#it's ironic cause I'm not even into musicals. at all.

[moonlight-prose]

HEART MADE OF GLASS

a/n: this is totally not to make myself feel better. totally not self indulgent cause i couldn't finish cooking my dinner last night. that gif is also self indulgent. but also hopefully a distraction from how angsty this kind of is. divider as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: you couldn't control when they could come. the waves of nothingness - of battling with your body and mind in the hopes it would cause a shift. you wanted to control it. he simply wanted to help.

word count: 1.1k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, disassociating, depression isn't outright stated but that's what it is, meat eating (sorry i'm an iron anemic bitch), logan's love language being acts of service.

The fire alarm never went off when you were in the kitchen. So he felt his heart jump at the sound of it blaring through the small apartment. Even down the hall and in the bathroom he smelled the bitter smoke as it rose from the pan you were currently staring at. A blank expression on your face and hand gripping the handle.

He meant to grab his flannel and join you for dinner. What he didn't expect was the emptiness of a silent kitchen not filled with your usual music. Your soft hums as you try to keep in tune with the song.

Logan's favorite pastime was standing in the doorway watching you cook whatever creation came to mind. Whether it tasted good or positively vile, he'd eat it one way or another. He'd swallow happily with a grin simply to see that smile bloom across your face. A look he did everything possible to keep right where it was meant to be.

"Bub?"

You startled, flinching at the sound of the alarm as you shoved the pan away from the burner. "Shit. Sorry."

A frown etched onto his face at your quick apology—your eyes never quite meeting him. "Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah," you said, lying right through your teeth. "I just got distracted."

Logan could hear the bullshit louder than the alarm. He knew something was wrong, because he'd seen it before. The silence that filled a once loud household. How you slowed down during the day, unable to finish simple tasks without pushing yourself over the edge. He watched you dwindle down to the barest bones your body had to offer and yet you never asked him for help.

You never explained why it occurred.

This wasn't in part because you didn't want to. You did. You simply held no real reason for why your body—your mind—chose to betray you at the oddest of times. At first you figured it was the lack of sleep. The restlessness that ate away at your body each night—keeping you up and active until finally you wore yourself out.

But this wasn't that.

This came from deep inside your chest, lingering beneath the surface—waiting for something good to happen before it struck with a vengeance. This protruded out of your very nightmares.

"Need some help?" He knew the answer before it came. No.

What could he possibly do that you hadn't tried a million times over? There was no easy fix for something this brutal. Silently, you begged him to leave the kitchen and find something else to occupy his time. He stubbornly stood behind you, watching over your shoulder as you dumped the now burned pan in the sink. What might have been a delicious steak now looked like a charred brick.

The sight of it still smoking only seemed to dampen your mood further.

You fought to keep yourself there, in the moment. But the dazed expression from earlier began to slowly trail its way back up your face. Until you could do nothing but stare at the mess you made, exhaustion slicing down to your bones.

His looming presence became an afterthought to all that filtered through your head. All the brittle and vile thoughts you tried to keep at bay. Some days they managed to weasel their way past your infinite walls. Some days...they found joy in tearing you up inside little by little.

Voicing it aloud though would never be an option to the havoc you tried to tame.

"C'mon," he muttered, his hands pulling at your hips to move you. "Out of the kitchen."

"I can finish–"

His glare was devastating.

Most of the time you'd ask him to tell you what he was thinking. Tonight you understood his demand. Get out of the kitchen before you hurt yourself. Let him do what you often did for everyone else.

Give him the chance to put you first.

He points to the chair originally pulled out for him. "Sit down."

But unlike other people he encountered, you were far more stubborn. "I don't–"

"Sit on the chair bub. Or I'll tie you to it." The grin he gives you is filled with sarcasm, but you can see the truth shining in his eyes. He wouldn't hesitate to follow through on a promise like that. He wouldn't even blink. "Your choice."

There was no argument left to throw at him, because his attention was elsewhere. So you sat. You allowed yourself to rest as he stumbled his way through the kitchen. Logan couldn't really cook. He picked up what he could through the life he lived, but nothing came out exactly perfect. That wasn't what warmed your heart at the sight of him standing there intent on delivering a meal worth eating.

He didn't shy away when you tried to push. When the horror that you needed someone to help was no longer a fact you could ignore. No matter how hard you shoved and bit and did what you could to scare him off. Logan pushed back. He quelled your bite with a stature of resolute stoicism.

With an exhale, he flipped the burner off and slid whatever he'd made onto a clean plate. Watching him move felt as if you were being placed in a trance. You almost told him that once in your first week of dating. Something told you he already knew by the way your eyes tracked him from the kitchen to the table.

"Steak," he said, sitting with a grunt.

A quick glance told you one thing. Logan didn't know shit about cooking steak.

You grinned nonetheless.

"There's..." Red spilled down the side, pooling on the plate as steam hit your face. "How long did you cook it?"

He shrugged, slicing it with ease and plopping a piece into his mouth. "Tastes fine to me."

"I'm sure it does."

"Watch it bub," he muttered mid chew, his lips curled into a smirk.

Making a show of zipping your lips shut, you took the piece he offered you. And as he did each time before, you ate it with a grin simply to watch his smirk turn into a smile. There may have been no salt, no extra flavor, and strangely a charred sensation with each bite. But you could taste the love spreading across your tongue with ease.

"Delicious," you garbled in the hopes he'd understand how much you loved him.

He snorted, shoving the plate to the center of the table. His thumb swiped at the juice that leaked from the corner of your mouth, causing your heart to jump erratically in your chest. Even on your bad days he managed to flip the switch in your mind with simple touches and soft looks.

"'M gonna order a pizza."

Leaning into his hand, you pressed a kiss to his wrist. "Thank you."

[munsons-melody]

angeleyes

summary: after seeing nancy get pulled into a trance, eddie gets worried the same might happen to you and makes you a tape with your favorite song on a loop, even though you're broken up

pairing: eddie munson x female!henderson!reader

cw: bit of angst but ends with fluff

recommended songs: 'disillusion' and 'angeleyes' by ABBA

word count: 3.3k

a/n: did i start crying while writing this? yes, yes i did. also NOT PROOFREAD! also feedback is always appreciated :)

masterlist

part two of this fic called ‘your song’ can be found here

i do not consent to having any of my works republished, translated, or posted to any other site except here. if you see my works anywhere but tumblr, it has been republished without my knowledge, consent, or permission.

-

the two of you were together for almost a year. you were inseparable from the start but as months passed, you each kept getting busier and busier and whenever you were together, it would end in a giant screaming match with one of you crying while the other stormed off with no apologies in store till days later.

even though you knew the two of you were in a rough patch, you never expected the last fight to be your final one. you were at each others throats, a silly bicker turning into a full blown fight. you were both teary-eyed, throats sore from screaming and holding back tears, pacing all around the trailer. neither really knew what the fighting was about, but it didn't stop the screaming match that definitely caused the whole neighborhood to wake up from their peaceful slumbers

you still remember the exact moment you felt your world shatter. you stood in eddie's room, wiping the tears from your cheeks as you diverted your eyes from him to the floor, littered with his clothes and various items. you didn't want him to see you cry as hard as you were.

all you wanted was him to say anything like "i'm sorry" or "come here" and have him wrap you up in those strong arms of his, while he stroked your hair and told you he loved you and the two of you would be alright. but nothing of the sort came. the quietness deafening after the two of you stopped fighting.

"maybe we just aren't good for each other anymore," eddie muttered out, and you looked up at him with bloodshot eyes

"what? no! don't say that, please" you said, inching forward but he moved back to avoid your touch

"i think we should break up y/n" he said. it was like someone knocked all the oxygen out of your body as your heart started pounding

"eddie-" you tried but he shook his head, a couple of tears slipping down his cheeks

"y/n, please, just go" he said with anger hidden in his voice, facing away from you

"fine" you said, your blood boiling. you stormed out of his trailer and walked out into the cold evening air, using your walk home as a way to cool down and soon enough your anger turned into more sadness

once you arrived home, you couldn't help but let the tears flow freely, feeling as if your heart was broken into a million tiny little pieces

"shit are you okay?" dustin asked you as you crumpled onto the couch, not caring that you would most likely have to explain why you were crying.

"no" you muttered out, curling into a ball and putting a pillow over your face. he walked over to you, sitting on the coffee table across from you

"did you break up?" he asked and you nodded, turning your head to smush your face into the pillow, letting your tears soak into the fabric of the pillow

"shit shit you're gonna be okay i promise" dustin said with a panic

.

eddie's trailer was in pure chaos as everyone ripped his room apart, looking for some tape that wasn't a heavy metal song to aid nancy in freeing herself from vecna's trance

"music! we need music!" robin screamed out as you watched as she flung a handful of cassettes onto eddies bed, Eddie swiftly picking one of the iron maiden tapes up and screamed at her "this is music!" 

right as you grabbed another box of tapes you heard steve yell "guys!" and all of you ran to the small living room, littered with debris surrounding the mattress that served as your 'landing pad'

you looked up to see steve holding nancy on the floor and you immediately thought the worst, your heart pounding as it skipped a beat, not prepared to see the potentiality of your best friend dead in steves arms 

"she's okay! we're going to come through!" steve's voice rang out, laced with urgency. everyone nodded as they cleared the area. you watched as the two of your friends individually climbed up the makeshift rope and fall through the gate onto eddie's mattress

you saw everyone, or at least assumed everyone, swarm nancy, asking question after question of "are you alright?" and "what happened"

nancy just stayed quiet, holding her arms to herself blinking away tears, and you broke away from the group to get her some water as she slowly sat down on the couch

you moved through the all too familiar kitchen of the munson trailer, wanting to reminisce about the memories you shared with eddie in this kitchen, but refusing to do so due to the fact you a) didn't want to waste time helping nancy and b) didn't want to relive the memories that would just break your heart even more

once you handed nancy the water, you let her be, not wanting to overwhelm her or pressure her into talking about what just happened. you went back into the kitchen, not wanting to be in any ones way, and stood there with your arms crossed

this time you allowed yourself to let those memories creep back in. the early mornings where you would make pancakes for you and eddie's breakfast, and what would be wayne's dinner when he came home before he would go to sleep. the times you would teach eddie how to cook when you felt like making dinner together. the late nights you spent listening to the radio and would dance under the refrigerator light. the times you two would spend after hours of endless sex where even when you tried to have a break from each other to get some water just to end up fucking on the kitchen floor. 

hell, you even smiled to yourself about the time eddie accidentally bruised his knuckles after enthusiastically waving his hands around while in conversation and smacking them on the cabinet, and you of course had to kiss them better.

you heard some shuffling and mumbling behind you and turned to the hallway just to make eye contact with eddie as you watched him drag dustin down the hall and into his room

you heard the door close and some muffled voices, but you couldn't make out the conversation 

-

eddie shut the door and turned to dustin who stood there, confused as ever as to why he was being dragged down the hall 

"what is y/n's favorite song?" he asked with urgency. dustin looked taken aback.

"excuse me?" dustin questioned, looking at eddie as if he had five heads

"your sister, y/n, what is her favorite song?" he repeated with a stern tone

"shouldn't you know?" dustin snapped with an annoyed look upon his face. even though eddie was one of his best friends and someone he looked up to, this breakup between his sister and him was so new and fresh, he didn't know how to act in this situation

"well it changes with her, like it changes all the time man... for a while it was killer queen by queen and then it changed to dreams by fleetwood mac then it changed to, i think, amoreena by elton john? ugh" he groaned

"eddie, why do you want to know? didn't you two break up like a couple of months ago?" dustin pointed out and eddie shook his head, rubbing his temple 

"it was a little over a month ago but-" eddie started before dustin interrupted him 

"and didn't you break up with her?" he questioned further, crossing his arms 

"well technically but i-" 

"'technically' my ass! you completely broke her heart and now you want to know her favorite song? why do you even care all of a sudden? you didn't seem to care when she would come home crying after seeing you at school all day. you didn't seem to care when she wanted to go to her favorite place in this goddamn town but didn’t cause she was scared she'd run into you there. you didn't seem to care when she spent all of her money to buy you those stupid concert tickets for your birthday..." dustin's voice trailed off from his originally loud tone

eddie looked down, a lump forming in his throat

"i didn't know any of that..." he admitted, moving his head up to look at dustin with glassy eyes 

"what?" dustin said and eddie nodded, sniffling 

"i didn't know she did any of that, especially those tickets" eddie said, his voice cracking which mirrored the cracks forming in his heart

eddie sat down on the bed putting his head in his hands, feeling completely and utterly stupid 

"i am the biggest fucking idiot for breaking up with her. it was just the heat of the moment with that stupid fight- and i can't even remember what it was about! i was just tired of the fighting! and now it's been a month but i haven't even talked to her until all of this shit went down but god i love her so goddamn much and i will be damned if something happens to her- if nancy can get under his trance at random who knows if she's next" eddie ranted, standing up and putting both his hands on dustins shoulders

"please dustin, what is her favorite song?" he pleaded. dustin looked at him with sympathic eyes and sighed 

"angeleyes" he muttered out and eddie stared at him with a confused look written across his face

"i think her favorite song right now is angeleyes by abba... i always hear her listening to it and singing it around the house..." dustin told him and eddie's eyes widened 

he ran to the door to open it but as he did he it revealed you standing there, with your arm and fist up in a knocking position 

"y/n" he breathed out and you looked into his eyes, the knots turning in your stomach reminding you of the heartbreak he succumbed you to and you blinked, looking past him at dustin standing there

"sorry, uh we're heading to max's next door, it's safer over there" you said bluntly before turning around and walking down the hallway, steve wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you headed toward the door 

eddie watched you leave and made a b line into the cabinet that sat adjacent to their kitchen, opening the door and starting to rummage through the boxes

"what are you doing? didn't you hear y/n?" he heard dustin ask as he approached behind him

"i know for a fact that we have that abba song on an album somewhere" he rumaged some more before pulling out a handful of tapes by ABBA

"my mom loved them so we had a lot of their tapes," eddie explained, walking back to his room and grabbing a blank tape 

he looked on the back of each tape till he saw the small words ‘angeleyes’ on the back of the voulez-vous album

he put both in his boombox, playing the song and pressing record so he was able to make a loop of the song 

"eddie we need to regroup with everyone next door" dustin pleaded and eddie shook his head

"we can meet them after we get a good loop of at least 10 minutes" he said before turning back to his dresser 

"we shouldn't risk being here longer than we already have, what if someone hears us or even sees us in here?" he pleaded again and eddie shook his head, being stubborn as a mule 

"fine, we'll be all over there where its safe and you can be over here with the fear of being caught" dustin said with annoyance, starting to leave eddie's room when eddie walked over and stopped him 

"just wait 5 more goddamn minutes" eddie told him with an angry tone 

"jesus christ okay" dustin responded with his voice higher than normal 

eddie heard the end of the song and quickly paused the two tapes, and rewinded before pressing the play and record buttons 

he sat on his bed, listening to the song and the lyrics hit him like a train 

'Sometimes when I'm lonely, I sit and think about him And it hurts to remember all the good times When I thought I could never live without him And I wonder, does it have to be the same Every time? When I see him, will it bring back all the pain? How can I forget that name?'

shit he thought to himself, continuing to listen to the lyrics of the song 

'Look into his angel eyes One look and you're hypnotized He took my heart and now I pay the price Look into his angel eyes You'll think you're in paradise Then one day you'll find out he wears a disguise Don't look too deep into those angel eyes'

once the song ended, he rewinded and played it again, internalizing each word he heard from the song 

he came to his senses that both of you were hurting just as much when it came to this break up and he felt guilt and resentment gnawing away at him

how in the world could i ever get her back? he questioned himself, feeling as lost as ever

he heard the song again a couple more times as it was recorded onto the blank tape, feeling like a piece of his heart was shattering with each note

he finally felt satisfied with the loop he had made, and quickly ejected the tapes from where they sat and slipped it into his walk man and shoved it into dustins bag along with a pair of headphones, and they carefully walked out of eddie's trailer and to max's trailer next door

-

you stood next to robin in the kitchen, the two of you hungrily snacking down a pb&j after finding your appetite now that you knew everyone was safe and was able to take a breather from the traumatizing experience you all shared 

"here's one for you and nance" robin said, handing the plates to steve and he smiled before turning to nancy who was in the living room 

"where's eddie and dustin?" max asked you, making a sandwich herself and you shrugged, gulping down some water 

"i'm not sure, i mean i told them we were coming here and that was almost 20 minutes ago" you said, wiping your face

"should we go check to make sure they're still over there and not getting sucked back into the upside down?" robin asked and you nodded

"yeah i'll go, you two finish eating" you said, putting your plate in the sink and walking out to the front door but you noticed the two of them running across the street from eddie's trailer to max's and you switftly moved from the door as they jumped in 

everyone stopped and stared at them since they were out of breath

"where were you guys?" lucas asked and dustin looked at eddie before looking at you and then back to lucas 

"uh sorry we had to reattach the caution tape to the front door so it didn't look suspicious" dustin said, and everyone seemed to buy the lie, nodding to each other as everyone convened in the living room

-

you sat in the stolen rv in the back, looking out the window at the birds playing in the trees. it was parked on the side of the store where there was room to fit it without taking up spaces in the main lot.

you heard dustin and lucas up front near the steering wheel in some conversation when you felt the seat dip next to you.

you turned your body to see eddie sitting there looking at you. 

"hey" he said softly

"hi" you said back, turning to face back to the window 

you hadn't really talked to him over the past few days, not knowing what to do or say since you hadn't spoken since your breakup

"y/n can i please talk to you?" he asked sweetly, and you looked at him again, seeing his eyes in a fixed stare

you just nodded, turning to face him completely

"the reason i was late coming from my trailer earlier wasn't because dustin was fixing the caution tape" eddie started, reaching for dustins bag which was by his feet. you blinked at him, muttering an "okay?" which came out with a more annoyed tone than you intended 

he pulled out a walkman from the bag, and popped the tape out 

"y/n... i don't know what the hell will happen next but i know for a fact if anything happened to you and we didn't have a way to save you i-" he said, wiping a few tears from his eyes

your brows furrowed as you looked at the tape and back at him, meeting each others gaze

"i made this, uh, it's like a 20 minute loop of angeleyes by abba... dustin said it was your favorite song... after seeing nancy be put in that trance just so vecna could talk to her really freaked me out, and i don't know if he'll somehow use you as a pawn in his game, so this is for you" eddie said, fiddling with the tape before replacing it back in the walkman and handing it to you

"oh eddie..." you said, rubbing your thumb over the piece of technology

eddie's heart fluttered as he heard you say his name

"listen, nothing will happen to me, i promise" you said, grabbing his hand in yours. the fact that he was in the shittiest situation to ever occur and he was still thinking about you just made your love for him grow strong, which in turn only fed into your heartbreak because he wasn't yours to love anymore, and he had made that very clear

"yeah but if anything does, i want to- no i need to tell you... i love you y/n henderson. you were the best thing to happen to me in this godforsaken town and the fact that i messed things up will be something i will always regret. i hate that i told you i wanted to break up. i didn't- i was just so sick and tired of always fighting. i've never had someone like you in my life and i thought you were going to break up with me so i went and pulled the trigger before you could. this past month has been pure agony for me, and dustin went and rubbed salt into the wound when he told me about those tickets you got for my birthday, and jesus- im just, im sorry and i love you" eddie told you, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of your hand 

you cupped his face, leaning in to kiss him, craving his lips on yours. he kissed back before you pulled away to look at him

"eddie, i don't even know what to say" you muttered out and he shook his head 

"you don't need to say anything, i just needed to tell you how i felt just incase" he said and you took in a deep breath 

"i've hated you so much these past few weeks for what you did, but fucking hell i love you more than words can say eds. it was very stupid of you to assume i would break up with you just because we were going through a rough patch but, maybe when all of this is over and you learn not to be an idiot, maybe we could have a picnic by lovers lake, just me and you," you said softly, and eddie smiled 

"yeah?" he asked, his eyes lighting up 

"yeah, maybe i can even tell you about the concert tickets i spent all my money on... it was supposed to be a surprise but i guess dustin ruined that" you joked, and eddie chuckled 

"oh honey you didn't have to spend all your money on me, especially not on tickets," eddie said, brushing his fingers through your hair to push it back on your shoulder 

"but you deserve it, your birthday's coming up and ozzy osbourne was going on tour and i knew you wanted to see him" you shrugged with a small smile 

he kissed you passionately, and you melted into his touch, feeling the warmth of his lips on yours and you didn't realize how badly you needed him till this very moment. it was soon interrupted however as the door to the RV swung open, and you pulled apart, watching everyone clamber in yelling that we needed to go

the engine of the RV roared to life as steve sped off the premises, leading you guys onto the next part of your adventure to killing vecna

fin.

[mncxbe]

Breakfast at the Heartbreak Hotel♡

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: morning seggs♡/ light angst?

𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: you're friends with benefits with Dazai but he wants a little bit more♡

Dazai woke up between cold, silky sheets- an angel's feathery kiss on his skin. With a groan, he turned to the side and there you were: bathrobe loosely wrapped around your frame, leaning against the windowsill with a cigarette between your slender fingers. You always woke up just a bit before sunrise to have a smoke.

The gentle breeze that entered the hotel room through the open window grazed against your skin, causing you to shiver lightly. The brunette only smile and lazily slid out of bed.

"Well good morning bella" he cooed as his arms wrapped around your waist, earning a heartfelt giggle from you.

"Good morning to you too Osamu. How did you sleep?"

"Perfectly fine next to a beautiful lady like you." he replied, gently tugging at the velvety material of your robe. "And you?"

"Me too"

Dazai pursed his lips and placed a string of little kisses along your neck, right over the faint marks he was kind enough to leave the previous night.

"You're always so cold bella. Come on, loosen up, tell me about your day or something"

"Well... I stepped on some broken glass yesterday" you sighed, taking the lipstick-stained filter to your lips to take a puff "Really got me thinking."

"About what?" he asked nonchalantly, fingertips sliding under your robe, brushing against your bare skin.

You were silent for a while, eyes following the hazy movements of passing cars. The city was starting to wake from its slumber as warm rays of light flickered across the nightsky, painting it in hues of steel blue and pink. Eventually you turned your head to meet his soft gaze.

"About how us, people, like to take broken things and tear them further apart. Or sometimes we don't even notice it. It just happens. You know what I mean?"

A mellow chuckle rolled off Dazai's lips. Little did you know how truthful your words were for him; how deeply they struck, like a punch to the gut. He found it ironic that you of all people would say that, when you were doing the exact same thing to his heart.

"Oh I think I know what you mean"

A smile rose to your lips as you flicked your cigarette over the windowsill "I thought you would"

When you turned to face him, Dazai's heart sunk. You looked so beautiful, radiant against the pink skies of dawn. The next moment he leaned in, lips gently brushing against yours.

You eagerly returned the kiss and Dazai could taste the bitterness of tobacco on your tongue.

"Oh bella" he hummed, fingers kneading the soft skin of your hips. "You know I adore you right?"

His words caused a shiver to travel down your spine and you nodded, lips still pressed against his.

With a swift movement the brunette spun you around and gently pushed you onto the mattress, climbing on top of you. His slender fingers quickly undid the loose knot of your robe, sliding it off your shoulders before finding their way between your thighs.

"My, my bella. So eager at this early hour" he teased, causing a huff to roll off your lips. Your hand moved between your bodies, palming his painfully hard erection.

"I'm the eager one you say?" you responded, mimicking his playful tone.

The brunette only smiled, slipping two fingers inside your dripping cunt; slowly curling them up just the way he knew you liked.

"I guess we just have to admit that we're desperate for each other"

His fingers worked you open so well, eliciting muffled moans with each thrust. Your mewls and pleas for more were like music to Dazai's ears, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"There you go pretty girl." he cooed before his fingers left your sopping hole, settling on your hip. He stroked himself a few times before sliding inside; bottoming out with a deep thrust that caused a moan to roll past your lips.

"Fuck Osamu. You're-" you whined, nails digging at the bandaged skin of his back but he didn't care. All he could think about was the way your walls clamped around him and your eyes rolled back into your skull, mindless babbles falling past your glossy lips. His hips rolled against yours in a steady rhythm, his lips finding your own as he kissed you deeply. And you returned the kiss.

It was well known that Dazai never got what he wanted. Even now, when he had you chanting his name like a prayer with each thrust, he knew that you didn't fully return his feelings; that sweet love that blossomed like a rose in his soul. So for now, until he wins your heart, that kiss will have to do.

[manicrouge]

An Ode to Serelia

[𝟷𝟾+, 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸] || Part Two

[𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎: 𝙶𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚗!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 01/01/24

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Displeased is the siren who weeps, a sister stolen leading to her finding the man who helps her to her feet.

[𝙲𝚠]: blood, graphic violence, torture, gore, body horror, violence, character death, murder, loss of a parent, angst, mention of suicidal thoughts, smut, loss of virginity, creampie, inexperienced!reader, possessive!Simon

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 23,720

𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 If you're intrigued in the music I listened to writing, there's a link to the spotify playlist, enjoy !!

[𝙰/𝙽]: HIIII !! This is the story I mentioned the other day on my blog, it's here, it's written (hopefully to a decent standard) and it was a lot of fun to write and I hope you have fun reading it !! Also I did change up the appearences of sirens a little for the sake of being #unique and #different. Greek mythologies version would have been interesting, though I'm unsure how exactly a bird with the head of a woman would translate into a cod fanfiction so please forgive my creative liberties.

Also, there may be the possibility for a part two cause I have an idea if you would like that pls let me know!!

Comments are always appreciated, please let me know what you think... unless you think it's the worst thing you've ever read, then tell me, but in a nicer way pls, i.e. 'bless you, you tried' or 'hmmm, I've read better, good try though!'

(I'm very sensitive).

HAVE FUN!!

P.s. Rhymezone and me were besties while i was writing this. Also I figured out how to make the text tiny... I'm learning guys!!! And sorry for it being so long, tumblr was literally lagging near the end of writing this whoops.

Also!!! Share any request you have for me in my 'Ask me anything'!! I'd be happy to write more alt aus with different characters :))

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Illuminated in the night, entranced by the tide, the sailors always come to you, such a mistake they make, too little too late, for they can never ever run. Foolish mortal men, sinking into the watery depths of a sirens den, for a woman in the sea is never just a friend.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

In the dead of night, you awake to a glow. It's seemingly stretching out its arms, calling out to you.

The orange light bends and warps with the movement of the sea, the rolling waves and glaring light for the moon creating a mixture of light which creates a celestial shimmer on the scales on your tail, reflecting off of your black eyes as you turn your head up in its direction.

The muscle in your chest is pounding, muffled words running through your ears as you keep your eyes trained on the light pushing its way from the shore all to make its way to you.

A full moon is never a good thing, although, submerged in the depths of the sea, you find it difficult to make out the shape of the glowing orb in the sky.

Her light confirms your worst fear, though, your eyes struggle to make anything out.

Even at night, the coral surrounding your bed is sleeping, nature reserving its strength for another troublesome day of battling against the grubby hands of the legged folk who rule both land and sea with an iron fist.

'Don't go meddling with the folks of the land, my dear, for trouble is the only thing ye shall find.'

It's the lesson of your mother which courses through your mind, like a shock of adrenaline through the body, a dopamine which has your hands trembling while sitting in quiet contemplation.

Land folk are dangerous, maniacs who believe they can possess the land and all that walks upon it.

To own the world, you would have to be mother nature herself, even then, her presence is discounted for because one of the land folk has in abundance what she lacks: golden coins.

You're familiar with these things, these little circular items they carry on their being, sometimes in small leather pouches, recalling a few of them being in the pockets of silly sailors who though they had the right to the place you and your sisters called home.

During their time spent, they toyed with the land as though she herself can not feel, taking and taking, so much so, you feared your initial silence to their actions would have resulted in you being damned for an eternity.

They massacred most of the fish, took your food as though it was theirs to take, discounting the creatures in the surrounding water. Greedy were the city folk, both of these golden things and your food, so, you followed the rule your mother had introduced.

Holding you on her lap, she looked at you and your delicate little frame, placing her hand against the wound on your tail.

Blood drifted in the the water, swirling with the current of the water and you sniffled in your mothers lap.

How terrible the wound was, throbbing as she plucked seaweed from out of the ground, using it to cover the cut.

The wound had been the fault of the land folk; they mistook you for a fish you supposed, though your little mind really didn't care to stop and acknowledge the truth of what happened.

The hook they had caught your tail with sat beside your mother and as she picked it up, she held it before you, watching as your eyes grew wide, nearly bulging from out of your little head as you began to squirm on her lap. What a monstrous little thing that contraption was, causing such hurt when it was the size of seashell. Keeping it in your view, she shushed you, opening her mouth, showing you her pointed teeth as she cupped your face with her other hand.

'My poor Urchin,' she lamented, 'it can do no harm now; it's not in the hands of the city folk, it's in mine,' she soothed, yet, despite her words you found that your throat was clogged as you recalled the morphed faces of the men who had caught sight of you when you had been caught.

'Is it because we hurt the bad people that they're doing this to the ocean?' you quietly asked, choking out your words as the gills either side of your neck opened.

It felt as though the hook had been stuck in your throat, ripping the insides as you struggled to the words out while sitting on your mothers lap. 'Are we bad people, mama?'

'No dear, we protect the sea and do the job the Lord made for us, it is the folks on her back who are the bad people, we're submerged in her soul, you see, keeping her from harms way and the cruel games of the true beasts,' she firmly stated, 'we hide from the enemy, covered in the current of what gives life to take the lives of those who are much too greedy for this world,' she lectures, 'so you mustn't pity the land folk; if they stray too far from their home and into yours, it is your duty to keep them away.'

'Even if we hurt them?'

'A lesson taught, is a warning sent, my dear,' she sweetly said, 'for a thieves broken neck is easy to repent.'

You acted that day as your mother had intended all those years ago: cruel, brutal, and unforgiving.

By the time you had finished, the water surrounding you was branded with their blood.

You gasped and choked, spitting out chunks of sailor from out of your teeth, plucking chunks of their cotton shirt out of your mouth the remains of a fish bone; it was far too stuck for you to use your nails, no matter how sharp they are.

You cleaned your teeth, watching as the bodies with their organs descended to the bed of the ocean with their gold coins in your hands while their pockets were filled with stones.

It was payment for their crimes and in death, they paid you to keep their bodies down, away from their families, for, you thought of the children on the coast.

They very well may be human, but they are undeserving of seeing one of their own in such a way.

You felt little when as you watched them sink, and upon reflection, all you ever feel is remorse for your silence.

Had you acted sooner, well, you suppose it would have saved you a trip to the deeper part of the ocean when hunting for food.

In the midst of your exhaustion you find your thoughts again, realising in your moment of contemplation, the little light grew closer to the edge of the coast.

Placing your hands against rocks, you push yourself from out of your reserved mellow cove, cocking your head to the side as you reach your hand outwards toward an orange fleck of light which greets you with open arm.

Exiting the cave, a flurry of bubbles pour pass your lips as their chants grow louder, as though they too are underwater.

Your pointed ears twitch as you push forwards through the water.

Your eyes are heavy as you push through the water, growing closer and closer to the source of the light, the sudden shift in the brightness causing them to sting.

You keep your eyes on the mysterious glow, rubbing your face with your hand, the long nail on your pointer finger catching the edge of your lip. Hissing, you watch as a faint trail of rouge seeps from your mouth, pressing the tips of your finger into the wound. Still, your eyes are unmoving, much too interested in the glowing beyond on the water.

Then, you hear voices.

It's the voice of humans, their low grumbles, cheers and chants causing the water surrounding you to vibrate from their ferocious tongues.

'I found one papa!'

Shifting, you turn your head towards the surface.

Whatever they have found is not for their hands, you sure of that much, and your stomach grows weary.

Oh, what catastrophe are they going to muster tonight? What are they going to use for sacrifice?

Your throat begins to knot, its as though someone is pressing their hands around the gills on you neck as your mind races.

One by the ocean is one of your own. Who else would have landed up on the shore? But it can't be, no it mustn't be; they're smarter than that.

No one else is awake at this hour, you have the consciousness of only yourself and the land folk.

Why would an Urchin be so far out that the spliced fingers of man could get to her?

No, they're in their caves, keeping their ears out for the horn of a ship, or perhaps the merry song of a sailor.

As you break the surface of the water, the waves of the ocean brush against your head, rain pouring from out of the sky, The breeze against your skin rendering you breathless.

You're guilty of feeling a crude interest take hold of you as you peer towards the sure, before ultimately deciding to succumb to temptation, following through your curiosity in the hopes to find what has caused such a disturbance.

It's difficult to see, your eyes are trained for the sea, you have little experience on land and the light above is much harsher than the gentle streams beneath the surface.

As you push forward, keeping most of your body underwater, your ears are greeted with more howling.

Their's excitement seeping from off of their tongues, they're bemused with their discovery.

Perhaps it's one of their rituals; you've found, through the time you have been watching them, they're terribly fond of the sacrifice of their own. Their disregard for the very thing they grew from is disheartening, a reflection of their characters.

Their form of sacrifice is truly despicable, against the order of nature, but they do not care for their own. One could be starving at a table full of food, the very table they set, yet, forbidden from touching a single thing all because of another's self importance.

Yet, it is you and your kind who are the monsters.

It's at times like this you long for your mother.

But, with the rain battering the backs of the humans as they form a circle around their special find, you find both her absence and the shyness of the moon leaves crude goosebumps covering your body as you shift in the water.

'MONSTERS,' a silk tone calls as you grow closer and closer, yet, you are forced to stop; the tide is upset, the moon displeased at such a display of savagery.

The thing in your chest stops, your webbed hands forming fists as you crane your neck forward.

'Monsters you are! Let me go,' the voice cracks as more cheering ensues.

'Cover her mouth,' demands one, 'keep her from singing her murderous song; her voice is as sweet as honeysuckle and it is her barbed tongue which has taken our brothers from us, and we will not let it take us! This is for the men we have lost to the creatures of the sea!'

You watch as the waves grow stronger, the rain landing with a slosh against the sea.

It's difficult to keep yourself in one place, both the fire in your chest and the shoving formation of the water urging you to go forward. You know her tone, though it is shredded and brutal as she speaks, unlike the sweet songs you savour.

Serelia.

'No!' she screams, ripping her vocal cords as you see a webbed hand appear from the circle of bodies, blood dripping from down a wound you spy on her shoulder.

Gripping the sand on the shore, the waves from the water brushing against the tips of her fingers and you feel the crashing body of water forcing you forward.

'Please, we would do no harm if you did none to—'

Opening your mouth, you will a tune to escape you, to pull them away from her to give her time to return to her home. Only, your much too choked up as water floods your mouth, the foul weather proving to work in mans favour.

Pushing yourself further up, you open your mouth, letting out a ghastly wrench as a sudden flood of coldness fills your veins, pulling at your tongue, keeping it pressed against the bottom of your mouth. Your lips quiver from the temperature as you attempt to pry a tune from out of your clogged up mouth.

'I- Illuminated—' you swallow another mouthful of water.

Her hand disappears.

You watch as a hand grabs her wrist, hearing her squeal and scream.

The circle of bodies disperses as you see the ends of her tail held in the forearms of a man.

There's a fire in your eyes, a fire enough to leave the sea bloody as your scaled skin and blackened eyes catch a patch of red staining the sand.

The sea betrays you as it sweeps up, carrying away grains of the red sand as the land folk hold their torches up in celebration as blood drips down onto the sand, the ruined blue scales of your sister turning purple in the light of the moon with the mixture of blood which pours from her wounds.

You watch in horror, hands slapping against the water as you look towards the moon nestled in the sky, peering down at you.

In the light of Luna, you recall her face.

Her innocent little face, doe eyes, cheery grin, how her nose would crinkle at the slightest accusation whenever she had done something particularly troublesome. The colour of her tail, how she looked when she sat upon the rocks singing her merry songs for the passersby to listen to.

A gift for the men she was, a gift spoiled by their grubby, wretched hands.

A sister as such spoke with a silk tongue, cohesive, one of your most prized possessions. A chest of jewels from horrid humans simply never compared to the life of one of your own, nothing.

Not even their dastardly golden coins.

Your head grows light as you keep your eyes trained on the humans marching forward, the light from the sticks they carry in their hands growing weary in the distance as the wind grows stronger. It's all too much, the sight of one of your own, the knot in your throat keeps you from gulping down necessary gulps of air. You feel nauseous, an icy chill freezing the blood in your veins.

Sinking back to the depths, your hand is forced and you're kept away from the dreary sight as the current drags you back under.

In the warped complexion of the surface, you see the moon still staring at you and you bark out in fury, 'you backstabber,' you roar, 'I saw my mother in you and you have betrayed our own for keeping you safe,' you continue onwards in your fury, your face contorting as you point up towards the surface.

'She has done nothing, as innocent as an Urchin can be, and you take her? Why not me?'

The current grows displeased.

'We give our lives, all our lives... my mothers,' you heave, placing a hand against your chest, 'I know not the secrets of the land, I don't possess the means to go upon the surface, how- how do we get her back? Why? Why would you take her and not me?' you choke out.

She shifts in colour, you spy her eyes growing red as you look upwards at her. 'She does not deserve to be a part of their game, neither did my mother,' you cry, 'take me, I'm offering myself up, leave her—'

There's a pull in the current, the rolling waves above the surface plunging downwards with a spiralling head.

You meet the eye of the storm, bubbles escaping your mouth as you bring your hands to cover your face. It hooks you, pulling you into as a ton of water comes crashing down into the small pocket of air you have become trapped in.

The last thing you catch before you're senses are flooded with darkness is the red glint in Luna's eye before you descend into the abyss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

It's with the crude calls of village folk that he leaves his post.

There have been some form of disturbance for the past couple of nights, and after the first ending him standing on the shore of the town, his eyes being battered with the wind and sea, he found he has little interest in part-taking in the games of the fools. Fortunately, as he raises from his post, peering from out the window, he hears a shift behind him.

His eyes are unmoved by the chaos beyond the warning, his lids only lifting when he catches a child rushing ahead of the crowd of people.

His words are lost in the hollers of the crowd, though, he bounces with such excitement, the type that can only be likened to when a child gets money for chocolate, or even a new toy.

Only, he's acting as though he has won the biggest and best chocolate bar, his little head bobbing as he bounds down the cobble streets, his hand wrapping firmly around an elder mans wrist, tugging him along eagerly.

From behind him, he hears the scrape of a chair and a weary sigh. 'Another call for me? Swear, they cause mischief in the dark they do,' he comments with a hearty chuckle.

Turning away from the window, the red glow from the fire on the end of their torches lights emits an orange light in the room, though, the man before him is covered as stray arms of light stretch beyond his bulky frame, merely able to catch even the side of the man with a mohawk's face.

'Has Price told y' what they're up to? It's been every fuckin' night for weeks straight,' he asks, tugging down the edge of his mask, tilting his neck either side, a crude snap emitting as he does so.

The man standing in front of him offers him a toothy grin, crossing his arms over his chest with a short nod. Muscles bulge against the white cotton clinging to his frame and he readies himself by undoing the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, pushing the sleeves to the crease of his forearms.

'Apparently, they're lookin' for merfolk or somethin', y'know what Captains like, doesn't 'ave the time for stupid shit like this,' he explains, 'read too many fuckin' fairytales if y' ask me. Couple ships disappear off of the coast and they believe a fuckin' fish did it?' He breaks out into a spell of roaring laughter. 'They call 'em sirens.'

'Sirens?'

'Aye,' nods the slightly shorter man, rubbing the stubble on his face with his hand. 'Sirens,' he adds, 'lore men to their deaths with their songs they do, supposedly, prettier than any lass on the land... sounds like a story written by a man, eh? Beautiful bonnie's with a good throat on em', paradise if y' ask me,' he proceeds to laugh even harder at his own joke, kneeling over as he does so.

It takes a brief moment for him to realise the masked man standing before him is unmoved by his comments.

Awkwardly, he comes to a sudden stop as he peers up at the man, slowly adjusting his posture, using his hands against his knees to steady himself as he notes the red lights behind him have disappeared.

'Suppose I should go and fetch them back,' he quietly grumbles, 'keep an ear out though, won't ya, Ghostie? Needa make sure they don't try n' sacrifice me to the sirens!'

'Affirmative,' he says briefly, turning his attention away from him, listening to his footsteps against the floorboards as he tucks his gloved hands into his pockets. 'Johnny,' he calls out.

The footsteps stop.

'Doesn't count if I find out y' went into the water to find them yourself,' he warns, looking over as the man nods his head, 'I'll drag you back in and sacrifice y' myself.'

'Gonna take more to get rid of me than that, Lt,' he answers, pushing the door open, 'throw a pint of ale in the sea, an' maybe, just maybe you'd get what y' want,' he laughs, walking out of the door with his hand pressing on the handle of the sword sitting at his waist.

The taller man stands and watches as he disappears into the dead of night, shaking his head in his direction.

'Fuckin' hell,' he grumbles to himself before turning his attention back to the chair he'd perched himself upon, grabbing the dagger he had set down onto the table, grabbing the cloth sitting beside it before kicking his feet back up onto the table, watching as Johnny disappears past the window, heading towards the crowd of chaos.

Turning his attention back to the dagger, he eyes himself in the refection, noting the redness of his eyes before rubbing the cloth over its smudge surface. 'Lost their fuckin' mind, can never excuse shit in a reasonable,' he grumbles to himself, 'better chance of Price quitin' smoking than there is the chance of fuckin' sirens,' he continues on, lifting his head when the candle perched on his desk flickers.

'Bloody lunatics.'

As he sat in the silence of the station, he finds his mind wandering. It's unusual for his mind to ever really escape him, although, with the sight of that little boy jumping up and down in such a manner he finds it difficult to shake a niggling feeling which is poking and prodding at his temple.

His excitement was evident, that much was obvious the longer he focuses on the memory.

If such is the case, if there is truly something behind the little boys excitement, he's there, sitting on his ass, doing absolutely nothing while the man is left to deal with everything to come from whatever has been found. There's something different about the tone of the people, he sees it well.

Terror trickles in, one head at a time, passing by the window in a manic flurry.

At first, he doesn't notice, far too interested in the blade he'd pulled from the sheathe resting on his belt to see the chaos unfolding beyond the window of the station. Their words a muffled, and they seem distant as he eyes the popped blood vessels in the white of his eyes. Moving the metal closer to his masked face, he narrows his eyes, rubbing the cloth over the blade again.

The door bursts open, and while unnerved, outwardly he remains still, snapping his head around.

The man who had left no more than fifteen minutes ago is back, his face wind swept and pale as he heaves out heavy breaths, keeping his arm firmly against the door.

His white shirt is soaked through to the skin, the pinkness of his flesh peeking out from under the fabric, his calf high boots marked with wet sand, crunching as he steps a single foot into the Station, not daring to take one more.

It's easy to read his face, though he finds his brow creasing as he realises that the very look on his face is fear.

Immediately he stands up from his seat, the flame of the candle beside him flickering as he does so. Tossing the cloth onto the table, he sheathes his knife, grabbing his coat from off of the back of his chair, throwing it over his shoulders.

'What?' he asks, 'a fight break out or somethin'? Look like you've seen a ghost,' he breaths.

Johnny doesn't offer him a response for a moment, only looking up towards him with wide eyes, unable to pick his jaw up from off of the ground.

'Fucks sake, Johnny, what—'

'Siren,' he says quietly.

It's difficult to catch what he says with the rain hitting the window and street beyond the office. His lips curve into a crooked smile beneath his mask as he shakes his head.

Sirens? Is he fucking stupid?

The expression on his face doesn't change, even when he hears the small laugh escaping the confines of his mask.

'A lass was on the shore n' she has a fuckin' tail!' he exclaims, pushing himself up after catching his breath, 'tail blue as the sea, eyes black as the void... they bloody exist.'

'And where is she now? She go back into the water to swim off with her friends, hm?' he asks, 'ride away on the back of a horse with a horn on its forehead and wings too?' he scoffs, shrugging his jacket off, only for a hand to reach out, grabbing his forearm.

'Still on the beach.'

'The beach?'

'Aye.' he says, 'ran as fast as I could, woke Price 'n Kyle up, 'told them they had to get to the beach quick. If they keep hold of her, they're gonna kill her- she's a bloody mess, cryin' and screamin'.'

He pinches himself to make sure he's still awake while staring at the soaked man. In no way can he find a single thought in his mind at this moment to make anything make sense.

In fact, he feels a prickling heat flooding his flesh the longer he stands and processes what has just been relayed to him.

They're real, they're real and they have found one.

Despite the implications, it's difficult for him to miss the worry in his tone, and while what they deem to be a monster has just appeared off the coast of Lakekeep, he's still worrying about its safety.

'We have to go, they're gonna kill 'er, Ghost.'

Fixing his coat, he looks down at the dagger resting at his hip, giving a short nod as the man lets go of his arm.

'Price and Gaz followin' along?' he asks.

'Aye, didn't believe me at first,' confesses the man with a short laugh, 'still can't believe it meself and I've seen it with my own eyes,' he says, stepping back out into the rain.

Ghost follows after him, slamming the door of the Station shut as the head down the cobbled path, their boots splashing in the puddles forming in the tight streets as the rain hits the ground harder.

Their chants carry through the village, washing over the usual silence like a tidal wave, flooding his senses with cries and pleads.

As they edge closer, he can hardly believe it as a woman's voice bellows out, 'MONSTERS!'

It's brittle and broken the way she cries, and oddly, he feels that the voice tugs at his heartstrings.

'Mustn't listen to her speak, Lt,' he says, 'what they said is true, apparently the boy found her on the shore and when he approached her, he heard her hummin' a tune- said it had him in a trance,' Johnny says, looking to him.

'Monsters you are! Let me go!'

Stepping down off of the stone steps, the pair of the pursued the scene, hearing stray voices fall from out of the crowd, demanding that her mouth be covered in order for them to fulfil some form of revenge. Watching on, he catches the appearance of a bloody webbed hand poking out from the crowd, landing against the shore with a wet slap.

It's as though she's reaching out for something.

Following the line of her forearm, he watches as the sea climbs up the shore, touching the tips of her fingers as she continues to scream and cry.

Moving his attention from off of the beach, he looks to the water, eyeing the crashing waves as the wind sweeps the fabric of his long black coat to the side. The water is restless, and with the rain pouring from the black sky, it's difficult to make much out that isn't just raging water.

Although, in the glow of the torches which whip and wind in the wind, the light covers a fair distance beyond land, and he spots something in the water. In the darkness, it's difficult to make out more than a silhouette of what appears to be a human head. Only, after another crashing wave, he catches sight of pointed ears either side of the head.

Something is watching them, yet no one sees it.

'No!'

The scream from the centre of the crowd rips him out from his trance as he turns his head, following after Johnny.

'Please, we would do no harm if you did none to us. Please, let me go!' she screams with all her might, her voice piercing to the ears of everyone in the surrounding area.

The crowd dips as they shift, covering their ears with a harsh wince.

Finally, she's unveiled to him.

A gash in her head is pouring blood down her bare breasts as she fights and writhes against the hold of the hold of the men who keep her captive. Her ginger hair is matted and covered with the blood and sand, as is the rest of her body.

The slits on the side of her neck, similar to the ones on a fishes body open and close as she lets out muffled cries.

His eyes trail further down her battered body, the sight of a blue tail stained with blood greeting his gaze. In the light, it appears almost purple as the blood mixes with the shimmer of her scales.

Screwing her eyes shut, she fights with all the fury in her being, and as he watches her, he feels the same heat he felt at the station creeping back onto him, and despite the harshness of the weather, the warmth beaming from his skin is enough to keep him from shivering.

'Alright, move out of the fuckin' way!'

It's the voice of his Captain bursting through the chaos of the surrounding area.

Turning to look over his shoulders, he catches sight of Price and Gaz walking down the beach, and with ease, Price holds his hands up, his words catching the attention of the the booming crowd.

Silence falls upon them, the sirens cries mixing with the crashing sound of the ocean. The man moves past both himself and Johnny, Gaz standing between the pair of them as he parts the crowd with an astonishing ease.

The gasp that passes his lips when making it to the centre is enough to make even his blood run cold.

There's a moment of silence, the sound of the torches whipping against the wind as he keeps his eyes trained on the back of his Captains head.

Clearly, the cogs are turning, expecting what Johnny had told him to be that of a stupid joke, only, it isn't.

It's real and it's squirming around on the ground, staring Price right in the eyes.

'She's a murderer!' a voice shouts from the crowd, 'her and her people, she said it herself,' the continue on, fury carrying their tone past the cries of the woman on the ground.

Price continues to look at her, and as he looks over his shoulder, catching his eye, he turns back to the woman on the ground.

'Take her in,' he says with a firm nod, 'we'll put her in a cell in the Station for now, figure out what to do with her later,' he continues, looking at the two men who held her arms, 'carry her back to the Station,' he rules, resting his hands on his hips as he observes all the other faces in the crowd, 'as for the rest of y', funs over for tonight, get back home,' he demands.

'We'll take it from here. '

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You awake with a brittle moan.

Your mouth is full of send, a dull ache radiating from your chin as your forehead creases when you look ahead of yourself. You teeth bite down on the sand in your mouth, a disgusting crunch causing you to wince.

Memories are stubborn, not wanting to come back to you, only allowing you to recall the sight of blood on the beach and the crashing waves around you.

With a grunt, you attempt to push yourself up off of the ground, a grunt escaping you as your breasts push against the sand. Tearing your eyes from off of the beach in front of you, you shiver as you feel the water wash up, brushing against your limbs.

Looking to your hands, a startled gasp escapes you as you hold one out in front of your face. No longer are they webbed, no, instead, your fingers are separated. Curling your hand around the dark sand before you, you clench it in your fists, watching as it poured past it. Your hips ache as you shift, placing your cheek back against the sand.

Your head is spinning, you can't think of a single thing aside from the fact that your mouth is dry, horrifically dry.

You muster up what little spit you can, expelling grains of sand as the spit clings the your bottom lip, dribbling down the side of your mouth.

The water moves further up, and as you go to move your tail, you're startled by the sound of footsteps on the beach beside you, only, you're too tired to even check who it is.

I've failed as a sister, so if I must go out like this, then I will.

'Ma'am! Oh fuck, ma'am, are you okay?'

The tone is light, different to what you expected to hear counting you have washed up onto the very same coast you had seen Serelia on the night before... if it was even the same day as her disappearance, that is.

The sand crunches beside you as a shadow looms over you, keeping you from the brutal beams of the sun, a hand pressing against your shoulder.

Picking your head up, you muster out a pained whimper as you look at the man in front of you. Concern is etched on his brow as he stares down at you, shrugging off a piece of clothing, resting it against your shoulders.

Your eyes are narrow as you keep your eyes trained on him, unable to look anywhere else as he carefully places his hand against your cheek.

'Can you tell me your name?' he gently asks.

You swallow hard, your chapped and cracked lips pressing together.

Your eyes grow heavy.

You hear another curse under his breath as exhaustion rattles your body. Your head falls heavy and his hold on you slips away, gently placing your head back against the ground. You hope he leaves you be, allows the sea to swallow you whole so you can be with your own once again.

Two firm hands press against your shoulders, gently guiding so you're lying on your back.

His shadow keeps the sun from you once again as he scoops you up into his arms, keeping a firm grip around your shoulders and tail. his hand slips slightly as he uses his jacket to cover your breasts, and you shift when you feel his hand move lower, being extra cautious to cover up your tail.

His breathing is rough as he rushes up the beach with you in his arms, every step causing you to shift or hiss.

'Sorry, love,' he softly apologises, pulling you closer. You note how his pace slows upon him noticing the pain he's causing you by running, 'do you know where we are?' he asks, looking down at you.

Cracking your eyes open, the back of your neck burns as you attempt to look back at him. Poking your tongue past your lips, sand scrapes against the back of your throat as you open your mouth, all for a hoarse croak to escape your lips.

'Have to get you somethin' to drink,' he says firmly, 'you're okay now, love, I promise,' he reassures, pulling you closer to him.

You muster up a short 'hm', resting your head against his chest, listening to the little muscle in it thumping as he heads up the stairs, taking your further away from the beach.

The pair of you remain in silence and you hear the passing giggles and whispers of passersby as he keeps you against him.

You're unsure of what they're saying, though you're sure they're most likely laughing at your tail.

It's surprising hearing such a humorous reaction from them, figuring they would respond in a similar manner to how they did when you had heard Serelia screaming on the shore.

Mustering up a grunt, you flinch as your body is lightly pressed into a door. It squeals as it opens, and the very first thing you hear is a booming voice. It causes the dull ache in your head to worsen as you flinch.

'Am tellin' ye, it's straight out of a fuckin' fairytale it is,' booms the voice, 'can y'—'

There's silence.

Your eyes crack open as you observe the room you're in.

It's different to home, there's a rich smell, similar to the smoke from the lights on the beach.

'Found her on the beach,' confesses the man holding you, 'Johnny, go get some water, please,' he asks, 'she's got a mouthful of sand, she can hardly speak.'

There's a short answer, you can't quite hear it, as he moves you further into the room, setting you down.

Your damp hair hits the plush fabric of a pillow and something is pulled over your body. It's light, harmless.

'Where was she?' asks an unfamiliar voice. It's low, his accent is thick and as you turn your head to the side, you note the man has a thick brown beard, his hair quite short. Stepping towards you, he rests his large hand on your forehead. 'She's burning up.'

'She was near the same spot as last night where that... siren was,' he says.

It's as though life is breathed into you as you quickly sit up, ignoring the dizziness wrecking your mind. The man quickly pulls his hand from off of your forehead, moving it to your shoulder. 'Calm down, love,' he gently instructs, looking to the man standing beside you, 'you reckon she was attacked by it?'

'Could have been; she seems shaken,' he confirms.

Confusion hits you as you lift your tail, only to find that is has vanished.

As you lift your legs, a distraught gasp escapes you as you catch sight of legs.

Two legs- the same as the three men in the room have.

Quickly, you slap your hands to the side of your ears, your chest heaving as you realise your ears have shrunk, resembling that of the legged folk. Everything seems to come tumbling down in front of you, your head pounding as your eyes begin to sting.

'Hey, hey, you're fine,' hushes the man who found you on the beach. The door opens again and a cup of water is handed to him. Taking a seat beside on the bed beside you, he brings to the cup to your mouth. 'Have a drink,' he instructs.

You want to tell him no, to demand to know what they have done to her, yet, you know you can't do anything until you have something to drink.

So, you press your dry lips against the rim of the cup, allowing him to pour it into your mouth. The feeling is euphoric, unlike any sensation you've ever dreamt of, and you eagerly swallow down mouthful after mouthful of water, taking the cup in your own hands.

You're aware of the eyes on you, but you don't care, drinking from the cup until it is empty. With heaving breaths, your wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, keeping tight hold of the cup.

A hand settles against your knee, and as you look back up, the man who was sitting in the corner is now standing behind the two closest to the bed. You note the man who brought you water has an odd haircut, while the much taller man's face is completely covered aside from his eyes.

It's strange, the fabric of a thick hood pulled over is head, his eyes peering through the holes of a skull.

Is that real?

'Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean to upset you,' says the brown-haired man, squeezing your bare shoulder.

You look at him with your lips pressed together, bringing the cup closer to you as you swallow hard.

Despite his caring words, you find yourself unable to open your mouth- unable to trust him. He's going to hurt you if he finds out what you are, then what? You're forever bound to their land?

'What's the last thing you can remember before you washed up on shore?' he asks.

You look at him with beady eyes, and the man with his hand on your knee pats you gently, 'you're safe here, we're not gonna hurt you,' he reassures. 'You seemed panicked when we mentioned the mermaid, does it have something to do with her- or more of them?'

Your mind is racing trying to piece together a narrative.

Confirmation that she was the thing that put you in such danger will surely be a death sentence- if she isn't already dead. Living with that on your consciousness is a horrid thought to even think of, so, you distance yourself away from creating an accusation, though you find yourself in trouble as you realise how you reacted to the mention of her.

Essentially, you've acted on impulse and no matter the response, you're unsure if it's going to suffice.

'I- I...' you begin, your throat burning as you bring your hand up to clasp it, 'I was on a ship,' you answer, 'I remember it in water- b- but then there was a storm,' you explain, your voice choppy and broken as you rub your hand up and down your throat finding that even your gills have disappeared. 'The siren,' you begin, clearing your throat, 'she tried to help me.'

'Help you?' mutters the one with a strange haircut. 'How'd she do that, lass?'

'I- I was stuck,' you say, 'I couldn't get out an' she tried to, uh, pull me out,' you explain, 'but she got hurt- it might not even be the same one but... there was one, a good one,' you explain, gulping hard as the masked man standing beside the man with his hand on your shoulder shifts on his feet, his eyes burning into your flesh, the sunken eyes behind the skill mask leaving goosebumps on your flesh.

He's harsher than last nights current.

Keeping your eyes trained on the man, you observe him as he peers down at you, his built frame making you feel small. Most definitely, you do not want to get on his bad side; he could probably crush you with one hand.

'Couldn't have been the same mermaid,' he answers, his tone causing your chest to almost rattle, 'took an entire night for you to even wash up here, you wouldn't have survived if it was her,' he notes, the others around you shaking their heads in a collective agreement.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, you feel blood coursing through your veins as you look up at him with teary eyes.

Your bottom lip protrudes as water begins to pour from your eyes. It's unlike anything you've ever felt, and, despite your burning eyes, you find the sensation oddly relieving.

You throat grows tight as you sharply inhale, allowing the cup to rest against the covers as you press the tips of your fingers into your cheeks.

A hiccup escapes your lips as your mouth trembles, all the misery of being lost and having lost escaping you in a cathartic sob that causes your entire body to shake.

'I- I don't know where I am, I- I'm scared,' you confess as more water clings to your eyelashes in little droplets, clinging on, only for their grip to fall loose as you blink, releasing more fresh streams onto your flesh.

Releasing a hand off of your shoulder, the man stationed beside you looks to the man who has his hand on you knee, 'you think you can go and get her some clothes? Poor things on show for the entire village to see,' he says. The man purses his lips for a moment, 'she's gotta have something that she doesn't want.'

'Has so many fuckin' dresses she won't even notice one has gone missing,' he says, standing up from off of the bed, 'I'll go and try and find something, as long as I don't take her cyan one I don't think she'll be too bothered,' he shrugs, 'keep an eye on her for me, won't you?' he asks, looking at the three.

The man with the peculiar haircut places his hand against his shoulder, patting it, 'she's in the best hands of the entire village,' he reassures, 'go an' find the lass some clothes, Gaz, we'll kep 'er safe,' he promises.

Gaz. What an odd name.

The rest of their conversation is lost on you as you're far too caught up in the tightness in your chest and the sounds of the screams you heard on the beach the night before to even think about anything else.

Only, when the door shuts, you startle at the sound of the slam, snapping your head up.

'MacTavish, I need you on patrol today,' says the brown-haired man. The disappointment on his face is notable as his eyebrows curl, 'everyone's on edge with the entire mermaid incident, the last thing I need I people trying to cause more trouble or almost drownin' going to find one of their own,' he says, 'speaking 'f which, need to go and check on her myself, make sure the head wound isn't goin' green,' he huffs, turning to the masked man standing behind him. 'Keep an eye out on her,' he states, turning his attention back to you.

Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to bathe in your emotion as you come to terms with the fact that she's alive.

Your eyes meet with his, your heart burning at the sight of pity burning in his gaze.

If things were any different, you very well would have wiped the soft smile off of his face, but you look at your options and his uniform, likening it to one your mother had described to you in the past.

'They like to think they have control, dress up in clothes just to make the isolation of their species more capable,' she explained while sitting in upon one a rock. You accompanied her, looking at her. She had such knowledge of the world beyond the water that you were simply awestruck with every story she told you. 'Fabric makes people listen, they're scared of the people with the golden buttons and sharp metal swords.'

'If you need anything, ask him and he'll get it for you,' he asks, looking over his shoulder at the man.

His tone grows harsher upon the mention of him doing his duty, your eyes falling to the man.

'Won't you, Ghost?

The masked man grabs the chair he was sitting on when you first entered the room, moving it as the brown-haired man and MacTavish move in the direction of the door. The chair settles at the side of your bed, as the pair move towards the door.

'Affirmative,' he grunts, taking a seat beside you while the two leave the Station, leaving you alone with the masked man called Ghost.

You look at him briefly, swallowing hard.

It's difficult to sit in silence, your stammering breath a reminder of all you've lost.

Beady eyes look at the masked man as you attempt to choke up the courage to say something to him. Despite sitting, his frame is much bigger than anyone else's you have ever seen, and as he leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, you flinch.

'Where's the mermaid?' you ask.

You watch his eyes scan the area surrounding you.

The fabric of his black mask moves as he sucks in a breath, 'can't say,' he confesses, 'confidential; unsure if anyone is listening out to try an' find her. If word gets out where she is, she'd be dead by tonight- if not sooner,' he explains.

'Why do they want her dead? Has she done something to you?'

You want to scream.

The man beside you is short with his responses, speaking of her as though he understands the whole picture, when in reality, their confinement of her is a crime punishable by death.

'She said somethin' she should've have,' he answers simply.

His words drag against his throat as he speaks to you.

'Oh,' you muster, resting your back against the wall behind you.

'Where were you goin'?' he asks.

You raise an eyebrow in his direction, tilting your head as you attempt to process what exactly he means by his statement.

'You said you were on a boat and you were rescued by one of the sirens,' he reminds you, your face flushing with colour as you realise you have already forgotten the tale you were twisting.

'I was with my sister,' you say, 'the memory is quite fuzzy,' you confess, knowing your knowledge of the surrounding land is limited to a map of the sea, not what is beyond it. 'It was for one of her trips, she was travelling to see her husband and then the storm hit.'

'The sea isn't too fond of forgiveness,' he remarks.

'Neither is the land,' you say, falling back into the security of the covers over you, allowing your back to slip from off of the wall, lying down.

Pushing himself up, he looks down at you, mustering a small hug as you sleeping exhale.

All the emotion and crying has your eyes drooping, disregarding your conversation. The man doesn't judge you for that, however, as you watch him looking over you with gentle eyes behind the mask.

'Get some sleep,' he says.

You expect him to say more to that, yet, instead, he pulls his chair from beside you, moving to it back to the corner he was sitting in before.

You keep your eyes on his broad back, watching as he sits down, kicking his feet up on to the desk, keeping his eyes out of the window.

Your eyes stay there as you drift off to sleep.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

When the door eventually bursts open, he's quick to send his eyes in the direction of Gaz as he walks through it with a bundle of garments. His mouth is open as he goes to speak, only to quickly shut his mouth when he is eyes falls to you, sleeping in the cot.

Holding the handle of the door, he pushes it shut so the lock clicks as quietly as possible, even going as far as to wince while doing so.

'I managed to find some clothes for her,' he says, 'not sure if I'm going to be a single man when she gets home, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.'

Setting the clothes down on the desk, Ghost stands up, picking the green cotton frock up from off of the table holding it out.

'I've never seen her in it,' Kyle says, 'don't even think she remembers having the thing, so she can't be upset about it if she completely forgot it existed, right?'

'Affirmative,' Ghost responds, 'wouldn't be too sure about it, though. She has an eye for the strangest things,' he warns, to which he laughs.

'You're right with that,' he says, 'I saw the Captain while I was out, he was comin' back from checking on the siren, told me to ask you if you're alright taking the girl in until she can remember what day it is; we can't leave her alone.'

He feels his chest tighten as he looks to you, seeing you peaceful sleep as you turn under the covers, your bare arm over your covered torso. 'You're the only one without someone... not too sure how—'

'I'll do it,' he says keeping his eyes trained on you.

Kyle looks at him with wide eyes.

'Well, she has no money does she? Not like an inn keeper is gonna give up a room for her, and I don't want to pay out of pocket to house her when she can just stay at my place.'

The man in front of him grins brightly.

'She'll hardly be any trouble, I'm sure of it,' he reassures, leaning against the desk, 'did she say anything else to you after I left?'

'She was with her sister on a ship heading somewhere to meet her sisters husband and that's then a storm hit and the ship was swallowed by the sea,' he says, 'she didn't say much, too out of it to really make much sense of the world around her.'

'Poor thing,' Gaz sighs, looking at Ghost, 'be nice to her, hey?'

'Wasn't planning on bein' cruel to her.'

'Good, good,' Kyle nods, 'Price told me to tell you that y' can have the rest of the day off if you get her out of the station, by the way. Take her home, get her something proper to eat and see if she wants to talk about it- he's sending something out to other villages to see if they have anyone who fits her description.'

'Doubt there'll be any news back for a while,' he says, approaching you, 'they don't care much for their own.'

His hand rests upon your shoulder and you grunt.

'I'll leave you to it,' Gaz calls from behind Ghost, 'gonna go and try and catch up with Johnny on patrols, doubt my lady would be too pleased with seein' another girl naked,' he chuckles, heading towards the door.

Waiting until the door is closed, Ghost proceeds to crouch down in front of you, rough hand nudging you again.

Your eyes crack open, a startled gasp escaping as you're greeted with the sight of his bone mask right in front of your face.

He feels you tense in his hands.

'Didn't mean to scare you,' he says, 'got you some clothes to keep people from starin' at you love, and then you're coming back to my place,' he explains.

His voice is softer than the tone he held with you prior and you swallow hard.

'Your place,' you croak, your face burning red from the sudden scare from your sleep.

'Yeah; until you're back on your feet and until that head of yours start workin' you're gonna have to stay here,' he explains, 'Price has sent messages out to local villages, see if any family members pick it up.'

Your face falters.

You're going to be here a while.

'Gaz got you some clothes,' he says, motioning over to the table.

Pushing yourself up, you manage to move your legs so your feet are planted against the floor. Ghost averts his eyes away from you, turning away. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you look at the ground at your feet.

Surely it's not that difficult.

Pushing your self up off of the bed, you take a short breath, your legs wobbling as you land back onto the bed.

Despite being gifted the ability of legs, you find it quite pointless that you cannot use them. The water is much easier to navigate than the land is, that much you're sure of.

Looking up at the man in front of you, you let out a small breath.

'Can you help me?' you ask.

He doesn't bother saying anything to you, simply walking over to the table with the dress on it, it's an ugly green colour and you catch yourself grimacing at the fabric. Though, as soon as his eyes are on you, the sneer on your face fades away.

He's rough in the way he pulls the dress over your head, though you manage to get your arms through the sleeves with ease. It's an odd feeling, feeling the fabric against your skin, the elastic cuffs of the sleeves clinging to your arms.

Helping you to your feet, you stagger forward, your face growing red as you grab his arms for some form of support. Yet, he doesn't move, he doesn't even flinch, busying himself with pulling the skirt down, it stopping mid-thigh.

Your legs tremble as you wince, you grip growing tighter on him as you fight to stay on your feet.

'Guess I haven't quite found my footing after the accident,' you awkwardly laugh, wishing to be relieved of this torture.

Your face is beat red as you continue to curse the moon for putting you in such a position, cursing the your words during that night.

Leading you back down onto the bed, you're quick to let go of his arms as he looks at you. He knows you're not going to be able to walk to his house, and he fights off the urge to huff.

There's something so simple yet so difficult about the task... he's a fucking lieutenant in the village guard and he's been put on babysitting duties.

Be nice to her, hey?

Kyle's voice is like a dagger through his skull, and even though you can't see his face under the mask, he musters up a tight-lipped smile, swallowing all his pride for himself and his position.

'I'll carry you.'

Neither of you are happy about this, though a tight-lipped smile of your own appears on your face.

'Great... thanks.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

His home is humble, quaint, tucked away in a quiet pocket of town.

Pushing open the door, he tilts his head towards the entrance of the house. With uneasy feet, you wobble as you take a step up into his house, his hand grabbing your forearm when you nearly loose balance.

During the course of your travels, you had fought against him, insisting after catching people staring at you for him to put you down and let you walk freely.

At first, he doesn't listen, keeping his eyes trained on the path in front of him, though, fortunately, he relented after you started to squirm in his arms.

It was difficult at first, but you got the hang of it... as long as his arm was around your waist.

It finds its way back around your waist for a short moment as he helps you up the steps.

'Careful,' he utters.

'Thanks,' you respond, holding the sides of the doorframes as you walk into the living room.

It's a quaint and simple little space, although, your cove is much better than this place. Yet, you suppose you cannot be picky while undercover, his hospitality rendering you speechless.

The mystery of the red moon and her tide is still very much fresh and new, you know you must not do something to compromise your safety or your chances of finding Serelia.

Even if it is resulting in you finding shelter in a man with a skull masks home.

Pulling his hood from off of his head head, he shrugged his cloak from off of his shoulders, hanging it up on a wooden stand placed beside the door.

You stand and watch, your arms pressed to your side, still trying to understand how exactly humans manage to stand so straight on their legs.

He turns to look at you, you see his eyes shift under his mask, 'it's not much, and you're going to have to be okay with sleeping on the couch.'

'Much more than what I have right now,' you respond with a soft smile on your face.

'Thank you, Ghost,' you say

'Of course,' he says with a short nod, 'you can help yourself to whatever you want, all I ask from you is to keep out of my room.'

'I can do that,' you reassure, nodding your head.

He doubts you'll even be able to climb the stairs as he can only liken the way you're walking to that of a baby deer learning how to walk for the first time.

He can't complain however; it's entertaining to watch you, and he does so as you make your way over to your new bed, holding your arms out either side to balance yourself before toppling onto the couch with a large exhale.

Sometimes his limited compassion still manages to get him into terrible situations, and as he looks at you, he can't help but worry about what he has gotten himself in for.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

After spending some necessary time in his home, you eventually find your feet... both literally and figuratively.

It's difficult for you to stay confined to the four walls of his house, granted, you don't really do much and find joy during your first day there reading through an old shabby collection of books on his shelf.

There's nothing interesting, and you're unsure as to whether or not he himself has read any of them as when you open one, you sneeze from the amount of dust covering it.

It's a fun past time you find, especially during the few attempts of being more steady on your feet. The moon must have heard your complaints as, during the second day, you're nearly unstoppable, aside from the burning in your calves each time you take a step forward.

By the third day, you're almost sprinting out of the house into the village.

It's difficult to adjust to first.

The land is unknown to you, yet, you don't threat.

Instead, you search the village high and low, walking into every store, listening to every conversation of the locals in the village. You feel your skin crawl whenever you hear their laughter, though, it's as though talk of the siren has disappeared completely.

From spending time reading in the library to simply perusing the streets, you're wounded by the lack of information.

Why isn't anyone talking about her? Surely they know where she is; humans hate us and they'll want us gone for the issues we've caused.

The question follows you for a while, only stopping when you see the door open during your fifth night of staying inside Ghost's home.

He appears tired and as his hand moves to his cloak, he quickly stops himself from pulling it down when he sees you in front of him.

It's an odd thing, you've observed him over the past few days, and not once has he shown his face.

Still, you don't care for his habits as you open your mouth over dinner after swallowing a mouthful of food. Your hands is grabbing for the water next to your plate as you state, 'how come no one in town is mentioning the siren anymore?'

He looks at you, chewing under his mask which he holds up after each bite. 'Price has made it a rule,' he states, 'Lords out of town right now on business, until he comes back, we have to hold her per his request,' he explains, 'we've gotta keep her safe and if anyone is heard discussin' her, he's treating it as though it's treason.'

You offer a short nod, going back to eating your food.

'Why?' he eventually asks.

'I just thought, with something as big as this discovery, it would be the talk of the town for years,' you say, 'I thought it was strange, that's all.'

The look he gives you makes you think that he doesn't quite believe what you're saying to him, though, he doesn't press on the matter, going back to eating his dinner.

It's strange to spend time with a human, especially living with them.

He doesn't speak much, only really talking to you at dinner time or greeting you after returning from his shifts around the village to make sure everything is in check.

'You can take the mask off, you know,' you say, observing his discomfort, 'your identity doesn't make a difference to me, besides... this is your home,' you say softy.

Truthfully, the mask is just as much as an annoyance to him as it is to you.

Surprisingly, he listens to your words, pulling the mask tied around the back of his head off of his face allowing you to see his mouth.

Really, he does even know why he committed so long to wearing the stupid thing, growing especially frustrated as dinner grew to be more of a chore than something of enjoyment.

Old habits die hard, he supposes, and the habit of wearing around you died that night thanks to your comment.

While eating, he attempts to ignore your eyes on him, though he is far too aware that you're staring at him, not missing the way your cheeks have a light tinge of red to them.

Grinning to himself, he shakes his head at a crude thought that suddenly pops into his mind, narrowing his eyes as he lifts his head to look at you.

You drop your head immediately, focusing much more on your food than on him, though your embarrassment is difficult to miss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Simon seems warmer to you after you've been at his house for a little longer. The longer time passes by, the more trips you're taking to the ocean.

It started with one in the early morning, although, you find yourself walking there at the beginning of every day all to talk to the waves, hoping you'll see the familiar face of one of your sisters in the water. Yet, you don't.

Part of you is happy with this fact, not wanting them to see you in such a state wearing the ugly green frock, the only thing you own aside from a pair of sandals which Ghost brought with him upon returning from a shift.

On occasion, you bump into one of the men you saw when you first stop at the station. You learn that MacTavish's name is actually Johnny, and Gaz, the man who found you on the beach, is named Kyle.

They stop to talk to you for a while, sometimes walking with you to the beach where they speak with you.

Nothing interesting really comes from the conversations until, a month into your stay in the village, Johnny blabbers a little too much.

'He enjoys your company, bonnie,' he confesses after complimenting your new pink dress Simon bought you, 'was telling me that he's enjoying giving you little gifts and having you with him for dinner. I'm tellin' you, he like you more than you think.'

'How can he like me when I don't do anything but steal his food and sleep on his couch?'

'Couldn't tell ya, lass, strange man is our Simon.'

You hold your breath.

'Simon?' you ask slowly, a smile creeping on your face.

He slaps a hand over his mouth, his face growing red.

'His names Simon?' you ask, craning your neck forward to look at the blushing mans face.

'Forget I said anything,' he demands, rubbing his face with his hand. 'Please,' he almost begs. 'What I mean to say, lass, is that he does like you, and if you haven't thought of doing something for him, maybe consider it.'

His words follow you into the nighttime as you're helping Simon cook.

It's been something you've been doing for a while, intrigue taking you down the strangest path.

'My mum used to make this soup,' he explains, 'the recipe for it is somewhere, I don't know where it's gone though. It was great for nights like there.'

You hear a bell chime in your ears, thinking back to Johnny's words. Simon doesn't miss the smile on your face.

'What? What did I say?'

'Nothing, Sim-'

You freeze.

The pair of you stare at each other.

'Ghost, I mean Ghost!' you exclaim, holding your hands up, realising that you have most definitely gotten poor Johnny in a hell of a lot of trouble.

'Johnny told you didn't he?'

'He slipped up while he was talking to me today, he didn't mean it and I'm sorry if-'

'Say my name,' he cuts you off quickly and your eyebrows furrow.

'Simon?'

He grins to himself, turning his head away acting as though you have just done him the greatest act of service. 'I like how it sounds when you say it,' he says, going back to chopping up the vegetables, 'much better than Ghost.'

Redness spreads to your cheeks as you admire the look of joy on his face, finding that you want to do that more in order to see that look on his face.

So, as you're eating dinner that night, and even when you're lying on the sofa, you scheme like a criminal.

You toss and turn before you eventually get up and begin your search. Holding a lit candle, your eyes scan through his shelves looking high and low.

You spend what must be hours flicking through books, moving things, looking under the sofa, attempting to squint your eyes to look through floorboard before you find it tucked between the countertop and stove in the kitchen.

Only then can you rest easy, your eyes closing as you think about the mission you have got to complete tomorrow.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Walking through the bustling village main street, you listen to the bright tunes of the surrounding marketplaces, small stalls on either corner of the street, pushing everyone on the main road closer together.

You brush shoulders with a few people, keeping your arms out in front of you as you walk with a basket in front of you, the gold coins Simon has given you per your request rattling in your other hand.

It's rare you're outside as you spend most of your times in the library or back at Simon's home. Though nothing is going to stop you from making Simon the soup he mentioned last night.

Your heart flutters at the thought of how much he has done for you, and as a form of a thank you, you're going through the crumpled up recipe you stole from out of his kitchen, going to different stalls to get the things you need for the recipe.

The trip renders you exhausted, and by the time you're back at his house, you're fighting against sleep as you chop up the vegetable, putting them into the pot. You're unsure if you're doing it right, although, the longer you leave it to simmer, the more it takes the shape of something edible... you suppose.

You keep it on the stove until you hear the door open, and whether or not it tastes good, you're fine enough with the delightful smell that is exuding from the pot on the stove, looking in the direction of the door as it opens and Simon steps into the room.

'You're back,' you cheer, dropping the wooden spoon in the pot, approaching him.

The door shuts and he pulls his takes his hat from off of his head, pulling off his mask.

A crooked smile greets your eyes.

'What's all this?' he asks, his arms resting on your shoulders. It's common now, him touching you, and you sink into his hold on you with a sigh.

'Well, I thought you'd appreciate me making dinner for you,' you say sweetly, grabbing his hands, pulling him through into the kitchen, motioning to the table set. 'Also, you mentioned the old recipe your mum used to make for you, so, I thought I'd try my hand at it, see if I'm a good cook or not.'

He lets out a small ‘hm' as he grabs two bowls from out of the cupboards, placing them down on the countertop beside the stove. His hand hand is touching the small of your back as he grabs hold of the wooden spoon you left in the pot, tugging down the black mask covering his nose and mouth.

You watch, holding your breath as you await his reaction.

'Is it terrible?' you quietly as, looking on his face for any form of reaction, yet, he's unmoved. 'We can get something else to eat if it's really terrible,' you offer, pushing down the cuticles on your nails as you keep your eyes on him.

Setting the spoon back into the pot, he exhales. 'Needs a tad bit more salt, sweetheart,' he gently says, 'but considering this is your first time making it, I think you've done a pretty good job, hey?'

You can't stop yourself from smiling at his gentle words, feeling the warmth of his large hand pressing against your back as he reaches beside the stove, grabbing a salt shaker. 'A little more practice and I think I'm going to have my own personal chef,' he comments, adding some more salt into the soup.

Grabbing the spoon, you stir the mixture, scooping up another spoonful, holding it out to him with your hand underneath it, 'how's it now?'

His eyes are on you as he places his mouth against the spoon.

'Much better,' he says with a smile, 'go sit down, I'll do this.'

'Are you sure?' you ask, feeling him move his hand from off of your back. He gives you a short nod.

'Don't want you to burn yourself, go sit down.'

Over dinner, you share brief words, but it is in the silence and the company of him that you find you're most at peace.

There's nothing from either of you, and you take time to eat the soup you have been working on all day. It's okay, a little on the watery side, and you do think that Simon is still definitely a much better cook that you.

He thinks the soup tastes a tad funny, but he doesn't say it to you.

Such thoughts leave the pair of you to sit together, silently thinking about each other, yet not having the heart to disrupt the peaceful silence.

After dinner, you attempt to help him clean up, only, he refuses your help, requesting you stay in the living room.

'Simon you always do stuff for me,' you whine with a huff, 'let me help you- washing a dish isn't gonna kill me, y'know?

'I have a surprise for you and you're not going to get it if you keep going against what I've asked of you,' he warns, 'be a good girl for me, yeah? Go sit down, I'll be right through and you can have your gift.'

Suddenly, it's like your legs don't work anymore.

Knees almost buckling at his words, you gulp hard, managing out a short breath as you nod your head, not saying another word to him as you approach the living room, taking a seat on the plush sofa, sinking into one of the many black cushions.

Pressing your face into your cupped hands, you fight off the urge to scream at the very fact he only has to speak to you and you melt like butter in a pan.

Death would be easier than this.

Eventually, he reappears holding a box in his hands. Setting it down on your lap, you smile at the sight of a white ribbon tied into a bow. It's a charming sight, and you fight off the urge to rest your head on his shoulder as he sits next to you.

'You didn't have to,' you whisper.

'Well, you don't have many dresses, sweetheart,' he comments, 'my mum would have my head if she found out you only had two dresses,' he said with a short chuckle, his eyes narrowing as he sighs, 'I saw it the other day, been trying think of a good time to give it to you.'

Carefully, you untie the ribbon, pulling the top of the box off, setting it aside.

Peering up at you is a white cotton frock. Small flowers stitched into the open neck of the dress.

Pulling it out, you hold it out in front of you, letting out a squeal as you see the fabric touching all the way to the ground.

You jump into his lap, pressing a firm kiss onto his cheek.

'I love it!' you exclaim, holding the dress to your chest, before quickly pushing yourself off of him, shrugging off the sleeves of the green frock you've had since arriving in the village. 'I don't even wanna wait to try it,' you say brightly.

He watches amused as the fabric falls from off of your body, pooling around your feet. You're unapologetic of your appearance, tits on full show without a single care in the world.

Pulling the white dress over your head, you wiggle your hips as it hugs your waist, covering your legs.

He watches you, his hands on his thighs as you clumsily spin around in a circle, your skirt raising as you do so. 'What do you think?' you ask, 'does it look nice?'

He exhales deeply.

'Was made for you, sweetheart,' he replies with a bright grin on his face, 'gimme another spin.'

Your cheeks flush red, though you comply, your heart swelling at the request.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the midst of the night is where you roam free, walking through the streets of the village, treading down to the shore all to sit by the water. You watch as the waves roll in with a joyous glint in your eye, knowing home is right at your fingertips.

But oddly, you find home is also on land in the form of your sister and the tall man with a strange mask.

The very thought of him makes you feel nauseous, the thought of him washing all your sentence just as the waves do the shore.

Dinner tonight was almost too much for you to handle, to have someone so close to you, to feel his hand on your back and to hear the humans terms of affection leave his mouth with the intent of the meeting your ears... everything.

You blame the dress you're wearing too.

You feel like you're betraying the words of your dear mother.

She has warned you time and time again of the dangers of the human folk, and here you are, wearing their legs, missing your tail and your vibrant scales, yet, prepared to throw it all away all to hear him utter your name and call you sweetheart just one more time.

All that for a human who doesn't even know the truth of who you are.

'I thought you were here,' you hear a voice call from behind you, almost submerged in the crashing waves.

Turning your head, you see Simon approaching you, his boots leaving prints in the sand.

Stopping beside you, you turn your head as he sits beside you. 'Why 'ave you come all the way out here at this time?'

'Needed some fresh air,' you mumble, resting your chin against your knees, hugging your legs.

'You'll find her again,' he says.

Your blood runs cold.

'Sure that siren saved her just as she saved you, yeah? You'll be with her again some day soon, and who knows, maybe she's become one of them herself.'

'She'd like that,' you whisper, looking at the tide.

I'd like that too.

'Until you know where she is or receive a letter from home, you're stuck with me,' he says, 'sorry.'

You laugh.

'You've been the thing to keep me sane through all this, Si',' you reassure, 'without you I would've lost my mind. I need you, and what you've done for me means more than anything any else has ever done for me.'

'Thank you,' he speaks with his chest, you can hear the smile on his face as he speaks. 'I've enjoyed the company, it's nice to have someone to come home to, makes a change from the constant silence, gets me down sometimes.'

You will die before he is ever alone again, you're convinced.

Letting go of your legs, you pull away from the shore, moving towards him.

The light of the moon bouncing off of the water illuminates his features deliciously and you can't help but think of how he would look beneath the water where the pair of you could live out your days together.

Placing his hand on your knee, you rest your head against his firm shoulder, letting out a small breath as you look out onto the sea.

'Do you want to go back home to your village?' he asks.

'I don't have attachments to places, only people,' you respond, 'doesn't matter where I am as long as I have the people I care about with me- and if they wish to go somewhere else, then I'll will let them to do so.'

'So, when your sister finds you, you're gonna go back home?' he quietly asks, looking at the calm water.

'I don't know,' you say, 'so used to having you with me, and she's found her love now, she doesn't need me anymore. If she even is still alive that is.'

Leaning into the narrative is bruising, and in his silence you sit and think about whether or not you would return to the sea once you finally know that Serelia is safe.

These are the people who have hurt her, the man beside you is keeping her from you, yet, there you are in his arms, seeking comfort in the idea of living out the rest of your life at his side.

Really, you should want to put the entirety of the village under water.

'I want you to stay,' he quietly confesses, 'too used to y' now,' don't think I could go back to normal if you left.'

The feeling of nausea hits you again.

'I wouldn't know what to do with myself,' you say, feeling his grip on your knee tighten.

He holds his breath and you turn to look at him. Half lidded eyes stare back at you, and you find your hand reaching out to slip beneath the mask of the skull on his face, hooking your fingers beneath the fabric of the mask.

'Can I?'

He looks at you, though says nothing.

As you pull your hand away from his face, he pulls the hood down off of his head, undoing the tie around the skull mask on his face, allowing it to fall onto his lap.

Pulling the mask down, allowing it to pool around his neck, he looks you in the eyes. You stare back, settling your hand against his cheek. As you listen to the calmness of the water and under the watching eyes of the moon, you have little issue in leaning in closer.

His hand finds the back of your head as your lips ghost each others and you can feel hit hot breath fanning against your mouth.

'Am I gonna regret this?' you asks.

'You might,' he replies, 'but I won't judge you for it if y' do.'

Your breaths mingle as your lips finally meet, a soft and hesitant connection which sends shivers down your spine. Its delicate, the feeling of his mouth against yours as he holds you as though you're seconds away from turning to ash, leaving him forever.

And while your lips were against his, the thought of doing such doesn't cross your mind.

Not even once.

Upon returning to his house, you walk past the couch you have been lying on, his hand on the small of your back pulling you past, guiding you up the stairs to his bedroom.

Nothing like what you have read happens, instead, he helps you out of your dress, leaving you in your panties. You ask for nothing from him as you climb into his bed as he undresses.

It's intimate, the feeling of his hot flesh against yours setting a light afire in your stomach as you curl into his side, just as you curled into your cove hidden within the depths of the sea.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Days progress and your search for Serelia quells as you keep an open ear on the talks of the city folk.

You could have ended all of this a lot sooner with a song, louring all of them into the water to give you an ample opportunity, but you haven't.

Some other time you would have, though, you've heard your voice while humming a song as you clean your flesh in the mornings, and it's devoid of the deepness to travel as far as it did while sitting upon the rocks on the sea.

She is still alive and well wherever she is, and you're quite sure she has been moved around quite a bit as a safety precaution, and with Price's willingness to keep her from the wrath of the village folk, you know that at least some of the men in the village are good.

The more days roll on, the softer the touches from Simon grow, and as you're sitting in the village library again, holding a book in your lap, your fingers trace over the words written, leaving your words caught in your throat.

Reading has been the one thing to keep you from the curse of whatever has happened to you, and you find the stories written by humans to be quite amusing.

Perilous speculation at it's finest! Your favourite.

Though, you find it's difficult to breathe as you progress further and further through the books in the library until you were greeted with one covered in dust.

The lady didn't see you pull it off of the shelf when you did, and as the sky grows orange before eventually fading to darkness, you're unaware of the change in workers as you press your thighs together, hot breath fanning against the pages of the book.

Only, it's not the story that has you blushing.

Rather, your own thoughts as you replace the characters in your head, seeing the same set of eyes that have been greeting you for the past week while waking up.

It's wrong and it's dirty, but you can't help but think of him.

Perhaps this is simply how humans show affection, and it's not like you haven't been close to doing it; your bare breasts have been pushed against his chest when the pair of you wake in the dawn, and neither of you have moved an inch during the closeness, relishing in the closeness.

'I've got work, love.'

'I don't care, too comfy for you to leave me.'

Your mouth grows dry as you contemplate whether or not he has thought of you in a similar manner, if the thoughts carry onwards to his mind from your own, or if he sees you in a different manner.

A voice calls out your name, the flame of the candle on the table beside you causing you to jump, and as you look up, you're quick to slam the book shut, clearing your throat as you tightly smile at the man standing in front of you.

'Scared me,' he says to you, 'I thought you were home.'

'I got bored,' you shakily say, gripping the book in your hand tightly, holding it as you push your chair in, 'I got caught up reading.'

Even though you try to keep the book out of his view, you find he doesn't care about the stupid collection of pages, his eyes dragging down your body as though they're scanning for any source of possible harm.

'I'm fine, Si',' you whisper.

He nods shortly, 'c'mon, it's late and you need to eat,' he says, stepping to the side, allowing you past.

Keeping hold of the book, you walk along side the man and out of the library.

'You didn't have to drag me out, y'know?' you ask, walking alongside him.

His eyes fall on you, you know it without even looking at him, your eyes scanning over the words in the book, 'could've left me in the library to live with the books, let the pots of colours ink stain my skin and cover me up. Wouldn't have bothered you every again.'

The book is ripped from your hands, slamming shut as the man standing beside you takes it off of you.

'Strange woman,' he remarks, keeping the book in his right hand as you proceed to walk through the town.

Your frustration is obvious but he clearly doesn't care, you see the way his face settles beneath the mask.

'Strange man,' you remark, 'walking around the village with a skull mask on, especially in the dark.'

He only grunts in response to your words, pulling your book in front of him, looking at the title with a raised brow. 'Saccharine?'

He looks at you with a look telling that he knows what's beyond the pages, the possibility of such making your cheeks flare red as he flicks through the pages.

'What's it about?'

'Uhm,' you look at him with weary eyes, 'it's an... adventure.'

He nods his head.

'An adventure,' he says, eyes scrolling down the page he lands on, reading aloud, ''use that pretty mouth of yours for me, sweetheart, tell me what y' want,' he grunts, watching her squirm below him.''

Your face is bright red.

'Something fuckin' adventure that is, huh?' he barks out a laugh, as you elbow him in the side, snatching the book out of his hands. 'You dirty thing reading that out in public,' he mocks, your throat growing dry as you look at him.

'Shut up,' you grumble, slamming the book shut.

His laughter doesn't cease as you head towards his home, 'maybe I should have left you in the library by yourself.'

You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, longing for the cold ocean to reach right into the village and pluck you right from his side, placing you right back into the ocean.

Grabbing his key from out of his pocket, he heads up the steps to his house. You don't miss the glance he gives you.

'Who says I can't sort it out here?' you ask.

The keys fall from out of his hand.

Reaching down, you snag them before he can even muster the strength to breathe after the comment you've just made.

'You'd have an audience,' he says, grabbing your waist as you put his key into the door, turning it.

'I don't care,' you whisper, placing your hand against his cheek, 'especially if it's you.'

You don't quite process what happens until his lips are pressed against yours, the pair of you clumsily stumbling into his house, a giggle escaping you as he keeps you pressed against him.

The next couple of minutes are lost to clumsy steps, giggles and kisses as the pair of you waste no time rushing towards his bedroom.

Somewhere along the line, your dress is discarded, as is his shirt, all for it to be put on you as you sit in his lap clumsily doing up the buttons as the cuffs fall past your hands.

It's an alien feeling, the feeling on someone's lips against yours despite all the chaste kisses you have shared during sleepy mornings, and as he grabs you with greedy hands, you feel yourself melting into his hold, pressing your chest against his as you stifle out a short sound in delight.

You're unsure what exactly the sound was as it's muffled by your lips pressing against one another's, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his hand holds the small of your waist.

You feel the little muscle in your chest flutter as he tilts your head slightly with his other hand, deepening the kiss.

Keeping your eyes close, you feel as though you are one with the tide of the ocean, your limbs become that of liquid, flowing with whatever he wills as you fall apart in his arms.

Your firm grasp against his shoulders melts away as you loosely wrap your arms around his neck, your chest growing tighter as it grows harder to find gasps to take a breath from the kiss.

Placing another kiss against your plush lips, he pulls away, placing his hand against your cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, letting out a gentle sigh as he looks at you.

Such gentleness is unheard of, no man should be so kind, yet, here he is, holding you as though you're the most fragile seashell on the seashore, intending to hold you close to keep you as a memory.

There's an odd heat flooding your stomach when he pulls away, a pulsing in the area you're somewhat familiar with. It's a dull ache, a bruising urge and you began to squirm in his lap in an attempt to chase the feeling away.

The feeling of his pants against you brings a satisfying wave over your body, willing to continue squirming in his lap in the hopes to find some form of quick fix. A breathy whimper escapes you as you continue to grind hopelessly in his lap, chasing after the release you so crave.

Only, your his are grabbed by his hands, as he holds you in place, grunting.

'Hurts,' you grumble, your hands falling to grab his wrists in an attempt to pull them away. Yet, his hold on you persists, keeping you firmly in place.

'Please,' it escapes your lips before you even understand what it is that you're begging for, though there's something that you can only describe as longing to extinguish the fiery blaze in the pit of your stomach.

You continue to fight against his hold on your hips, you lips pressing together in an unhappy manner.

There's a glint you spy as desire in his eyes, though, much to your displeasure, he keeps himself from acting on whatever that particular desire is, leaving you teary eyed in his lap.

'Sweetheart,' Simon breathes, shaking his head, 'hey, hey, it's alright, what are you getting teary eyed f'r? Haven't hurt you, have I?' he asks as your try to blink back the tears forming in your eyes. You're frustrated, unable to tell him what exactly you want because, truthfully, you've only read about such in the books in the library during the times he was busy with work.

All of it is new, and you wish for the blessing of experience you wash over you as you look at him with a lingering frustration.

'No,' you say, 'it's not that, it's that I...' you're unsure what to say, so, you let go of his wrist, lifting your hips as you look him in the eyes, placing a hand against your core.

He looks at you with a crooked smile when he finally catches onto what exactly it is, and all you can muster, in pathetic whisper is, 'need you.'

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you're relieved when one of his hands is pulled from off of your hip as he gently moves his hand against you, cupping your cunt, pressing his thumb up in a particular spot.

You let out a whimper at the strange, yet welcome sensation, noting how his hand is far better than your own.

There should be something shameful about this, only you push into his hold, hoping he returns your enthusiasm.

It's in his arms you feel the most safe you have ever felt, even the tide of the ocean cannot compare to him in this moment as he pulls you loser, looking upon you with moons for eyes, conveying the idea that, maybe, he does think you're the prettiest thing he has ever set his eyes on.

Your back is pressed against the bed, the absence of his touch like a dagger through your heart. He looms over you, arms either side of your head. The lack of light, the flickering flame of the candle and the beams of light from moon shooting through the window render you speechless as you look at him.

'My pretty girl,' he utters underneath his breath, his hand brushing under the cotton shirt, moving further up your skin. Goosebumps form on your flesh as he does so, cheeks red the longer he keeps his eyes on you. 'Made with wind an' sea, you are,' he says, brushing his hand down your stomach, resting it against your pubic bone as he looks you. 'Tell me what you want, sweetheart.'

Opening your legs for him, you muster up a small whimper, looking him in the eyes, 'want you to touch me,' you quietly say, 'please, Si', need you to make me feel better,' you beg, feeling as though you're seconds away from collapsing.

A breath escapes you as he pushes your panties to the side, trailing his fingers up and down your folds with a groan.

There's a distinctive wet noise as he does so, spreading your cunt open with two fingers. Looking down between the valley between your breasts, you swallow hard at the sight of him touching you, jolting when his fingers brush against your clit.

It's unlike anything you've ever experienced.

Continuing in a fluid motion, your back arches as pretty moans escape your mouth, writhing beneath him. The heat in your stomach only grows as he does so.

'That's it, sweetheart,' he utters, sliding his fingers downwards, pressing one digit against your hole. 'Gonna be good for me an' take my fingers?' he asks, to which you eagerly nod your head.

'Y- Yes, please,' you respond, your back arching against the bed as he pushes a finger into you.

An odd stinging sensation causes a tear to slip past your eye as you fist the sheets below you, letting out a small sob. He pauses, you catch the orange light from the candle in his eyes as his mouth falls.

Then, you begin to feel him pull away.

'No,' you quickly exclaim, 'no, no, don't pull away, it's just...' you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, 'I've never done this before.'

He looks at you with wild eyes as he expression softens. Leaning forward, he places his lips against your and you cup his face with both of your hands, your mouth falling open as he begins to thrust his finger in and out of you.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he sighs, 'I didn't know, love,' he confesses under his breath, 'I shouldn't have made assumptions—'

'It's not your fault, Si', you didn't know,' you reassures, 'but I don't want you to stop,' you say, toes curling as his finger presses against a spot which almost has you seeing colour.

The air in the room is hot, only growing when you see a crooked smirk on his face as a crude squelch sounds.

You feel another finger against you.

'Gonna make sure your pretty cunt is taken care of,' he says, 'won't want anyone else after you've had me,' he utters, pushing another finger into you.

It burns for a moment, the stretch aching, yet working to contribute to the cord tightening in your stomach.

You're unsure as to what to expect as a delicious heat envelopes yous body, clumsy hands letting go of his face, moving to his shoulders. More tears slip down your cheeks, a loud moan escaping you as both his finger brush against a spot which has you falling apart in his hold.

You expect him to relent, though, he positions his fingers to proceed to hit that spot. By now you're a babbling mess under him, all the while he's grinning at the pretty mess you're becoming, soaking his fingers as you edge closer and closer to the edge.

You're not going to last much longer, he knows such as you clench around his fingers, his cock hardening at the very thought of having that pretty pussy around him.

There's a panic in your eyes as you edge closer to the edge, so he presses a chaste kiss against your lips, 'you're okay, princess,' you gently says, let go, cum for me, cum around my fingers, let me see how pretty you look,' he says, cautious not to make a demand as he continues to work his fingers into you, stretching you out.

Your chest heaves as you screw your eyes shut, your muscles tensing as you find yourself bracing for the coil in your stomach to snap.

It's odd to be scared of something that is making you feel so good, and you relax realising you're in his arms.

Your thighs begin to tremble as you let out small moans, drool trailing down your chin as you press your head back into his pillow, the heat in your stomach dispersing, crashing down into a pleasurable wave which has you almost sobbing.

Your hole clenches around Simon's finger, your entire body turning stiff as you stifle out a crude gasp, your orgasm washing over you. You watches as you completely fall apart, your juices flooding his fingers as you cum. 'That's it, you're okay,' he breathes, 'I got you, you're okay,' he reassures, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm.

Your raging breath steadily quells as he pulls his fingers out of you, sitting back on his thighs. Your hair is sticking your back as sweat soaks into the shirt you're working.

Whimpering, you watch as he presses the two digits he used to fuck you between his mouth, cleaning the mess you made of his hands with his tongue, letting out a short moan as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth, 'as sweet as honey,' he remarks, taking a moment to admire your glistening cunt.

Instinctively, you close your legs, all for him to tut, placing his hands on your knees, pulling them open again.

'Prettiest cunt I've ever seen sweetheart,' he say, 'don't try and keep it from me, yeah? You're not gonna be cumming around anyone else's cock aside from mine; gonna ruing you, shape that pretty hole for my cock and my cock only,' he gruffly speaks.

You hear the shift of fabric.

Pulling his underwear off, he tosses it somewhere into the room, sifting upwards, a crude wet slap filling the room as he slaps his cock against your clit.

You let out a small yelp as the sensation, your cunt still marked with sensitivity from your orgasm. Though, as you feel the blunt head of his leaking cock between your folds, you find the heat returns with a vengeance, leaving your mouth dry as he presses himself against your hole.

'It's gonna hurt for a second,' he warns, grabbing your hip with his hand, 'just keep breathing for me, let that pretty pussy stretch around me- I'll give y' all the time you need, just tell me,' he utters.

His tone is much darker than any you've ever heard, and as he begins to push himself into you, your mouth closes as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip so hard that you're quite sure you're going to draw blood.

A filthy moan escapes your lovers lips as he pushes into, the heat around his cock making it hard to keep a clear mind as the longing to fuck you until you're sobbing possesses him.

It won't take much, he knows that, counting on the fact that he's not even half way in and tears are already pouring down your cheeks.

Gripping your hips, he eases himself in to the hilt, moaning as you clench around his cock.

'Good fuckin' girl,' he curses, his nails digging into your skin as you wince. Never have you felt so full, feeling his cock pulsing in your core as you squirm beneath him.

Without even moving, you're sure he's pressing against that spot that brought you to your release just moments prior, you stomach twisting.

I'm not going to last.

Your legs merely wrap around his waist as he looks to you, and with a trembling mouth, you nod your head, 'y- you can move,' you say with a small nod, hissing as he pulls out, only to thrust back in.

Your skin is hot as sweat drips down your silky flesh, pushing downwards to meet his thrusts as he picks up the pace. The sound of you skin slapping together is vulgar, though neither of you care as you burble out weak 'ahs' under your breath as he drives his cock into you. Simon isn't quiet either, vocal grunts through gritted teeth as his bruising grip on you maintains a steady pace.

'Fuuuckkk,' he moans, grabbing the bottom of his shirt, ripping it open. You offer him as startled look as he drags his blunt nails up your stomach, grabbing your tits, rolling your nipple between his fingers. 'Prettiest fuckin' girl to ever walk the land,' he claims, 'made for me and my cock, and it's all mine, isn't it?'

'A- All yours,' you confirm, unable to keep a sane mind about you as he's fucking you dumb.

All your mind is sticking to is the thickness off his cock as it's hitting all the right spots. You're sure you're drooling from the sensation, your eyes falling back into your head as you babble out nonsense.

'No one else's,' you manage to get out before you're completely at his disposal, the feel of your next orgasm creeping up on you.

'You gonna cum for me again, princess?' Simon asks, greedily sucking in air as he looks at you, feeling your cunt clenching around him. He himself is edging closer to the edge, the tightness of you around his thick cock simply being too much to bear.

'Yes, 'm so close... so fucking close, please, please let me cum,' you dumbly beg, not able to keep the words from flowing past your lips.

'Go on, sweetheart, cum around my cock, make it yours,' he demands, his thrust growing much more sporadic as he chases after his own release.

A moan escapes your lips as you arch you back off of the bed, your entire body spasming as you allow yourself to fall into the pleasure of your orgasm as the cord in your stomach snaps, forcing a gasp out of you.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a brittle sob, tightening around his cock as you cum. The sound of your skin connecting is wet as Simon fucks you through your orgasm, his curses and grunts filling your ears.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's right sweetheart,' he moans, 'gonna make you mine, fill you up with my cum, no one else is having you, you're mine,' he grunts out, pressing into your, your cunt against his pubic bone as his hands tremble.

He lets out a moan as he fills you up.

It's a filthy feeling, but you love it terribly, your hole twitching as you feel his pulsing cock empty his load inside of you.

A short breath escapes him, and you moan feeling him push deeper inside of you, thrusting and out of you to ensure you're not missing a drop of it.

Remaining inside of you, he moves to lay beside you, keeping bodies pressed against you, the smell of sex and sweat in the clammy air of the room, but he doesn't even think of pulling out, let alone pulling away. Instead he settles with his cock inside out you, pressing another kiss against you.

Your eyes feel heavy, your entire body sluggish as you press your face into the crook of his neck.

'Good girl,' he utters against your skin.

You lay together for a short while before he eventually pulls his softening cock from out of you, you whimpering from oversensitivity as he does so. Your inner thighs are wet, and as your hole clenches around nothing, you're face grows red as you feel his cum dripping out of you.

He leaves you alone for a short while and you lay, your body blanketed in the moonlight. Beyond the window in his room, you spy the ocean in the distances, seeing the rolling waves, your throat tightening are your eyes move around the room, spying his side of the bed, then lifting back to the water.

You can't possibly stay here forever? Can you?

You have people, you have your sister still to find, getting no closer to having Simon confess to you where she is being kept.

When you uncover it eventually, what are you going to do? Free her and stay here? Will the even want you back when you return with the marks of a human all over you?

Your eyes water when he comes back into the room with a cup of water and a damp cloth in his hands, approaching you.

He sees the furrow of your brow and the discontent on your face, taking a seat beside you, pressing his hand against your face.

'I haven't hurt you have—'

'No, no,' you quietly state, sniffling, 'just...' you look at him, holding his wrist. 'I like you,' you whisper, his eyes growing wide at your confession, 'I- I know it's soon but—'

'I like you too, sweetheart,' he reassures, setting the cup of water down on the nightstand.

You rejoice in the outcome of your diversion, noting it works well as he looks at you with all the adoration the human heart can muster. 'Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? Can't leave you like this,' he utters, to which you nod in appreciation.

The night is sleepless for the most part as you're in his arms. It's difficult to confess to yourself, but you're aware of the lies you have told and of the possible consequences to come from it.

Even if he isn't fearful of what you are, there's still the fact that the betrayal will be too great as, essentially, everything you have together is built on a lie, and you're only encouraging it through playing the role of human.

A part of you wishes to wake him from his current sleeping state and tell him, yet, you cower in the thought of conflict destroying the night the pair of you have shared.

So, you tell yourself that you'll tell him tomorrow instead before falling into the heat of his body, closing your eyes.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the morning you wake with a dull ache between your thighs, looking to the side of your bed.

Simon isn't there and you sit up quickly, eyes scanning around the room, a panicked breath squeezing out of your lung as you search for him.

Has he left for work already?

You feel an odd sense of betrayal well in your breast as you shuffle from under the sheets, stopping in your tracks when you hear the creak of the staircase leading into his room. His head appears first and you quickly fall back onto the bed, eying him.

'I thought you left for work,' you confess as he climbs the final step. He shakes his head, looking out of the window to the early morning sun. It covers his frame in a delicious light and you take a moment to admire him. How his white shirt settles against his chest, the mask on his face right back where it usually it.

It's a shame though; you want to see his blond hair in the light of the sun.

'I'm not that cruel, sweetheart,' he reassures, 'want you to come with me today; I'm sitting in the Station by myself while the other three do whatever, want some company with me,' he says, we'll stop by the library and bakery before we go there, I'll get you that pastry you like,' he offers, fixing the buckle of his belt, 'what do you think?'

Propping your head up with your hand, you look as hm with rosy cheeks and a bright grin on your face. 'Make me a cup of tea when we're in the station too?' you ask.

'If I must,' he says, laughing, moving towards one of the drawers in his bedroom, pulling it open.

Grabbing a dress and panties, walking up to you. Shifting in the bed, you push the sheets back, standing up, taking the panties from his hands.

Stepping into them, you look up to see him holding your dress, the skirt bunched up. 'Hold your arms up,' he instructs, to which you giggle at, but comply, holding your arms up.

Placing the fabric of the dress over your head, you slip your arms inside of the sleeves, as he kneels down in front of you, pushing his mask up slightly so he can press kisses onto your stomach as he lowers the skirt of the dress further and further down.

More laughter spills past you as you watch him with do so. The skirt reaches your ankles and he stands up, grasping your waist. 'Happy I got this dress for you,' he comments.

You quirk an eyebrow.

'I thought you said it was plain.'

'Nothing's plain when you're wearing it, sweetheart,' he responds, pressing a kiss onto your lips. You roll your eyes at his sappiness despite melting into his hold.

'You're an idiot,' you say.

'And you're slow,' he retorts, letting go of your waist, 'finish up getting ready and meet me downstairs, don't take too long; don't wanna be stuck in a queue at the bakery.'

'You're the reason—'

'Don't wanna hear it, princess,' he calls as he walks down the the stairs, leaving you alone in his bedroom, crossing your arms over yourself as you watch him disappear.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

He cannot take his eyes off of you as you sit in the station, stray crumbs of the pastry around your mouth as you babble on about one of the books you found in the library.

It never occurred to him until now that it's very much possible to be a love drunk fool, and he feels himself grinning under his mask as you speak with such passion, it's making him lightheaded. He has little understanding of what you're talking about, but that doesn't matter.

He sits and listens to you, only stopping you when he reaches out his hand, brushing away the clumsy flakes of pastry from around your mouth. You stare at him, eyes panning down to your skirt as you blush at the sight of golden flecks on the white fabric.

Brushing your hands over your covered thighs, you brush them away, looking back at him. Opening your mouth, you go to speak, all for your moment to come crashing down as Kyle barges into the Station.

Taking one look at the pair of you, he lets out a comically loud wretch, 'save it for the bedroom, please,' he breathes, closing the door behind him.

'What are you doin' back?' Simon asks, checking your face for any more crumbs, letting a small grunt when he's satisfied there are none, pulling his hand away from you. 'Thought you were going to be out all day.'

'I've been looking for Rhys,' he says, 'he's supposed to be keeping an eye on her and I haven't seen her, when I went to the cabin the door was locked, all the curtains were drawn too,' he explains, rubbing his head.

Your ears perk up with the mention of a cabin, glancing at Simon before back at Gaz.

She's in a cabin somewhere nearby and she's still alive.

Your heart settles with the thought.

'He couldn't have gone far,' Simon says, 'might've slept in or something- if something was wrong, he wouldn't disappear on us.'

'You're right,' Kyle says, closing the door behind him, 'he's a good kid, shouldn't be thinking badly of him in the first place, just difficult not to worry when he's usually there at the crack of dawn, you know?'

'Are people still demanding a trial?' you ask.

'Yeah,' Kyle responds, approaching the fireplace to the right of the bed you're sitting on, pulling the lid off of the kettle. Fortunately, Simon replenished it after making you both a mug of tea. 'We're trying to push it back; she's a nice girl from what I can tell, doesn't speak much though- to me at least,' he explains.

'Why don't you just let her go?'

'Letters from the Lords telling us we can't act until he's back home,' he says, 'unfortunately, we work for him. If it was up to me, she'd be back in the water; I think everything people are saying about her is nothing more than fairytales.'

You smile at his words; he's right, in terms of her, they are all fairytales.

If he's looking for the sirens from fairytales, he's already eyeing her as he talks to you.

'Do you want another cup of tea?' Kyle asks, looking at the pair of you. Simon shakes his head but you nod, though, before you can reach for your mug, it's taken from out of your reach as Simon holds it out for Kyle.

You give him a short look which he returns after handing your cup to to Kyle who busies himself with minding his business.

'You my servant now?' you ask.

'Can be if you want me to be,' he answers.

You roll your eyes, leaning your back against the wall, dusting the remnants of your breakfast off of your hands.

'You're sweet talk is making me sick,' Kyle calls, approaching you, carefully handing you your mug of tea, 'need some lessons in it, Simon,' he adds.

'Fuck off,' barks the man.

'I've got nothing to do so you're not getting rid of me for a while,' he says, 'I'm gonna stay here for a while before heading back up to the cabin, haven't had a moment to relax this morning,' he scoffs, 'could do with a moment of rest.'

Sitting forward, you move your legs off of the bed, allowing Kyle to take a seat beside you, sipping from your mug, 'there's always something to be doing,' he begins to complain, 'never a fuckin' quiet moment in this—'

The door to the station bursts open, slamming against the wall opposite.

'She's dead!'

The cup in your hand drops as you jolt from the sudden noise, the hot liquid merely missing your thighs as you shift out of the way, hearing the tea cup shattering as it meet with the stone floor.

You curse under your breath, looking at the mess you have made as you go to drop to the ground to clean it up, all for Kyle to shake it head while Simon stands up to address the man at the door.

'It's fine love,' reassures the man sweetly, 'you'll end up cuttin' your fingers, I'll clean it up,' he says, looking down at the shattered tea cup on the ground.

Frankly, you appreciate his kindness as you raise to your feet, looking around Simon's bulky frame to the man who scared you.

He's shaking as he speaks looking at Simon, his eyes blown wide, reflective of the surface of the moon as he tugs at his fingers while attempting to express the horrors of which he has witnessed.

'I left for the night, an' when I returned she was dead,' he says, 'bloody and beaten, whoever it was took all her scales, left them around the room like it's some sort of fuckin' confetti.'

Scales.

You're sure you hear Kyle yell, but you're unsure what he actually says.

There's anger in the young man's eyes, genuine emotion as he details every single gruesome detail of the scene.

Serelia.

The siren.

'W- Where?' you manage to get out, not caring if Simon is about to say something in response. 'Where is she?' you roughly demand.

The young man standing in front of you looks at you with wide eyes as you move in front of Simon.

Your lover doesn't say anything.

'Tell me!' you demand, grabbing his shirt.

'T- The cabin just beyond the Lords house,' he stutters.

Without much thought, you're rushing out of the station without any hesitation, rushing through the streets as your heart rages in your chest.

Your mind is racing with his confession, shoving past and barging shoulders with everyone as you push through the busy town square, staggering up the steps towards the direction of the Lords house.

You're aware of the man behind you; Simon never really did let you out of his sights, after all.

Everything seems so much smaller in your eyes as you stumble further and further up, tears flowing freely down your cheeks.

Perhaps it's some form of sick joke- she's okay, she's just playing dead; she's a smart girl, even having tricked you a few times.

She's okay- she's got to be okay.

You're in a fit of hysterics as you pull the door open to the small, reserved cabin.

There are footsteps behind you, a distant call for your name, only, when you pull the door open, you seek the sister you had lost that night on the shore. Still bleeding as she was when she had been taken despite her pleads for freedom, only, she isn't moving.

She lays on the wooden ground of the room, her hand open in your direction, as stray tear slipping down her face as her open, bruised eyes stare into nothingness.

You stand at the door, your bottom lip trembling as you scream out, 'SERELIA.'

Rushing up to her side, you collapse onto your knees, trembling hands hovering over her swollen body, blood seeping into your white frock as you simply sit and stare in horror.

Placing your hand against her cheek, you flinch at the icy feeling of her skin, trailing the tips of your fingers over her soft flesh. Stray scales sit on the ground from around you, plucked like petals from a daisy.

Her body is destroyed, pretty face so swollen, you hardly know who you're looking at.

Nausea hits you, though you fight against the urge to vomit up your breakfast, lunging forward, slipping your hand beneath the bleeding body of your sister, resting your forehead against her shoulder as you pull her close, her body falling over your lap as you sob, brushing your hair through her dirty ginger locks as your body shakes against her still one.

This all feels like a bad dream that you wish to wake from, only, you cannot.

'I- I'm sorry, my urchin,' you manage to get out between spouts of hyperventilation and nausea, your nails digging into her flesh as your arm settles in her blood.

'My beauty, they have destroyed you,' you mumble under your breath, unmoved by the stench in room as your chest swells.

Pulling your head off of the corpses shoulder, you press your hand firmly against her rotten cheek, observing the countless amount of cuts.

You feel the room spinning as you observe the true brutality of mankind, how they are so careless towards the rest of natures creations and you feel like a fool.

A fury burns within you, your tongue ceasing as two hands are placed on your shoulders, attempting to move you away from Serelia. Looking up over your shoulders, you spy the bewildered eyes of your lover.

'Let go of me, Simon,' you demand, turning your head back to the woman on the ground.

His hands stay firmly on your shoulders.

You wish for him to relent, but that's not in his nature. No, he wishes to keep you from all danger, and with the mess you have made of yourself and the crime scene, somewhere deep inside, you understand that you cannot have the very thing you desire.

You're pulled to your feet, crying as you kick and scream in his arms, the bloody skirt of your dress sticking to your legs as you fight against him.

'Let me go!' you cry, turning in his hold, bringing your hands to his chest, weakly hitting him as though it is he who caused the bloody slaughter. 'Let me go,' you hiccup as you're pulled out the door, away from the sight that is sure to haunt you for the rest of your life.

Pushing your hands against his chest, you shove him with all you might, though he does not move.

Placing you against a tree, he gently guides you to the ground as your legs give, kneeling on the ground before you as you chase after your breath, your legs laid out in front of you, your hands resting flat against your thighs.

Looking up towards the sky, you spy the moon staring down upon you despite the morning sky, proceeding to cry as you recall the lights on the shore the night Serelia was taken.

Your throat burns with the desire to scream and scream until you have torn the very vocal cords nature gifted to you, seeing no use in them as you come to realise that you will never call her name and get a response ever again.

'You were never on our side,' you sniffle harshly, hot tears flowing free as Simon simply stares at you. 'I see their torches in the light of your stars. You make us the villains, fool us into doing your dirty work, and then leave us stranded when you want no more to do with us,' you seethe, turning your head to the side as you continue to sob.

Simon's hand presses against your flushed face, pushing your head up from off of your shoulder, 'love, you need to calm down,' he utters gently. 'You're gonna make yourself sick if you keep on like this,' he warns.

He means well, you love him enough to acknowledge that in the midst of your fury.

Yet, your punishment leaves you weak and weary, missing the water you grew up in, missing life prior to that night.

'I already am sick,' you retort in a broken tone, 'infected with the parasite that makes me you, that separates me from her,' you cry, 'no longer a siren, only human.'

You don't care what happens, and, if you do, your emotions keep you from logic.

'W- What?' the man beside you chokes out.

You don't miss the way his hold on your face tightens, yet, you do not flinch, permitting his harsh hold as you look him in the eyes, swallowing harshly.

'I'm not a human,' you whisper, 'I don't know what I am anymore... I never had a sister, I was never in a wreckage, I was looking for her, my Urchin,' you admit, turning your head in the direction of the cabin. 'And now she's gone.'

Your sobs fill the void of silence, only, nothing fills the void of warmth against your face as he pulls his hand away from your face. Looking at him, your bottom lip wobbles.

Every lesson your mother has ever taught you is urging you to hate him, telling you that it is his fault that there she's lying there alone in a puddle of her own blood, unrecognisable.

However, no matter how much you wish to lunge forward and claw his eyes from out of his head, you find heart and mind conflict easily.

'Please say something,' you beg, caving to the gaping hole in your chest, longing for the return of his touch for, what is left after him? An outcast? Nowhere to return, even the ocean doesn't want you, and your bleak reality begins to settle in as his eyes do not change. 'Please, please talk to me, I- I've already lost her—'

He's unsure how to tread, you see the weariness in his eyes. 'What part of you is real?' he asks, 'or are you just a liar?'

'My love for you is real,' you blurt out, 'I cherish you, all of you for caring for me and for taking care of me when I needed it the most,' you continue, 'but I couldn't tell you, Si'- I- I've been trying to think of a way to tell you the truth and I was gonna do it today- I swear to you.'

'Why?' he lowly asks, 'are you afraid of me?'

'Are you afraid of me?' you question, looking him in the eyes as a stray tear falls past your eye.

He pauses.

'Your people murdered one of my own, Si',' you choke out, a flurry of emotion blowing over you as your face and skin prickle with an insatiable heat. 'We act accordingly, you treat us violently, we react with violence, but she...' your words trail, 'she did nothing to anyone, Simon. Had a voice as sweet as honey, charming, loving to the creatures of the sea, and look at what happened.'

'What's stoppin' you from hurting me?'

His voice and tone are raw as you look at him.

Truthfully, in the midst of your misery, you're unable to see the reason which keeps your fury at bay, though, when you look into his eyes, you understand for a moment long enough to form a response.

'You tried to keep her safe,' you whisper, 'keeping her from everyone, keeping her out of the way. They got to her, you didn't.'

And I can't let myself get to you for something you haven't done.

He exhales, looking towards you with bleary eyes.

Always, the desire to push him away is going to nestle within after the events of today, but nothing stops you from lunging into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck with as you sob.

His large hand presses against your head as he pulls you close, his hold on you almost crushing as you cry into the nape of his neck. If he is hushing you, you can't hear him.

You're in his arms and he's got you.

His hold feels the same as the one you have became accustomed with during your time on land, nothing has changed.

Feeling him tug at his mask, you settle when you feel his lips press against your forehead, and with a small voice he utters, 'I love you,' he says, 'human, siren, sea monster, sea urchin, I don't fuckin' care,' he states firmly, placing another kiss on your forehead.

'I love you too,' you tightly say, feeling the urge to smile at his words, but you don't, simply remaining in his arms.

'I'm sorry, love,' he utters. 'She didn't deserve any of this, neither did you.'

With your face buried into his neck, you nod your head.

'I know.'

You lay in his arms for what seems like an eternity, holding his bloody shirt as he rubs your back.

There's nothing that can be said, you know that.

Both of you do.

A man of few words can hardly be expected to become a flowing fountain of knowledge in the span of an hour.

Anyone else would curse him for not trying to make you feel better, maybe even say he doesn't care about you. But his rough touch turns gentle with you. His boisterous manner is reserved to calmness.

Oddly enough, it's in the most violent man that you find your faith in humanity is kept from drifting off of the cliff, toppling over into the ocean.

Eventually, you feel him shift beside you and you're moved as though your a doll in a child's arms. Looking down at you, he brushes his hand against your face, wiping away the tears that have flooded your face. You place your hands over his much larger ones, looking him in the eyes as you sniffle.

'We can't leave her there like this,' he utters, 'they'll wanna burn her body, 'not gonna let that happen.'

You mouth grows dry.

'We'll bury her up here, there's a clearing near the cliff, overlooking the water so she's not too far from home.'

No words leave your mouth so you simply nod your head in agreement as the pair of you raise from the floor.

Her helps you up and keeps you steady, not daring to let go of you, seemingly fearful that, if you fell, you would shatter and leave him forever.

He does all the work, leaving you to sit and watch as he carefully raps the girl in a sheet, lifting her into his arms with ease.

You standby and watch idly, holding a shovel in one hand and a lantern in the other, unable to look the dismal sight in the eye.

As, you step outside of the cabin, keeping your head bowed as you follow after him, heading towards the burial sight he mentioned.

It's hidden, private, and you stand near the edge of the cliff, looking down into the darkened abyss of water below you as you hear the occasional grunt from behind you as Simon busies himself with digging the gave.

At this moment you're resentful, wishing for some form of blow to the head to send you over the cliff, rejoicing in the short fall before you're able to escape from the consequences of your failure.

Only, you cannot will yourself to go over the cliff on your own accord, knowing if you did, Simon would most likely blame himself- if not follow right after you.

Living in the idea is enough to keep the action at bay, the resounding guilt and regret you imagine you would feel after taking the leap filling you with dread.

So, you turn yourself around and sit next to the woman wrapped in white while Simon makes a grave for her to finally rest her weary head.

It's difficult to say goodbye.

It was difficult when you said goodbye to your mother, a bitter pill to swallow when old age claimed the crazed woman on the seas, though, the guilt stabbing into your heart like a dagger proves to make this send off much worse.

Never did you dream of doing something so horrible, yet, here you are, unable to escape reality.

It's the dead of night by the time the grave is ready, the lantern in your hand flickers as Simon holds the body of Serelia in his arms, lowering her into the grave he constructed using a shovel.

The sheet she's wrapped in is stain red, marked with her blood, and while your chest grows heavy at the sight you find solace hiding in the shadows away from the moonlight.

Kneeling to the ground beside him, you tear the edge of your skirt, placing it onto her body with a shaky sigh.

He looks at you.

'When someone passes, we pull one of own scales and lay it with them to rest so they always have a piece of us with them,' you explain, 'I can't do that for her, but I'm not going to leave her with nothing,' you state.

Grabbing the edge of his shirt, you watch with a sunken smile as he rips a piece of his shirt of, laying it beside the piece of your dress you laid upon her.

'It's an apology,' mumbles the man, 'couldn't be there to keep her from harms way in this life, but she'll have me in the next. She'll have the both of us, yeah?'

'Forever and always.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You return to his home covered in blood.

He helps you wash, rubbing a sponge around your back as you lean forward, chin resting against your knees with void eyes. You say nothing to him, only listening to his gentle requests.

While doing so, he feels a heat growing his stomach. It had been set alight from the very second he heard you screaming and crying, and the longer he focuses, the more he finds his blood boils. Someone in the village knew where she was and they killed her- perhaps even multiple people.

A poor young girl was murdered, and in the process they murdered your spirit.

And now he is scared as he looks at you.

There's nothing to tie you to the land anymore, he understands that as he wraps you in a towel, carrying you up the steps to his bedroom in a woeful silence.

There's nothing to tie you to him and he wishes to paint the town red for the crime committed against you, swearing to himself that he will find the perpetrator.

The next time he's cleaning blood from under his fingernails will be the time he has avenged you.

Until then, however, he's committed to being beside you until you no longer want him there as he looks onto you after helping you get ready for bed, lying on his back beside you.

Nothing is left in you, your soul devoid of anything as your mind wanders to her body wrapped in that white sheet, and as you look to the dress discarded on the floor, you find you're not too far off her fate.

Laying your head upon his head, you listen to his heartbeat to make sure he's alive, fearful that he will leave you before you get the opportunity to leave him first.

'I love you,' you croak.

'I love you too, sweetheart.'

After a while he his breathing calms, soothing and melting as a wave on the beach did.

Your mind has been made up since he placed his shirt beside yours, and as you watched him cover her with dirt, you stood with crossed arms and contemplated for a while. The crashing of the waves over the cliff edge called for you as you stood there.

You cannot stay here.

For the good of yourself and the good of him.

Too much is at risk now, and too much has been lost.

Too many thoughts fill your head, bad thoughts. Bringing him to the water all to sing a song to pull him into it.

You'll watch as he fights for air, trying to break the surface of the water once more, but you will not care, simply watching him fight and fight until all life leaves him and his soul has left you.

Foolish mortal men.

You hear your mothers voice ringing in your ears as you look at his sleeping eyes, then to the blood beneath your nails.

Sinking into the watery depths of a sirens den.

Crawling from beside him, you offer him one final look at you lean over the sleeping man, pressing a kiss onto his temple, watching as his hand curls around the pillow on your side of the bed.

Misery strikes you as you look at the empty spot, something within you urging to you to crawl back into bed beside him, only, you're reminded of the celebrations litter through the town, the festering buzzing of the flies in the cabin, and the swollen face of Serelia.

How is one to move past such when they lack the very emotion of remorse?

And how are you supposed to keep your emotions at bay when you feel an unquenchable urge to bring the village into the water?

Both are impossible to solve, and somethings are better off left broken, for, if you act on your anger, you betray the man you love with all your being.

But, if you act on love, you betray the women in the sea who are most likely worried sick with your disappearance. So, you take hold of the first dress he bought you, pulling it over your head, eyes teary as you look at him sleeping.

You're making the right choice in leaving, you say that to yourself when you place another chaste kiss against his cheek, allowing the thought to follow you as you push the door of his house open, stepping onto the pavement.

It follows you down the twists and turns of the street, leading you from place you have both loved and lost back to the ocean where you have only ever know strength and family.

The land is cruel, harsher than the sea.

Even during a violent storm you find you prefer the sea for the land houses people capable of despicable things, maintaining the ability of hurting you, not only on the outside, but also on the inside. You long for normality, for a sense of belonging again, and while you know you will always have a place in his bed and arms, you have a duty to fill elsewhere, an anger to keep at bay, people to keep safe.

You have to go, and you hope he understands.

A man of few words yet the only man who could ever hold your heart and not shatter it, and as you're walking on the sand, stumbling towards the water, you allow yourself to cry an ugly and loud cry as you fist at the fabric of the dress he gifted you, pulling the skirt to your mouth, pressing your lips against the fabric. Your legs carry as you remain with the skirt bundled in your arms, inhaling the scent of the place you have grown to know as home.

But it's never going to be home again.

The water greets your feet as you allow your arms to drop to your side, walking into the sea.

The waves crash down, soaking the bottom of the pink fabric and you continue to sob as you edge further and further into the water, cupping your face in your hands as you stiffly wade through the waves.

Wiping under your eyes with your fingers, you raise your head in the direction of the sky, seeing the moon sitting above the sea. You keep your eyes trained on the red moon, unmoved by the winking stars in the night sky as you turn your back to her.

Observing the land one last time, you fall backwards into the water, whispering an ode to Serelia under your breath as the ocean swallows you whole.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

TAGS: (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!) @forever-twenty-two-years-old

[3archangelsaints]

I'm actually dying and living for the idea that Simon Riley is such a hard worker for you. Being a soldier doesn't pay much, but considering how frugal he is, and how often he's overseas, he has money. Not rich, but with your income too, you could have what you wanted. You wanted to move to have a house, garden and all. Massive house. A few dogs. Marriage. He'd let you decorate how you wanted but he kept you in check, knowing sometimes you got overwhelmed with choices.

Luckily, his squad mates, who'd become family to you were there to be useful, who'd helped reduce renovation prices, ironically Price was in charge of delegation and keeping to the budget. The house was furnished and then painted. It was painted within a week, a light beige and brown undertones, you strictly stated no pure white as you said it was depressing. Clinical. Not homey. They all agreed.

Soon you were on Simon's shoulders, wrapping yellow led lights around the roof cover on the deck leading to the massive garden. Gaz and Soap were in charge of the music. You loved having everyone around for renovations because it made it an experience, made memories.

Price was finishing up on the phone to someone, someone you didn't know but it wasn't out of the ordinary. They were going to go on a mission soon. You paused and then you smiled. Feeling content.

After everything was done, you'd sat down and had takeout with everyone. And then there was a knock on the door, your head turning.

Price is up and at the door, in comes Laswell. Kate. Holding a drycleaning bag and you see your siblings and parents and friends walk in. You look confused. Dropping the food to greet then. Bewildered.

Then your niece snatches some food from your plate so you hug her from behind and lift her up as she laughs and pushes you off, complaining she's too mature.

And next thing you know Simon is on his knees. Handing you a simple band. "Will you marry me?" He knows its a yes, but he knows you'd love the on one knee thing, technically, he'd proposed with a promise ring, so he knew.

Next thing you know, you're being pushed into your room, into a wedding gown you'd shown Gaz and Soap one time when Simon had been deployed on a solo mission. You get married at the courthouse and had an intimate celebration in the garden at dark.

It was everything you wanted. Giggles and laughter as Simon's eyes never leave you, watching you keenly as you giggle and cheer in celebration. It's a shame he'd gotten married in his gear, but he was being deployed and had to leave by 5 am, they all did. You loved it. It was part of him, gear and all and his seargents and captain. And Kate. Bless her.

And soon you were saying bye to them all, Simon kissed you and then they were gone. Out the door and he took your heart with him. Kate came up and hugged you. She was like a mum to you. You hugged her back tightly, and she helped you set up sleeping situations for your friends and family. There were 2 guest bedrooms and a study, and the attic had space enough for all your friends.

Laswell helped you out the dress and take off your makeup, she'd undid your hair, brushing it for you and it was soothing. Like a kid being cared for. You went to bed in shorts and an old hoodie of Simon's. Laswell cuddled you to sleep, you didn't want to be alone and she knew that.

She saw the wound in your heart as they left. She was packing the open wound with gauze, it was painful, but right now, her doting was stopping the bleed.

I should actually do a long fanfic or even series of this cause I love the idea.

[lovrsm]

ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ

sum: Having a hazy memory about last night. Was it just a one time thing, or would he be the one to accompany you on your lonely nights?

word count: 4.3k

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

warnings: Cringe, Translated French, bad writing (English is not my first language. ) and smut insinuation.

Spotify - Apple Music

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ - ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴜ

"Alone, unless you wanna come along?" .

A ray of sunshine woke me up. I groaned, due to the headache I had to lay in bed. Closed my eyes again just in hopes so that I would fall back to sleep, spoiler alert: I didn't.

I was probably in bed for 5 minutes, till my headache was bearable, I decided to sit up. Legged crossed on the bed, I opened my eyes, first noticing a really nice home decor.

Home decor...

Where the heck was I?!

It was as if I was slowly downloading the data surrounding me.

Messy bed, my dress on the bureau, my heels tossed on the floor.

Not a hotel room, and I was using a mans shirt.

I stood up quickly, causing me to groan instantly. My head pounded.

But I shut myself up, deciding to go through one of the two doors on the bedroom.

I was in my underwear, only the black shirt was covering me so I wasn't fully exposed. As quietly as possible, I was almost on my tiptoes so I wouldn't make any noise.

What even happened last night?

I took in my surroundings, yup, this was definitely a single man's house.

Don't get me wrong, it was beautifully decorated, but you always notice this type of things.

The pool table, along with a mini bar, beside it a wide couch in which Charles was sleeping.

Holy shit, Charles!

The memories of last night came flooding into me... "Why don't we leave, would you like that?"

Leaving in a black car. (ironic, my brother is obsessed with motorsports and I can't even tell you two Car brands)

I was sleeping the whole ride, till he carried me into his house, I couldn't understand him.

At all.

I can't tell you if it was because of how drunk I was, or how charming he was. Ugh, I hated him for that, the way he'd touch me, but not the way I wanted him to.

He had me under his spell in just one night, and I can't even be with him.

I'm supposed to be in love with another.

_

"You're awake" a deep voice said. I had a book in my hands, it was in french. If it weren't for my French classes, which I missed every chance I could get, I wouldn't have understood anything. "Bonjour!" I said.

It was probably the worst french accent he has heard in his entire life, "Ah, vous parlez français ? Je ne te connais pas depuis un jour et tu es déjà plein de surprises !"

"Oui?" he started laughing at my stupidity, his contagious laughter making me do the same until my belly ached.

"I haven't laughed like that in quite a long time" I exhaled after we calmed down. He now laid down in the edge of what I assume is his bed, the sun hitting his face, making him look angelic. He turned to look at me, his eyes sparkled and I think I can't ask for anything more.

"I know I met you last night, but thank you so much for taking care of me, I know it wasn't easy with me being drunk." I half smiled at him.

"You look gorgeous when you smile like that, did you know that?"

I scrunched my nose, of course I was, and I wanted to say the same thing to him. Have you ever looked in the mirror? But I stopped myself, and got up from the bed. He followed my every move with his eyes.

"Should we get breakfast?" He couldn't stop looking at me up and down, and he just nodded.

It was as if this was my normal routine.

The first time I saw him, I did not know he'd had me on my knees.

_

"No, 'cause you were literally about to barf, and by some miracle you didn't and fell asleep"

"ugh, I won't be drinking that much next time" I had my head buried in my hands so that he couldn't notice my crimson cheeks. "Maybe next time you'll be the one taking care of me"

I looked up at him, and offered a smile. Haven't had this much fun with someone, since... forever. "I called Lando and he was as wasted as you, Carlos had to take him to his room, I guess the Norris know how to have fun, huh?"

"Oh my god, Lando!" I grabbed my phone and called him right away, Charles laughed, I guess he just realized how forgetful I could be.

"hmph?" I heard a tired voice from the other side of the phone. "I woke you up, didn't I?"

"yeah, is everything alright?"

"I'm alright, I just remembered you existed"

"Haha... so funny, love you too peanut. Oh! now that I'm awake, I gotta catch you up on some stuff!"

I was about to interrupt him, I would gladly hear gossip about what happened last night. But I was having breakfast with Charles, I couldn't leave him there alone eating…

But I watched as his phone buzzed, and I couldn't read the name, but it had a heart right next to it.

pfft, it must be nothing. But his smile got wider as he started speaking on to the phone. "... and then I was like, 'woah, is this really happening?!' and heck yes it was happening! Then..."

At some point, I stopped listening to Lando, and tried to focus on what Charles was saying on the other side of the table. Was he talking to a girl? Or why did he get so excited with a phone call?

Does he have a Girlfriend?

I didn't thought of it last night... but would that be so bad? There is nothing I hate more that what I can't have.

Maybe if he has a girlfriend I could get over this… whatever you wanna call it.

But… if he's single it would honestly be worst.

When I felt a small pain in my chest, I knew I had to stop overthinking. Why do I even care about what he does?

I have bigger things to worry about.

"So, yeah, basically we all ended fucked up and vomiting all over the place. But what about you, did you had any fun last night?" He chuckled.

"That sounds... horrifying and amazing Lando, and yes, I had the best night of the year" I was now looking at Charles, he grinned at me, and I copied his actions, I could feel the heat on my cheeks.

He left his phone on the table, and focused on his food.

"Told you!" a lot of movement was heard at the back of the call. "Oh, there's Carlos, I'll leave you peanut, call you later"

"See you Lando." I hung up

"So you had the best night of the year, huh?" Charles smirked. "C'mon, it was fun!" I answered.

"Of course, you spend most of it with me." He raised his hands to rest them on his head. With his gaze to the sky.

"I couldn't have had it any other way." He chuckled, his dimples showing off, making my heart beat faster, and my chest feel a warm and welcoming sensation.

_

It has been months. Months of calls late at night, whispering so Jake wouldn't find out.

If he ever payed any attention to me...

Every time my phone would buzz at around 11 p.m. I'd go to the balcony, or any other place where Jake wouldn't be around.

Quiet laughing, my stomach would turn over every time he said to me 'ma chou' or any time he'd speak in French or Italian, really.

He was truly and angel in disguise.

Was it wrong? Yes. Did we care? Not at all.

"When am I seeing you again?" He asked. I was in the sofa of the living room, Jake was fine fast asleep in my bed.

"Charles, I'm way too busy here, I'm barely able to leave my apartment , much less have the whole weekend to myself"

"Why don't I fly down there, hm?"

In my hands I had paper with chords and new lyrics for songs. But it was all a jumble, I didn't even know how it was going to work.

"I don't think that's a great idea. You need to practice for the next season, and I have to make new songs, which will take more than half of my day off-"

"Do you know how to play the piano?"

Piano?

"Uh, no, I never learned how to. I'm much more of a guitar girl, why?"

"You have no excuses, I'll be there by tomorrow night. Make some space for a piano at your home, I'm teaching you." I could hear him at his computer typing God knows what.

"IF you came, wouldn't it be easier to have a keyboard piano?"

"No, believe me, it is not the same. You'll love it, I promise" I smiled to myself, he will be here tomorrow night.

Wait, he'll be here tomorrow night.

"Charles, you can't come."

"Give me a good reason, and I'll cancel the plane tickets"

He already bought tickets?! shoot he’s fast

"Uh, my boyfriend is here, and you won't have a place to stay."

"I'm still waiting on that good reason, you know?"

"Charles-"

"It's not like I'm trying to flirt with you, am I?" We are playing a very dangerous game, we both know it, but I never thought we would get this far.

"Well..."

"we'll solve it once I'm there, goodnight ma ange." There are so many things that could go wrong. So many factors I should have said 'No' to, but those thoughts went out the window as my heart pounded knowing that he would come for me.

_

God, what am I doing, what am I doing.

3 a.m. and I'm still awake. I had his phone in my hands, I just needed his face to unlock it. I was so desperate to find what broke me months ago.

Messages, photos and screenshots. He even admitted it, but he said he would change. Am I dumb for staying? Yes. Am I dumb for giving him a second chance? Yes.

Now I'm paying what he did to me. Except I'm having the balls he didn't have to break up with me.

I just need the perfect excuse.

I tried to believe in him, I tried to ignore all my friends when they said 'paparazzi took pictures of him with another girl'

'That doesn't mean anything' I'd answer.

'But, he had his arms around her shoulders' They'd be even more concerned to the fact, that I did know it meant something, much more than just ‘something’

'He's like that with his family too.' normalizing everything he did wrong was all I knew how to do, well, ruining his reputation was always a choice.

He'd beg me to speak highly of him, saying that all the rumors where never true. But everyone knew they were. I'd clean his ass on social media so that his status wouldn't be broken.

All because I thought I liked him.

Now I'm paying the price. I should have broken up with him the second I saw the girl in our bed. My bed.

The second I saw him with flowers that were not meant to be for me.

The second I saw the photos all over the internet. I disappeared for months as not to be ashamed when people saw me. And the only one who should have been ashamed was him.

Charles treats me like a princess, heck, he makes me think everything is possible.

If he told me unicorns were real, I’d believe him!

I had to leave Jake. It's not like he was handsome or anything anyway.

It was probably social media who pushed me into believing we would be the perfect match.

Well, your sweet boy is a cheater. and I won't stand to it anymore.

I finally got it open, and the first few chats were girls.

unbelievable, yet not surprising.

This would have broken my heart, but oh, my heart was stolen by someone else.

Now all I felt was disgust.

I couldn't figure out if it was at him, for texting all these girls.

Or myself, for letting this happen.

I stood up and went to his suitcase and I started looking all over my apartment for things of his, everytime I found one I'd place it in his suitcase. I wanted him gone by this morning.

_

"So you're just throwing it all away?!"

"Did I, Jake, or did you?"

"You did, we worked it all out!" He raised his hands exaggeratedly.

"Oh heck no, why don't you tell that to all of the girls in your phone? I'm tired of this bullshit, I'm not being your little girlfriend just so that you look good in front of people!"

"As if you were important" He scoffed.

"You were always scared of that, I made myself look as if I were nobody just for you to show off! Believe me, everything you've accomplished is because of me, but I'm not even going to reproach you for that." I crossed my arms.

"Oh, I'm so so sorry miss universe, never knew you were important. Guess you'll have more songs to write about, thanks to me!"

What a dick.

He was now at the door with his suitcase, we both screamed at each other since he saw me in the living room with his stuff. He didn't even looked into my eyes, just started throwing shit at me.

As if it was all my fault.

Just wasted my last year there. Thank god it's over, I could now visibly breathe.

I closed the door silently. Locked it to never let him back in.

I looked into my apartment, and without his stuff all over the place... It made it seem cleaner, and as if this apartment actually belonged to me.

I played music all afternoon while remodeling the whole apartment, changing it to a way that I liked.

Months ago I wouldn't have thought moving on was this easy to do.

I guess all the love I had for him disappeared and I didn’t really noticed it did.

_

I've never felt so alive.

5 hours after a breakup, and I've never felt so alive. I called Lando, and told him about everything I kept from him.

He told me he was going to murder him, obviously joking (I think), but I told him I haven't felt this happy in years.

He said he was proud of me for getting out of that toxic relationship. Which made me cry, in the last few hours I have experienced I think every emotion a human could have.

I was watching a bit of what was happening on the internet from my Instagram. I told my manager that he can announce it when the time is right. But without any further explanations on why we weren't together anymore.

And so it was, it was one of the top themes of today, with only one hour of announcement.

How gossipy people are.

guilty.

I heard my home cell phone ring, the one that always rings when someone asks permission to enter my house.

And I knew exactly who was going to enter by my door any second. I rushed downstairs, and I opened the door he was there by the other side.

Looking charming, just as I remembered him. He held up his hand showing me a bouquet of flowers, with the same ones I told him a few weeks ago that I loved.

"So… the rumors spread out, can I buy you flowers now?"

He gave the flowers to my hand, hugged me with one hand around the waist and kissed me on the forehead.

"You have a goal, don't you?"

"I came to claim my prize, how am I going to do it if I don't put up a good fight first?"

I signaled him to come in, and he gladly did.

"Ah! Would you look at that?" Charles screamed from the living room, I was too busy looking for a place to put the flowers he gave me, so I didn't see what he was talking about.

These would look perfect here, I said to myself finding a plain white base I bought in Venecia, I never found a good purpose for it till now.

"You should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk?"

Holy shit.

"Oh my, give that back!" I basically ran to him as I heard those words.

Now I know what he found, and it was hell of embarrassing.

In his hands, the sheets with my handwriting all over them, lyrics all over them.

But he kept going, walking quickly around the room so that I wouldn't take those papers away from him.

"I've got a boyfriend he's older than us. Hey, this sounds quite familiar doesn't it?" He mocked me. Oh he fucking knows who I'm talking about.

"Dickhead!" I said between laughters, I was already running out of air from running. I felt like a child, but in a good way. He just made it so divine.

He stopped to finally hand me in the papers with the lyrics, the sun was setting and it peered through my large window. I was looking down at my papers trying to figure out how much had he read.

I grab my chin to lift my gaze and look him in the eye. "You can say anything you want, ange"

Look down at his shirt to start talking. But he slowly brought it back up again. "To my face"

"What can I say? You're... gorgeous." He softly chuckled, I bit my lip.

I felt the moment stop, right here, right now.

It's just me and him.

His hand went to my jaw, caressing my cheek with his thumb. His other hand went to my waist. Mine went to his shoulders, and he finally closed the gap between us.

Sweet, simple and loving kiss.

_

I rushed through the hallways. My hair was a mess, the climate changing was finally hitting. Warmer breezes came so now I didn’t had to use cold weather outfits.

A black sparkly dress suited the occasion, I was finally presenting my project. The best of my career.

Finally reaching the office, I quickly introduced myself, since I was already running late.

My idea was not complicated at all, dark romance was in it.

Revenge was all written over it.

"This will totally be a hit, you made it again!"

"Thats so kind of you to say, thank you"

"It's well deserved, 4 months was more than enough for you to give us these amazing songs. Ugh, you're so amazing sweetie!"

None of it would have been possible if it wasn't for Charles. Most of the songs on my about-to-be new album were based from the piano. Later, in the studio, the arrangements were made.

Miracles do happen after all.

"Can't wait for what comes next." I shrieked.

"Neither do we, but you know this takes time, we can do a little more fixing and a lot a lot a lot of marketing. I can already see you on the hot 100 billboard" She smiled to me, and the team gave me thumbs up in approval.

Most of the time getting them to like one of my song, is quite hard, but I guess I'm getting their respect.

It all went as smooth as butter.

I excused myself from their office, eagerly waiting to get home.

The drive over there seemed like an eternity, but it was all worth it, getting out of the car I padded my dress so that the bottom part looked decent. Charles was waiting for me, before my meeting he had told me he had a surprise for me.

I finally opened the door, and soon my nostrils smelled pasta. Fresh pasta.

I physically relaxed, I realized I was home.

My eyes fixated on the piano, the one Charles bought so that he could teach me how to play it. That piano made miracles.

On top of it, fresh flowers were carefully placed in the edge, light pink popped from them. I smiled to myself, he must have listened when I told him my favorite color was pink.

I left my purse on the table, and decided to take a look at the kitchen.

There he was, my handsome man. He had an apron, with no shirt to cover him underneath. Some jeans, messy hair and his glasses gave him the final touch.

He had music on the background, and he was whistling to the melody while stirring the pasta, taking a close look at it so it wouldn’t burn.

He didn’t notice me, so I came up and carefully wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my cheek on his back.

His hand came up to mine, tangling our fingers together while the other kept stirring the pot, I smiled feeling his warm fingers on mine.

The next song played, a more upbeat song, and one of my favorites too.

I let him go, and he instantly turned around to see me, his sweet smile just made my whole day. His dimples were brighter than ever, and his eyes made my heart skip a beat.

I reflected his smile on my lips. He cupped my face and planted a deep desperate kiss, I chuckled in it.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea ma chérie” he said in between, I stretched my arms and wrapped them tightly around his neck.

He hold me and spun me around lifting my feet.

Laughter was in the air, the one feeling where he and I just existed, nothing else. Not media talking about my love life, not Jake calling on me at late hours at night, not his followers doubting about our relationship.

I did too, before he showed me all the love in the world. More than anyone has showed me in years, he showed me the stars and depths of the ocean with just a few weeks.

I needed nothing else, but him.

He stopped spinning, looked at me in the face, and removed a string of hair falling from its place. I can feel my cheeks burn, and it only took one look at him.

“Charles, you are the best thing that ever existed, you know that, right?”

I asked with concern, I want him to know.

To know he is my everything.

He laughed, warming my heart. “I know, you don’t need to say anything or do anything. I think- just think I love you” he whispered the end.

“I love you too.” I answered with the same tome he did. He caught my lips, deepening it. He almost desperately lifted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his torso.

In a matter of seconds, I felt a knot forming on my lower stomach. I should feel ashamed of how fast Charles makes me feel this way.

Soft moans fill the room along with the loud music.

“You don’t have to do anything” He said in-between kisses, repeating what he said earlier.

“I want to” I replied, tangling my fingers in his short hair. He did a final push, so that I could feel how hard he was.

My heartbeat rate was seriously not natural at this point.

He lifted slightly the bottom of my dress. I did not stop him, so he continued.

Slowly, his fingers where so close at my sensible area, I could almost feel them.

I closed my legs so that I could feel a little bit of friction. He quickly opened them again, wider this time.

His lips left mine he devilishly smiled at me as he got on his knees. If I wasn’t on the table I, for sure, would´ve folded.

He trailed wet kisses on my thighs, taking his sweet time to get where I wanted him to. With his hands, he opened my legs even more, finally, his tongue touched the sweet spot.

-

I didn’t know what to do.

Charles along with Lando made a big party for my new album, it had just been out for a few hours, and It was trending everywhere.

Every. Single. Song.

My relationship with Charles was relatively new, the new F1 season started, and I’d travel with both of my boys.

We were currently at Monaco, just after Friday practice.

I decided to throw Reputation out to the world this day, because of Monaco. Here is where everything started, and here is where I wanted to celebrate it.

I wanted everyone to know who my heart belonged with, and it was not going to be a soft launch.

Charles came to me with two shots on his hand, he handed me one and passed his arms around my shoulders, joining the conversation I was having with my team.

“Here he is, the golden boy!”

One of them said, he smiled and kissed my forehead.

“Oh he is handsome! No wonder all those songs were written about you.”

“Thank you Janet, I’m sure he knows how head over heels I am for him by now”

I said embarrassed, the lyrics on the songs weren’t that saint. Not at all.

Besides, everyone here knew who I was talking about in those songs, they all knew who was by my side all along.

I quickly took my shot, and Charles followed. I excused us from the group, they all waved us goodbyes as my lover and I went to a much more private place.

“I’m so proud of you” he said, kissing me gently and lovingly.

“Couldn’t have done it without you” I said in between. I felt his smile on my lips. I caressed his cheek, feeling his short beard on the tips of my hands.

“So… can I tell everyone how good I make you feel? Cause I wouldn’t want anyone else taking my place.”

“I think they will all know who I’m talking about, mon bel homme” he laughed at the horrible accent I was carrying.

“Ma belle fille” Charles sweetly said.

-

Taglist

@delicatepeanutsublime @leclercera16 @ironspdy @architect-2015 @cmleitora @lauralarsen

[woman-respecter]

okay one last rant about chappell cuz i'm sure you're sick of herr (same):

i'm soooo tired of white people. i hate how chappell acts about palestine because it's SO "i learned activism from the internet and i have insane white guilt and i feel guilt for being a privileged white american" and that helps no one. bonus: she has republican parents so she has to force the activism even harder to compensate for her shitty family. i hate both sides as well but i'm not a stupid ass white person who won't be affected as much by not voting and not backing kamala.

chappell is so embarrassing like even taylor swift said i support kamala. her internet activism means that she would rather say guyssss both sides bad :/ than actually do anything of any value (it feels like she wants to be leftist so baddd that she ends up a fool... "all presidents bad i can't support any" girl you're high up in the evil capitalist music inudstry i wouldn't judge too hard if i were u..) but that's current activism for you doe. why make any change when you can just complain and do nothing? besides, leftists rn would tear any change apart to shreds cuz they expect everything to be fixed immediately. i've seen so many leftists get upset seeing progress of anything rn because because g-g-genocide!

leftists: you evil white gays celebrate improved gay rights in a red state ur so evil ugh a genocide is happening and ur happy? you need to blow yourself up to prove your loyalty to palestine and to understand what they're going through!

lastly everything chappell and ethel cain does for palestine is so forced and fake lol. it's all to make them feel better about being white and privileged. ethel cain makes jokes about killing the president girl! 🤔 youre enjoying your nice white life in a comfortable position in the music industry...you'd never give that up and stand on business cause ur all words no action..

ethel made a song for palestine and it was good but since she graduated with honors from the school of internet activism i cannot take it seriously. everything she does screams "sorry for being white :("

and then hunter from euphoria got praised for getting arrested at a JVP PROTEST (LMAO). like that rich white girl getting arrested and then nothing happened to her is not revolutionary it's actually giving kendall pepsi ad ! i will say it's more than ethel and chappell put together but still pathetically whitee.

lastly hayley from paramore ethel hunter chappell none of them actually support palestine. they try so hard to be leftist and activists which is ironic because they are capitalizing on palestine to look good, to overcompensate for their whiteness and privilege and because of guilt. their "support for palestine" are just large pr stunts that bring them more fans and more money. look at ethel. she LOVES florence (i believe they are good friends) and florence is besties with taylor swift and endorsed kamala. all bark no bitee :)

i HATE all of the performative leftist celebs you mentioned (except hayley from paramore) so fucking much. it’s obvious that their priorities are getting rid of their white guilt, being edgy, and winning clout points with the online left. they do not give an actual shit about palestine. the funny thing is that if taylor’s endorsement really does help keep trump out of the white house she will have done more for palestine than all those losers combined. sorry!

and yeah its funny that ethel, and almost every pop girlie, is at most like 2 or 3 degrees away from someone who is friends with taylor or idolizes taylor. sorry haters it really is that way. she’s your favorite artist’s ACTUAL favorite artist

[yoitsjay]

Like Your Not Even There

Pairings: The bad batch x gn reader

Summary: The bad batch catches you dancing like nobody's watching

Warnings: fluff, crosshair flirting, no echo

Word count: 1,403

You couldn’t really remember when you had joined The Bad Batch. You had enlisted in the republic army as a combat certified medic, having been part of a planet’s military before it was taken over by the separatists, and you had left to offer the republic your support.

Because you weren’t a clone they didn’t place you with any of the larger battalions, though you’ve heard stories of how amazing the 212th and the 501st were. Instead you had been placed with a small clone unit called Clone Force 99 professionally, however they called themselves The Bad Batch.

At first you were very much an outcast, and the four clones were untrusting of you until one of them ended up severely hurt. It was Tech, who had ended up with a broken ankle as well as a broken arm. You were the one who had rushed out behind cover and shot multiple battle droids whilst dragging Tech behind a rock before you immediately started repairing the broken bones, and then managed to get him back to the Marauder whilst laying your own cover fire.

Crosshair, Hunter and Wrecker immediately gained trust in you, and welcomed you into their little family. It still took a couple months, but you fell into their routine on the battlefield and in the Marauder. You got first dibs on the shower because if you didn’t you wouldn’t use the good salve that wasn't technically republic approved but worked better than bacta did, and instead would just use Bacta. Which they didn’t mind but- it was the little things that mattered…

That currently took you to the present. The Batch was off on a restock mission while you got to enjoy a bit of much needed alone time. On a previous mission, one of the citizens you had saved had given you a portable radio, and Tech showed you how to hook it up to your data pad where you had a bunch of recorded songs.

So you had the excuse to play them on full blast, and you were dancing away in the cockpit of the Marauder with your music blasting, a ration bar in your hands, acting like a microphone as you bounced around the ship, singing the lyrics to whatever song was playing.

“The look, the lips, the hips, the tits, the hair, the eyes, the skin, the waist, you can see what i can do on this microphone so guess what i'm gonna do to you at home!” You sang out loud as Perfect (Exceeder) played on your radio.

You jumped around in the hallway, letting out a squeal as you entered the bunk room, reaching your bunk as you hummed more lyrics while searching for something underneath the bunk. The song then finished, but went on to play another one of your favorites from a new band you discovered recently by taking a sneaky look at Tech’s datapad.

My Iron Lung by Radiohead flooded through your speakers as you found the wrench you were looking for, taking a bite from your ration bar as you rushed back to the cockpit, sliding underneath the chairs to one of the control panels.

“Fath~ you're driving me away.” You sang out, humming as you held the wrench in your mouth whilst unscrewing the panel. You were tasked with fixing some aspects of the ship after all, but it didn’t stop you from singing and dancing as you did so.

You removed the wrench from your mouth, and started tinkering around, belting out more lyrics.

“From my life support, my Iron, lung~”

You continued singing and working before fixing whatever issue that was causing some issues with the fresher, humming the last bits of the song as you tidied up your toolbox before putting it back underneath your bunk.

“The head shrinkers, they want everything, My uncle bill, my belisha beacon~” you sang, wiggling your hips as the song faded out. You were a bit out of breath by now from all the dancing and bouncing around, but of course it didn’t stop you, and now you started organizing the little med area whilst dancing.

Distracted by everything you hadn’t realized that Hunter and the others had come back, the music followed by your singing being heard from the outside piquing their interest, as well as the fact that the ship was bouncing when you were.

Eventually you walked away from the med area just as The Bad Batch entered the Marauder. You were mid lyric and mid dance move when they saw you, however you hadn’t even noticed they were there as you danced right past them and into the cockpit.

The four boys just watched in fascination as you swayed your hips side to side, wrapping your arms around yourself as a more sensual song had started playing. Ocean eyes by Billie Eilish. Though when she sang ocean eyes, you switched the word and instead sang brown eyes, obviously mentioning the clones, or more specifically the batch.

upon hearing that Wrecker was the first to break the silence with a cheer, catching you entirely off guard. The boys watched you squeal, and rushed to turn off the speaker, running past to grab it, only to trip on a wrench that you had forgotten to put back. You expected to hit the floor, but instead you felt arms wrap around your waist, and spin you around. You were still at a tilt, but being held by not one- but two of the Bad Batch, being Hunter and Crosshair, with one of their arms supporting your back.

Your face flushed brightly, and they helped you back upright just as a joke song about gangbangs started playing. You squeaked, ducking under their arms as you ran to the speaker and shut it off, your face beet red as you stared at them.

“How long we-”

“Only a few minutes Mesh’la.” Tech interrupted, and you sighed in relief, only to blush more when Wrecker spoke up.

“Wow Y/n! you got some good dance moves! and a hella good voice too!” He exclaimed, and Hunter nodded in agreement. “Definitely.” Crosshair teased. You huffed in response, looking away from them as you tried to rid the blush from your face. “If you had commed me-”

Again, Tech cut you off. “We did in fact comm you, three times. But you didn’t pick up so we came back a bit early to make sure you were okay, which is when we found you like this.” He explained, adjusting his goggles as he stared at you. A soft ‘oh’ fell from your lips as you rummaged around in your pocket, pulling out the comm device, noticing all three missed messages or calls from Tech.

You huffed again, fiddling with your fingers for a moment as you opened your mouth to speak, only to say nothing and then shut your mouth again. “W-well… you got what we needed?” You asked after a moment, looking over at Hunter, avoiding looking at crosshair since he probably still had that smirk on his stupid face.

“yeah we did, and we got a new mission too so we best head out.” He explained, breaking the awkward standoff as Tech made his way to the pilot's chair. Wrecker walked over to you, slapping his hand against your back before pulling you into a side hug, making his way to the cockpit as well. That blush returned, and you slowly turned your head to see crosshair now standing right beside you.

Crosshair leaned down towards you, and nervously you tried to take a step back, your back bumping against one of the consoles. You gulped, seeing his smirk as he whispered in your ear. “Next time i want to see you dance like that on my lap.” He flirted, his words sending a shiver down your spine as you watched him back off and also head to the cockpit.

Hunter shook his head at Crosshair before extending a hand to you, offering a smile. “Sorry Mesh’la… but seriously though, you’re quite beautiful when you dance. Don’t be afraid to do it more.” He stated, hearing you snort.

“I would, but I'm afraid if I do, Crosshair might bust one.” You joked, taking your spot in the cockpit, crossing your arms over your chest as Hunter laughed, but said nothing else.

These boys… they’ll be the death of you one day.

Tag List:

[nerdygaymormon]

I hear so many people hating on the Olympics for showing drag queens reenacting the Last Supper. That does seem pretty blasphemous. I'm curious to hear your thoughts about that

The morning after the 2024 Paris Olympics opening ceremony, my mom expressed her disgust at drag queens recreating da Vinci’s "Last Supper" and said it’s fine if they don’t believe but they shouldn’t mock others. I had no idea what she was talking about, I watched the opening ceremonies but I missed that. She admitted she didn't notice it either but it was all over her morning news.

Tbh, I figured if she was going to be offended by anything, it would be the multi-racial ménage à trois

Or possibly the guillotined Marie Antoinette holding her head

I found online that what she was referring to is what took place on a bridge over the river Seine. There was a table with a red carpet down the middle which served as a catwalk. At the center of the table was seated a woman wearing a silver headdress, surrounded by some drag queens and dozens of dancers and artists. Models featuring fashions from France's most promising young designers walked the runway.

The specific part of the ceremony that caused the offense was a closeup of the people at the table. The tableau was reportedly based on a painting by Dutch artist Jan Harmensz van Biljert called "Feast of the Gods," painted in 1635, and is housed in the Musée Magnin in Dijon, France. In the painting, the Greek gods on Mount Olympus have a banquet to celebrate the marriage of Thetis and Peleus.

The figure seated at the center of the table is Apollo, being the sun god he has a halo of light around his head.

One thing I liked is they updated the idea of Apollo with his lute to be portrayed by French DJ Barbara Butch with her equipment. Barbara advocates for several causes, such as acceptance of obese people and lesbian rights. She says her "aim is to unite people, gather humans & share love through music for all of Us to dance & make our hearts beat at unisson! Music sounds better with all of Us!"

They also had a blue Dionysus, the Greek god of wine, fruit, vegetation, and festivities.

All that meaning wasn't explained during the broadcast and went over my head, but I guess it makes sense to have a scene in the Olympics that gives a nod to the Greek gods, where the Olympics began, and which is meant to convey celebratory festivities, and is based on a painting housed in a French museum.

Even though there was no iconography like bread, wine, or even a bag of gold coins, having a bunch of folks on one side of the table reminded some people of Leonardo da Vinci's "Last Supper" painting.

The ceremony’s artistic director Thomas Jolly has said it was meant to celebrate diversity and pay tribute to feasting and French gastronomy. "The idea was to create a big pagan party in link with the God of Mount Olympus — and you will never find in me, or in my work, any desire of mocking anyone," Jolly said.

My guess is that if drag queens wanted to portray the Last Supper, they're talented enough that it would've been clear that was the intent.

Even if they meant to portray the "Last Supper," that painting has been recreated in many creative ways and I've never heard anyone upset about it, but maybe in this case they're upset because there were queer people involved. They forget that it is a queer painting, having been done by one of the most famous gay men in history, with one of the characters at the table being modeled on da Vinci's own lover Salaì.

Let's say the Olympic organizers did intend for this scene to be reminiscent of the "Last Supper," I'm good with it. Jesus would invite everyone to have a seat at the table, which is a good message for the Olympics to convey, all are welcome. No person at that table would be excluded from Jesus' table, but there's a number of Christians who would exclude themselves if it meant not having to sit with queer people and others they perceive as sinners, which is ironic since Christianity teaches that we're all sinners.

In summary, I think some people misinterpreted the intention of what was presented, and a group of conservative media types promoted that misinterpretation to cause outrage because that would generate views and clicks. Most people who are angry by this weren't upset when they saw it originally aired, they are furious because they were told that they should be upset about it.

[aplaceforyourhearttorest]

Missus Eat Pavement ⭒ James Hetfield (18+)

Part One

Part Two

Your heartbeat ricochets through your chest and against your ribcage as you take in the unfamiliar setting around you, anxiety caging you in as the barricade surrounding the stage digs into your navel and the shoves against your back almost pull you over it.

Behind you, you can almost hear your friend's call out to you as they're pushed farther back into the crowd and near the pit, but you couldn't be too sure. The bright lights that were once filling the first half of the outside arena, dim to a low and almost translucent yellow as music abruptly begins and quickly ascends into a fast and rhythmic beat. Cheers ring out and reverberate harshly against your eardrums, causing you to wince and almost cover them in shock from the sudden onslaught of sound.

Your hands shake as your eyes are forced to readjust to the low glare coming from the propelling lights that shuffle across the stage, your palms damp from the iron-clad grip you have against the unsteady metal in front of you.

Through your peripheral vision, as you look around in panic as the pressure and weight against your back begins to lift your feet from the ground, you see a head of curly, dirty blonde hair settle into place on stage, not even twenty feet away from you.

Bright blue eyes sweep over the first few rows of screaming fans and an excited smirk begins to adorn his lips, before his eyes widen as you come into view, your face pale with dread as your knee buckles over the barricade and gravity remorselessly plummets you forward.

A yell from the stage bleeds over the loud thrum of music, as your palms fly forward to try to stop the uncomfortable landing on the concrete beneath you, but to no avail. Uneven gravel makes harsh contact with your bare skin, causing red to bubble up and cascade down your fingertips and shins.

Crying out from the sting and the harsh impact, you shut your eyes in pain, and you gasp in a deep breath, oblivious to the sudden halt of music and the silence now weighing down around you.

Your stomach churns as you shakily lift your upper half and lean back to sit on the heels of your shoed feet, wincing as small pieces of gravel dig into your injuries from the movement. Tears spring to your eyes as you look down in shock at the now raw and scuffed skin on your hands and wrists, and you jolt up at the frantic sound of multiple sets of feet hastily making their way over to you, your anxiety accelerating as voices from the crowd behind you begin to pick up once again.

"You're no use now, man. Just like you weren't when she fell. Might as well go back anyway." A mellow voice condescendingly drawls out, causing you to look over and make eye contact with a young man in a no-sleeve, skull printed t-shirt. The annoyed expression on his face ceases as he takes in your tear-stained cheeks. Wincing and letting out a low whistle as he looks down at the matting mess on your legs and lower parts of your arms, he hesitantly offers you a palm and sends you a gentle smile when you slowly accept, his hand wrapping around one of your elbows.

"Do you know who I am?" He asks out over the background noise, letting out a hum of amusement as you shake your head no. "Well, that's alright, babe. My name's Kirk, and I'm gonna take you backstage so someone on our team can help you get all nice and cleaned up. We'll come and check up on you after."

Shaking your head and wincing at the rush that comes along with it, you lean on his shoulder as he guides you into a standing position, uncharacteristically at ease with him beside you. "I don't want to be a bother. I'm sure it just looks worse than it actually is." You murmur, trying to keep your own worry out of your tone. Refusing to look back down at the blood in fear of feeling dizzy once again, you instead glance up at the other members on stage. Your eyes widen, surprise flooding through you as you realize that the show was stopped for your well-being.

A man with a pair of drumsticks squats down in front of his set, his face impassive as he wields his bangs back into a worn-out headband, his eyes hardening as he stares behind you at the security. Another man with wild, curly dark hair that's slightly shaved on both sides, sits on the edge of the stage, his bass resting against his thigh as he tries to quiet down the crowd with his raised hands. He sends you an apologetic grin as the crowd seems to get louder instead. Kirks speaks up before you can assess the rest of the members, catching your attention once again.

"I'd say we've bothered you instead, seeing as to how well you're doing at one of our own concerts." Kirk muses, his sharp teeth shaping into an easy going and charming grin. Wrapping an arm around your waist and mindfully placing one of your own around his shoulders, he lets out a playful huff as he straightens you both up and begins to walk carefully.

Smiling despite the amount of pain you feel, your anxiety begins to slowly ease as you're guided away from the unrelenting crowd, and toward a long hallway with a multitude of doors. Momentarily pausing mid-limp, a chill runs through you as you feel a set of heavy eyes staring at your retreating figure. Looking over your shoulder, you freeze as your eyes make contact with the blonde-haired frontman, his eyes beading into you and watching your every step. The honeyed light that propels itself around the stage, makes its way to him and basks him in the tinged luminescence. His once bright blue eyes, now stare back at you with a darkened look, causing the light reflecting itself in his eyes to look like a star in the night sky. You blink repetitively, as if you were in a daze, before hastily looking away as his face sets into a grimace and he places his attention back on to the crowd.

"Is he mad at me for ruining the show, or something?" You ask wearily, your stomach ridden with nerves as you watch the man tighten his grip on the microphone and open his mouth to begin to yell.

Raising an eyebrow, Kirk looks over to his band member, before smiling cheekily to himself.

"No, that isn't anger, sweetheart. He's worried about you, just doesn't know how to show it," Kirk reassures you. "That's James, by the way. And if you think that reaction is bad, wait until we're done, and I'll tell you all about the time this girl actually ate shit at one of our shows."

⭒

You smile gratefully as the last bandage is wrapped around your upper thigh, the medic on standby lightly tapping your kneecap before standing up.

"Now that's one way of getting some rockstar's attention, huh?" She teases, the crow's feet on the sides of her hazel eyes becoming more apparent as she grins down at you. Blushing in mortification at what happened earlier, you go to place your head down in embarrassment, before pausing as your neck begins to protest.

"Please don't remind me," You groan out, your gauzed palms wrapping around your sides as your stomach begins to flutter. "I don't think I can ever show my face around here again. And I don't even know most of their names. I barely even knew which band I was coming to see before this morning." Eyes glancing at the large sticker on the wall that says METALLICA in a grunge and outstanding font, you try your best to push back the feeling of dread. Of course, you'd embarrass yourself and bust ass in front of one of the biggest bands in the world.

Letting out a placating sound, the elder goes to place a warm hand on your sore shoulder, before turning her head towards the now opening door. Pursing her lips to hide her fondness as the members barge their way in, she silently waves at you before making her way out.

You let out a sigh of relief as Kirk is the first one to make his way through the door's entrance, uncaring as the door slams loudly against the wall and the doorknob wobbles despairingly in its wake.

"She's alive." He croaks out, his terrible impersonation of Frankenstein causing you grin widely and forget about your prior accident. Kirk pushes his sweat-laden hair back from his face and plops down next to you, before grabbing ahold of the nearest half drunken bottle of beer and guzzling it down in one shot. You watch in nonhidden interest as he goes to grab another, your own throat starting to feel heavy as you watch him go at it like a madman.

"Put down the Old E before you need to get your stomach pumped, you crazy bastard." Another member yells out, his accent making him sound slightly drunk himself as he stumbles in, his headband now wrapped around his wrist and his expression more youthful. Your smile turns into a grimace as he faces you and begins to laugh.

"The girl of the hour, Missus Eat Pavement!" He chortles out, his face going playfully serious as Kirk throws an empty beer can in his direction. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm glad you're alright, and James really chewed security a new one. The asshole's were beaming red for the rest of the hour."

Ears perking up from the sound of his name, you peer at the door before slumping back down in your seat. The man and his other band member were still nowhere to be found.

"Lars Ulrich," The heavily accented man announces as he crouches down to haphazardly reach for a beer in the mini fridge. "And the one you seem to have a hard on for and Jason will be back in a little while." Kirk sputters around his bottle as he struggles to swallow his current mouthful, while you shrink into the cushioned sofa and try to make yourself as small as possible without irritating your injuries.

"He just seemed angry is all." You mutter, taking interest in the ceiling as Lars sends you an amused look that blatantly says bullshit. "And you're into that?" He asks you, his tone turning judgmental, before his eyes fill with mirth as footsteps begin to echo in the hallway next to where you're sat.

The pit in your stomach comes back full force as the man who you now knew was James makes his way into the dressing room, his eyes immediately meeting yours as soon as his feet step over the wooden floor's entrance.

"Feelin' better?" He asks you, the cadence in his tone making your gut clench involuntarily. Mentally shaking your head at yourself in disbelief at how you were reacting to just his presence and sound, you physically nod and send him a small smile. "I am, thank you."

Eyes still on you as he makes his way over to one of the chairs across the room, James nods as he catches a beer that's thrown at him. "Why have security if they aren't even going to do their fucking job?" He grits out, his calloused thumb snapping open the can with an audible click. You swallow thickly as you catch the animosity in his tone, while Kirk and Lars send each other a knowing glance.

"Be glad your girls in one piece, at least. Remember the last one that was shoved over? Had to get her first four teeth redone." Lars shivered out, unknowing that his words would make the both of yours cheeks color, though yours were only apparent. James roughly runs a hand down his bearded chin and clears his throat, finally moving his gaze to the condensation running down his alcoholic beverage.

Kirk clicks his tongue and nods reverently, his hand tossed in the air as he closes his eyes in exhaustion. "That's the one," He exclaims, hand blindingly reaching over to lightly smack you on the shoulder. "Better to chafe ass than eat it, am I right?"

"Depends on who's ass it is." Lars cackles, causing the room to erupt in howling laughter. An easy grin makes its way onto your face as Jason tiredly walks his way in.

"Hey! Glad to see you're doing alright." He beams, his heart shaped smile causing your grin to soften. You thank him politely as he passes you a cold beer and sprawls himself out on the carpeted floor. Comfortable silence fills the room, before Jason's head pops up.

"Hey, did you come here with anybody? It's getting late." Eyes widening as your friends come back to mind, you quickly go to stand up, before wincing in place.

James' eyes follow you as you begin to panic, disappointment filling him as he automatically assumes you must have come with a date.

"Can I borrow a phone?" You ask, kicking yourself for forgetting about your friends so easily. Lars nods and walks toward you, his available hand outstretched for you to use as leverage. Carefully grasping onto his with your own gauzed one, you send him a grateful look as he nods toward the hallway.

Kirk slowly opens his eyes and shifts to fully face James as you make your way out of the room. "She didn't say anything about a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and we've all seen the way you've been acting since your eyes landed on her," Kirk rushes out, speaking at a volume he's sure you wouldn't be able to hear coherently. "I suggest you make your move and grow some balls before we leave this pissbucket of a town and you never hear from this girl or see her again."

Jason hums out an agreeance as Lars nods with Kirk's words. "I agree, she's cool. Can't find her balance to save her ass, but at least that'll make her fall for you even quicker."

James shakes his head in disbelief, before laughing wholeheartedly at his longtime best friend's twist of words. "Shut the fuck up," He huffs out amid laughter, before placing his beer down and wiping his hands off on his jeans. Taking a deep breath and brushing his fingertips against his palms in an anxious tick, James hesitantly makes his way over to you.

His heart swells as he watches you laugh without restraint, joyous at the fact that you were still able to find humor after such a traumatizing event.

"I'll be alright, I promise. I've been taken very good care of, everyone has been great," you say into the phone's receiver, your cheeks beginning to redden as James leans against the wall nearest to you and sends you a reassuring smile. "I should go, I'll try to be home soon. Don't worry about me, guys. Buses are going straight through until two, so I've got plenty of time to catch one before it's too late."

James bites back a triumphant grin as he finds his in, and patiently waits as you say your goodbyes. Reaching over to place the phone back into place, you raise an eyebrow at the content look on the handsome man's face. "What?" You ask, your tone inquisitive.

"I can give you a ride home instead. It's no big deal, producer gave it to us to borrow for joyrides in the small towns we tour in. I'm sure you aren't more than twenty minutes away, and it'll be a lot safer." Watching as you bite your lip in worry, James licks his own in response.

"But you were on stage for over an hour, and I'm sure the other guys don't want to be dragged along." You respond unsurely, guilt already weighing you down from keeping the guys up and taking up enough of their time.

"I was actually hoping it would just be the two of us, this time at least. Since we're here for another few more nights." Butterflies create a frenzy in your gut as you watch his expression turn hopeful, his eyes glancing down at yours with an intimate intensity.

"If you're sure." You trail off, before biting your bottom lip in excitement as James' lips spread with a wolfish grin.

"Just follow me."

⭒

"What the hell is this?" You ask in between laughter, causing the singer and guitarist next to you to chuckle as well.

"This, is Bessy. And she's here to give you the ride of your life." He bellows out loudly, causing your cheeks to hurt from the way they spread widely with amusement.

"So, Bessy is also known as The Beast, huh?" You ask, your ribs aching as you're guided towards a black truck with horns attached to the front of the hood. James hums out an answer as he opens up the passenger side door, and hesitantly grazes his large palms against your waist.

"Is it alright if I lift you up a little?" He asks huskily, the scruff of his beard grazing against the sensitive skin underneath your ear. Biting back a gasp and holding off a shiver, you nod in agreement. Your eyes close in temporary bliss as he lifts you up easily and deposits you onto the elevated seat, the callouses etched into his skin dancing across your goosebump-ridden flesh as he lets you go.

James watches, enrapt, as your eyes close momentarily, before opening up a shade darker. He has to take a deep breath and force himself to gently close the door before slowly make his way over to the driver's side.

You carefully run the tips of your fingers over the leather interior of the truck as he situates himself and inserts the key into the ignition. James lets out a sputter of unfiltered laughter as you gasp out in shock from the loud rumble the truck lets out as it turns on.

"Not used to big trucks around here?" He asks you playfully, causing you to look over at him. "Never had a reason to get inside of one until now, I guess." James' breath catches in his chest as his eyes rake over your delicate features, your tone coming out at-ease and tranquil.

"You're doing something to me, doll. Something I'm not entirely used to."

The honesty and bluntness in his voice causes your heart to flutter, and you grip the uninjured skin of your thigh to hold yourself back. "James," You murmur out, your voice coming out strained. "Please, take me home and kiss me goodnight."

Clutching the steering wheel tight with one hand and the other securing itself around the gear shift, he makes you an offer. "Only if I can do it again tomorrow night."

⭒

Strong hands entangle themselves into the tendrils of your hair, holding you in place as you gasp out against flushed skin. Your bitten-red and swollen lips gape open as the gruff of James' beard teasingly makes its way down your neck, and his hot and heavy tongue trails its way down to your collarbones.

Desire thrums through you and your hips raise with the sensation, the material of your skirt stretching as your thighs spread open, your clit beginning to pulsate.

"James." You moan out, before wrapping your hand around his throat delicately, holding him upright as his eyes close in ecstasy and his breath stutters. Carefully sliding off of his lap and being careful not to rub against any of your bandaged cuts and scrapes, you grin enticingly as your eyes take in the love marks you left on his readily available skin.

Pressing your thumb into the red and blotchy hickey that adorns the skin right where his beard ends on his neck, you clench your thighs together tightly at the sound that emanates from the man beside you.

"Thought you only wanted a kiss." You breathe out heavily, your hair a mess and disarrayed on your shoulders.

Opening his eyes blearily and letting out a soft sound of disbelief and desire, James rebuts, his entire expression screaming out disheveled. "Thought you only wanted a ride home." Gentle laughter bubbles up in your throat, and James smiles and reaches over to grasp at your hand. Raising it to his lips and placing a delicate kiss over the gauze wrapped around it, he asks you, "Tomorrow?"

Carefully rearranging your fingertips to graze your pinky against his, you quietly promise and reassure him.

"Tomorrow."

[quinloki]

My apolocheese in advance for this, but all 50??? 😀 (Excluding any you may have answered already and/or don't feel up to answer)

Feel free to discard this ask entirely, or answer it in portions whenever you have energy. Whatever works for you. ^^ Just don't overwork yourself (ironic ik, coming from the guy who's asking for all 50, but I can't help it <3)

You know what - sure. XD

I'm going to put this below a cut though, cause whew!

who is/are your comfort character(s)? Marco definitely, but I find comfort in a lot of characters, so I should include Kid, Sabo, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Thatch, Penguin and Law in there too.

lighter or matches? Man I love a good zippo, but nothing beats the smell of a match, so I'll have to go with matches

do you leave the window open at night? Not unless I absolutely have to.

which cryptyd being do you believe in? Are ghosts as a general classification close enough? I've seen like three, but I haven't seen any other cryptids.

what color are your eyes? Brown ^_^

why did you do that? Sometimes I do not even know. I let go of a pot the other day for no good damned reason and was just glad it was empty.

hair-ties or scrunchies? Hair-ties. There's no scrunchie in this 'Verse that can contain my hair.

how many water bottles are in your room right now? In my room like my bedroom? Or as in the room I'm in right now? In either case it's zero. I have this spiffy mason jar monstrosity for water and it's down in the kitchen atm.

which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee? Caffeine, honestly, is what I prefer XD Coffee's crap unless I make it myself so I don't even really register the flavor of it most of time.

would you slaughter the rich? Hm... ... no. I can't say I'd protect or defend them, but my sinful ass isn't going to go around casting judgements on others, no matter if I think they deserve it or not.

favorite extracurricular activity? >.> <.< I mean... I can't really say anything other than sex at this point.

what kind of day is it? A middling Sunday. The sun is pleasant, my cats are napping and look egregiously adorable, but there's still the weight of unemployment on the house, so it's middling.

when was the last time you ate? About 5 minutes or so ago. Rice and veggies.

do you love the smell of earth after it rains? Most certainly ^_^

are you a parent? (all answers qualify) lol not even a little.

can you drive? Better than most. My grandfather taught me with a bag of apples, but I don't really enjoy driving so I don't do it much.

are you farsighted or nearsighted? Whichever it is that needs glasses to see.

what hair products do you use? Cheap ones >.>

imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails? If you wanted, certainly, but I have bit my nails since I was 8 so my skill at nail painting does not exist ^_^;

do you say soda or pop? Previously answered, but the short answer is soda.

something you’ve kept since childhood? My friend John. We became friends when we were 5 and 6 and I still play D&D with him on the weekends.

what type of person are you? A lucky one.

how do you feel about chilly weather? Previously answered, but I love winter and autumn

if we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing? Probably stargazing. Which I stand by because you're not getting me on a roof when the sun's up.

perfume/body spray or lotion? I... uh... none?

a scenario that you’ve replayed multiple times? Like, in my mind? Ah, I licked a guy's nipples for so long he asked me if I was enjoying myself, and instead of saying yes like a boss, I got flustered and it killed the mood. Alas.

about how many hours of sleep did you get? ... 6? I think.

do you wear a mask? When I leave the house, yeah.

how do you like your shower water? Flesh-meltingly hot.

is there dishes in your room? Yes, but only because I just finished eating veggies and rice before I started answering this.

what type of music keeps you grounded? Previously answered, but I really do listen to all of it.

do you have a favorite towel? Nah. I have a favorite spatula though.

the last adventure you’ve been on? My spouse and I went on a 14 day road trip before the pandemic hit and I think between the states and Canada we traveled something like 5,490 miles or so.

is there a song you know every word to by heart? Don't Let It Bring You Down by Annie Lennox

what’s your timezone? East Coast

how many times have you changed your url? 0 - and I don't foresee it happening either.

someone in your life, other than a relative, you’ve known for 10+ years? My aforementioned bestie, but also my lil' "brother" who is not really technically my brother, but who has known me since he was 14 and I was 17, and my D&D group has been together for over 10 years now, so that's like 11 or so more people.

a soap bar that smells good? I use cheap liquid soap, sorry ^^;

do you use lip balm? Nope.

did you have any snacks today? Yes, a pear.

how do you take your coffee? Any way I can get it. Black is preferred though.

an app you frequently use besides this godforsaken site? Discord, maybe I imagine.

what’s your take on spicy foods? I am weak, my family is weak, my ancestors were weak, but I will sniffle and cry and sob the entire time because it's fucking delicious

you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it? Sadly, they suffer more alive than dead, so >.>

can you remember what happened yesterday? Well enough I'm not worried about early on set dementia.

favorite holiday film? I was gonna say Die Hard, but then it made me think of The Last Unicorn and so I'mma go with that.

what was the last message you sent? Cheering on family who did early voting.

when did you first try an alcohol beverage? Supervised - 12 Because no one was there to stop me, 15.

can you skip rocks? I can trip over rocks, but that's about as skillful as I get. ^_^

can i tag you in random stuff? Certainly - I cannot promise I'll always know how to reply, but I actually really appreciate being tagged because I miss stuff easily.

[rosemarysworlds]

I’m hearing you out on dealer

[ taking this as an opportunity to write a fic for the dealer :PPP ]

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘯

|| synopsis : falling in love with a creature beyond god. (or maybe he's just crazy) ||

[ cw: harassment, canonical violence ]

It's been some time since you started working at this dinky nightclub, and you absolutely hated it. It was constantly disgusting and smelt heavy of smelted drugs and often iron. The music was always playing way too loud for it to be enjoyable, and you hated it more than anything. Every moment was overwhelming and the patrons did not make it any easier. 'The junkies come out at night.' You tried to see the best in folks that came into the club, but that statement started to seem more and more true every shift you had. And of course, it was a damn weekend shift, so the place was packed more than normal. The chatter was almost enough to drown out the loud and almost consistent shot sounds coming from upstairs. Almost. Still, you'd feel your body jolt as the sound that overtook the music and speaking every time you heard it.

You had been hired as a sort of, 'help', taking drinks to people in the side rooms and ever so rarely you'd have to take a twelve pack of beers upstairs into what you and your co-workers called 'the game room'. You never really met the man who resided inside, but ever so often you did see him looking down over the balcony edge, peering down at all the people. Often, you joked with the bartender, Johnny, that he was selecting his neck plaything, other times, you'd offer a small wave when you caught him staring you down. He was your boss after all, and it's not like you couldn't interact with him. He'd always nod his head down at you after these little interactions, and you couldn't tell if he'd smile or if that was just his face.

He was, a large man. He almost reminded you of 'King pin' from those old marvel comics. He intrigued you sure, but you weren't one to poke the bear. You'd shake the thoughts of him away from your head as you heard someone slur your name out, making you turn around. It was a regular, he was here every weekend, just to bother you. That's how it seemed anyways. You'd roll your eyes and walk over with a smile, "Welcome back, sir, is there anyway I can help you today?" You'd offer your kindest and loudest customer service voice, holding your little notepad up as you waited for him to speak. When his hand reached out and pulled the back of your knee closer to him, you felt yourself cringe internally. You'd pull away from him, sighing softly.

"Come on baby, you know you want this dick of mine. You stare at me all the time." Yeah, because you scratch at the inside of your arm like you cant wait for you next shipment of needles. You thought, snickering to yourself as you shook your head. "Sir, I've told you several times I have a boyfriend. Now, what can I get you to drink?" You asked, making sure to lock your legs now so he couldn't pull you easily. He gave a groan and rolled his eyes at you, grabbing your wrist and yanking you harshly down, placing your hand on his almost exposed crotch. Your face went pale, having to swallow the vomit that threatened to bubble up, you try and tug your hand away with no avail, tears lining the bottom of your eyes as you felt the heat of this random man against your palm. "Dude, what the hell? Get the fuck-" You started, before feeling a large hand on your shoulder. Your head snapped over to look over your shoulder, eyes seeing the lower half of the dealers pinstripe suit.

Your gaze trailed up as you still tried to pull you hand away, "Oh- Sir I'm sorr-" You were cut off again by a jut of the mans hips, the junkie hadn't even noticed the man looming over the two of you. The dealer would clear his throat, making the man look up and release your hand, causing you to fall back flat on your ass. You scrambled to get up onto your feet, The Dealer watching you and making sure you stood up alright before speaking to the man.

"How would you like to make a large sum of money tonight, son?" His voice was low and gravely, and just his stature alone was enough to bring even a pang of fear into your own heart. The man looked up at The Dealer, eyes blown out as he tilted his head. "How much money are we talking?" The patron asked, clearly interested in a little more drug money.

"Hundreds. Thousands. Millions." The Dealer said, his smile never dropping for a moment, even you were a bit curious, wondering how he could offer up millions of dollars but not hire a janitor. Though, with your still shaking hands, you nodded slightly and began to walk away from the men, only being stopped by a large hand on your waist, pulling you closer. The Dealer was a well put together man, but he stank of cigarettes and gun powder, you found out with your newfound place at his side. His hand moved up to your shoulder, the grip on you tight but not hurtful.

"Oh, fuck yeah! I'm fuckin down, let me finish up with this broad!" The man stood and pointed a thumb at you, making you shrink ever so slightly into The Dealer.

"No need. You'll have pleanty of... 'broads', soon enough." The Dealer would say, leaning down a bit to be at eye level with the man. Your grip on your little notepad tightened as you looked up at your boss, silently thanking him in your head for rescuing you from the man. The patron eyed you two careful before a knowing smile spread across his face, "Ahhh! I get it! That's your hot piece of ass huh?" He'd laugh and look at you, "Doin' some side work for your sugar daddy then huh?" He'd hold his stomach as he laughed, his comment causing a grimace to appear on your face.

The Dealer didn't deny this claim, but gently moved you to his side, finally looking at you with an almost charming smile. You'd never taken the time to actually look upon his face, but it was fairly horrifying. Sunken in, not even visible eyes, sharp and uneven teeth, skin almost looking like it was made of silly putty than skin.. But even still, that initial attraction remained, and now with the way he had stepped in to save you from some guy who decided to use you for his own pleasure than say his wife? Only doubled the feelings you had grown for him. While The Dealer placed his hand on the patrons shoulder, leading him off to the second floor.

While he ushered the man inside, not giving him a moment to think, The Dealer looked back down at the floor, looking for you in the crowd. Finally, when he caught a glimpse of you, a loud whistle rang out above all the music, moaning the laughter. You looked up to the sound almost frantically, though no one around you did the same. Didn’t they hear it? It was so loud! When your eyes landed on The Dealer, that strange smile spread across his face as he gave you a nod of the head. You couldn’t help but smile. With a little nod back, you’d finally shift your gaze back to the sea of people, ready to continue your shift.

-

[ GUYS. IS THIS GOOD BE HONEST BRO PLEASE ]

[ @thedealersfiance (figured i should tag u this is ur husband) ]

[wr1t3w1tm3]

More unsolicited thoughts on The Outsiders a New Musical.

Tw: mention of suicide in some of the last paragraphs. If you've read the book/watched the movie, ya know.

Contains spoilers for all forms of The Outsiders (book, movie, and musical). All spoilers are below the cut.

I figured out why some of the songs in the new Outsiders musical didn't make as much sense.

They changed several plot points!!!

Most aren't egregious and I'm cool with them, but there are a couple they got me some kinda way.

(This is based if the plot synopsis on Wikipedia. It could be wrong but it's all I've got cause im a broke pleb).

In Chronological Order:

Obviously there is no Steve. Personally don't care either way. Like him and Soda's platonic relationship, particilarly what we see in the movie, but otherwise I understand why it was easier to cut his role.

Johnny only got jumped a week before the musical (but then Justice for Tulsa sounds weird because Cherry suggests Johhny killed because of how Bob treated him and she implies that he was hurt a while ago...? IDK man. Not to big a gripe but it's just weird).

Grease got a Hold is essentially a ritual initiation because Ponyboy survived getting jumped (they skip his getting saved by the gang by having Pony get knocked out) so him surviving makes him a Greaser? I don't understand and frankly I would've preferred slightly less deviation from the source material here but again, I don't mind this change, it's all down to preference.

I almost don't like how much of a main character Darry has become? Like I like him in the adaptation, but I feel like his upgrade came at the cost of the downgrade of Soda and Two-Bit. I love both those characters and from what I've read/heard they both had there roles reduced, Soda it seems almost severely. But typical middle child shit I guess. Again, he could have a lot of speaking bits because I'm going off a couple synonpses and the cast album, but man I miss him. And Two Bit. I hope that they at least had him and Pony together going to visit Johnny. That's one of my favorite parts of the book and movie.

They add a scene between Johnny and Dally where Dally sees Johnny outside his house. I'm out of order here bit it's the night before the Drive In. Johnny says he's afraid to leave because his dad could kill his mom? Interesting take on that relationship but okay. I do love this scene personally.

I don't know if we get the Two Bit and Marcia fling. It didn't get mentioned in the plot synopsis so I won't comment further.

The addition of Ponyboy going unconcscious during the first fight means I get a two nickles meme about Ponyboy blacking out during fights in this musical.

There's no Randy?!?!? @annacatbeth13 said he got cut for the Broadway run and I'm sorry. He is a hella good character and even though his movie role is reduced, he's so good. I kinda feel like the musical suffers by having only Cherry as the oposition to Soc POV when you've got minimum of Pony and Johnny verbally against the Greaser POV and Darry is very much contrary in action during the book/movie and verbally here.

B/c there's no Randy a lot of Bob and Randy scenes are just Bob and Soc scenes.

I'm sorry, the fact that the guy who plays Bob plays the cop that investigates Bob's murder is sending me. MF rolls up like "yeah, I didn't just die here. This is fine" and everyone rolls with it. It's show business, I understand, but I feel like if I saw this show in person I'd notice and I'd lose it.

Also, I'm gonna note here that Brent Comer played Paul in La Jolla and now plays Darry. Ironic. Speaking of Paul and Darry as much as I don't like them removing Randy using Paul to fill his role as Bob's friend works quiet well. However, isn't Paul 20? And wasn't Bob like 17 or 18? I have questions that I'm not sure I can answer so I'm just gonna assume they were friends in high school and Paul stayed local for college.

I also don't know if they end up going to the Dairy Queen? Like the synopsis says that Dally comes up to see them and that it's Pony's discarded cigarette that starts the fire... but then the kids show up out of nowhere so where the hell did they come from? This entire incident is assumedly spoken so all I've got's the synopsis.

I was told again by @annacatbeth13 that Randy sang Hopeless War with Cherry and Pony and dammit, they took out that entire thing and that is such a catalyst for Ponyboy seeing the world in shades of gray like Cherry mentions in Hopeless War and I'm... I'm sorry. It just feels kinda wrong. I understand why they had to cut him but dammit it doesn't mean I'm not sad.

Everything in the hospital feels rushed. It does seem like they cut the Two-Bit taking Pony to the hospital bit (which makes sense, still sort of makes me mad). It also sounds like they upped Johnny's charge to first degree murder!! Like that doesn't make sense to me. He didn't premeditate shit. I honestly don't even think you could get second degree murder to stick. They then just mention and drop the charges in like the same song? Or in pretty rapid succession because it seems like the cut the juvenile court and Darry having to be checked on by the state storylines. Again, I understand having to strip a musical down to be a bit more barebones because of time contsraints but, like, if Fiddler can have four different plot lines within the same family, you can have the main issue, the sibling fight, and the Pony/Cherry/Randy bit. It's only three plotlines. I don't know why this makes me so mad but it does and IDK why?

I love Trouble. I love Darry in that song. And Dally. But also... Pony in the book and movie has been in multiple rumbles. It is mentioned in greater detail in the book and I don't know how I feel about them making Ponyboy so innocent. Like. He was never innocent, in the book and the movie. Everyone just thought he was? Again, simplifying for time constraints but I do miss it.

I like what they did with Paul. He's always felt very flat, more of a mirror to reflect Darry against same as Steve reflected Soda and Cherry/Randy/Johnny reflected Pony. But I do like the sort of righteous indignation they gave this version of Paul. It gives him that little bit of motivation to convince me that he should be at the rumble, despite being 20. Because in the book we get told that Darry is there specifically as the leader of Pony's "gang" but we don't get told why Paul is there so it feels odd. The musical does rectify that, which I kind of like.

However, I have to say I love Dally and Johnny's relationship in this musical. Just based on what I've seen they made it the most clear and concise interpretation of all versions of this story. Both songs where Dally talks to Johnny he refers to him as little brother, which cements that relationship and helps us understand why he eventually snaps. Which I will be talking about but I cannot give enough praise for their relationship.

I also cannot give enough praise for Cherry. I don't know exactly what they did, and they really ramped up Cherry's invovlement because she had to take some of Randy's place but they did such a good job with her. I like how they put her in the middle of all the conflicts (mostly with the Justice for Tulsa number) and I think seeing how she reacts really cemented this version as my favorite. I think they manage to get across that she actually does care about Johnny and Pony as people. All the other versions she comes off as pitying them which I don't like because it feels fake. And I understand why Pony doesn't like her. I kind of like that her relationship with him extends to her giving him Johnny's clothes because she starts volunteering at the hospital. I think that also helps humanize her too.

Alright, this is the most egrious change, in my humble opinion. They change how Dally dies. I think that him commiting suicide is necessary to the story, but in the musical he JUMPS IN FRONT OF A TRAIN!! You could argue that this is because a train killed the Curtis Parents (as seen in the complete novel edition of the movie) and you could argue that it's a symbol of death or of constancy for the Curtis' as they lose people to trains (technically Pony and Johnny are taken away to Windrixville via train). However... I think it still would've made more sense to stick to Dally dying via suicide by cop. It seems like they cut the Dairy Queen scene and if they did they probably cut Dally carrying a heater, which then makes the suicide by cop not work so they have him jump in front of a train... but that still feels out of character to me. I could be wrong, but when Pony talks about how Dally would go, he says Dally would die young and violent and angry. Him jumping in front of a train doesn't tell me he was angry. It tells me he was depressed. While you still get desperation, it's sad desperation. Not the angry desperation that you get with him doing the suicide by cop.

It would not surprise me in the slightest if they choose not to use Dally's original death because of the police discourse in the media. I want to say now that I have several cops/ex-cops in my family and from what they have told me, if someone pulled a stunt like what Dally did in the movie/book, they would be forced to shoot. It becomes a kill or be killed situation because they don't know if the gun is loaded. Now, the offending officer would be tried later on for manslaughter or related crimes but probably acquitted because they couldn't have known (in the movie it's debatable because the gang yells that the gun isn't loaded, but the police still probably wouldn't have listened). I think that the writers probably wanted to avoid having that controversy drum up. I can't blame them, still pisses me off.

All that being said, I do like this adaptation. But of the three versions of this piece of media, it's my least favorite. Love all the songs, love what characters we do have, and this is by far my favorite Cherry and my favorite portrayal of Johnny and Dally's relationship, but I don't like what they did to Dally in the end. No hard feelings against anyone who likes this or the creatives behind it, but it's just not my favorite and I don't know how faithful I would consider this adaptation.

[pascalsbby]

The Devil & His Brother / II

Joel x Tommy x You

Prologue / Part I / Masterlist

Summary: “Good, been staring out the window for far too long,” he said. “You can look at something prettier now. Close your eyes, bunny.”

He slipped around on the wetness of your lips before he parted them with one, thick finger.

“Stick out your tongue for me.”

AKA: Bath time with the Millers 😈

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: 18 + mndi, DUBCON DRUG USE: enemies to lovers, heavy talk & use of drugs/pills, morally grey Millers, slow-burn, angst/comfort/sex, age gap, power imbalance, possessive tendencies, major daddy issues (that’s why you need BOTH Miller brothers instead of 1). talk of death, shit-talking god & praying for the devil himself.

I feel like I'm sending out something so personal... and familiar in ways that I know aren't. Maybe that's how memories feel after a while.

God is fucking with my oblivion. If he wants forgiveness, he shouldn't have given us memory.

- Vi Khi Nao

“Can’t do it, Joel.” 

“Goddamnit.” His huff was deep and bothered by your apparent inability to do anything he asked of you.

His anger didn't sit with you, but himself. He didn't really know that, though. Doesn't feel too much beneath the thickness of his skull. Hard-headed fucker.

The scent of you hung leaden in the steam-filled bathroom. Iron. Blood. Something saccharine that made him ache as he peeled your clothes from your weak skin. Lately, his temper has been short, and unbeknownst to you he hasn’t always been this way. Even in recent years. You assumed he was always like this, further etching the lines that softened on his face (only after yelling at you), but he would argue that you were acting like a little fuckin’ brat… so his snippy remarks were justified. 

"Did all the work of carryin' you here and now you're gonna off yourself? Cause you won't let me help you bathe in the only hot bath water you've seen since you were what.... sixteen? M' not that big and scary, Bunny."

You both had your own ways of dealing with things, you guessed. Verbal expression of any kind besides small, whispered sentences had been scarce. Except for when he was angry. Except for right now.

You stopped listening because suddenly nothing seemed to matter too much. It didn’t all feel so black and white; life-ending like he was making it seem, being a real grump. 

“Are you listenin’ to m–?” 

His tuneful voice now sounded hollow as it bounced off of your blurring peripheral vision. 

You didn’t answer Joel, instead, you listened to the music in your head and wondered how it got there. How you got into his arms. 

Joel called Tommy’s name after you stumbled into his warmth. You winced at his raised voice, almost breaking you from a blissful trance. “God damnit Tommy, get in here. I can’t hold her up and wash her at the same time.” Ten minutes of Joel trying to get you in the bath like you were a fucking toddler was enough. He wouldn’t be able to hold your body up and wash you simultaneously, either. It was a two-person job to do it correctly, and gently. 

Tommy returned an hour or so earlier, saying whoever had followed them had taken another way around, but they’d seen fresh hoof marks. “It’s weird Joel,” he said. 

“Fuck, I just washed these jea-“ his voice coming from down the hallway. He turned the corner, changed into clean clothes, and was taken aback by your bare chest staring back at him from underneath Joel’s veined arm. His skin burns into yours.

“What the fuck did you give her?” He was immediately angry. 

Give me? Peace. Radiating warmth, you thought. He didn’t know that you didn’t feel a lot anymore, but you knew deep down that you felt something more for Joel.

 “She’s in pain, Tommy. Only thing she’s felt in the past nine years is pain. Help me get her in here and then take off the fucking jeans then, I don’t care. Get some towels and then get in here. Don’t know how much time we have ‘fore it wears off.” Joel growled. Then you close your eyes and let go, swimming through the low buzz in between their thrown bickers.

He’d talked real sweet to you, in hopes of getting you to take a bath. Mostly because being 'somewhere else' would be best when washing your wound, away from the water gripping at your side. Another small reason was that he didn’t want to hear you mumble, “no,” again. You needed a proper bath if you were ever going to get better. Although you didn’t seem too interested in such

That must have been the extent of Tommy’s anger, because he listens exactly to what Joel says. He unlocks his leather-backed metal belt and it hits the floor in the same instance, cling. He doesn’t mention the pills again, just takes his jeans off before he turns the handles of the running bath off and assumes his position outside of it. Joel takes his own shirt off, skin soft-looking and warm. He was sweating, skin slightly glowing from the sweat reflecting the bathroom lights. You could smell him. He kept his boxers on, still maintaining a sliver of his respect. He was willing his cock to follow the same.

He sunk himself into the bathwater with a deep groan, one of relief. Tommy walked you closer and helped you climb into the bath. It burned, felt like it was boiling. You were standing in it now, between Joel’s legs, hands still enclosed in Tommy’s as he helped you keep your balance. Joel was trying not to think about how your core was aligned perfectly before him as you stood. You turned, ass swaying as you prepared to sit on his clothed lap. They both looked away as your body was fluctuating in the prettiest fucking way they’d both ever seen. 

“S’okay baby, sit down.” You bent down to hold the sides of the tub, letting Tommy go. You were spread open right in front of Joel’s face, the back of your pussy practically calling to him as it finally came in contact with his lap. 

Tommy turns around and sighs before walking out of the bathroom to fetch towels like an obedient dog. Joel shuffled you, with what would have been awkward silence between the three of you if two of you weren’t high. If one of you hadn’t just left the room.

Joel has already swallowed his dusty piece of sanctuary. You had too, in the tea he made you thirty minutes ago. He was dangling another pill in front of you, now that Tommy was out of sight. This time allowing you a choice; rather than remain silent as it swam down your throat.

"Let me help you sum’ more, baby. Gonna give you something to help the hurt. Don’t go running, an’ don't tell Tommy. He wouldn't like that I'm makin’ you feel good."

Telling Tommy would consist of more non-compartmentalized guilt and yet another thing for him to look down upon Joel for. Another bullet point to add to Tommy’s list of Reasons Joel is a Fucking Asshole. And you needed help right now. This is how he could help you. So no, he would not be telling Tommy that he fed the girl more pills, too. She was simply exhausted and needed help bathing. She was in pain and needed him; them. Tommy would have done the same, no?

He slipped around on the wetness of your lips before he parted them with one, thick finger. 

“Stick out your tongue for me.”

He notes your lack of hesitation to open your mouth for him. He places the bitter thing there, gently. 

“Swallow.” 

He smirked as you obeyed.

“You’re a’ good little thing, you know. S'good to listen and mind.” He tucked your hair behind your ear so that it wouldn’t keep falling in your face.

His drugs were now yours. His regrets, too. And he secretly hoped that his desires were burning into your body and being met with the same inner incineration. But he wasn’t regretting it right that moment. Not as he watched your body slacken. He knew your entire being was numb when you were reaching up at him, fingers looking for feeling. 

His thumb ran across the plumpness of your bottom lip and his thighs flexed inadvertently. You felt the small jerk of his body, your eyes drawn upwards meeting his. He felt the moment your breathing became deeper, slipping through his skull and resting on the center of his lust. Then he heard the teetering of the old house as it sang. He heard chatter outside, and it all sounded happy, nothing scary around. He returned to your nose, where a little black wish sat, kissing your cheek. He moved his thumb up to brush the eyelash away and whisper his own silent prayer.

You looked around his face before resting your gaze on his lips, and he knew that you were slipping deeper too. The moment ended in a split second torn into a million, and you were looking him in the eyes. Your pupils are already blown, helpless, and in need of strong arms to hold you upright. It fucking hurt. You hadn’t been so willing without the drugs. The pit of his stomach crawled in need as your back rested against it. Your ass was scooted up, and he could feel the break between your legs, could feel the warmer skin of your pussy kissing his thighs.

He loosely assumed that you’d never been in the bath with a man before, either. Probably never been naked in front of one... or two. And he knew that it shouldn’t be something he was proud of, to have you here, safe in his arms and naked in his bath. But he was. 

“Feel something?”

“Mhmm.” 

He felt your response in the tone of your flexing abdomen. His wide fingertips sink into your cushioned fat and the softness of your stretch marks. It stung, the water, like having his presence near it set it off, simmering around his body, trying to kiss anything of him that it could. The water was pretty pink for a few moments, your body releasing the hold it had on your dried blood and the dirt accompanying it. His hands were occupied by the washcloth he was softly rubbing against your body. Then it was dark, and whenever you looked down it was harder and harder to see the end of his legs, stretching out before and underneath you, holding your body (against his) up. “Fuck me.” It was he who had released that sound.

“Good, been staring out tha’ window for far too long,” he said. “You can look at something prettier now. Close your eyes, bunny.”

You did what Joel wanted of you, and quickly you fell into the heavy light buzzing right outside of yourself like your aura was bouncing off of the smoldering color... like a blanket, maybe. One of blurred confessions and soft, radiating heat. Your arms are heavier but in a slow melting comfort, and it feels like butterflies right above your hip bones crawling right towards your cunt in a low pulse. As if the energy moved and hovered itself into your underwear and is prodding its fingertips into your soaking center, touching every bit of swollen flesh as his fingers disappear into you. But he’s sitting still, you think. He is everywhere but inside of you.

Your memories lilt against your skull, retracting from any indication of themselves. Much of who you were is gone, left in dark patches of shadow and musk. Outlines of a monster (human) ((him)) setting his jaw on your shoulder from behind, willing the air to kiss that spot right under your ear. Your own blood, his sweat. The undulating sway of his plush lips and impending jaw from below. You’d only seen him this way, from below. Like he was something holy, forever above you and rarely looking down. You reach up and feel his face, running the sensitive skin of your fingertips against his stubbly chin and neck. 

-

Most of your time was spent contently sitting in your (Joel’s) favorite chair, the one you hadn't really left or released yourself from, just assuming that it had now formed to your body. Maybe you had melted into the dirty crevices, instead. You wanted nothing more than to sink into it and become a part of the worn and well-loved fabric. No one expected anything of this chair. For it to simply exist confirms its usefulness.

A week or so ago, you had been dying, pooling blood turned your skin terian-like, how the tips of your fingers used to turn in the now-cold bath. He was right– it had been years. This death doesn't feel much different. Just slower. You had been doing better before Tommy left to check the perimeters and outward land of Jackson. They didn’t know that no one would be following you. Or looking for you… needing you. Praying for you.

Joel thinks a lot about the comfort-glaze of your eyes whenever you saw Tommy that day like you’d been happy that he was there to see you off, hold your hand as you looked into the sky and deflate into the ground. He thinks about how you’d probably rather have him here, now.

Maybe that’s what you write in your notebook, still sitting in the chair, but this time with your face turned towards your lap, completely lost under the lamp every night around 10:37.

Maybe that's what is feeding into his mood.

You would have already been in that bath if Tommy were to ask you, rather than Joel. He thinks about how Tommy’s eyes lit up when he first looked into yours, hazel. Gaze flashing as if in recognition of an importance. Joel could see a hint of the brother he once knew, before his world ended. Before all of your worlds ended. He knew in that moment that something shifted for the both of you, but for Joel, it felt like drowning.

He looked at you and he saw the torn, soft skin of a small animal. He didn’t know that the damage was on the inside. 

Joel resented the way he was drawn to you, it made him viscerally angry at himself. He was angry at how calling you baby had been so easy, the way he felt his cock thicken at the sound of your grunt in agreement. Or the smell of you, even though you hadn’t bathed in god knows how fucking long. He pretended it was the drugs, but it wasn’t. These were his secrets and the web was already intertwining with itself. He almost feels like if he were to tug on it now, even more shit would fall out, come unstuck and drag him into the ground to a place where he’s surprised he isn't lying already. 

How can you hide such a carnal want? He’s unfamiliar with the feeling. Uncomfortable with it. 

What would they say? Would Tess say? “One more pussy for you to fuck, Joel? This time it's new and fresh, betcha could teach her a thing or two, huh?” Tess had always been the jealous type, Joel clocked it the first week they met. She hid it well, but you can’t hide from someone who recognizes something in you, because they recognize it in themselves, too. Joel and Tess, Tess and Joel. The town knew there was something happening between the two of them, but no one said anything. They knew Joel was her loyal guard dog.  They knew not to disturb Mr. Miller's peace. He was a kind enough man, besides that.

He was hoping for anything other than to hear the question, "You think you can save this one, too?" He knew that he couldn't. He couldn't promise your safety. However, he could sense that you were in need of it. Perhaps not obviously at first glance; you appeared tough on the surface, but there was something in your eyes that begged him, “Release me. Let me rest.” Something calling his name. He was hearing it now, in the cadence of your voice, whispering around his head as he stopped himself from touching you. 

He knew that they, you, would get him in trouble if he didn’t stop it and try to pawn it off to someone else before it (his desire) got too bad. “Hey, look, she’s with him, not me. Now let me sit and stutter into the darkness while you take the only thing that has made you feel an inch of something in the past month.”

They would chain him up if he ever admitted the level of his desires. Embarrassed at the way he was already entirely attached to you. Something about, “I almost killed you, but let me be the savior. Love me enough to let me swallow you whole,” probably wouldn’t sit too well. 

“Joel?” you questioned, slow and small. 

His skin rises instantly, stunned by your sound and the touch of your body. “What did you–?” he softly shhh’s you because suddenly, the way your body hums into his when you speak is too much. Your hand continues to fall slowly against the thicker hair near his jaw, ghosting over unsaid words and lips. His breathing was becoming too heavy for someone who was just there to be a savior. 

“Gettin’ clean feels good,” his heavy thumbs pinching deeper into skin, voice far away and muffled under yearning, drowning, “don’t it, pretty?” 

You let your arms hit the water, too tired and blissed out to hold them up longer. He chuckled and it rang through every inch of your nude being. The water splashed, and the roundness of Joel’s lower belly retracted quickly from your back, startled by the closeness of your body. You hadn’t felt it before, his whole self pressed firmly against you. The thickness of it. Your thighs oozed over his lap, completely covering him. Your feet ended at almost his mid-leg. He stretched further out in the bath ahead of you. 

Joel didn’t need a verbal response from you. Knew you couldn’t give him one anyway. He knew that he should, that’s the right way to go about this. But he had just carried you over his lap for a week, bleeding out on him, screaming. He would help you relieve yourself, too, when needed. Couldn’t pee by yourself the first couple of days. Didn’t bother him much, not after what he’d seen. He’s had much worse cross his hands. He knew the whole ride back that if you were conscious enough to know that you were still alive, you’d be embarrassed to hell that he would help you off the horse, pull your pants down, and hold you. He couldn’t understand why that had shuffled something inside of him. The point is, he’s seen it all anyway. All of you, physically at least. Now he was simply just helping you out some more. Until you could tell him to stop. It's the least he could do if he really did shoot her.

He watched as they pulled the bullet out of your side, Tommy pale-faced in the corner, shrinking. 

Joel knew you were out from the pain meds they had stuck into your veins, but that wasn’t a good enough promise that you would sit still through it, that it would be painless. 

When you hold more weight, you need a little more. 

He slipped you a little something extra before all the men got there that night to see and help. Your body was lying on his kitchen table, sweating and tired, dying. But you– you were asleep with a soft smile on your lips. He held you still, just just in case, hands pushed down into your cushioned stomach. The other was around your wrists, positioned just above your head so that the ‘doctors’ had room to move freely around your side. It was hard not to stare at a body that looked well-fed and healthy, in a world like this. Your breasts were moving softly with every movement of your body from other hands. Your hair under your arms was dark and visible in the way he was holding your hands above your head.

No one dared speak upon your body with Joel around, especially since he was the one that dragged you in here, meaning you were his property, Miller property, now. 

-

TOMMY looked away upon entering, watching Joel retreat from where he was whispering into your ear. He could hear the bass of his brother's voice, slowly echoing in the hallway. He would pretend, for the sake of his sanity, that he didn’t know exactly what was happening before witnessing it. Especially after Joel had mentioned a couple of times that you seemed closer to his age, meaning keep an eye on this one, brother. “She’d probably like ya more anyway, younger n’ more capable. Bigger name in Jackson, too.” This coming from the mouth of a man who even went as far as to say, “Coulda’ made a good wife,” three hours after shooting her.

People all deal with things differently, he guesses.

It wouldn’t be the first time that he secretly craved something that his big brother was dangling in front of him, knowing that somehow he had the advantage. But then Tommy felt guilty thinking that way. Joel had been through so much and lost too many people for Tommy to get in the way of whatever look took over your body as you sat against his chest, halfway immersed in water and looking up into Joel’s face. You looked more peaceful now than you have at any moment since stepping into this house.

“Come and try to get her, Tommy.” 

But of course, he won’t show that he yearns for you, too. It feels wrong. That Joel was the one to kill you but you were staying with him; that he was your primary safekeeper and healer. You were sitting on his lap, nipples hard and body at attention, peacefully asleep with your cheek pushed up against the hair on Joel's chest, resting in the arms of the man who nearly succeeded at killing you. 

If he were to say anything else, it would be, “I know you fucking drugged her, Joel. N’ you didn’t even give her a choice.” But he didn’t want to wake a sleeping bear, not right now. Not when you looked so peaceful and pain-free for the first time since they grabbed the world from underneath your feet. Not when the very thing Tommy could not stop thinking about was lying on the bear’s chest. 

-

YOU can feel yourself between your legs. It’s the kind of absentee pulse that you almost want to stop, but it feels too good. Light fingertips brushing the hair on the back of your neck. Like that of knowing a lightning storm is crawling its way across the night sky. Or hearing the neighbor roll their trash can down their road, unable to tell if it’s thunder or an earthquake in its deep humming, only to be relieved that it is in fact another human existing in close proximity to you. Although not something that you remember too well now, just the feeling. It’s surprising and suspenseful at the same moment. It’s love and then what comes after. 

There’s always an after. 

Then you feel the drip running from right inside of you into the hot water, against the fluttering of your thickening lips. 

Please. Kiss me here. Hard, hurtful, and sinful. Strip me to my bones and then use them as your toys. Then tell me I’m a good girl and run your hands through my hair. Tell me I fought good and hard and then let me lie here for a while. 

Chanting like a prayer. 

You remember the smell of his lap, much different than the smell of his neck, but still devastatingly carnal. You cradled into the warmth of his neck; in the burn of his embrace and you sat there, teetering between consciousness and the bliss of finally being held. You had always been afraid that you would leave the world and not even be able to wrap your own arms around you. But someone was holding you before the ground will be—  forever. This didn’t feel like dying through. 

This felt like something else. Similar, but different. 

You sat on top of Joel’s lap in the bath for at least an hour, resting your head on his shoulder, turning and resting it against his chest, too. They both washed you, silently eating you up. Tommy stood outside of the bath, combing your hair after Joel ran his gruff hands through it, pawing at your scalp and rubbing the dirt (hurt) from your scalp. No one talked, everyone inside their own thoughts.

Joel was stuck thinking about the small bags of things you had lost grasp on whenever you fell (were shot). It looked like time-worn items that meant something, from before the world was this way. One is an old driver's license- your smile, happy, content, young. Your name, now repeating in Joel’s head over and over, and over and over, coating every inch of him. He still hadn’t heard it come from your lips. 

9 years ago, this all started. You, now in your mid-20s. How long had you been all alone? No one had come running to your corpse. 

They had come to the conclusion that you were doing well on your own. You weren’t skin and bones like most of them who are lucky enough to survive and find their way to Jackson. You were thick, and heavy in the most beautiful way. Heavy meant healthy, able to hunt, and useful. It meant maybe being able to carry children. It meant handfuls of skin and whispered praises. It meant more to wash, to take in, and try not to touch. It was too much for both of them. The only difference is that Joel knew he was a weak man. He wouldn’t be able to control himself if he kept feeling this way. 

After they removed you from Joel’s lap, they towel dried you and you slowly became more aware of how different four large hands felt grasping at your body, taking care of you. Helping you.

An hour or so had passed and Tommy was lying in bed next to you, reading something. Joel turned the corner and leaned up against the doorframe. 

“Tommy.” There was tar in his throat, dripping down the back of his tongue and settling in his chest. He was a million pounds and his legs could no longer bear the weight of her. Of you. Of his guilt for slipping your drugs and undressing you in his bathroom. 

He looked into you, bounced off the sides of your mind, and then straight into the bed you were lying upon, sleeping so peacefully next to his brother. Tommy sees the pain in Joel's eyes, hung lower in embarrassment. 

He did this to you. He took the life of someone who had the rest of this fucked up world ahead of her. And it was a slow and painful death, too. You were someone’s daughter. It’s fucked up how the world works like that, huh? It wasn’t enough losing his own daughter- he had to kill someone else too. Does your dad, husband, or mother, feel you slipping from the world? Do they hear hushed whispers in the night of your name leaving something tongue? 

Joel stopped believing in God a long time ago. He was slipping from his grip, facing the fall, and Sarah’s last moments solidified his feet on the ground. Almost under. Still surprised it’s not under. 

“I’ll take her, Joel. In the mornin we’ll pack up some things and go back to my house.” He said softly, nodding and looking down at the ground in an unspoken, “I know.” 

It's Tommy who steps forward, taking charge and offering to care for you. He can sense his brother’s connection to you, why he wants to save you so badly. So much so that he can’t. He doesn’t trust himself for what will happen if someone else dies under his watch, because of him. Someone innocent. “I know she’s sleepin’ but can we have a moment?” Joel asks. 

Tommy doesn’t question him, he marks his page, sets down his book, and carries his body from the bed to the hallway. Joel waited a moment and assured me that you were tucked in well, warm from the bath. He sighed, one of pain. 

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was stern in the way that held back his tears. “You have to believe me,” he whispered your name, the first time it left his tongue and he wanted to say it over and over again. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have done that to you without askin’.” He caressed your face, watching as your body reacted to his touch, stirring, before the bed creaked with the weight of his body leaving, and then he was gone. You had heard everything, felt him leaving. The room felt entirely too empty.

The Devil was begging you to forgive him, and you wanted to. You wanted to bring your palms together and whisper his name through the cracks, hoping he would hear your silent prayer. “Let me stay here, with you.” 

Tommy entered the room again and sank under the covers. He moved his body closer to you and you decided to bask in it, instead.

-

You wake up, unclear but clean. You don’t remember last night in great detail, or at least a few hours of it, at all. He slept peacefully despite the world’s end, cocooned in a haven his mind crafted. Your mind was far less forgiving— or maybe you still hadn’t learned how to ‘deal with it’. You always felt like everyone dealt with It better. The room lay shrouded in darkness, your thoughts raging, Joel’s words echoed in your mind, etching against the soft inside of your head, deeper with each repetition. His guilty confession and desperate plea for forgiveness replayed. But forgiveness was no longer something you believed in. The world had ended, shattered, and reassembled without remorse. You are sober now. You fall back asleep. 

Your eyes opened again to Tommy caving the bed closer to him, moving your body closer, too. You closed your eyes quickly, away from him, and pretended you hadn’t been awake and listening to the lull of his deep breathing, trying to gain your standing. You felt comforted, waking up next to his freckled shoulders. The hazy light of morning was trailing in from the window and laying out on the carpet, stretching itself in the morning confusion.

There was one thing you were absolutely-fucking-sure about, and it was that Joel Miller had drugged you, and it had secretly awakened something unknown inside of you. It tickled, but it was shoving its way up your stomach and relentless, neverending in its pursuit of something. 

Tommy Miller had saved you. At least he had put you to bed, it seems. And with him, too, rather than the one who seems to be dissolving into his own. Your hair was wet and you smelled like Joel, but you were shrouded in Tommy’s clothes. Slightly more fitting, and better kept together. 

You’d never slept in a bed with a man before. And then all of sudden there were two, interchangeably. Brothers. One that smiled above your eyes and one below. Ones that rocked the bed differently each time their body swam through the damp covers. 

You’d never taken a bath with a man either. Never had anyone's brother ever pulled your sinking body out of bathwater. You remember the inward push of the water and the hands that followed, reaching through it, pushing you forward to Tommy. 

There’s a quick assessment you’ve always done, automatically but unintentionally, “Would this one stop if I asked him to?” Most are ‘no’s. Tommy was a yes in your mind. He would put away his soft, white wings and free you from his divinity if you were to ask.  

~

He was sipping his coffee, dressed in his usual, alone at the table. He had opened the blinds he made sure three times he shut last night. The smoke billowed from the base of the cup into his face and hair, mixing with the silver tuffs. They shone against the darkness at the nape of his neck and the bottom of his chin from the emitting light. 

He looked calm sitting there, as content as a devil could. He felt you before you had even turned the corner upstairs, but he didn’t say anything. He never really did. 

That being said, you can't remember much of anything besides wondering if it was indeed your body that rustled the ground that day. It was, and then you felt a man. A few days could have been weeks, and suddenly you were sitting in a town. A word that didn’t mean too much for a long time, but it did again; sitting at the breakfast table of a man, undulating under his gaze and between the blank spaces of your memory. 

An animal caged inside itself looks for relief in any way it can. Even if the relief is a different kind of pain masked as want. It meant throwing away your expectations and doing what it took to survive. 

You intended on speaking first. Rather, you reached the bottom of the stairs and tucked Tommy’s red flannel across your sparsely clothed body, and suddenly heard, “Shouldn’t be half-naked when Ellie’s here. She’s a kid.”

He didn’t even take the time to move his attention away from his coffee cup. That would be too much effort given to you. You ignored him, wanting to scream, “Was she here last night when you played with me like I was your little fucking doll?” You didn’t give him what he wanted, but still hoping he would give you what you did. 

You had watched the back of your eyelids dance with the small red and green dots for two more hours before getting up, willing remembrance. And oh, did it come.

“Got any more of those?”

“Of what?” He spat, eyebrows lowering in pretend interest in his hot coffee again… into his fuming lap. He knew exactly what the fuck you were talking about. How dare he take advantage of you and then throw it to the side like nothing happened. He was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he got high and took you with him. 

“This is feeling’ a lot different than last night. Those little round things that kept me pliant an’ dead enough for you to press yourself into my naked body? – Joel, do you think I’m not payin’ any fuckin’ attention? The second I tasted the salt on your fingertips, I knew it was you shovin’ pills down my throat. I knew it. And the way you were talking to me, calling me babygirl and sweetheart? Then I didn’t know anything, for a while. Not really. But Tommy,” you were raising your voice now, “Tommy was there too, then I woke up in his bed with his clothes on instead of yours— just tell me what the fuck happened Joel!”  

“Lower your voice, right now.” He was pointing at you, and his body moved closer to yours. “You… you wanted it Bunny,” He growled, “You practically drooled across my palm.” He sighed, gathered the lies from his web, and prepared them. He had already prepared his own cocoon, years ago.

He hadn't been the only one whose high wore off far too early in the night. 

“You didn’t say you didn’t want ‘em and—“ 

Then you spoke above the sentence he was starting to dig deeper into the ground, to his surprise, in a softer tone. One that had a hint of sweetness to it, of want. 

“Sweethear–”

“Do it again. Felt good.”

You liked it. Wasn’t the only thing he wanted to shove down your throat, either. No, no, no. Shaking the thought from his head. 

He removed his eyes from the creases in the wood floor and sewed them into your gaze instead, eyebrows cresting. He wanted to make sure he heard you right. He wanted to hear you repeat it.

“Say that again?”

“Said feels good when you touch me like that. When I’m melting into your flesh and sinking down your bones. That’s what the water felt like. First, it felt like fire, perfect for a Devil, and then it felt like a calm warmth. Then your hands were touchin’ me and, no one has ever touched–

a pause, “like—“

“No one has ever touched you, bunny?”

“No, Joel. And I hate you so much for making me feel this way. For showing me something I can’t continue to have because it’s wrong and, for being so sweet to me and then eating me up like I'm a burden because you couldn't just fucking kill me when you had the chance... and…I can barely even fucking walk. I am in so much pain but you took it away for a while last night. You took everything bad away. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Hate me, huh? Thas’a strong word for someone who is depending on me, wanting more.” Good. This is how it needed to be. He needed to take care of Ellie, himself now. He promised her that he would.

“Depending on you? Sorry, I forgot we hadn’t got to that part of the conversation yet, past the one where you drugged me. You dropped me into your brother's arms as of last night, didn’t you? I remember it, you musta popped one too many, huh?”

Your attitude and his lack of sleep were making it easier to will the words off the end of his tongue. 

“He seemed better suited for someone…” he looked you up and down, “like yourself.” 

You didn’t have anything to say to that, and he was immediately sorry after speaking about it. 

“For being such a big bad man in this town, you don’t have your fucking shit together,” returning the look he gave you, “do you?”

You were out of breath, releasing too much of yourself into his anger, knees weak and side-splitting in pain. You weren’t going to tell him that you were awake when he begged for your forgiveness. That you heard every word he whispered and repeated it back to yourself as if it was a passage pulled right from the pen-marked Bible your dad used to shove into your hands nightly. 

He thought you had been listening to everyone talking, in the mess hall and whatever drama Ellie had brought home. Maybe even Tommy had told you about the real Joel. The real Joel will tear you apart. 

You sat down on the sunken chestnut couch and the pillows lifted more of his smell into your space, settling and trying to get comfortable. You both remained silent, stung. It made you even more mad that he had the ability to stick straight into your anger like that. So you wished for a way to really hurt him like you were some kind of child.

You weren’t done yet. You were angry. So fucking angry at everything you have endured. And he was standing there, pity and disgust in his eyes–but he was looking, seeing… listening. 

“Tess.” Her name stung like the sound it ended with, for a reason you didn’t know, but inherently felt after last night. The hurt that flashed into his dark pupils spread through the tightness in his jaw.

“Don’t you fuckin-”

“Oh. Shut. Up. Joel. Heard ‘er talking to Tommy last night. Came knocking on the door around 1:30 am, asking for you. Tommy went to your room and you weren’t in there. Went back downstairs and said he couldn't find you, seen you only a couple of hours ago. She was throwing her hands against the door like it was hers to tear down. Guess she didn’t know I wasn’t with you,” you took a deep breath, trying to relieve the pain so you could continue, “Have you seen him? N’ that girl? Tommy, she's a fucking kid. Ain't right for him.” You mimicked her concern. You knew immediately who she was asking for. “Maybe I should go ask Tess if she would give me a few, she seems like she’d like to know what’s going on.” 

His jaw was flexing, his eyes burrowing into you, biting the inside of his lip. You continued, 

“Feels’good being numb for a’while. I’m always fanning off another fire but it always finds the loose thread and kisses it ablaze anyway. This feels like sinking... like I don’t have to fight anymore.”

His deep breath stifled the fire on his chest.

“Know it’s good,” his tone falling deep, low, and warning, “But you don’t need anymore.”

“Don’t I? You were the one who fucking shot me. The least you could do is slip me some pills. I’m in pain, Joel. I’m hurting.” He knew that you weren’t just talking about the wound in your side, that he put it there with his own split metal. He wanted to take that hurt away, get you curled up tight against him and high, painless, protected yet free– from a world you were too young to be living in alone. But how could he protect you from even himself?

He didn't even save her. Nothing has changed now besides the fact he finds it harder and harder to get out of bed every day. That he’s running low on whiskey and that's what keeps the bear inside. The pills keep it sedated. How could he admit that he was not fit to be your protector, and the only other person in town who it could be, was Tommy?

That's why today was the last day you'd be slamming down his stairs. Your footsteps were a reminder that the hurt animal had made its way into his house. A reminder that he was the one who hurt it.“‘M not given’ you anymore. So don’t open your mouth about it again. Got it?"

As always, please let me know if I missed any warnings / want me to add you to the taglist: @worhols @sarap-77 @mishasminion360 @justagalwhowrites @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @romanarose @milla-frenchy @bandluvr97 @alwaysdjarin @hellfyreroz @northernbluess-blog @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pr0ximamidnight @morgaussy @n7cje @theywhowriteandknowthings @gracie7209 @pedritoferg @twirl731 @k-ra @gintheginger @obscurexsorrows @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @ours-is-a-strange-fate @rayslittlekitten @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrotonin @bluetattoos @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @faggotinie @justlulu

[nshtn]

Obviously I'm new to your blog and your writing etc. so for the uroboros headcanon request - what's your own personal favorite hc you have for Uroboros Wesker? Anything special that diverges from canon or where you take liberties? Do you consider one of your hcs to be unique to your interpretation? //chinhands

[ Albert Wesker AU info & HCs ]

[ psychological / behavioral, personal, silly ]

They are so derivative of the canon that at this point the canon is merely a cloth to unravel and make yarn to sew into what I perceive, loosely framing events around how my Wesker approaches things differently. It's not his biggest canon events that change, but much of the perceived filler and the ways in which he processes them.

I'm going to use this post to make a grander explanation and debut! Please, feel free to send follow-up questions for clarification. I adore writing for him and want to flesh him out <3.

ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [Mood Music]

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| ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ |

TW for childhood trauma/C-PTSD, mentions of murder (and canon-typical violence), medical trauma...

Psychological:

He has alexithymia, learned sociopathy & psychopathy, raging C-PTSD from "familial" trauma, and an obsessive personality disorder with strong roots in maintaining unity and control.

Alexithymia: He struggles to identify positive emotions within himself that aren't crackling and popping. He prefers to drift in a none-too-powerful neutrality and sterilized apathy that feels safe because it's known. Emotions he is capable of easily slotting into, explaining, and approaching include confusion and interest, boredom and focus, confidence, anger and disgust. Emotions he most often forces down, struggles to identify (and thus properly express) or cuts away near-automatically include being ecstatic, fear, sadness and grief, empathetic compassion or sympathy, embarrassment and any kind of romance.

Sociopathy & Psychopathy: Wesker was not born as these things, he was made into them - manufactured. He has been spared no forge or flame, and has the deeply honed ability to cease feeling emotions that cause him to lose sight of his goals or disrupt his focus. This comes at the expense of fueling homicidal thoughts that rebound with the intensity of that repression. The only emotion he cannot bury to its' hilt is interest, which always springs back up later, a cockroach he can swat but cannot crush. Early into his career as a bio-weapons virologist, he is high-functioning. By the events of Resident Evil 5, he has degraded into manic and low-functioning.

C-PTSD: Growing up under Spencer's Umbrella indoctrination was nothing short of physical and psychological torture highlighted with the lingering current of medical trauma and social deprivation. Beatings would continue until morale improved, and food, water, and entertainment were privileges. Handlers, not parents, cared for him, and were routinely, purposefully cycled. Being angry or academically successful was the only thing that came with it no coattail of the hot iron of punishment. As a result, Wesker is socially maladjusted, icy, goal-married and purpose-driven, hair-splittingly sharp, pessimistic and sardonic - by many metrics, Project W's goal of fitting his initial hyperempathetic square of a personality into their round, clean-shaven peg of purpose was successful. However, not by all metrics...

Obsessive Disorder: Wesker was always genetically shackled to obsession. He has high glutamate and GABA - like many savants - and has all of the neurochemical changes associated with obsessive-compulsive behavior. Having obsession rewarded has led him to covet it and view it as a boon, allowing him to expend unhealthy focus on his goals. It, however, also plays into his inability to suppress interest and ultimately causes him to naturally slot into a compulsive need for control over even the most mundane aspects of life.

Despite this, he is not terribly violent nor does he spit forth the expected volley of constant rage. He does not enjoy the messy, frantic planning of execution and disposal; he prefers to approach situations with multiple level-headed plans of action, each plan more drastic than the last, until it reaches the point at which no other possible solution exists but utmost violence.

When he is forced to solve his problems with violence, though, he does not shy from dirty tactics and has no codex for honor in death. He will employ any tactic necessary to secure his unyielding success, whether that be causing global catastrophe, mass murder, planting spies, the violation of the geneva conventions, or any other long list of canon-typical violence native to the ultimate chase of his ideals.

There is only one thing that Wesker does not directly involve himself in when the need arises, though he is willing to do so indirectly: the involvement of children. He is not Spencer. (In fact, when in direct contact with children, he is rendered docile.)

Personal, unsorted:

He refutes a perfectly white labcoat and his choice of dress is intentionally obstinate and spiteful.

Wearing a full white labcoat fills him with inescapable dread and a feeling of childlike vulnerability that he avoids at all costs. Even in his early Umbrella days, he finds a way to get his hands on a light blue one, yellow, anything...

His later, freely-made choice of full black attire is a presentation of his internal doom-and-gloom and a psychosexual liberty - his tacticool skintight choices are intentful, he very much likes both the look and feel of tight, restrictive attire and the shine of latex and leather.

Wesker has suspicious scars. He hides them.

'Experimentation' on his form as a child as a form of punishment for rebellion has left his hands and the tender veins of his wrists compromised by ugly, threatening pockmarks. Thus, gloves.

He has had his appendix pre-emptively removed by Spencer to reduce the chance of downtime later.

He was sterilized early to reduce the chance of straying from the path of Project W, but it did not hold. This is, however, a point of insecurity for him irregardless.

His relation to Spencer was never terribly positive, the man's control over him less so, but following the reveal of Project W he has an unmatched, broiling, tossing-turning-spitting-boiling hatred.

He murders Spencer in a much more personal, slow and torturous way than his canon counterpart.

He goes into a manic depressive state that ultimately leads to the creation of Uroboros and his downfall as a result of this, though he was already veering towards a similar path because of his nurture as an imperfect man-made monster.

I am a Wesker Sweet Tooth truther, sorry (though he is picky as a result of a rebellion against childhood's near-Soylenting).

He exerts an unhealthy calorie-counting control over his diet, but depressions and S.T.A.R.S-era forward see him progressively loosen this to account for the occasional sweetie.

Big into anything that takes absurd skill to make, like Petit Fours, Macarons, Baked Alaska and Crepe Cakes (minis!) Ordered, scantly made; the time cannot be found to practice this, but in another life he might have been a profound baker.

Secretly appreciative of funnel cake and You Tiao, but they're a once-a-year thing, if at all.

Tried dehydrated ice cream from an MRE once. Chasing the mouth-feel stim ever since, he's experimented and found a hidden cache of joy in the fiber-rich bland sweet'n'salty of sprouted young coconut.

He personally makes Springerle around Christmas and carves out time to do so, then packs one or two into his diet to come as they soften. They are sweet and dense, satisfying his urge for a biscuit and a sweet in one in the initial four to six months following, and they're advantageous to make.

Likes spicy to kick him awake in the morning. Strong chai tea is a nicety. Loose-leaf pilled and snooty.

Wesker's relation with William Birkin was one of admiration, equality, intellectual debate and, eventually, feelings of great interest.

His feelings were not fully returned out of an abundance of fear and caution, but they were occasionally entertained and experimented with before the arrival of Annette. It was simply infeasible.

Birkin was an intellectual equal, if not a superior. He has fantasized of the duo they could have been had he dosed Birkin with Uroboros. Birkin was one of few willing to debate virology with him and tone-match his icy arguments, even capable of winning.

He never stopped admiring Birkin, leading to the incorporation of G into Uroboros. It is an incorporation that finds its' roots sleeping with subconscious grief, what-ifs and could-have-beens he cannot afford to acknowledge with neither time nor the sanity to grapple them.

Wesker's relation with Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine were initially sour and resentful of their normalcy and outward, unlimited expressions, but quietly bloomed forth from this into crestfallen admiration, friendship, and ultimately, deathly obsession (for Chris, this also included love). [When not pairing him with a reader, of course].

Team Alpha were his piggies. His toys to break, his toys to play with, mind and mold and mentor. The Mansion Incident was easy enough to sleep Team Bravo, but the most uncommon emotion was fished from his depths and chained to his demeanor with Team Alpha: empathy, compassion.

Chris was his favorite, though. Physically equal, matching his sardonic wit in a natural easy charm as cool as he was cold. Chris' planning and teamwork skill eventually superseded Marini's, and then it grew to crux even his own. The curiosity sparked and ignited furiously at the idea that his intellect alone could not amass the sheer unity and control Chris could command signed with love and feeling.

Spencer's gift of infection is Prototype Leech Progenitor, and holds the name Progenitor 0067, which is why it is printed out as PG67A/W [Progenitor 0067 Albert/Wesker.]

It's startlingly stable, but it begins to unravel as time drags on. It is made unstable by emotion in a manner not entirely dissimilar to T-Phobos, both enhanced and injured by rage and subconscious desire; mutation increases laterally with low dopamine, high norepinephrine, and an uptick in cortisol and cholecystokinin. It is inevitably bound to cause negative side-effects as negative mutations begin to fester unchecked.

Its' primary symptom of infection includes thermochromic bioluminescence of the iris and keratinous growths. The iris' melanocytes are invaded by the virus and begin to respond to nerve endings' temperature signalling with aptly-named luciferase and rapid uncomplicated hypervascularization, leading to a red-yellow appearance.

It does not have the stabilizing matrix of Ebola genes, much to Wesker's chagrin.

It is compatible with Uroboros in a very odd way that no other virus is because of how much of its' gene expression is genetically leech.

He survives the events of RE5.

He mutates into a very large and very feral Uroboros monster with hundreds of whipping appendages, but, notably, his body remains and does not explode into a Mkono or Aheri. Here's a chibi version of his monstrous form.

Feed the feral beast enough biomass and the man's consciousness nestled within will be hooked and fished to the surface.

He requires ~5,000 - ~6,700 calories a day to maintain baseline non-feral consciousness, and far, far more to regain his intellect.

Silly:

He can sing very well.

Very much a shower hummer. Brisk cold showers cannot hold back the tide of humming Don Henley's Inside Job under his breath.

S.T.A.R.S-era saw him purchase a Walkman F15. (In fact, it would not be rare to catch him humming as he slavered over paperwork during this time, nor was he bashful of it).

He likes Jurassic Park as a book and the automatons and quadruped suits in the movies, but does not like the movies' plot portrayal.

He finds it shameful that they stripped most of the allegories and paleontological accuracy to focus on Dinosaur Scary. Absolutely a feathered theory truther who thinks Thomas Henry Huxley had it right.

Those velociraptors were utahraptors to him. No other explanation in his mind, don't try to play him for a fool.

He struggles to read subtext in books and prefers writing that isn't flowery.

He's got the same affliction as Einstein - he's autistic. He was spared any kind of clear, visible regression or failure to thrive of other skills unlike most savants. In fact, all of Project W's prospective pupils are autistic savants. Flowery, emotion-welled text gels with neither his genetics nor his upbringing.

His accent is Umbrella-manufactured and specific to it.

Diphthongs from repeated 'o' are transformed into 'au', like British, but 'r' and 't' are both retained entirely. It has its' roots in British Received Pronunciation, the traditional 'posh upper-class'ccent'.

He actually tamps it down somewhat... it's normally pretty strong. Exposure to S.T.A.R.S also transformed it into its' own filtered beast.

It shines through to a crippling degree the angrier he is. Bile-spitting Wesker sounds like he's going to roast you for your stock holdings and tea choices. (S.T.A.R.S-era Chris and Marini found this hard to take seriously)

He's a yapper level 100. So is Birkin.

You are sooner to die from thirst after receiving a disciplinary monologuing longer than any published TEDTalk (spoken as if it were copied from an official document) than you are to be murdered for simping or being pissy. He entertains debate, but is so debate-minded and source-pilled that you will be verbally beaten into submission if for nothing else than the glorious feeling of academic domination (unless you're Birkin).

He is normally quiet unless provoked into said monologue, with a deep and judgmental inner voice that never ceases.

[dean-a-mean-tae]

Updated "Western" Friends | Stray Kids Additional Member AU

Nicholas is still friends with some of the other people from the 1st western friends post, but he's also made new ones.

WARNINGS: Let me be delusional. Mention of Cardi and Nicki scandal. "Fans" being weird about Nicholas and his friendship with women. I don't know if there's anything else.

Nicholas Ross Master List

✧*̥˚𝘽𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙀𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝*̥˚✧

Menaces To Society

Nicholas was a fan of Billie since Ocean Eyes. He eventually reached out to congratulate her on making it big, and give her a heads up on what to expectation versus reality on the spot light. He told her to reach out if she ever needed anything or just to talk to him.

Surprisingly, Billie reached out very randomly and just needed to rant. She claimed it felt "better to rant to someone not in the situation because then they wouldn't be biased." She was right. Nicholas was able to give her multiple perspectives on what she was going through while coming to a conclusion on how she felt. They've been friends since.

Nicholas kind of adopted Billie and now they have a great friendship. Unfortunately, there are some people who think it's creepy for Nicholas to be friends with Billie and continuously express that. It doesn't stop Billie from posting about Nicholas being a dumbass. "It's moments like this where I question your logic. Cause what made you think that was a good idea?"

Bonus: Billie is aware of some of Nicholas's trauma thanks to the few videos he's done on them, but she wants, and is waiting, for him to tell her himself.

✧*̥˚𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞 𝘽*̥˚✧

I'm Not Fighting You, But She'll Do It For Me

Unsurprisingly, Megan is the one who introduced them to each other. She wanted to know if the three of them could do a collab. Unfortunately, JYP didn't approve of this so the idea was scrapped. But that didn't stop Cardi and Nicholas from keeping in touch.

The feud between Cardi and Nicki started the distance between Nicholas and Nicki. Nicholas knows the Barbz, or Nicki's fans, started the feud but it irritated him that the two continued it. He, of course, never spoke on it no matter how many times people asked about it. Nicholas's continuous stance of staying indifferent in the situation, even though he knew Nicki before Cardi, is also what pulled her further into nurturing him.

Shortly, after Nicholas and Nicki had a fall out, Cardi stepped in to help take care of him. When Nicki stopped checking in, Cardi checked in. When Nicki stopped responding, Cardi would respond and constantly reach out. "Listen, you ain't gotta worry about her no more, aight? Ima look out for you."

Bonus: Cardi made sure she told Nicholas about her pregnancy with Wave (her son) before he found about the news. She said it made it more special to hear it from the momma rather than some news person.

✧*̥˚𝘾𝙤𝙘𝙤 𝙅𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨*̥˚✧

The Funniest and The Hottest

Nicholas is known by American Stays to say Coco Jones quotes. There are so many compilations of him quoting other famous people and eventually it got onto Coco's feed. She tweeted a clip of him quoting her word for word with a goofy look and all.

Their friendship isn't really known because they don't interact in public. With them living on different sides of the planet, the time zones, and the lack of interaction on the internet, it's not a easy thing to point out.

They're such bad influences on each other. Stay already knew Nicholas was a goofball, but when he met Coco and they did video collabs together with Terrell, everyone realized Nicholas was a idiot who needed to be protected at all costs.

Bonus: They communicate through memes and TikTok, which is amusing to the boys. Their whole message feed thingy is filled with pictures and videos.

✧*̥˚𝙇𝙖𝙮 𝘽𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨*̥˚✧

Tall & Lean and Short & Slim

Ironically, Nicholas learned about her through TikTok because of her song Ick. He played the song in front of his father, and the man was disgusted that this was the music his son was listening to. For the whole time he visited his family, Nicholas had the song on repeat.

Nicholas sent Lay a DM to thank her for helping him piss his parents off. After explaining what happened after a very confused response from her, she found the situation hilarious and posted about it while making sure to keep his identity hidden.

If you thought people went crazy about Nicholas and Billie, imagine their reaction to his friendship with a 19 year old. After this Nicholas just kind of adopted Lay and added her to his list of adoptive children. It only consists of Billie and Lay, but it's the fact he has "kids" that leaves him tickled.

They're is a time difference so they kind of just spam each other and wait for the other to reply. Usually, Nicholas is up late so it means he can respond when Lay is getting up in the morning.

Bonus: Nicholas got Lay to help prank Chan by using a voice effect that made her sound like a kid. It went something along the lines of him telling Chan he needed help keeping his kid hidden with Chan being confused on when Nicholas had time to actually have a child without him knowing.

Nicholas Ross Master List | ©️DEANAMEANTAE2024

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