myself in the tension of pressure A short time

A whole line of data

Lost disjointed confused mixed up How to translate it into the code of language

A few seconds? A few vibrations?

And each application of pen to paper A finger to the screen

Is like forcing I hate being forced As if I don't want to As if I'm tired of forever converting something unconvertible Something that will always be skewed I love words because they are the closest But I hate how much gets lost in them And this subconscious awareness that they will misunderstand you that you will get so comically lost that again in all these connections something will not connect? You could say that love is that connector but that's a question not explored at the moment. (I had to chastise myself slightly because I will drift away). (Thought after thought each thought leads to the next until it meets the first one) I talk a lot about getting lost, maybe it's because I've been doing it all my life and getting lost is a companion trait for me on many levels. In my dreams I get lost in buildings, they are rarely normal. Then they usually resemble school but in my dreams nothing is clear. I'm going somewhere by myself, I don't know where. I take some bus or train (usually not the right one) I walk around strange cities. Everything is strange and they have their own very specific atmosphere.

My dreams especially after certain specifics even lead me to metaphysical experiences that I can't process, explain, keep up with. They introduce a lot of confusion, fear and this very strange complex sensation that I am also unable to explain. The experiences in my dreams can be so extremely powerful and "real" in a sense… that I am on the verge of being unsure of their unreality. However, I am not able to tell if this is a matter of dreams or perhaps…. of these substances.

In dreams there are also beautiful landscapes, they look basically like in the world but the colors are mostly much more vivid, everything seems more spacious "free" it is difficult to explain. Feelings,sensations, impressions in dreams are also strange. Landscapes, even the play of light are usually amazing but difficult feelings can be cruel. So intense that their aftertaste is very bitter difficult to swallow. You have to shake it off and it can take a while. The very process of realization, recalling individual frames, words, atmosphere, feelings, impressions…. unconfined confusion Endless contexts and interpretations overwhelm Frustrating lack of understanding forgetting most details A puzzle with many lost puzzles Frightening and saddening experiences emotions Great despair great fear great anger And all this leads to an excessive focus on analyzing intellectualizing Even giving mythical meaning

Are not all these emotions a reflection of all these great emotions? Specifically: immense sadness immense fear immense frustration immense anger… i.e. an explosion, hell unbearable AND uncontrollable…. impossible to control…. too much data too much stimulus too many feelings too much definitely too much of everything need to withdraw as soon as possible escape

The eternal desire for control shows up in dreams The complete lack of it

And temporary ignoring leads to a delayed ignition

And so it will come

And more than once

What it's like to know but not to be aware that you know It is also possible not to know to be aware that you don't know And then you talk lol

[wolf-beils]

The Man He Became: An In Depth Character Analysis of Hector's Adult Iterations

Introduction

Hector’s adult iterations are a pretty overlooked facet of him. When people see him as an adult, he’s typically brushed off as “just Lilina’s father” and/ or a raging shotgun dad. Boiling down a character to one thing or a gag doesn’t necessarily mean people don’t know what more there is to one. It does somewhat make that “something more” a little more obscured though. The noise of a simplistic fanbase portrayal, no matter how out of character, will often drown out a character's true self.

That’s why I want to provide this in depth analysis and theorisation on Hector as his adult self, and why it’s actually a really great part of him as a character. He has more to him than what the community and IS push him as which goes very unsung. So I guess this is my shot at trying to spread the good word if you will. I do hope people can take away at least something from this.

And yes, I said “theorisation” because he doesn’t have much content as an adult to go off compared to his younger self. He is ultimately just a backdrop character as this version of himself. So you really have to look deep into Hector and contextualise a lot to get substance. That isn’t to say he's got nothing going for him though. I do firmly believe what I’m going to provide is logical.

I'm just getting that out of the way in case you end up like disagreeing with anything. This is fuelled by my own personal take on this character in the end. So like— please respect that.

A Recap On Part Of Hector’s FE7 Development

Firstly, I want to bring up some things regarding Hector's youth. His exact age during events is not something spoken of in game, but through an artbook and a timeline on SerenesForest, he does have canon ages:

17 during Lyn Mode.

18 during the main story.

Probably 18-19 during the FE7’s epilogue.

34 during FE7’s extended epilogue.

37 during FE6.

SerenesForest Timeline In Question

Anyhow, the reason I’m bringing up Hector’s younger iteration first is because I want to make something clear about his character and development: that he’s only young. This is a point FE7 strives to drive home, often describing Hector and the other two lords as “young”. It helps us realise that while they are good, strong people, they’re still only young and have yet to fully grow and mature. Keeping this youth in mind is pretty important for understanding them.

None of them are fully matured even if it seems like such, especially Hector. Growing out of that lack of maturity is a point Hector makes about himself at the end of his mode. This quote from the epilogue of Hector Mode pretty much says it all:

Before this, before FE7 even, he was more or less a free spirit. He did as he pleased, whether it was befitting of his status or not (mostly not). As implied in his Eliwood and Oswin supports, he was kind of rebellious about it. It's a trait he mostly retains during FE7, though to a less rebellious extent given the situation he's in.

Point is— what I want you to bear in mind about Hector as a youth, before I analyse his adult self, is that he is not a grown man here. He is not grown up, nor developed, nor matured. He's never had the chance to really grow up. This is more than likely due to his trauma and the mess he ends up in for the duration of FE7 then doesn't quite allow that chance either.

With that refresher on his younger self, we can start actually going into Hector as an adult.

Purpose

The absolute main thing I see adult Hector as is a statement that he becomes that better version of himself he vowed to become. It’s honestly quite the inspiring thing to see— someone wanting to change, making that change happen, and making it last. That is, above all else, the biggest yet most criminally unsung thing about him as an adult in my eyes. It's among the most unsung things about Hector as a whole really.

While he is almost only given spotlight if Lilina is involved, be it from IS or the fanbase, I don’t think fatherhood is truly the biggest thing about him as a character. As a person, a human being in the world of Elibe? Yes, he’s a father first given how much he does care about Lilina. Any parent should be a parent first and Hector is no exception to that.

But his adult self just adds such a good extra layer to Hector as a standalone character. It’s like if you ordered 20 chicken nuggets from McDonald’s and got a couple extra. Hector as his younger self is already a nice box of 20 McNuggets. His adult self is those couple of generous extra nuggets that you didn’t need, but god damn are they appreciated anyway. And I personally value that much more than him being a decent dad. That extra layer is yet another part of why I love this character so much.

Through the little screentime his adult self has and the nods to him in FE6, it can be deduced that he’s a much better man. Foremost, he's clearly more mature— the very thing he wanted to improve on when he became Marquess Ostia. It can be said that he’s more respected, which is quite contrary to how he was viewed by others in his youth.

And as much as I don’t like considering FEH writing (especially given how dirty FEH has done Hector's younger self in the past), his Halloween alt also shows his adult self off really well through what dialogue he has. I do have a personal rule of not considering FEH’s writing for a character that isn’t from the game itself but I do make exceptions when the writing is genuinely good. In this case, they did good for him so I’m considering it.

Flaws, Insecurity, & Fear

Just because he’s a better version of himself, it doesn’t mean that he’s suddenly flawless. He’s probably far from it in fact. We all are. So I want to start the nitty gritty off with his less bright aspect that he’s retained, as well as some new stuff he deals with.

First, I want to present this line of dialogue from FEH:

He is likely still quite protective to some degree. Although he’s a better man who’s managed to iron himself out, he’s still a traumatised man. Unfortunately, trauma is something that will stick for life whether we like it or not. All we can do is not let it dictate our thoughts and actions too much. In the past, Hector let this happen and it cost him his very fate when he didn't have to do what he did.

Before I go on, I want to bring up a very similar character for a minute: Gustav from FEH. He too is a deeply traumatised man. His stone cold attitude is fueled by traumatic experiences in his own youth— losing his father to Hel, the man dying right in front of his eyes. That was punishment for Gustav's once excessive willingness to dive into action. That’s why he’s so critical of Alfonse being similar. He may not admit it, but he’s still very deeply hurt by the loss of his father and the attitude he shows towards Alfonse is an expression of that pain. He desperately doesn’t want either of his children to go through that same pain.

At the point we see Gustav in FEH, he’s either a similar age to Hector or slightly older. So that said, Hector is still likely a protective person. He always has been, and always will be. That fear of losing those he cares about most will always be present with how he’s lost so much in his youth. His parents, Leila, Uther— those three losses will stick with him for life whether he likes it or not. On top of that, he witnessed Elbert dying and Athos died in his arms so that’s probably caused some extra damage.

Something to be said about his relationship with Lilina is that she's the only close family he has left (though that could be somewhat debatable since we have next to no clue about his relationship with Orun). As just stated, he's lost more family young than anyone should. Those losses have made him wary, and desperately not wanting to lose anyone else. This little girl of his is all he has left. In his eyes, he must protect her from everything. At anything that could possibly lead to him losing her, he feels great fear.

This facet of his trauma is actually something subtly established in his B support with Eliwood in FE7. While he's young here, it's safe to say that the fear he shows in that conversation applies to his adulthood for the most part. It's also shown in one of Bride Lilina's text quotes in FEH:

But that isn’t to say Hector is some overbearing shotgun dad with a violent, lightning quick temper— far from it. He’s evidently pretty lax, shown by how he doesn’t seem to force Lilina to do anything. That even includes her study of statecraft to be his successor. Lilina does that willingly and Hector does nothing but support that in a genuine fashion rather than just a “because Ostia needs an heir” type manner per the Halloween duo unit conversation. That should be enough indicator that Hector will support whatever his girl does, so long as it’s safe.

This extends to marriage, and moving away. Sure, Hector may well have doubts and fears. But as long as Lilina chooses the right person, he’ll be fine. For example, if she married Roy and had to move away to Pherae for whatever reason (not that it'd happen due to the circumstances of their ending), he’d probably be more than glad to let that happen. Without a doubt, he’d trust in Roy’s goodness seeing as he is Eliwood’s son and all. There’s zero reason he wouldn’t trust him.

Hector can’t really be the untrusting person he once was given his position and certainly wouldn't cast aside rationality when a boy he likely knows is nothing but good is involved. This line of thinking applies for pretty much any character Lilina could reasonably marry in the future. (Not that she has any other marriage options but that’s why shipping exists. This message was brought to you by the Lilina/ Ogier gang.)

Would marriage and Lilina moving away still make him uncomfortable? Probably, yes. But he’d ultimately be fine. Every parent must let go of their child some day, and Hector would be capable of doing that— even if he’d feel disconcerted at first. But he’s likely grown past standing by irrational conclusions and refusing to think any different. He wouldn't have got as far as he has as a leader if he wasn't at least a bit open-minded. That need for trust and open-mindedness would surely aid in his deep down struggle with trauma.

Additionally, I’d like to show an excerpt that more or less proves he trusts Lilina to fend for herself. Here’s a bit from volume 4 of a storybook series related to Cipher (rest in peace):

Before continuing, I just want to link the post that contains the full passage. It’s a detailed PoV from Hector when he’s bleeding out in Araphen. Full credit and big thanks goes to starfirexuchiha for providing the translation, as well as ZoraTwilight for scanning the volume for this to be a thing. I highly recommend you check it out because it’s genuinely one of the coolest pieces of official written Hector content out there and the rest of the stuff is awesome too.

Fire Emblem Cipher Album Book Volume 4 Translation

Back to business though.

Yes, this is obviously how Hector is thinking when he’s about to die. But I think this pretty much shows he trusts Lilina wholly, and knows deep down that he doesn’t have to worry so much over her. Of course, he can’t not worry since he’s a natural worrier. It’s the thought that counts though. Deep down, he knows and appreciates just how great his little girl is.

One last thing I want to talk about regarding this topic is the Armads curse. A curse he contracted through taking up the legendary axe in his mode. Something which is lowkey a writing mess that conflicts with how FE6 handles the axe but that’s not what we’re discussing. I want to discuss how it may have affected him long term, and how he feels about it into adulthood.

First off, I think the curse affected him quite a lot emotionally, and he regrets his decision to take up Armads. He didn’t need to pick up the axe because things would’ve been totally fine without it anyway. The decision was one made out of fear of losing anyone else, and a deep insecurity about his own strength. It probably wouldn’t be long after FE7’s events that he starts to regret it. Perhaps during the year period between the final chapter and the epilogue.

Into adulthood, I feel he’d still regret it. He can’t not when such a curse will lead him to die a horrible death, the chance of leaving his loved ones too soon painfully real. No less is there many possibilities for what could happen. Would he die alone? Would he die in front of others? Worse, would he die in front of a loved one? The outcomes are many, and incredibly unsettling no matter what.

And whenever he lets someone new into his life, there’s always that feeling of knowing that’s someone else that’ll be crushed when he does die. Another heart that will break when he passes. He’d be well aware of this fact— most definitely when Lilina comes into the picture.

However, I do think that as he grows older, and as Lilina becomes a part of his life, he tries to be optimistic. He tries to stay hopeful, so as to not feel down about it all, nor get others down. It’s why he fills Lilina’s head with promises that he won’t leave her in the FEH Halloween alt conversation. He has hope that he’ll live to become a grandfather, and proudly watch Lilina take the throne (given what ends up happening— yeah, it’s a bit of a bittersweet moment).

All in all, his deep-rooted insecurities won’t change. Everything he’s been through will stick with him for life. He can very much still get hurt. But his way of managing it all has potentially changed for the better.

Worries & Stress

While Hector is a better version of himself, his life still isn’t without stress— especially come FE6 time. From personal struggles such as the Armads curse I already mentioned, to simply the stress of being one of Lycia’s highest powers.

A big one is that there’s a particular someone he could potentially be on the brink of losing around FE6 time. That ‘someone’ being Eliwood, who is of course deathly ill by this point. It goes without saying that he’s definitely hurting about that to a degree.

In fact, this is actually alluded to in the storybook volume I brought up earlier:

I think that excerpt more or less shows Hector’s fear of losing him. It’s a no-brainer really, with Eliwood being his first and one of the only friends for his entire childhood as well as his teenage years. It shouldn’t be too hard to imagine just how scared he is to lose him— especially given he’s lost three other close people to illness, all before he even became an adult.

With that in mind, there’s no doubt it plays on his brain to some extent. We know from FE7 that while he is capable of putting up a tough face, he is rather sensitive on the inside. I don’t doubt that sensitivity has changed much. Even if he wasn’t rather sensitive, it’s his best friend. Eliwood is someone he respects above pretty much anyone, and as shown in FE7, he’s willing to do a hell of a lot for him. It’s going to upset him knowing Eliwood is suffering, and possibly on his last legs.

On top of that, it’s implied in FE7’s extended epilogue that Bern starts becoming suspicious as early as that time:

Given Athos’ prediction, it’s within reason for both to think something might happen from this. And it’s probable things slowly escalated throughout the 4-5 years leading up to FE6 events. As the military leader of Lycia, and Ostia’s highest power, Hector’s surely going to be a bit stressed.

And that'd certainly be the case when he eventually has to go out to Araphen. He’ll meet it all with his head held high, but he can’t not be a little stressed when there’s the real possibility he may not come back. It’s known he did tell Lilina about Durandal’s location before leaving too. So he went into that battle knowing full well it could be his last— which as well known, it was his last.

He did ultimately vow that he would do anything to stop anything from going out of hand. Even if it meant sacrificing his life. Which… let me go on about that idea for a minute.

I think that bit of dialogue is such a neat little nod to how aware he may well be of the Armads curse. It shows that he knows well that if anyone is going to sacrifice their life for the greater good, he’s the best for it. He’s going to die in battle anyway and he knows that. The words Durban spoke to him stick to him like a tumour, a reminder that his end won’t be peaceful.

The Real Hector Is Out

Now, I’ll really get into how he’s bettered himself. Why else is it that he’s a much better man than he was when he was younger? I’ve already made it somewhat clear that Hector has attained the inherent maturity and sensibility that can come with adulthood. So what else is there?

The biggest thing is that he’s learnt that he shouldn’t hide parts of himself. When younger, this was one of his biggest struggles. He always felt the need to be someone that he wasn’t exactly— a run of the mill tough guy. You learn through his supports and a story scene or two that he’s actually a wonderfully kind and even somewhat gentle soul who just wants the best for people. That is the real Hector beneath the tough front he puts up the vast majority of the time.

When he grows up, this is something he has potentially improved on. One such implication of this is the Halloween alt’s friend greeting:

This single line of dialogue honestly tells quite a bit for no reason. He’s showing that kindhearted man he is out in the open. No longer is he afraid to hide that softer side— which honestly can be said about this alt’s entire existence really. He’s happily dressing up alongside his daughter, genuinely celebrating the festival. He’s happy, relaxed, lovingly keeping Lilina in his clutches (who’s around 10 here by the way so she doesn’t really need to be held).

Additionally, and on the topic of his Halloween alt, he is very well-mannered towards others in the paralogue and the Tempest Trials dialogue. That’s more or less another way to show he’s more openly kind and sociable too. It’s a bit of a step ahead of how his younger self is (not that he’s that much of a little shit as a youth but there’s no denying he’s slightly too forward and slightly less inclined to gentleness).

And there is one particular part of the Tempest Trials dialogue that shows him at his best. A heartfelt exchange he has with L’Arachel:

There’s not many words, but this exchange speaks so much about both characters. It’s to this day my favourite bit of writing to come out of FEH. There’s just so much meaning tucked into this little exchange. It’s truly a heartfelt moment where two characters relate to each other on a deep level for a moment.

L’Arachel sees a little girl and a wonderful father she sees her own in. It calls back to the hurt little girl inside of her. She wouldn’t wish the pain she experienced on anyone. No less that little girl with the man before her. That’s the place her words come from.

And Hector knows that very acutely. He knows the pain she carries with her all too well. So he hops right to it— metaphorically extends his hand out to the girl in front of him. He offers the most comforting words a girl could hear from a father. Perhaps he offers something more than comfort. I’ll be honest, I am of the genuine belief that he maybe even offers fatherhood to L’Arachel.

However it is, there’s no denying just how sweet he was here. And not to mention how readily he comforted L’Arachel, despite her being someone he’s not known for long. Really, before this, we’ve never really seen Hector so quick to support anyone with words— not even Eliwood. Often times, he was very much a doer, and never much of a sayer. Definitely shows he’s shaped up in terms of speaking to people there.

Another example of his willingness to be more openly soft comes from FEH yet again, and from the same alt. This time in an interaction with Ivy in her Forging Bonds chain:

I just want to say that Hector and Ivy’s interactions in FEH are kind of funny when you take into account how they interact in Engage. I’m just really amused by the juxtaposition between how the younger Hector and the older Hector interact with her. In Engage, he just laughs in her face when she brings up her fear of ghosts. In FEH, as his older self, he doesn’t care and pretty quickly offers some support for her.

And funny enough, I think that does showcase the change in Hector between his youth and adulthood pretty well. He’s being way more readily kind, let alone sociable than his younger self would be. No less coming up with a good remedy to Ivy’s trouble socialising. That in and of itself is why I’m really glad they chose to include Hector here, seeing as Lilina was shown to be quite shy in FE7’s extended epilogue. It’s probable enough that he’s got an affinity for cracking shells.

That knack seems to yield results too. Lilina is quite sociable in FE6, becoming quite trusting (even if to a slight fault) and good with conversation. For Ivy, that little party gives her the drive to interact with others more.

To me, those bits are enough indication to show he’s past making his best bits more exclusive. There’s no reason for him to do so and he knows that. He’s got a brilliant heart in his chest and a whole lot of decency. What good is there in hiding that when such goodness can uplift many? There is something in relation to this I’ll bring up later too.

What Got Him There?

Of course, Hector couldn’t have become this man overnight. Self development isn’t easy at all. 

A logical theory for this is that he begins to learn this being with whoever he marries. But the change really comes when Lilina is in the picture. What better thing to change a needlessly rigid, stoic man than an adorable bundle of joy to call his child? Typically, such a thing can soften someone up quite a bit. In the case of Hector, given some tidbits here and there (including interactions with the child in question), I think this would be the case.

Have a listen to the Halloween alt’s conversation with Lilina, and then picture something. Picture Hector who’s been a father for like six months, holding a little baby Lilina. He looks her in the eyes, about as beaming as he can be, making small funny noises to entertain her. When you hear the tone that Patrick Seitz uses, it’s not too hard to envision that, is it? (Awesome work as always by Patrick by the way. I really love his take on Hector despite the criticism it sometimes gets.)

I think Lilina is the thing that really changed him for the better for good. That little girl is the key that indefinitely unlocks what his consciousness locks away more than it should be because of how much he conditioned himself to be what he thought was strong. Of course, because he’d be spending plenty of time with his bundle of joy, that side of him will be quite active. And with regularity comes establishment.

This doesn’t mean he’s become some soft, jovial dad though. Soft and jovial he can be around Lilina, that’s for sure. But in the grand scheme of things, she enables his best side more. A side of him that not just those close to him deserve to have the pleasure of seeing. An openly kind, golden-hearted man that the world around him deserves.

Aside from Lilina, he definitely shaped himself up for the sake of his leadership roles as is because well… he kind of had to. There’s no way he was getting around as a leader if he didn’t work on his manners or his trust issues. So it’s safe to say he must’ve done a lot of soul searching before the first epilogue.

His CYL alt in FEH does entertain the idea of him picking up reading. He probably used that as a method to improve his patience, and actually study (something he didn’t do too much of in his youth). Aside from that, there’s plenty of ways he could’ve started to shape himself up mentally. There’s many ways one can go about healing and self improvement.

He’s Still Hector

I sometimes joke that his adult self is like a different character but really, he’s not entirely. Despite all the change he’s been through, he’s still the same person who those around him know and love. As has been established throughout this analysis, he has changed. In some aspects, he is a different person in that he doesn’t seem to hide who he really is any longer and he’s overall matured. Still, he’s not a completely far cry from who he was in his youth.

Of course, as I said in that last section, he’s still boundlessly good-hearted, loyal, and well meaning. Out of everything, that hasn’t changed a single bit outside of how much better he expresses that. It’s a core fundamental of who he is in the end. Without that wonderful side of him, he just wouldn’t be Hector. It’s a part of what draws those he loves to him, and can more or less be what draws players/ readers to him.

And another thing I’ve already said he’s retained is his protectiveness. That is something he is by nature. He cares for those he loves and will protect them as he sees fit. And like the trait in the previous paragraph, he goes about it better. I probably don’t have to repeat any further on this since I did go on about it earlier in this. So we’ll leave this topic at that.

One small thing I haven't alluded to is how he doesn't completely care for his status. This is pretty much set right in stone in his conversation with Eliwood during FE7's extended epilogue:

It's a very neat tidbit in the conversation. It does show that he cares about his station but also that he isn't consumed by it. He just wants to talk with Eliwood friend to friend, not leader to leader. Just because they're of high stations (Hector in an even higher station than Eliwood ironically), that doesn't mean they can't speak like familiars. Hector doesn't believe in there being this set way nobles have to act. He never has believed in it, despite how much noble conduct is likely pushed, and no matter the judgement that was thrown his way in youth. 

That last bit actually kind of segways into this next big thing that Hector has retained. It's a trait that he's admired for— that being his preference for doing things his way, and penchant for making it work. This is something that Oswin spells out very nicely in two separate supports:

Hector isn’t someone bound by convention. He’s about getting things done and doing whatever he can for that to be so, no matter how improper it may be. Like I said, he doesn’t care so much for his status and won’t bend his behaviour to adhere to what’s considered ‘proper’. That especially goes for when he’s doing something for anyone he cares about. When that’s the case, he definitely does whatever it takes, everything regarding convention and conduct thrown out of the window.

Again, Oswin pretty much puts it all perfectly. He strives to stay true to himself, and he does that better than anyone. Where one doesn’t see a way forward, he makes one himself. It all very much attests to him having a will made of iron. But more than that, he’s just being himself.

So how does this trait fare into adulthood? Well, it’s certainly there and he’s still just about as unconventional. Despite his leading positions needing him to be at least a bit poised and proper, he still does what he wants and it works out. Where this shows is Lilina and Astolfo’s support conversation in FE6:

Yeah, he kind of guilt tripped a thief into working for him.

Honestly though, prepare for something of a tangent because this whole support speaks volumes about Hector and I love it so much. So this won’t entirely pertain to the topic of this section.

More than anything, this support portrays Hector exhibiting those traits I’ve just gone over. Your typical leader/ noble would sooner apprehend a common thief stealing castle riches. But Hector isn’t quite typical. He’s not like the other nobles at all. No one else but Hector would recruit a seemingly random thief who once looked for the castle riches. To an average noble, that sounds utterly ridiculous.

But why did he do it in the first place? Like— yeah, Hector is kind of bizarre but he knows what he’s doing and has a whole lot of sense to boot. There’s always a reason for what he does. There's a method to what a lot of cut and dry nobles would consider madness.

His castle is nowhere near easy to get into. From what we know of Ostia, let alone the support, no common thief makes it as far as the treasury. Here comes Astolfo, a common thief who bypassed the guards and made it as far as the treasure room. Thus what Hector sees is not a common thief, but a man of great potential to be something more than that.

He’s rather pragmatic— albeit a bit of a wacky kind of pragmatic, but pragmatic nonetheless. Definitely the wacky kind given he just laughs in Astolfo’s face at first. Then he compliments the man, and offers him a job. If that doesn’t show how one of a kind he is, I don’t know what does.

Even so, there’s a reason he’s so flippant. Remember, this is the same guy who doesn’t care so much for his noble status. That’s all shown in his attitude and the way he tells Astolfo that he can keep what he’s stolen. He doesn’t talk to Astolfo noble to commoner. He talks to him man to man.

The reason I go over this support so thoroughly is because honestly, it alone lays out just who Hector is as an adult. It showcases both how much he’s changed and hasn’t changed. For the former, it goes back to him getting over his trust issues. He’s clearly much better at seeing good in others and not going straight into his prickly shell. In terms of the latter, he still couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his station and is all for being a little unconventional. He very much lives up to what Oswin says about him in his Matthew support.

The Astolfo and Lilina support chain may not seem like much at surface level. But think about all this stuff I’ve gone over. Think about how the Hector you see in FE7 would approach the situation. Think about the minute details pointed out throughout this analysis. When you consider all that, this support is the hard proof that he achieved the goal he set out to do. And he still stayed true to himself in the end.

Meaning

Well, I’ve pretty much covered every base that matters. So we reach the tail end of this analysis.

I will admit firsthand that Hector’s adult self definitely isn’t the most deep thing out there on surface level. Hell, a chunk of this whole thing has been theoreticals (which I did say that’d be the case at the start). Theoreticals based on the heaps of characterisation he has, but still theoreticals. What I will say though is that through him not having much in plain sight, there lies room for all this speculation and the chance to suss things out yourself.

There’s a reason he doesn’t end up completely better off by the conclusion of FE7. He’s been hurt since before the game’s events. He was always a hurt boy in a world that never entirely accepted him. It only got a bit worse throughout FE7, with him going through the horrors of real battle and going through some painful losses— especially Uther. So after it all, of course he’s not going to be better in a flash.

That’s why I really love the detail that he doesn’t seem that way until he’s portrayed as a grown man. It makes his proclamation towards Mark in his mode’s epilogue that much more meaningful. He does get better, and evidently fits himself into his new life eventually. Even in spite of him being unsure about leading that life, he’s determined to live it and does it all because that’s what he’s all about. He’s all about achieving anything he puts his mind to.

He becomes kinder, wiser, more respectable, and evidently a damn great father. Sure, he’s a great person in his youth, but he had some glaring problems. Growing up, he remedied those problems as best he could while still remaining himself. He’s not without vices, as that is with anyone, though he’s done a good job at toning it all down. 

And of course, it would take until he’s a grown man for that change to be in full force. He’s mentally scarred in more than one aspect. Such things can take a long time to heal. Change can take equally long to truly come into fruition. It’s yet another layer of realism to an already very human, realistic character.

So what do Hector’s adult iterations mean for him?

Well, they serve as a conclusion to his tale. Hector’s tale, his true tale, is one of overcoming trauma and realising his best self. It’s a tale of inner struggle, loss, and a testament to what true strength is. It’s a tale of a boy becoming a man.

Closing Words

That about wraps everything up. If you did read this entire thing— first of all thank you from the bottom of my heart. Second, I sincerely hope you enjoyed and took interest in my perspective.

I’ve worked on this analysis on and off for almost two years, pouring in all the love and passion for this character. I’d be lying if I said that time hasn’t been pretty transitional for me. I’ve changed a bit as a person on my own road towards self improvement. This character, and especially this facet of him, is a massive comfort and inspiration for me. Writing this whole thing has definitely reaffirmed that to a degree.

But yeah, I’m not going to hang around too long. Seriously, I appreciate it colossally if you managed to read all of this. If you have any questions and such, then you’re welcome to ask. I will say, I am more active on Twitter (@/WolfBeils on there), so you may have a better shot at reaching me there.

Otherwise, yeah, that’s all I got.

[hauntedziosportrait]

WHAT THE HELL GABE'S AJ AU / Epilogue 💫

🖋️ NOTES:

So erm. Hey jamblr. Here's that au I promised you. It is lacking a name. This is currently a huge HUGE HUGE wip but what I will say is i have had this headworld and story in my brain for a pretty scary amount of time. Now I am making the mature decision and taking a step from imagining animatics in my head to making an actual story!! As of right now, I have very intense artblock, so I'm bringing it upon myself to write for this AU instead!!

This was inspired by probably a lot of stuff, notably FOTS by Greeky and a whole bunch of AJ headcanons I have mashed together into a slightly salty stew.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

An insatiable amount of cringe

The very original idea of an apocalypse AU

Autism

Greely says a bad word and instantly gets sent to the seventh circle of hell

Enjoy jamblr. You stinky stinky individuals

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A delicate feather was carried by the wind from its birthplace and took time to settle as the wrath of the winds sailed it about the sky endlessly. This delicate feather- she, a delicate feather, had lesser expertise with a realm such as this. Despite never having seen it, she had heard innumerable myths and legends about it and had researched Jamaa throughout the ages. As she landed amidst the chaos and apocalypse, she spread the scrolls of her map with two eager wings. She then, excited as can be, soared up and above the lands to look down on it, comparing it to the papyrus in her grasp. Apart from some tiny geographic inaccuracies, she was mostly right about what she thought Jamaa would resemble. Her sole hyperfocus for as long as she had been living was right here in front of her. Her map and other tools of the trade were no longer necessary.

She went by the name Io'lani, and if she had friends, they would undoubtedly refer to her as Lani, but since she didn't, that was that. Her name meant "royal hawk", although she was neither royal nor a hawk. She had been around a very long time but mostly in captivity; her living quarters resided in some sort of third-dimensional space as she watched the centuries go by. Originally, she was created to be a faux offspring for the two guardian spirits to embrace and love as their own, the way parents would cherish a newborn babe, but their heavenly duties consistently got in the way of that. She wasn't necessarily forgotten, neglected, or abused- but her existence was merely an afterthought for the Sky Mother Mira, and barely a thought at all for the (mostly) unaware Zios.

Promptly, as a being of balance, and the product of the two holy deities that brought life to Jamaa, Io'lani's emergence in a time of destruction and despair was foretold in literature and books written by the most fanatical of scholars and theorists.

Io'lani emerged, of course. I just described her descent to you. The problem was that she wasn't quite sure what she was meant to do.

Her eyes darted as she stared at the gloomy surroundings. Buildings once bursting with life had been knocked down and torn apart for materials by scavenging jammers who were desperate to survive. The greenery and plants were now wilted and desaturated. The rivers, now a goopy inkwell. Once there were animals united by friendship, now wicked phantoms united by their desire to destroy and multiply. The hiss of black smoke filled Io'lani's lungs and she coughed, covering her beak with the edges of her mask.

This is not how Jamaa was supposed to be. Where were the cheers and laughter of water slides, movie theatres, and young mammals venturing out into the wild? Where was the happy haven that she had been assured existed? As she floated and landed at different locations, pointing to her whereabouts on the map, she analyzed her positioning with precise craftsmanship.

Crystal Sands' warm, golden shoreline had vanished and been replaced with a gritty, black, and grey substance that was scorching to the touch. Jamaa Township's characteristic swirling pavement was no longer present; instead, a sizable crevice divided the town's center in half. Phantoms emerged from these recesses, spreading their purple muck and cackling maliciously as they advanced to wilt the fauna.

Jamaa was not intended to be like this. Io'lani quietly descended and fell to her knees in front of a violet flag that had been suspended from the arcade's former roof. It had been shredded at the ends, painted with a sinister expression, and pasted all over the lifeless hamlet. The photograph was of the Phantom Queen, or PQ as she liked to be addressed by her subjects, and a message was scrawled in goopy black ink over her portrait.

And this was everywhere, mind you. The phantom propaganda was affixed to masonry and stone throughout the featureless plains. The Queen's vile grin was still present, along with the same stern call to repent. Io'lani scurried desperately and frantically, zipping to each of the wrecked locals on her map and urgently hoping to find at least someplace not entirely defunct. The statue of Zios was gone completely, presumably taken as a trophy by the Queen herself.

She slid against a jagged rock in Balloosh, the place least subject to destruction and where she had initially started her quest. To her knowledge, there was a power within the marsh- a strong power. She could feel the sheer electric of protection in her bones, the blazing blue light shimmering in her peripherals.

She wept silently, her tears ink-black and resembling the slime of the phantoms. Her tears flowed into her wings, and as she trembled and wept, her voice had a pitiful catching. Any sign of goodwill was absent. What's more, a sheer lack of both guardian spirits, ironically not doing a very good job at guarding or keeping up spirits. There was no point in visiting the place she had wanted to for epochs when it was torn and forgotten. No alphas to save the day, except the elder wolf sitting across from her, giving her a sympathetic glare.

Wait.

As she made touch with the blue-gray canine, she gasped and the emerald glint in her eyes resurfaced. Her thoughts searched for why he was so familiar to her until she caught on. This was Greely, first name unknown, the alpha philosopher with an interest in all things macabre. Except it wasn't quite Greely, for this wolf was bruised and had an ear torn, his golden bejeweled accessories cracked and corroded in ash. He looked older than what Io'lani had seen of him in stories, and less well-kept. He had a husky growl in his voice, reaching out an injured paw towards the skittish heron.

"I was hoping I'd... end up stumbling into you." He groaned.

"Do you know me?" Io'lani replied, her voice just above a whisper.

Greely bared his teeth, before turning his head and looking to the side. "I have... heard such things about you. You're the one who's meant to make this hell disappear. Are you deliberately wasting time here?"

Io'lani frowned as Greely raised his voice to her, the confusion and anxiety settling in her stomach. Greely's gaze pierced right through her and was even more intimidating than she had anticipated. Ultimately, she spoke up, clearing her throat and gripping her trusty map defensively in one wing.

"I don't know what exactly I'm meant to do."

Greely paused.

"Shit."

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