#maybe i massively misread the tone

[interstellarneighbourhood]

I’ve seen a lot of tumblrs talking about “im musician and this is my music inspiration”

But what about “my music knowledge” ?

What do you know about music? And I’m not talking about programs and devices they can be buy and with a few YouTube tutorials you can learn how to use them, but we need more than that, shapes, forms, soul and flavor in the music not more generic content

So my honest question

Who are you and what do you have to offer?

I've been writing songs since I was 9, producing music since I was 13, and I've played piano and sung since even younger.

I've honed my skills through years of practice, and I'm studying music at university.

I write about everything from insomnia to romance to imaginary science fiction universes, in a multitude of genres and styles, incorporating unique harmonic, lyrical, metric and melodic structures.

but also, I don't have to "offer" you anything.

The way you have approached me and demanded I prove myself to you feels sorta condescending...

There is a huge amount of effort, time, skill and vulnerability involved in creating. Whether someone's a beginner or a seasoned professional, whether they're "good" or "bad" at what they do, they're making something.

I'm never going to fault someone for that, and I'm also not gonna throw other musicians under the bus because you think they're somehow inferior.

also, if you hate "soulless", "generic" music, take your issues up with AI and capitalism, since those are the real culprits <3

This blog is a space for me to share things that inspire me and my creative process. It could be stuff from artists whose lyricism or production i admire. It could be an artwork that communicates a feeling i want to encapsulate in a song. It could be something else entirely. It's not somewhere for me to be interrogated.

[helen-with-an-a]

would you consider a part 2 to be the best?

maybe everyone realises reader making an effort and she starts to get closer at team bonding nights etc. then gets angry and thinks everyone will go back to hating her but happy ending

Hiiii - so I hope you enjoy this - I might make another part, I might not - I'm not quite sure

Be The Best part 3

AWFC x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Description: R joins the team on a trip to the cinema

Word Count: 4.4k

Deciding what to wear – it seemed like such a simple task, yet it was the one thing consuming your thoughts. It was more than just picking an outfit; it felt like the key to unlocking your entire evening. If you could just figure out what to wear, then maybe everything else would follow. The outfit could set the tone, give you confidence, and make you feel ready to face whatever was coming your way. Or at least, that's what you kept telling yourself, over and over, as if the right choice of clothes could somehow solve all your other problems too. The pressure to get it right was overwhelming, as if choosing the perfect outfit would magically make everything else fall into place.

But it wasn’t even a special occasion – it was just the cinema. A casual, relaxed outing, nothing crazy, nothing formal. Just the cinema. You were going to watch a movie, sit in the dark for a couple of hours, and maybe grab a snack or two. No big deal. It wasn’t like you were going to a fancy dinner or an important meeting. Just the cinema.

And yet, it wasn’t just the cinema. It was the cinema with your friends, work colleagues, people you have definitely bullied at times. You knew you had to strike a delicate balance – casual, but not too casual; relaxed, but still put together. It wasn’t simply about the clothes. It was about perception, about how the others would see you and what they would think. Every choice seemed to carry a weight that extended far beyond fabric and fashion. Would they notice if you were too dressed up, standing out like you were trying too hard? Or would they judge you if you were too laid-back, as if you didn’t care at all?

For most people, it was just a routine outing, something they had done countless times. But for you, it was uncharted territory, an experience you’d only heard about or seen in movies themselves. The idea of sitting in a dark theatre, surrounded by others, watching a story unfold on a massive screen – this was completely new. You didn’t know the unspoken rules, the social cues that everyone else seemed to take for granted. How were you supposed to act? What was the right amount of enthusiasm or restraint?

And what about conversation? That was another minefield altogether. You knew the basic rule: no talking during the film. That part seemed straightforward enough. But what about before the film started, when everyone was finding their seats, shuffling in with popcorn and drinks? Was there a right way to initiate small talk in those brief moments of dimmed lights and hushed voices? Should you comment on the previews, ask about their day, or maybe even crack a light joke to ease any tension? Or would it be better to keep it simple, just a casual greeting before settling into the silence? The uncertainty gnawed at you, making it difficult to predict how you should approach those moments.

And then there was the aftermath, the part that seemed the most daunting of all. What would you talk about after the film ended? How do people usually transition from the intensity of the movie back to regular conversation? Should you start with your thoughts on the film, maybe offer an opinion or ask for theirs? But what if your opinions didn’t match? What if you missed a key detail, or your interpretation was off? Would you come across as clueless or out of touch? You didn’t want to be the one who misread the mood, who either overanalysed every scene or brushed off the film too casually.

What if they didn’t want to talk to you? That fear was the heaviest of all, lurking in the back of your mind and casting a shadow over everything else. Leah had promised that you were welcome to attend the team bonding event, insisting that it would be a good opportunity to relax and connect away from the pressures of the football field. But did they really want you there? Was her invitation genuinely extended on behalf of the entire team, or was it just a polite gesture, something she felt obligated to offer? The thought gnawed at you, making you second-guess every detail of the evening.

You had been so mean to them for so long – too long, really. Screaming had been your only form of communication, your voice always raised, always harsh, leaving no room for warmth or understanding. It was as if yelling was the only way you knew how to convey your thoughts, your frustrations, your demands.

Images of Kyra’s terrified eyes flashed across your mind, haunting you in those quiet moments when the noise of the day had finally died down. You remembered the way she would flinch whenever you called her name, her eyes wide and fearful, as if bracing herself for the inevitable onslaught. It wasn’t just once or twice – no, those moments were all too frequent, etched into the fabric of your daily routine. You could almost hear the echo of your own voice, sharp and cutting, as you berated her for the smallest mistakes, things that now seemed so insignificant in hindsight.

You had changed four times already, each outfit a different attempt to strike the right balance, to somehow capture the perfect blend of casual yet polished, approachable yet confident. Each time you thought you’d found the right look, doubt crept in, nagging at the edges of your mind until you found yourself back at the mirror, scrutinising every detail. First, it was joggers and T-shirt – too casual, you decided, too close to something you’d wear lounging around the house, not quite right for an evening where you wanted to make a better impression. Then came the one dress you owned – simple, comfortable, but suddenly it felt too much, as if you were trying too hard, the exact opposite of what you wanted.

You tried again, opting for a more relaxed outfit, a sweater and a pair of tailored pants, thinking this might strike the right chord. But as you stood there, looking at yourself, the reflection staring back seemed off, like you were wearing someone else’s clothes. You looked like you were going into a business meeting. It didn’t feel like you, or at least not the version of yourself you wanted to present tonight. So you changed again, this time into something more middle-ground, some baggy jeans and a top. But even then, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite right.

As you stood there in front of the mirror, surrounded by discarded outfits strewn across the bed, you wondered if maybe the clothes weren’t the real issue. Maybe it was the fact that no matter what you wore, you couldn’t escape the history you carried with you, the reputation you had built, and the uncertainty of whether any outfit could really make a difference in how you were perceived.

Your phone buzzed on the desk, the familiar vibration cutting through the thick fog of your thoughts. The sound startled you, pulling you out of the endless loop of doubt and second-guessing that had been consuming your mind for what felt like hours. You glanced over and saw the screen light up with your alarm, its insistent tone a stark reminder that time had finally run out. There was no more room for deliberation, no more opportunity to agonise over every detail.

It took you longer than expected to get to the cinema, your nerves slowing you down at every turn. The streets seemed unfamiliar, the route winding through a part of town that you rarely ventured into. As you navigated through the maze of side roads and intersections, you couldn't help but notice how different this area felt from your usual haunts. It was quieter, more residential, with an air of nostalgia that hung in the evening breeze. The buildings here had a certain charm, with their old-fashioned storefronts and quaint cafés, each one exuding a sense of history that made you feel like you had stepped back in time.

When you finally arrived at the cinema, it wasn’t what you had expected. You had envisioned something sleek and modern, a polished building with neon lights and a buzzing crowd. Instead, you found yourself standing in front of a place that felt like a hidden gem, tucked away from the busier parts of the city. The cinema was smaller, more intimate, and as you approached, you were struck by its unexpected charm. The exterior was unassuming, with a classic marquee that displayed the film titles in black letters against a white backdrop, the lights around it softly glowing in the dimming light.

Inside, the atmosphere was cozy and inviting, a far cry from the sterile, impersonal theatre you had walked past as a kid. It was cute – more retro than you had anticipated, with an ambiance that immediately put you at ease. The plush blue seats lined the aisles, each one a deep, rich shade that contrasted beautifully with the cream-colored walls. The seats looked like they had been carefully maintained, their upholstery soft and welcoming, as if they had been chosen for comfort rather than just practicality. The walls, with their creamy tones, added to the sense of warmth, their subtle detailing suggesting a bygone era when cinemas were more than just places to watch a film – they were places to experience something special.

"Hey, I'm glad you could make it," Kim said softly when she saw you arrive, her voice warm and welcoming. There was something genuine in her tone, a sincerity that caught you slightly off guard. It was as if she truly meant it, as if your presence was something she had been hoping for rather than just politely acknowledging. Her smile was gentle, her eyes reflecting a kindness that made you pause for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

You had been so wrapped up in your own anxieties, so convinced that your arrival would be met with indifference – or worse, thinly veiled discomfort – that her friendly greeting threw you off balance. For a split second, you hesitated, searching for the right words, something casual and appropriate to say in return. But nothing came out. Instead, you grimaced awkwardly back at her, your lips twisting into a half-hearted smile that you knew looked forced.

It was as though your body had betrayed you, refusing to cooperate in this moment of unexpected kindness. You could feel the tension in your shoulders, the way your jaw tightened as you struggled to mirror the warmth in Kim’s voice with an expression that didn’t come naturally to you. Inside, you were cringing at your own inability to respond with the same ease, the same natural friendliness that Kim seemed to embody so effortlessly.

Your grimace felt clumsy, a stark contrast to her welcoming demeanour. It was as if all the insecurities you had been trying to suppress suddenly bubbled up to the surface, making it impossible to relax and just be in the moment. You worried that Kim could see through your awkwardness, that she might pick up on the discomfort you were trying so hard to mask. Would she interpret it as reluctance? As a sign that you didn't really want to be there? The thought made your stomach twist, amplifying the awkwardness of the situation.

But Kim, ever gracious, didn’t let it faze her. She continued to smile, her eyes softening with understanding, as if she sensed your unease but chose not to dwell on it. Her kindness was unwavering, a quiet reassurance that perhaps, despite your own self-doubt, you were more welcome than you realised. “I think you’re the last one to arrive.”

“Sorry, it took longer than I thought to get here,” you said, your voice tinged with an apologetic edge as you finally caught up with Kim. You tried to sound casual, but the nerves were evident in the way you fumbled with your words. Your gaze flickered around the room, searching for something to latch onto to avoid the awkwardness of the moment.

“No worries,” Kim replied with a reassuring smile, her tone light and understanding. “Was there much traffic?”

“Uh, no,” you began, your voice wavering slightly. You cleared your throat, trying to steady your nerves. “I mean, there wasn’t much traffic. I just – I've, I’ve just not been here before, so …” You trailed off, the words sputtering out like a car sputtering to a halt. The sentence hung in the air, unfinished and awkward.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. It wasn’t just the unfamiliarity of the location that threw you off; it was the whole social aspect of the evening that felt out of place.

“Hey, you came!” Leah shouted from across the lobby, her voice ringing out with a burst of enthusiasm that cut through the low murmur of conversation. The suddenness of her greeting was a relief, taking the spotlight off Kim and saving her from having to respond to your earlier, awkward attempt at small talk. Leah’s energy seemed to fill the space, her bright smile and warm manner making it clear that she was genuinely pleased to see you.

“Hi,” you whispered back, the word barely escaping your lips as you struggled to match her enthusiasm with your own shaky confidence. You felt a pang of awkwardness, compounded by the realisation that you were still adjusting to the surroundings

Leah, unfazed by your quiet response, continued with her upbeat tone. “Do you want to grab some snacks before you go in?”

Snacks? The word hit you like a revelation. You had always thought of the cinema as a place where people just sat in darkened rooms and watched movies, perhaps grabbing a quick drink from a vending machine if they were really desperate. But the idea of having snacks felt almost revolutionary. The concept of indulging in something edible during a film was so foreign to you that you blinked in surprise, momentarily caught off guard.

You looked around, taking in the lobby’s setup with new eyes. It was bustling with people moving toward a counter where a variety of snacks were displayed. The counter was an array of tempting options: large tubs of buttery popcorn and colourful sweets. The whole scene seemed like an elaborate concession to comfort, something you had never considered part of the cinema experience before.

Alessia, who had joined Leah in welcoming you, turned to you with a warm smile. “What’s your go-to?” she asked, her tone inviting and friendly. Her curiosity seemed genuine, and it made you feel a bit more at ease.

You hesitated, glancing at the array of snacks before you, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your uncertainty evident. The variety of choices seemed almost overwhelming, and you weren’t sure where to start.

Alessia laughed lightly, a sound that was both comforting and disarming. “Ah, a ‘see how you feel’ kind of person,” she said, nodding knowingly as if she understood your approach. Her laughter and casual attitude made it clear that she wasn’t judging you, but rather finding your indecision endearing.

“Um, no,” you replied, feeling a bit embarrassed as you tried to explain. “I’ve not been to the cinema before.” The admission felt awkward, and you braced yourself for whatever reaction might follow.

Alessia stared at you, her eyes widening in shock. “What do you mean?” she asked, disbelief evident in her voice. “Surely you went growing up? I know we don’t have much time now, but still.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of your admission feeling heavier under Alessia’s surprised gaze. “Uh, no. My, uh, my dad said it was a waste of time,” you said, your voice trailing off. The memory of your father’s dismissive attitude made you feel vulnerable, as if you were exposing a part of your past that was uncomfortable to revisit.

Alessia’s surprise was palpable, her mouth forming a small “O” as she processed what you had just revealed. Her eyes widened, clearly taken aback by the information. It was as if the notion of someone never having been to the cinema before was a concept so foreign that it took her a moment to fully grasp it. Her reaction was a blend of shock and genuine curiosity, making you feel even more self-conscious.

You could feel your face flush with embarrassment as you watched her reaction unfold. The realisation that you had just divulged a personal detail about your upbringing – a detail that seemed to have left such an impact on Alessia – made you mentally kick yourself. Why couldn’t you have just gone along with her question, given a generic answer, and avoided this awkward revelation altogether?

As Alessia’s initial shock gave way to a more empathetic expression, you mentally berated yourself for not just playing along. She could almost hear the internal dialogue in your head: “Why did I have to be so honest? Why couldn’t I just say I like popcorn or candy and leave it at that?” You bit your lip, hard, gasping slightly at the familiar pain.

But as you watched Alessia’s expression soften into one of understanding, you also noticed the subtle shift in her stance. She seemed genuinely concerned and determined to make sure you felt comfortable. Her initial shock had transformed into a compassionate response, as if she was now more committed than ever to ensuring that your first cinema experience was enjoyable and welcoming.

“Well, usually I go for some popcorn,” Alessia said with a casual shrug, her tone easy and conversational. “But I decided on Pick ‘n’ Mix today.” She paused, as if considering the options and her own choice. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief and excitement, reflecting a genuine enthusiasm for the variety of treats on offer. “If you get some popcorn, we could share?” she suggested, her offer smooth and natural, as though it were the most effortless thing in the world.

“Y-you want to share?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. The shock in your tone was palpable, your words tinged with disbelief. The notion that Alessia, someone who had been so kind and welcoming, would offer to share something as simple as popcorn with you felt almost surreal. The gesture seemed magnified by your own insecurities and the weight of your past interactions with her

.

You stood there, momentarily taken aback, struggling to reconcile Alessia’s warmth with the harshness you remembered from your own behaviour. It was as if her kindness had momentarily suspended reality, making you question whether you deserved such a generous offer. You had been so accustomed to keeping others at a distance, to reacting defensively or with hostility, that the idea of someone reaching out to you with genuine friendliness felt foreign and unexpected.

“Of course, come on, let’s get some popcorn,” Alessia said, her smile broadening into a welcoming expression that seemed to dispel any lingering awkwardness. Her enthusiasm was infectious, a burst of positive energy that made you feel more at ease despite your earlier reservations.

Without missing a beat, she reached out and gently grabbed your elbow, her touch both firm and reassuring.

The film wasn’t necessarily your choice, but as it played out on the screen, you found yourself increasingly engrossed. You never really had time for films – growing up, your father had made you watch old matches and now, as an adult, you did the same. There was something about the action, the romance, the unexpected twist at the end that drew you in and kept you close.

Sitting wedged in between Alessia and Leah wasn’t too bad either. In fact, it turned out to be one of the more pleasant surprises of the evening. Alessia, seated to your right, had a laugh that was genuinely infectious. Each time something amusing or surprising happened on the screen, her laughter would bubble up – a warm, genuine sound that was impossible not to be affected by. It was the kind of laugh that seemed to fill the room with a sense of shared joy, creating a subtle but tangible bond between you and the rest of the audience. Her enthusiasm was both comforting and uplifting, making the film experience feel even more enjoyable.

Leah, on your left, contributed to the cozy atmosphere with her own unique presence. She kept up a quiet commentary throughout the film, her murmurs barely audible but filled with insightful observations and humorous remarks. Her comments were like little nuggets of insight, offering a fresh perspective on the film's twists and turns. You had expected that her talking might become distracting or irritating, but instead, it had the opposite effect. Leah’s commentary felt like a private conversation that added another layer to your viewing experience, one that was both engaging and endearing.

Rather than finding Leah's remarks bothersome, you found yourself appreciating them. Her thoughtful, almost reverent musings about the film’s plot and characters added depth to your own viewing experience. It was as though she was sharing a part of her own enthusiasm and understanding with you, making the film feel more interactive and immersive. Each comment was delivered with a subtlety that ensured it didn't disrupt your enjoyment, but rather complemented it, adding an extra dimension to your engagement with the story.

The combination of Alessia’s lively, infectious laughter and Leah’s quiet, reflective commentary created a perfect balance that made sitting between them a surprisingly enjoyable experience. It turned out to be a blend of energy and insight that enhanced the film’s appeal, making the whole experience feel more communal and enjoyable.

“Oh, my god. That was so good!” Stina cheered as you all left the theater, her excitement practically radiating from her. Her blonde ponytail whipped from side to side with each enthusiastic hop down the steps, creating a lively and contagious energy that seemed to spread through the group. Stina’s reaction was a burst of pure, unfiltered enthusiasm, her voice ringing with genuine excitement about the film you had just seen.

Conversations about favourite scenes and surprising plot twists began to bubble up, each person eager to share their thoughts and opinions on the film. It was as if Stina’s initial reaction had unlocked a wave of shared enthusiasm that everyone was eager to join in on.

“Yeah, that twist at the end was incredible!” Steph chimed in, her voice laced with amazement. “I didn’t see that coming at all.” The sentiment was echoed by several others, their faces animated with excitement as they recounted their favourite moments. The film had clearly struck a chord with the group, and the sense of collective satisfaction was palpable. Had this been what you were missing out on every time you declined an invite?

Before you could get too far into your head, Kim came up behind you, her shoulder gently nudging yours in a friendly, almost reassuring manner. The touch was light but deliberate, a small gesture that drew you back from your swirling thoughts and into the present moment. Her presence was warm and grounding, a reminder that you were part of a group, and her approachable demeanor made it easier to transition from the excitement of the film to the next part of the evening.

“So, what did you think?” Kim asked, her voice filled with genuine interest. There was a subtle anticipation in her tone, an expectation that your opinion would contribute to the collective conversation.

“I liked the film. It was very good,” you responded, your voice steady but still tinged with the residual excitement from the movie. You were still processing the film’s impact and the lively discussion that had followed, and Kim’s question provided a moment to articulate your enjoyment. It felt good to share your positive reaction, to be part of the enthusiastic response that had characterised the group’s reactions.

Kim’s eyes brightened at your response, and she smiled with a hint of mischief. “Good enough to come to dinner with us?” she asked, her tone light and inviting.

You froze for a moment, a sudden wave of uncertainty washing over you. Did Kim really want you to join them for dinner? The question seemed to echo in your mind, stirring up a flurry of anxious thoughts. The idea of continuing the evening with the group was both inviting and intimidating, and you couldn’t help but question whether you truly belonged in this social setting.

A twinge of apprehension gnawed at you as you considered the possibility of making a mistake. What if you inadvertently did something wrong or said something out of turn? The fear of misstepping or failing to live up to the group’s expectations loomed large. You imagined potential scenarios where your actions might not align with the group’s dynamics, leading to awkwardness or discomfort.

And what if you got angry with them again? What if you ruined the night? What if you did something wrong and they kicked you off the team? A tight knot of anxiety bubbled up in your chest, making it difficult to fully embrace the invitation. The prospect of making a good impression and avoiding past mistakes felt like a significant challenge. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that Kim’s invitation was a gesture of goodwill, a sign that your presence was valued and welcomed.

“Umm, yeah, yeah, I think so,” you said, your voice gaining confidence as you spoke. “If that’s ok with you?” The question was as much about seeking reassurance as it was about confirming your participation. It was a polite gesture, ensuring that your presence was welcome and that you weren’t imposing on the group’s plans.

Kim’s smile widened, and she gave you a reassuring nod. “Absolutely, it’s totally okay,” she said warmly. “We’d love to have you join us. It’s just a casual dinner, nothing too formal. We’re all going to this great place nearby – should be a lot of fun!”

[bigolbard]

A lot of immediate thoughts about Legend of Vox Machina EPs 7-9. Spoiler galore. Get outta here if you haven't watched yet.

Did not like the song choice at the end of Ep 7. This is probably hit or miss personal preference, but felt very tonally disconnected with what was happening in the scene.

THE MOTHERFUCKING CERBERUS ASSEMPLY HOLY SHIT

I'm shocked that they didn't resurrect Percy before fighting Thordak. Genuinely shocked. I have no strong feelings about it from a narrative standpoint, but that's a massive change and just...a lot to chew on.

I didn't like that they changed the tone of Grog's "Fix him" line. That line is iconic, and I'd bet most people have that in their Top 3 most emotional moments from C1, and Grog's forceful tone is the entire reason for that. Changing it just...didn't land for me.

And also Scanlan isn't even dead? Just...in a coma? I don't know how I feel about that change -- it'll probably be dependent on how the last three episodes go.

Vex's coversation with her father was heartbreaking and beautiful and holy fuck Laura Bailey, goddamn it.

Ripley still being alive after Thordak is dead is a very interesting change that I currently have no strong feelings about, but will probably have more feelings about when the season has concluded.

I have two thoughts about Pike Trickfoot. Thought number one is that I don't love this whole "actually her power is intrinsic and not from the everlight" thing, but maybe I'm just misreading where that'll go. Though number two is that every single scene with Pike is either beautiful, hilarious, or the most fucking badass thing I've ever seen in my life. Seriously, she got the Divine Nuke in S1 and now she gets the Dawnmartyr Plate power up scene? Girl, save some badassery for the rest of the team!

I assume the last three episodes will be one devoted to killing Ripley, one devoted to killing Raishan, and one dedicated to resurrections and fallout. However, I have no idea what order that will happen in. On one hand, it's very hard for me to imagine them fighting Raishan without Percy or Scanlan. On the other hand, this batch of episodes changed enough narratively that I no longer have any idea what is and isn't off the table.

I still believe this season will end with Bard's Lament, but given that Scanlan hasn't made his promise to Kaylie yet, I'm...ever so slightly worried about how it's gonna be handled and if they're gonna stick the landing. I have faith, I'm just slightly nervous. There's a lotta shit left to tie up in three episodes.

Killing Kashaw sucks, but I don't hate it. Especially if it gives us a reason for more Zahra in Season 4.

Rest in peace, Lance Reddick. You were fucking amazing as Thordak, and I'm devastated you're not around to receive your deserved praise.

[aylish91]

Its a late night and i had a scenario for the Leviathan Au…

Reader was born a mer, and actually the last of their species due to the unfortunate involvement of humans, and nightmare decides to take in reader because of this.

Maybe a comfort scene where reader is grieving over the loss of the members from her pod and the loss of her species in general and nightmare finds them alone? I would love to see what your take on this would be..

A morsel for your soul dear Anon. I may have misread it the first time, but we got there! hahaha! Have some first meetings and hurt/comfort.

Thank you for reading and requesting!

Why do you Weep?

The deep was… different. The pressure made your fins heavy and breath hard. You knew in time your body would become more accustomed to it and work out its difficulties, but for now, it was one more reminder of how much things had changed.

You missed the shallows and the reef. You missed your reef. You missed the laughter and anticipation of waiting for hunting parties returning with jellies and siphonophores.

You missed everything.

Sometimes you wonder if it would have been better if you had stayed behind. At least then you could have been lost with all the others. As it was, your mother’s panicked pleas were the only thing keeping you going. She and your father had given up so much that you might survive…

It hurt.

Flaring the soft ridges of your spine and fins, you forced yourself to dive deeper. You weren’t sure how far you had swum to reach the trench, but your mother was adamant that your safety hinged on descending “past the edge of day”.

Humans couldn’t follow unaided.

You knew you had reached it when a thin barrier of dark magic barred your path.

Though you were still cautious, crossing the border had been an immense relief. The waters had turned far too dark from the addition of nightfall and you were on the verge of collapse. Finally being able to search for a place to rest gave you hope.

The ledge you eventually found was large enough to lay but not inlaid enough for any sort of proper protection, but you made it work. Your pitiful nest may have lacked material, but it was enough to sleep on for a night. Besides, in the end, it didn’t really matter.

Your fins bristled.

If it had been any darker, you would never have noticed the massive tentacles creeping around the ledge ready to encase you. Quickly dodging, a growled reverberating voice sent true fear gripping your soul.

 “Why do you weep, little fish? What causes you such trepidation?” Though the words were that of concerned question, their tone and the intent boiling the water proved otherwise. Any genuine concern was replaced with that of mistrust and hunger.

You were nothing more than a trespasser. Prey to be chased and hunted.

Instincts had you darting up and away, but what you thought was an exit quickly turned into a trap. The tentacles were merely a distraction for the dark leviathan before you, his large skeletal hands loosely surrounding your escape. All you could do was flair your fins in hopes the flash of blue and white would warn against attack or consumption.

The titan only gave a pleased hum, a single slit of an orb casting eerie shadows. It made you distinctly aware of other flashes just out of sight of its light.

“Oh my~ A Sea Swallow? It has been quite the amount of time since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing one of your kind. What brings one this far into my territory? And in such a state? Pushing boundaries again, or simply a mistake? Please, do tell.”

A spot of jittering red passed overhead.

You couldn’t speak, terror allowing your poison to coat your body. At your silence, the titan leaned closer with a growl.

“What’s the matter? Has my appearance truly been this much of a surprise as to capture your tongue?”

The silhouette of a very large shark passed on the right. You flinched at the movement, the giant’s eyelight dilating to flick over you. Your soul was pounded in your chest as you shook but your words remained locked away.

Slowly, he leaned back.

“Pity. These circumstances have been less than appealing. Perhaps… a gentler touch is needed…” His fingers closed around you. “Come. I wish to know what has driven a Blue Angel this deep.”

You didn’t fight. You couldn’t. You were helpless as he dragged you further into the dark unknown.

***

You found yourself wandering back to the rim. Time had played a big part in your return, but it didn’t make the journey any easier. However, once there, you couldn’t bring yourself to cross the precipice of the deep. You stayed at its mouth, gazing back toward the reefs and shallows up ahead.

The silence was deafening.

Despite everything you had gone through, the growth and strides you had made, the water felt heavier now than in the depths. The colors were too bright, sunshine overwhelming instead of warm. Everything felt like it was too much.

There was no one to greet you home.

…

You couldn’t do it.

As tears burned the corner of your eyes, you found yourself wishing you had never taken the trip. Flashes of your past had you breaking. Sobs wracked with heavy tears filled the silence. In your grief, your fins paled in their droop as you floated freely in the open water. They pulled you slowly down to drift past the cliffs and crags as you sank.

You were numb, watching the light above dim the further you fell. One moment became two, two became four until time drifted with you into nothingness. It took a sudden uplift in the water for you to regain any sense of reality. A familiar glow cutting through your metaphorical darkness.

Nightmare’s face hovered above you, his tentacles flaring below. The subtle brush against your fins had you registering his hands carefully cupping your form. In a way, it reminded you of the very first time you passed into the realm of the deep, the soft rumble of his voice pulling you further from the oblivion.

“Where are you, little fish? Your mind has taken you beyond my reach.”

His words were oddly quiet, eyelight dim as it searched. It stirred something within you, helping you feel for the first time just how cold you had become. Slowly, you moved enough to grip one of his clawed fingers. His thumb, though hesitant, came to stroke your soft underbelly.

You felt muted and far away.

“Everyone is gone... It’s too quiet.”

“Something tells me it's not the boys to which you refer.”

Tears once again threatened to spill. “My family. My pod... They—”

“Are down in the deep.” You felt the water shift from his shuddered intake of breath. “Those that came before might not be with you Angel, but that does not mean there can’t be others. Has our time meant so little that you cannot see them for what they truly are? What we, are?” You had never heard him take such a gentle but firm tone. So quiet. Reserved for only the two of you. You could feel the overwhelming intent in each word. It spread comfort with promises of so much more.

“We may not be able to bring back your past, but do not forget your future in your grief. The present is still here, waiting. The shiver would be very disappointed if you forgot that.”

“All this time I was just— How? How do I keep going? It hurts! Nothing’s the same anymore!”

His giant skull came to bonk and nuzzle into yours. “With time, nothing ever is. There is always change, no matter how subtle. We grow, we love, we lose. Currents move and sands pass. It is unfortunate you should have to face such things so soon, but we are here, and we can help carry the burden.” A claw caressed your tear-stained cheek. “Share your sorrows, that I might ease your pain. You are not alone.”

For the first time since the incident, you felt a deep sense of release. The ache in your soul softened. Gripping tighter, you pressed back with a desperation you didn’t know you had.

“I wish you could roam in the shallows. If you were… Should I ever get the courage to go back, I would have liked you to be there.”

“Perhaps…” He hesitated, eyelight darting away as a hint of color bloomed on his skull. “Perhaps when you are ready, I will be.”

You met his gaze in confusion. “But, how—”

A gentle claw pressed against your lips with a mischievous chuckle, water rushing from Nightmare’s sudden descent. “Now now, my Angel. All in due time. For now, let us return. The others await your return home.”

…

Home.

… You smiled, leaning more into the giant. It looked like there would be someone to greet you after all.

[moonlitcomet]

I think what makes gildedguy and the dragon of mar such an interesting and wonderful story to me is the intense emotional depth within it. It is, without a doubt, a tragedy - the main antagonist is tragic, he's a character you connect to personally before the end of the animation. He's a character you want to help, but is doomed by his existence and his past.

[spoilers and lots of disconnected thoughts below]

And he's a character who our MC tries to help - but gets refused every single time, from the day they meet to moments before Mar dies. Mar is a sympathetic character but has lost himself in his own evil, and refuses to accept that he could change for the better.

He isolates himself - and seems to accept Gildedguy into his life as a potential new friend. Maybe the only friend he's had in decades. The amount of time they spend together, and the amount of time Gildedguy spends trying to help this man, is really what makes Mar's end such a huge gut punch.

A lot of people are criticizing the ending of story 8 as Sable killing Mar "for no reason", which is not only tone deaf but also completely misreading the entire story presented to them. This story was never going to have a good ending, but with the story being told from Gildedguy's perspective, we were given a twinge of hope that maybe just maybe he could send Mar on the path to self-improvement.

Mar has been evil, and has been pillaging and killing people for probably decades at this point, what with how huge his gold hoard and skeleton collection is. He is too far gone, in the sense that he has resigned himself to the idea that he could never improve. Us, the viewers, having an idealistic approach at a story that could only end in pain and suffering for at least some individuals involved, gives us more expectation and more pain when the realization hits you:

You can't save everyone.

Some crimes are just too severe to be forgiven, and even if they aren't, some people are just too lost in their own self-hate to accept your help. Mar's crimes have overtaken him to the point that he can hardly exist, or even look at himself, without retreating inside the dragon that protects him and is his vessel of violence.

Having such little things - such tiny twinges of hope and beauty - set off such a deep evil in you that you resort to lashing out and violence, is a sign of someone filled with hurt, pain, and tragedy. It's a sign of someone who is past saving, despite how much you want to save them.

Gildedguy was the knight in shining armor, he spent four months building this massive machine to protect the people he cares about - Mar included. He opened himself up to this man, he tried to connect with him on a personal level in a moment of vulnerability, showing his face and trying to make himself seem like less of a threat.

And yet, even to the end, Mar still refused him, which led to his demise.

Gildedguy is a hopeful, whimsical person who wants to befriend and help just about everybody he comes across. He connected to Mar on a personal level the day they met, spending time together and sharing food. He could see a little of himself in Mar, they shared laughs and smiles, and a deep-seated regret and pain.

And he feared a little bit, for who and what Mar is.

But even still, he was willing to look past what he saw in himself, and continued being kind to Mar, in a rare act of genuine kindness that I doubt Mar has ever seen.

This leads well into how much Gildedguy tries to help his new friend throughout the story, and how tragic it is that Mar had to die. Gildedguy related to him, but not in a way that could save his friend. And despite how Gildedguy saw himself in Mar, the same could not be said for Mar seeing himself in Gildedguy.

Ultimately, that is why Mar could not and would not accept the help. He couldn't think of anyone else who'd really, truly be able to handle the evil and pain that he goes through and inflicts upon others. He has no hope for himself. He has no life or color.

He is just a broken, tired, dead-inside man who knows nothing else aside from the dragon he hides inside.

And Gildedguy slowly came to this realization as the story went on. He didn't know what Mar had done when first meeting him. But he came across the hoards of gold, the skeletons, the stolen treasure, and the people he's stolen away and doomed to death and saw just how much harm Mar has done to the world around him.

In the end, he resigned himself to the fact that Mar did not want to be saved, as much as Gildedguy wanted to save Mar.

He accepted his death, as painful as it was in the moment.

[teacupsandcyanide]

I need time off tumblr so I’m posting this to hold myself to it. I’ve had a handful of different posts get traction this month (the lotr post is also having a massive resurgence and gained 2k overnight) and the little obnoxious/rude replies and reblogs from each one has added up and maybe im just fragile but it’s getting really hard not to lose my temper. I don’t know if I was just better at handling it when I was younger, or if there’s been a rise in people being twats on people’s posts because of the one-upping culture of Twitter style interaction, but it’s maddening. Especially when nearly all the unsolicited rudeness is just people talking to me like im an idiot with no feelings and correcting me about something they’re misinformed about.

Like that lotr post has gotten multiple comments to the effect of: the Shire isn’t a country, it’s a county, you moron. I may be remembering it wrong but when I wrote that post I was conflicted on what to call it and went with country because it communicated meaning more quickly, allowing for better comedic rhythm, and also that is one of the things Tolkien calls the Shire in the book. I got another comment about that this morning.

Sometimes I can tell people don’t mean to be rude, but it still comes off as obnoxious or condescending. A week or so ago someone reblogged a poetry joke post I made and told me in the tags that my meter was wrong (it wasn’t) and that it could be fixed X way (which would ruin the meter) and then they tagged it “UvU my unsolicited poetry advice UvU”. The poem was a spoof of a poem about an old man and his son, and they also tagged it “queer art” and “mlm” because they??? think that Father William is dating his son?????

It’s just that non-stop at the moment. I’m considering turning off reblogs on that huge lotr post but I also feel stupid because statistically the amount of rudeness is so small in comparison to how many people are saying nice things or joining in in a nice way or just being normal. I feel like it shouldn’t get to me but I think it builds up because I try to just ignore it, because I worry about misreading someone’s tone or just being disproportionately angry with someone for being rude. In the past as well when I’ve responded in kind I’ve gotten comments saying I’m being defensive at the person who sent a rude message directly to my inbox. It feels like all the responsibility to moderate tone, in deference to the fact that it’s easy to sound rude on the internet, is all on me but not on the person who begins the interaction.

And that in itself is part of what makes an otherwise “I’m rolling my eyes, but this is mostly innocuous” reply/reblog become infuriating. It’s rarely ever something original. You just have to ignore or respond playfully to the same rudeness over and over, knowing that people often don’t realise just how obnoxious they’re being, knowing that it would be unfair to get angry at one person because they said the same stupid thing 20 people have said, and most of the time, knowing that they’re not even right about the thing they’re nitpicking you about.

I’ll come back once things have calmed down again and I can actually see my notifs and engage with people the way I like to. I don’t feel like this most of the time. I love tumblr. But sometimes some users make it feel like working in retail.

[ruthlesslistener]

I'm just gonna say, you really did sound like an angry asshole back then and now. I wasn't even a part of the issue back then or the anons, but I seriously thought you were... pissed. Very angry? I understood why. But it wasn't really a "rightfully" angry situation on your part, since I wasnt really happy you called something you didnt understand as "weird" or "sus". The sus weird really did it for me and I was hella surprised you didnt mean what it usually means. So I think the aggressions of the other anons might have come from that vibe you had. Which maybe clouded judgement, idk I'm just guessing but that seems like what happened here.

I think it's just miscommunication on your part, sorry to say. You really do sound mad, even in your pinned tweet. Though that could be just me, who has trouble reading vibes in writing at times. But this is just my insight. Please don't get mad and dogpile me like what you used to do.

No, that's fair. I have the tendancy to speak bluntly, use aggressive modifiers, go heavy on punctuation when I'm serious vs using textspeak with inherent tone modifiers pre-built and I don't use tone tags because they're confusing to me and make my head hurt. That DOES contribute to making me sound angry even when I don't mean to be. Ex, for right now I'm not angry at all, just confused and tired at my own incompetance, bc I didn't try to dogpile you and also because this whole 'not fucking up socializing' thing is really fucking exhausting. That's not a dig at you or an attempt to emotionally manipulate you btw, that's entirely an internalized frustration at myself that doesn't reflect you. For example, I didn't mean to dogpile you and the fact that I probably did so anyways is really frustrating to me. This whole thing feels like a math problem that I know the answer to but can't solve, and I have dyscalcula.

For most of it, I wasn't angry- I was confused, upset, frustrated, and defensive. I guess you can construct all of those under the umbrella that is anger, but to me it really didn't feel like anger, it felt like panic amd sorrow and 'what the fuck, I didn't say that I didn't mean that what is happening'. I know I certainly came off as angry because of the afformentioned issue with internet speech, and with some asks I was, but for the most part? No, I was panicking, deeply shaken, and upset. That doesn't make me the victim here, it was my own fuck-up and incompetence that caused it, but the 'fight' part of a fight-or-flight response is not anger-based.

It's def. not only me though, because if it was then I wouldn't have had to repeat myself a bunch of times. Everything else was me being a massive bumblefuck, but people repeatedly saying stuff back to me that was different than what I kept trying to clarify wasn't an issue on my end. That isn't me being unable to accept that I'm wrong, because I was, that's just how it was. If they had listened and understood what I was saying, then I wouldn't have had to repeat myself more than once. Also, based on the feedback of people I talked to over discord, there was a level of intentional misreading and/or refusal to reconsider my words that worstened the issue, so it def. wasn't entirely my fuck-up. It was just MOSTLY my fuck-up

[thephoebeyates]

Meeting friends. In a bar. With alleged Jason, who Damian hadn't mentioned until now.

Phoebe bites her lip worriedly, and she knows she needs to say something. Ask why they're meeting people at a bar, why he hasn't mentioned Jason until now. Why he seems off.

'It's not your business,' A voice murmured in Phoebe's head, that sounded like her mom. The same tone that would often call the aspiring writer the 'fun police', who defended bad boyfriends and bad decisions.

'That's the thing, Bee. You're way too judgmental.' And that internal comment shut her up. Because surely, if something was wrong, Damian would say...wouldn't he?

"Okay." She nods, trying to match his enthusiasm, her stomach churning but she can't tell if it's the immense guilt of dropping the topic, or because of the very slim chance she has completely misread the situation. "That, uh, sounds nice. I was going to...but I think I need to get home to Misty actually." Even though she had been on the fence about going inside, if she followed Damian in all she'd do would be watching him and his apparent boyfriend, cementing the fact she'd be having a bad time regardless.

It's clear his pivoting to a hollow invite was exactly that. He wants her gone, and in light of everything — of all the times her stubborn nature got her into trouble — maybe digging her heels in deepr is a massive mistake. "Yeah." Phoebe finally turns, to try and spot what — who — Damian is looking for, and back to him with a frown.

"Are you..." The 'okay' is stuck in her throat, and she swallows it back down. "Free, like, maybe next week?"

Damian feels his chest tighten, and it’s not just from the anxiety still buzzing there. It’s the question — the one he wasn’t prepared to answer. Of course Phoebe wouldn’t know Jason’s name. He’s kept that part of his life compartmentalized, boxed up neatly and shoved to the side whenever he’s around his friends. Too risky. He’s avoided bringing Jason up in conversations with most people who know him because every time he tries, he feels the words die in his throat. Feels like admitting to something he’s not ready to face.

But here she is, expecting an answer, and Damian knows he can’t keep quiet for too long without making it weird. He forces a smile that feels more like a grimace, scratching the side of his jaw as if it’s an itch that demands attention. “Jason,” he says finally, the name sticking in his mouth for a moment too long before it tumbles out. “His name’s Jason.” He tries not to think too hard about how foreign it sounds, how saying it feels like peeling off a band-aid that’s been stuck on too tight. He doesn’t like this, doesn’t like that she’s asking questions he doesn’t have the energy or courage to answer. But Phoebe’s always been observant, always noticed the small cracks before they widened into chasms, and it terrifies him now more than ever.

Damian’s fingers flex at his side, nails digging into his palm for a second before he forces his hand into his pocket, trying to keep it steady. “He’s not inside. He’s—” Damian pauses, glancing at the entrance again, hoping, praying almost, that Jason’s not somehow already there, lurking in some corner, watching. “He’s on his way. We’re meeting some friends.” It’s a lie that feels flimsy, like something even a casual breeze could knock over, but it’s all he’s got right now.

He can only hope she doesn’t stick around for much longer — can already imagine how Jason will show up and look at Phoebe like she’s a threat, like he’s waiting for any excuse to make this his fault. But that truth will only be visible to him, in the small crevices of Jason’s expressions and his words, the way he likes to tighten his grip around Damian like a warning, like a promise. And Damian’s — well, he’s already preparing the excuses he’ll need later, the apology he’ll have to spit out no matter how much it stings. “Anyway,” he says, hoping to shift the topic before Phoebe digs any deeper, “you and me — we should hang out again soon. Somewhere other than this, maybe. You can tell me about this book shop interview!” He forces a chuckle, the sound hollow even to his own ears.

[whumpinggrounds]

What have I done for august?

At long last, an August update! For @badthingshappenbingo :)

Tagging my superhero crew - @whatwasmyprevioususername, @princess-poopsicle, @snowshower, @whumpywritings

CW: sidekick whumpee, hero whumper, villain caretaker, guilt, angst, mentions of past abuse

They don’t let August be a part of the discussions about going after the villain. “Beck can see it’s upsetting you,” Don tells his apprentice, looking irritated. As if he has any right to be angry about it. “He knows you’re too much a coward to do what needs to be done.”

“I’m not a coward,” snaps August, although he flinches when Don rounds on him. “I don’t want to see the wrong person get…get hurt.”

Don grunts, looking spectacularly unimpressed. “Then you shouldn’t have told Beck it was your little villain friend.”

Shame pools in August’s stomach, but he tries his best to sound defiant. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been going after me with a knife for hours.”

“Hours.” Don snorts. “You folded in about thirty minutes.”

Flushing, August finds his mouth working, but there’s nothing to say. “Fuck you,” he spits, and Don slaps him almost casually, one massive hand flicking out deceptively quickly and sending August reeling into the wall. The dozens of scabbed over cuts on his torso sing out protests that have him wincing, curling over on himself. From above him – lofty, unbothered, unassailable – Don snorts.

August hates how, around Donovan, he always finds himself flinching, cringing, small. It’s still not a relief when Don and Beck leave, hours later, grim-faced and carrying weapons. August can’t trail them out the door, not with Val watching his every move like a hawk. Miserable, he retreats to their common room, where he paces endless circles around the room under the medic’s increasingly exasperated eyes.

“Why don’t you just go run a few laps, if you have this much energy?” she grouses, on about his thirtieth trip around the couch.

“I…I want to know what’s going on.” Val points to the walkie-talkie clipped to her shoulder, but August shakes his head. He knows there won’t be any lurid detail coming from there. His tortured gaze flicks up to the TV screen, where the evening news is being transmitted with dry professionalism. There’s no breathless talk of a high-speed chase, or an explosion, or a gunfight or anything like that. That’s a good thing, right? Right?

Completely misreading his anxiety, Val shakes her head. “Beck and Don are going to be fine, you know. They’ve been doing this a long time.”

“That’s not...I’m not…” August huffs. “That’s great. I’m sure they will be.”

“Don’t get prickly on me just because I can’t read your mind.” Val sounds completely unbothered by his tone, but it’s just like her, to not let him get away with that.

“I’m not getting prickly.”

“Yes, you are. You can either cut it out or tell me why.”

“Or you could leave me alone.”

“Nope.” Val shakes her head so her cropped hair swings. “I’m babysitting for the night.”

August scowls. “Do you have to call it that?”

“What else do you call watching a kid so they don’t do anything stupid?”

August opens his mouth to respond but can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound like whining. He closes it with a snap and turns away, pacing in the other direction so Valerie can’t see his face. He doesn’t want her to see how upset he truly is, but something in his body must give it away, because when she speaks again, her voice is softer.

“Look. I know you’re upset. You have every right to be. And I know you want to be a hero now, too. But this…this is better left to Don and Beck. And, you know, someday you’ll be with them. But right now…today…you need to let them do this.”

It would’ve been a great speech if Valerie hadn’t been so completely off base. Swallowing hard, August encounters a lump in his throat of alarming size. He can’t cry in front of Valerie. He just can’t.

Taking a deep, controlled breath, August chooses his words with exceeding care. “It’s not…that I want…to be the one to take them…take them down.” He admits it slowly. He’s still not sure if he should tell her – and he’s certainly not going to tell her the full truth – but he can’t keep carrying this anxiety and guilt. The pressure feels like it’s going to squash him flat. “I’m not…angry. I feel…guilty.”

“Guilty?” Valerie stares at him, incredulous. “Guilty about what?”

The lump in August’s throat makes it hard for him to speak. Still facing away from Val, staring fixedly at the dark navy wall in front of him, August swallows, then swallows again. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

The admission comes out tiny, pathetic. Val drowns it out with her response. “What? August, look at me. What?”

Reluctantly, he turns to face her. Val’s hands are planted on her hips and she’s glaring fit to kill. It’s enough to break August’s misery and make him snort, just a little. Rolling her eyes, she marches up to him and pokes a finger in the center of his chest.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I was the one who patched up your sorry ass after you got back here.” Holding up her hand in front of his face, she ticks off her fingers one by one. “Broken ribs. Dislocated arm. More cuts and bruises than I could count. Broken nose! Concussion. Do I need to go on?”

The smile slips from August’s face. “No.”

“That asshole beat the shit out of you. You really don’t need to worry about them getting hurt now.”

“I…” August shakes his head. “It wasn’t…so bad. Really. And…and I just don’t want…and what if I was wrong, anyway? What if it wasn’t…that…villain?”

What if it was the hero that’s supposed to be training me?

Now it’s Valerie’s turn to shake her head. “Where is this martyr thing coming from? I hadn’t pegged you for such a…bleeding heart.”

Despair wells up in August, fast and heavy-making. It feels like a cloud falling over him, like a sorrow too big for words. Val is looking at him with confusion and compassion and the faintest irritation in her eyes, and it’s like she’s staring from the other side of a canyon, or a mountain too big to climb. August settles for the smallest, simplest truth. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. I don’t…want it to be my fault that anyone gets hurt.”

Valerie heaves an exasperated sigh. “It’s not going to be your fault, and besides, it shouldn’t matter when the person getting hurt is a colossal asshole that beat the shit out of you.” She nudges him, but August can’t even fake a grin. “And-”

The walkie clipped to Val’s shoulder crackles to life. “Headed home.”

It’s Beck’s voice, the words terse. Even over radio waves, August can tell he doesn’t sound happy. The two exchange a wide-eyed look, and Val presses the transmit button. “Any need for medical?”

She keeps her face smooth and her voice even, but August sees the finest tremble in her fingers as they wait, poised for action and tense all over, for a reply.

It’s Don’s voice that comes through next, and August can hear the man’s smirk. “Not for us,” he tells them, and August’s knees go out. He sinks into the couch behind him, hands coming up to cover his face. It feels dramatic; it feels too obvious, but he can’t stop the hot stinging tears that come rushing to his eyes.

The villain’s soft voice. Their teasing. Their concerned eyes. The questions. The phone number that’s still tucked beneath the sole of his latest pair of shoes.

“What have I done?” August breathes, no longer caring if Val can hear him. She places a hand on his shoulder, but he barely registers. He just feels numb. “What the fuck have I done?”

[viking-raider]

The Belle and the Bane - Chapter I

Summary: Your simple life is disrupted, when the Bane raises the taxes of Mintwillow, yet again. Forcing your father to do something desperate to save you both.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 5,667

Rating: G - Fantasy!AU, Bane!Henry, Language, Loneliness

Inspiration: This is my oddball take on the Beauty and the Beast.

Author’s Note: Thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for helping me out with this! Tell me what you think!

You woke early the next morning, figuring your patient hadn't gotten any worse or died, since you weren't woken up in the dead of night to rush out to her hut. The birds were singing outside your window, the rising sun pushing back the darkness of the night and the fog from the village, filling every corner of it with beautiful light. You hummed happily as you got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast, you could hear the steady and rhythmic clang of your father's hammer pounding and working some piece of metal into impossible shapes.

“Morning, dove!” He called out.

His forge was an open lean-to attached to one side of the house, a doorway giving him access to both. He always left the door open, it had become a habit between him and your mother, so they could talk to each other over the clang of his work and the quiet of hers, keeping them connected throughout their day, since they were almost always in close proximity. It also worked out, when you were younger and your mother had to run off and tend to someone. He would either sit you on the hearth rug with some of your toys, going back to his work and keeping an eye on you through the door, or he would set you down on a workbench in his area, so you could watch, and be safely out of his way. You always loved when he did that, you loved watching him shape things, making whatever his customers ordered.

“Morning, Papa!” You called back with a smile.

In more than one way, you had put on your mother's shoes, both of you would talk through the open forge door as you went about your day, making herbal packets and other things you needed, while he worked at his anvil.

“What's on the fire today?” You asked, getting the stove going and started breakfast.

“One of the boys in the village is proposing to his gal, so he's asked me to make her a ring.” Your father replied, bending over his work.

Apart from being a blacksmith, your father also dabbled in metalsmithing, since the village metalsmith had moved away almost a year ago, to hard hit to live in Mintwillow any longer.

“Jeremiah or Marcus?” You asked, frowning at the cooking food as it sizzled in the pan, the village was too small and gossip moved faster than the wind.

“Travis and Daisy.” Your father replied, changing tools.

“What?” You snapped, surprised. “I thought they broke up a month ago?”

“Love!” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Hormones!” You huffed back, chuckling.

“That too!”

“Come, eat!” You said, plating up breakfast and setting it down on the breakfast table, then taking a seat yourself.

“Smells amazing, as always.” He smiled at you, taking a seat beside you and took up his fork and knife.

“Thanks.” You smiled back at him, digging into your own plate.

A little while later, you were sitting at your table, making a parcel of herbs for one of your regular patients with a chronic illness, when you heard the clang of your father's hammer go quiet. You paused for a moment, worried that he'd pushed himself too hard and had one of his dizzy spells again. But, a second later, you heard his voice out the front window, he was in the front yard of the house, speaking to someone else. Getting up, you looked out the window and saw your father talking to a tall male, both looked stiff and angry, the strange man's face was nearly purple, he was so angry. Concerned, you went out and stood on the porch, crossing your arms over your chest and listened to them argue.

“You can't do this!” You father barked, hand clenched around the heavy hammer he was still holding. “Your master has already raised the taxes on my goods, two months ago! I'm barely breaking even with that. If he raises it again, I won't make anything!”

“Mr. Cavill can do whatever he wants with the goods his company supplies you. I was just sent here by his butler to tell you the information.” The man gruffed back, scowling at your father. “So, you can either give him everything in your possession to pay his taxes, or you can find someone else to supply you your trade goods.” He started coldly, then turned on his heels and marched away.

Your father's shoulders tensed up before thrusting his hammer into the dirt and storming away, only to come back a moment later to retrieve his hammer, then returned to his forge. You frowned after the now gone man, before walking around the house to your father's forge, finding him sitting down on a small stool beside his raging forge, hammer between his feet and his face in his hands.

It was a rare sight, to see him so dejected and beaten down.

“So, the Bane raised the taxes again?” You asked, softly.

“Nearly double since the last time.” He replied, not looking up or taking his hands from his face. “I don't know how I'll make this work.” He mumbled to himself. “I can't raise my prices, it's almost more than the villagers can afford now, with him taxing them as well.” He sighed, scrubbing his calloused hands over his tired and sunken face. “We'll either end up destitute or end up like Sheamus, the metalsmith, and move away.”

“You promised mum you'd never move away from her grave.” You said quietly, biting your lip, and feeling a hot knot in your stomach.

“I know I did, girl. I know I did.” He sighed again, sitting up and letting you see his pained expression, the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes. “I don't know what else to do.” He said softly and stood. “I'm a bit tired, Dove. I think I'll take myself a long nap.” He slowly moved into the house.

“Do you want me to make you a cup of your tea first?” You asked, following after him, concerned and worried.

“Maybe later.” He sighed, going into his room and quietly closing the room.

You stood there, at a loss from the situation, you were even more helpless in the situation. You couldn't make your patients pay anymore than your father could his customers. Sighing, you went back to your herbs, needing something to distract your mind from the grim situation. Glancing out the window, and even though you couldn't see it from this side of the house, you cursed the Bane and his evil presence in your life, in the lives of Mintwillow.

A little while later, your father came out of his room, carrying his jacket in one hand and a sealed letter in the other. You turned in your chair to face him, frowning and shaking your head at him. It was quite rare that your father went out anywhere, anything that needed to be done elsewhere, usually fell to you, while any of your father's business came to him.

“Where are you going?” You asked him as he made for the door.

“Out.” He replied, in a rather short tone. “I need to take this letter out.”

“Surely, I can do that.” You told him, shaking your head and getting out of your chair, hand held out for the letter.

“No, I'll take it out.” He shook his head back at you. “Hopefully, the walk will clear up some of my melancholy.” He told you, then went out the door.

You watched him go, troubled and worried he would do something dangerous to himself, with the state he was in.

“Sir?”

“What is it, Damien?” His master snapped from behind his massive desk, cluttered with papers of all kinds.

“You have a letter, sir.” Damien replied, unbothered by his master's perpetual sour mood.

“Put it with the other, Damien.” He huffed, rolling his eyes at the report in his hand.

“It's been labeled urgent, Sir.” Damien answered, stepping up to his desk and holding it out to him.

Rolling his eyes again, his master took the letter from his hand and opened it, skimming through it once, before actually reading it; his brows slowly lifting as he did. “This man can't possibly be serious!” He barked, reading the letter again to be sure he wasn't misreading it. “Fucking Christ, he is!” He huffed, holding the letter out to Damien.

“Who does he think I am?”

Damien read through the letter. “Perhaps, it's all he has, Sir.” He replied, finishing the letter.

“Perhaps!” He roared, huffing. “But, that isn't the type of collateral or possession I can do anything with! I'm not in the business of trafficking! Tell him no! Either useful possessions or he can go elsewhere.”

The butler frowned at the letter, his brain brewing. “Of course, Sir.” He bowed and showed himself out of his master's office, returning to the man standing in the enormous foyer. “Call back here in a week's time.” He told him, his shoulders square as he surveyed the downtrodden man.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you.” The man rambling, bowing over and over again. “Thank you.”

Damien opened the door for him, the man still thanking him as he went out the door. The butler knew his master was going to be furious that he'd taken it upon himself to reverse his choice to reject the man's offer, but hoped that, perhaps, it would brighten his master's life and the dark and oppressive castle. If it didn't, both he and the man's offer would likely be tossed out the door, if not off the nearby cliffs.

Your father came back two hours later, he looked both relieved and increasingly more troubled. He wouldn't talk to you about where he had gone or what the letter was about.

“What's done has been done. It can't be undone now, no matter how much I wish it wasn't to be.” Was all he would say to you.

Then, returned to his room.

“Dove.” Your father called up to your room.

You groaned and rolled towards the window, it was barely light out, and it was odd that your father was waking you up. Figuring you had a sudden patient, you got out of bed and quickly dressed, rushing down the stairs.

“What is it?” You asked, eyes looking around for your possible patient.

But, your father looked you over. “Why don't you go change.” he said, biting his lip. “Put your best dress on and fix your hair.”

“Why?” You frowned at him, not understanding.

“Please, Dove.” He begged you, softly.

A deep suspicion filled you, but you slowly turned and went back upstairs, doing as your father bid. He smiled at you as you came back down, but there was a poorly guarded sadness in his brown eyes. You tried asking him more questions as you followed him outside, but he was silent, his lips clamped into a thin line that went with the growing sadness in his eyes; it worried you to no end. You both trudged through the village, your father giving fellow villagers a short nod as they greeted each other as you passed them by. After a ten minute walk, your father took a sharp turn, heading out of the village and up the nearby road, the steep drop off of the cliffs to one side and a thin lining of willow trees that divided the town from the road and cliffs on the other side.

You both kept walking, you trailing slightly behind your father, your heart pounding and stomach twisting in hot and sharp knots of nausea, until you couldn't take it anymore, and you grabbed the back of his elbow, pulling him to a stop; which took an effort on your part, even though your father was weakened from the illness, he still had the thick and muscular body of a lifelong blacksmith.

“Papa, tell me what's going on?” You begged him, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Where are we going? And, why?” You demanded, a hard lump forming in your throat as you saw just how sad and broken he really was.

“Please.”

“I promised your mother,” He paused, the emotion of mentioning your mother and the situation sticking in his throat. “I promised your mother, that I would take care of you. No matter what I had to do to make it so.” He told you, lifting his hand to your cheek, his fingers cold from the blustery winds whipping off the choppy ocean.

“What's that supposed to mean?” You frowned at him, gripping the sleeves of his coat.

“You'll find out soon enough.” He replied, pressed a kiss to your forehead. “No need worrying about it, just yet.” He added, turning away from you and continued on.

“But, I'm worrying about it now.” You replied to his back, the sound of your voice getting lost in the roar of the waves.

Sighing, you started following your father again, even more worried and concerned over what was going on. Did he arrange a marriage for you and was too worried about telling you about it, so he was just taking you to the parish church to spring it on you. Or was he planning something else entirely. You weren't sure which one worried you more, but your anxiety boosted, when your father took another turn and started up a steep road through a massive thicket of trees. You had lived in the area all of your life, so you knew what lived in this direction, and you weren't at all happy with it.

“The Bane!”

You barked at your father's back. “Why are we going to see the Bane!? What does that selfish and greedy bastard have to do with your promise to Mum?!” You demanded, stopping in the middle of the road, and refusing to go any further until he answered your questions.

His shoulders slumping, your father rubbed his face with both hands and turned around to face you. “He's agreed to see you.”

“For what?!” You growled, hands clenching.

“We'll find out when we get there.” He replied, chewing his bottom lip to bits. “So, come along, we don't want to be late.”

“I don't care if we're late!” You hissed at him. “He does nothing but hole himself up in that giant castle with all his riches, while we starve down in the village! He can wait on us for a change.” You argued, but still angrily followed. “I can't believe you're entertaining any of this! Of all the choices you could have made to keep your promise. You could have just married me off to someone in the village.”

“All the boys in the village are either betrothed or already married.” Your father sighed, shaking his head, and feeling his heart fall deeper into his boots.

He had considered that.

You were fuming by the time you both reached the Bane's door. Your father rang the doorbell, waiting for the butler to answer, and after a couple of minutes, the door opened with a loud creak. Damien lifted a brow at your father in silent acknowledgment, then looked over at you, his eyes scanning you, head to toe. It wasn't until he settled on your face that some kind of emotion showed from him, and he looked rather pleased at the sight of you, which only made you even more anxious and annoyed at the whole situation.

“This is my daughter.” Your father said, giving Damien your name and tried smiling at you proudly, but the smile itself didn't happen as well as the pride he did have in you.

“She's exceptionally beautiful.” Damien commented back. “I am sure my Master would love to have her company.” He added, with a nod of his head, like he was sure of it.

“Oh, I don't think so.” You shook your head and started to walk away.

“Come now, Dove.” Your father said, stopping you and bringing you back to the door. “He didn't mean it that way.” He told you, giving the butler a dark look.

“Of course not.” Damien replied, with a polite bow of his head. “Pardon, my unintended meaning, Ms.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Pardon given.” You said, softly, pressing your sweaty and shaking hands to your sides.

Nodding his head at you again, Damien stepped aside and motioned you inside. “I'll show you up to your room, I've made it ready for you.”

“Wait, what about my clothes?” You asked, looking at your father, confused. “This is all I have with me.”

“Worry not, Ms.” Damien told you, easily. “Clothing will be provided for you.” He assured some of your anxiety away.

“You'll be fine, Dove.” Your father smiled, giving you a strong hug. “Come and visit, when you can.” He told you, cupping your face in his hands. “And do mind your manners, for your mother and I.” He added, giving you a stern look.

“I'll try, but no promises.” You replied, rolling your eyes, hugely unhappy with him leaving you here with the Bane.

Sighing, you stepped inside the castle, shivering as the door closed with a slam and the cold air of the castle wrapped around you. You looked around the dim foyer, only a few lights were burning, just enough to see where you were going without bumping into any of the covered, but expensive, furnishings. Damien led you up the huge spiral staircase, going up several floors until he led you down the hall and to a room that was nearly the size of your father's house in the village. There was a fire already burning in the room, the heavy curtains were tied by from the three windows and the double French doors, that open out onto a private balcony. The gigantic four poster bed had its curtains pulled back and tied to its posts as well; the blankets were pulled down and the pillows fluffed. There were three other doorways as well.

It was like nothing you had ever seen before.

“If you give me your size,” Damien said, dropping a few more logs into your fireplace. “I will have a wardrobe put together for you.” He told you, offering you a friendly smile.

“Of course.” You replied, peeking out the windows. “Where's the Bane?” You asked, turning to him.

“Mr. Cavill,” He answered, with a soft sigh, he had always hated that people referred to his master as 'The Bane'.

If only they knew him, as I do. He thought for a moment.

“Is in his private chambers.” He explained to you. “I'm sure you'll be meeting him some time soon.” He added. “For now, I'll go down and fetch you some lunch.”

You gave Damien your size before he left you alone in the room. Biting your lip, you went to the double doors and stepped out onto the balcony, you were on the side of the house that faced away from the village, only seeing the two or three huts at the far end, everything else was trees, cliffs and ocean, which was so much louder, now that you were so close to the cliff's edge. It had been less than an hour, and you were already homesick, unable to stop the tears that dripped down your cheeks, but quickly wiped them away as Damien knocked on your door and came in, carrying a delicious smelling tray of food for your lunch, setting it on a table by one of the windows, then poured you a steaming cup of tea.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him, taking up the tea. “So, why doesn't the B--” You cleared your throat. “Mr. Cavill, come out of this place?” You asked him, sitting down. “No one's seen him in years. Some don't even believe he's still alive.”

“Oh, he is very much still alive.” Damien laughed, shaking his head with amusement. “And more than well. But, Mr. Cavill prefers a calm and quiet life, here in the castle. The world out there holds nothing for him.” He explained to you.

“Other than taxing people out of food, homes and livelihoods.” You snorted, with a roll of your eyes. “and sometimes, their lives themselves.” You added, your eyes darkening as you recalled all the bodies of the Villagers being washed away by the waves crashing against the cliff sides.

“When the mood befouls him, he does do some rather rash and cruel things.” Damien replied, his face darkening. “But, he's really not as awful as the villagers make him out to be.” He defended his master.

“If you say so.” You retorted, taking another sip of your tea.

“I do.” He answered, lifting a brow at you. “I've known him since he was born. So, between the two of us, I believe I am the better judge of his character.” He told you, with a sharp edge in his voice.

A bell sounded somewhere in the vastness of the castle, cutting off your and Damien's conversation.

“If you need anything, just pull the rope. I'll bring you your dinner when it is ready.” He said, pointing to the rope, then rushed out of the room and to his master's room, elsewhere.

You listened to the echo of his shoes fade away the further he got from your room, and sighed, before finishing your lunch. Once your food was gone, you stood and opened one of the three other doors, finding it was a large bathroom, then moved to the next and found it was a huge, and empty, walk-in closet. The third door, to your surprise, led into a massive library, the shelves lined with dusty and cobwebbed books, the reading sofas had white sheets draped over them. It had a huge bay window, the two side panels of the filthy window were stained glass, the Cavill family emblem and coat of arms were in the center of them, throwing reds, blues and greens onto the big rug.

Stepping into the room, you touched the spines of the books lining the tall and deep shelves, leaving fingerprints in the dust as you did; reading their names. The air in the library was musty from being closed up for so long, but still held one of your favorite scents, the smell of books. You loved how books smelled. No one book smelled the same, like their one of a kind stories between their sheltering covers gave them a unique scent all of their own. The scent of their adventures, heartbreaks, triumphs and laughs, like how people had their own special scent. A couple of the books were in languages you didn't understand, some were so thick and heavy, you had to hold them with both hands.

But, many of them you hadn't read, or even heard of.

You pulled another book off the shelf, whose title interested you, flipping open the stiff cover, the spine crackling as you did. Flipping to the first page, you started reading from it, slowly pacing the room as you did and getting lost inside of it, forgetting for several hours, that you were no longer in your own home, until your ears realized how quiet it was, there was no clang from your father's hammer meeting the anvil. It all came rushing back to you, as you looked up, blinking your dust irritated eyes as you glanced around the room, and a massive lump formed in your throat and chest. You took a shuddering breath, tears brimming in your eyes as you tried to hold back your steep loneliness and the growing weight of being homesick.

“It hasn't been a day, and I already feel like I'm dying.” You choked out loud to yourself. “How can he stand living here, with only a butler.”

“Chess.” Damien's voice retorted, startling you so badly, the book fell out of your hands with a thud. “My apologies.” He said, clearing his throat. “I've brought you your dinner.” He told you, motioning back into your room.

“Thank you.” You said, your voice no more than a squeak around the lump still there. “But,” You cleared your throat. “I'm not hungry, just now.” You told him, bending down to pick up the book.

“Of course.” He nodded, sympathetically. “It'll be there, when you do. Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, blinking at you.

“No, thank you.” You shook your head, biting hard into your cheek to keep your emotions at bay.

Nodding again, Damien bowed to you and disappeared again. Sighing, you tried picking back up at your place in the book, but couldn't get past the first sentence, so you pulled a ribbon from your hair and used it to mark your place in the book and carried it back into your room. Setting it on one of the bed's nightstands, you rounded the bed to the tray of food on your table, your lunch tray cleared away. It smelled even more fabulous than your lunch had, but you just refilled your teacup and went into the bathroom, setting it on the sink counter and turned towards the large, claw-foot soaking tub. You plugged the drain and spun open the hot tap, humming as it came out, instantly steaming, not having to warm up buckets of water by the hearth was amazing.

“That's a nice perk.” You said, slipping out of your clothing.

Taking up your teacup, you stepped into the full and hot tub of water, with a deep and satisfied moan. You stayed in the tub, washing yourself with the expensive soap and washcloth, sipping your tea, until the water was almost ice cold, then finally got out again. Drying off, you found a silk bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and pulled it on, before padding back into your room and sitting down at the table, nibbling at your dinner. With a little bit of something on your stomach, you turned out the lights, tossed several more logs on the fire, so it would burn through the night, and crawled into bed.

Picking up your book, you read it by the flickering light of the fire, until your eyes grew heavy and you fell asleep.

You woke several hours later, in a sweaty panic, your heart thundering in your chest, like the waves battering the cliff side outside your window. It took you several long minutes to calm down and remember where you were and why. Resting back on your pillows and headboard, you closed your eyes and focused on the roar of the waves, trying to relax yourself enough to fall back to sleep, but had no luck. So, getting out of bed, you slipped on your shift and robe, before tiptoeing up to the door, pressing your ear to the cool wood to listen for any movement in the hallway. Hearing nothing, you cracked open your door and stepped out into the hall, it was dark, for obvious reasons, but you didn't let it deter you as you moved down to the stairs. The whole castle, other than your room, seemed to be as cold as a grave, it felt like one as well.

You stopped on one of the floors, and snooped around it, before turning back towards the stairs, not noticing a door behind you open and a body stepping out into the hall. A shadow followed quietly behind you, as you moved down the stairs again, to the main floor, peaking around the foyer and the open door of a study, only then, sensing the presence behind you.

“Who are you?” The shadow asked in a deep voice.

A shiver racing down your back, knowing it wasn't the soft voice of Damien, that had asked. You froze in place, realizing that the Bane was behind you, who else could it be? Surely, a would-be thief wouldn't ask who you were, giving away their own presence in the house, where you could likely scream, waking the house and get him caught in his act.

“I asked you a question.” His deep voice growled, making you gulp.

Your shoulders stiffened as you managed to mumble out your name, too afraid to turn around to face him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, sounding no less aggravated at your presence.

You blinked several times, brow creasing with your confusion, you were about to answer him, when a rush of steps came into the room and Damien appeared behind his master, holding a light in his hand.

“Sir.” He blurted out, out of breath and panting.

“Who is this girl, Damien?” Cavill asked, turning towards his startled butler. “Why is she here?” He demanded, jaw clenched.

“She's uh..” Damien licked his lips and glanced at you as you turned around. “She's that girl, sir.” He gulped, thickly.

“This..” Cavill started to say, pointing a finger at you as he turned back to look at you, both of your eyes locking together.

Your mouth almost dropped open seeing his face.

No one had actually seen the Bane in years, especially in the village, they weren't good enough for the rich likes of his family and their station in the world. You had pictured a,—well you never really pictured him as anything. But, so many people described him as an evil and twisted bastard, who was probably uglier than the devil himself. However, the Bane was anything, but ugly. He was incredibly, and surprisingly, handsome. He couldn't be more than thirty-five, from light that Damien held, that danced in his dark curls and lit up his cerulean blue eyes, throwing lines on his face, that made the frown he was wearing, look more like a smile; which also made him look even more handsome and dashing, in his night clothes.

Damien looked between the two of you with a lifted brow, watching the both of you stare at each other, taking in and sizing the other up, before Cavill cleared his throat.

“This is the girl?” Cavill finally said, his eyes not leaving yours. “From the letter?” He frowned, finally looking away from you, and back to Damien.

“It is, sir.” He nodded at his master, a teeny ping of hope appearing in his stomach.

“Well.” Cavill cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, seemingly flustered.

Perhaps, he isn't as horrid as everyone thinks. You thought, staring and blinking at him.

But, you had thought too soon, it seems.

“Then, why the hell is she wandering around the castle in the middle of the night!” He growled, angrily at Damien.

“I couldn't sleep.” You squeaked, startled.

His head snapped to you, like he was going to yell at you too, but his lip only twitched before he looked back at Damien. “I don't want her wandering around at night.” He hissed at the butler.

“Deal with her and send her back to the room, you surely, have made up for her.” He barked, rubbing at his temples.

“Of course, sir.” Damien nodded, looking highly concerned for his master. “I'll do that right away, sir. Can I get you anything, while I'm at it?” He asked, biting his lip.

“No.” Cavill huffed, then looked at you, his eyes had darkened to a stormy blue, but his tense shoulders relaxed the teeniest bit. “Good night.” He half whispered, half growled at you, before storming off, back to his own bedroom.

“Come, let's get you some warm milk.” Damien said, smiling at you, gently. “It might help.” He said, turning and heading towards the kitchen.

“I'm sorry, if I've gotten you into any trouble.” You told him, watching as he warmed the milk. “I didn't mean too, or to disturb anyone either. I just couldn't sleep.”

“Oh, it's all right.” He waved it off and shook his head. “You just surprised him, is all. I hadn't found the opportunity to tell him you were here. I meant to tell him during breakfast, tomorrow. But..” He chuckled, shaking his head, very amused by the whole situation.

“I surprised him?” You chuckled back, grinning at the thought you could startling someone the size of the Bane, he was easily over six foot, his body thick with well defined muscles, that you could see, even under his night clothes.

“Seems a bit far fetched.”

“It's not hard.” Damien told you, pouring the warmed milk into a glass for you. “Henry is honestly a very tender soul, under all that muscle and growling. But, life hasn't been easy for him, after losing everyone in his family to that illness several years back. Being thrust suddenly into the man of the house and the head of the family business, and so many other things, has taken its toll on him.” He explained as he escorted you back up to your room.

“Give him a chance.” He said, stopping at your door. “You two will warm up to each other in no time, and you'll see who he really is, deep down.”

“Well, you are the best judge of that, aren't you?” You replied, quoting him from earlier.

Damien laughed, looking down at his socked feet. “That I am. Good night, Ms.” He bid you with a bow of his head.

“Good night, Damien.”

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

today i astral project giant, curious merboy w/ frightened researcher into your mind. tomorrow? who knows

Tomorrow is when you get your request filled you babey boi

--

“E-easy now, l-let’s ju-woah! Hey!”

It was too late for Stella’s squirming to do her any good as long, clammy fingers tightened themselves around her already battered body to lift her much higher than she would have appreciated. She couldn’t help a small wince when she felt her arms be uncomfortably squeezed against her ribs, the left side of which was undoubtably bruised from her topple earlier. The grip only pressed more at her pathetic struggles, forcing out her exhale much rougher than intended.

“Pl-lease,” she gasped, practically immobile in the creature’s hold which seemed to be the desired affect, “y-you’re hur-hurting me...!”

And just like that, the pressure that had once been constricting her disappeared. Even more wonderfully, solid ground seemed to return under her shaky legs which she was grateful to collapse. Or so she thought. A couple inhales sucked in to clear the splotches that pulsed in the corner of her vision revealed she had merely been traded from one hand to the other, trapped high above in an open palm as opposed to a clenched fist. Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she supposed.

Or fish, she supposed again.

With a shaky sigh, Stella forced her eyes up (and up and up) until they met with  wide ones, blinking down at its tiny capture. She couldn’t keep up the staring contest very long, however, not with how unnerving those black scleras were. Instead, she found her gaze shifting towards its mouth that could certainly fit her inside in one bite, perhaps even a rowboat if it tried. At that moment, it chirped at her, something loud and grating and immediately making her cover her ears for protection, but not without getting a glimpse of those jagged fangs.

From a scientific standpoint, this was one of the most stunning discoveries in her career, hell, in anyone’s career in the history of marine biology. A genuine mermaid...er, man, if she were to assume based purely on physical observation. A dozen questions ran through her mind focused on understand how on earth each component of his body functioned. Respiratory, circulatory, vision, hearing, homeostasis, smell, bone structure and density, muscle to fat ratio, everything and more!

Unfortunately, she doubted those inquiries would be answered anytime soon, if ever. 

The monster chittered again much more quietly, practically a rumble in his throat as his other hand hovered closer. Try as she might to flinch away, there was really no where else to go besides down into the icy waters below. She watched the thick claws adorning each finger inch closer, bracing for the sensation of being flayed like some sort of sick vengeance for all his seafood brethren she had ever eaten. Actually, given his size and muscular build alone, there was no way this thing was a vegetarian, so there better not be any judgement on that front!

Surprisingly enough, the claws just missed nicking any part of her skin in favor for the pad of his finger to rub against the top of her head, slowly, hesitantly even. Stella grimaced at the action but let it be, holding still as best her trembling form was able to while his petting built up more confidence, now sliding from her crown to where the coils ended at her shoulders. She let out a yip when he yanked her hair in an attempt to rub the foreign texture between his thumb and forefinger, immediately releasing the frizzy locks at the sound of her distress. 

His curiosity didn’t stop there, however. She was well aware of the irony of the situation--the researcher being studied by the subject and all that (at least, she hoped that’s what he was doing rather than sizing her up for a meal). Considering this was her first time ever encountering a merperson during one of her weekend escapades along the coastline, it wouldn’t be too hard to imagine this was his first time meeting a strangely sized hybrid species as well. Maybe those local legends about sea monsters and sirens held a little bit of truth after all, he was certainly as destructive as the stories foretold of these deadly creatures.

And, the scientist side of her couldn’t help but reason with the merman. She was, after all, encroaching on his natural territory in a foreign vessel, was it truly so unexpected for it to attack? ‘Attack’ was perhaps too strong of a word. Investigate was more like it, the way it grabbed and shook her tiny boat in an effort to see what was inside this weird, floating habitat until she came tumbling out on deck. On the bright side, at least Lorelei coming down with strep the night before saved her research partner from meeting the same fate as her right now. On the downside, she was going to meet said fate alone, her true ending forever a mystery outside of these waters.

The question was: what the hell was her fate meant to be? The way his fingers and touches roamed her body continued to reassure her that she probably wasn’t going to be a menu speciality for another few moments, but beyond eating her, what other uses could he have for her? He pinched her legs and arms to bend at the joints, especially fascinated at how articulate her lower half was in comparison to his own. It was almost like he was looking for a tail where one should obviously be, trying to piece together how these two split fins could work together as one. His fingers brushed against her waist and trailing up to her neck. Gill placement, maybe? From just how close his nails were coming to her jugular, Stella feared she might just get a few extra breathing slits if she so much as hiccuped.

It was all well and good until the fingers glided back down over her chest, pushing past the soaked lapels of her coat to the swell of her cleavage, his claw eagerly slipping under the buttons of her blouse to pop a few off. Stella turned bright red, her body heating up so much that she was sure he could feel it against the cool flesh of his palm where she sat. With an indignant shriek, she slapped the digit away from her body, quickly covering herself with her lab coat as best she could.

“No, thank you!” She scolded, leveling a glare with the creature. “Don’t do that!”

She didn’t even have time to register what consequences might befall her actions of threat displaying a massive sea predator, not with how his ear fins flattened against his head and he jerked his hand away as if she had burned him with her touch. In his defense, he did look rather guilty, rumbling again in his throat like he was offering an apology. He tilted his head at her, repeating the noise and it was then she realized he probably didn’t actually know what was wrong, rather he was asking why it was wrong. Oh, yeah. Different species, different cultures, different takes on reproductive accessories.

“You just, y-you don’t touch people like that, okay?” He grumbled something at her and though she didn’t understand it, she knew that tone well enough to roll her eyes. “Because I said so. Why d-”

Stella froze. The monster was still pouting at her reply, but her lengthy pause paired with her suddenly shocked expression made him chirp again in question. She searched his eyes, now well aware of the deep blue iris hidden within the inky abyss around it. 

“You...c-can you understand me...?”

He furrowed his eyebrows before giving a single nod. Uh, yeah, duh? I’ve been responding to you this entire time, haven’t I? is what the expression conveyed.

“Holy shit...” she whispered. A smile was quick to tug at her cheeks, looking back at him with twinkling brown eyes. “Holy shit! You can understand me! Y-you’re...you’re intelligent!”

The creature narrowed his gaze and she quickly held up her hands in a placating motion. “I-I mean, obviously, you were always intelligent, just i-in terms of, like...you know, whatever, let’s just start over, um...” She ran a hand through her newly tangled mess of curls, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh my god, I don’t even know where to begin!”

A quick look down at her capsized boat had her reconsider. Stella wondered how much of her research and equipment inside was totally trashed as a result of being broken or waterlogged. Oh well. Literally none of that mattered right now, not when filters could be replaced and notes reprinted and one of the greatest specimens of her lifetime was three inches in front of her.

Biting her lip, she glanced between the boat and the merman. “Actually, do you, um, think m-maybe you could fix...that? And maybe put m-me down while you’re at it...?”

For a moment, he only blinked at her, silently debating her request. It was long enough to make her start to shift nervously, wondering if she had managed to misread the entire situation and was foolish to make such demands when she was still considered a food source. Thankfully, he complied and righted her boat with ease, gently depositing her on the slick deck. The rocking of the sea still caused her to slip and fall ass first on the ground, though it mattered little to her with the way her legs still felt like jelly.

A shadow engulfed her, trilling ringing in her ears from above which made her groan. “I’m fine, just...give me a minute here.” Slowly, Stella sat back up and pulled her legs towards herself until she could sit criss-cross, digging her (thankfully) waterproof handheld from her pocket to pop out the stylus, tapping and scribbling on the screen. The creature lowered himself deeper into the water until only his shoulders and above were visible, swimming around to the edge of the boat to try and see what she was doing on the tiny device. He braced his hands on the side of the hull, nearly capsizing it again, which was probably what he did the first time when she had been down in the cabin, and only letting go when Stella cried out at being toppled for the umpteenth time.

When the boat ceased most of its swaying, she fixed another sharp glare at the creature who hunched a little further into the salty waters. “Okay, rule number one, no more touching this boat. Got it?” She was half tempted to add or me in there, but...well, they could cross that bridge if something came up about that later. Regardless, he nodded at her and she sighed, repositioning herself to lean against the cabin door for a little extra stability.

“So, ever play twenty questions?”

[cant-blink]

Of Different Tongues

Summary: Gigan’s first attempts to court Ghidorah goes about as well as you’d expect.

-

It would be the first time Gigan meets Ghidorah after successfully capturing him into Nebulan captivity. 

The dragon is in chains in a containment room, just until the alien roaches are certain the mind-control chip is working as intended with their action tapes. Gigan didn’t really care about what they were doing; he waited long enough to meet this beautiful golden kaiju. He wanted him, NOW. It’s the first time he’s ever felt this warmth in his chest, this desire to have a partner for the rest of his life. Normally, he just takes what he wants from whatever female the Nebulans shoved into his room, and then eat them as a post-coital meal after.

But this one... he’s different. Or they, he still doesn’t know yet how those three heads functioned. From the second he saw them emerge from that asteroid to confront him, his heart was fluttering. He’s seen pictures of this creature, fought in artificial simulations as practice, but those images didn’t do any justice to seeing them in person! Those golden scales were flawless like a well-preened female, and those massive wings that caught the light with every movement brought such an intense need in him. Those red eyes glaring into the remnants of his soul will forever be engraved into his memory. And the battle that ensued couldn’t be more perfect; it was glorious! Brutal! Having to hold back whilst this hydra tried to murder him, such a thrill!! They not only looked gorgeous, but they fought with the same lust for death that he did. They were perfect for each other! 

Forget whatever plan the Nebulans had, they were brought together by the fates for a reason! And that reason was for Gigan to make them his!

He walks into the room with confidence. Kaiju-sized doors were something he taught his Masters to install into every part of the ship, because otherwise, he made it a point to blast through the walls instead. Thankfully, they knew better than to lock him out of here, although he does hear the Nebulans speak into his mind.

“Gigan, this is currently a restricted area. Turn back now.” But he ignores them; he always pushed his luck and then dared them to do something about it. They rarely ever did. “Gigan, we’re serious! Ghidorah isn’t ready yet!” “Gigaaaan... Go to your room!” “Gigan, if you get yourself damaged, don’t come crying to us!” “Kids these days never listen.”

The dragon is watching him with all six eyes narrowed. There is a growl from them, but Gigan is undeterred. His body acts on its own and he fluffs up his feathers and fans out his sails as wide as he could to show interest in this potential mate, put them at ease that his intentions are pure. He’s never done this before, but he trusts. The dragon’s growl lessened only slightly as they continued watching him, before they flare out their own wings and stood up taller to tower over him. 

Unbeknownst to him, Ghidorah had completely misread Gigan’s display as a sign of fear and is actually trying to intimidate the cyborg further by increasing his own perceived size. 

And unbeknownst to the dragon, this in turn is misread by Gigan, who looks up at him with awe and desire. His instincts tell him that this is a sign that the dragon is into him too, returning his display with their own!

Great! 

... 

... Now what?

The Nebulans have learned the hard way that Gigan’s courtship instincts were stunted by his unnatural upbringing in their care. Perhaps keeping him in complete isolation for most of his life wasn’t such a good call, but what’s done is done. This is actually the first time they’ve seen him do THIS much, and it’s towards their newest kaiju weapon?! They gave Gigan the finest specimens of his own kind that they could afford and he used and abused them like they were nothing more than toys. Didn’t help that he would eat them when he got bored so there was nothing left to be salvaged. They tried everything to make their breeding program work! It all failed so badly that they gave up on the idea of their prized weapon bonding with a mate entirely. 

Yet here he is...

He’s gone smitten over a creature not even of his own species!! 

Well, at least that meant their partnership will go smoothly on Earth, which is what’s important. So they sat and watched the process, but something was wrong. Gigan seemed confused; while at this point, the courtship would usually turn into a dance, their pet was left standing there like a dumbass. It was almost painful to watch...

But Gigan saves face; he’ll wing it! Make his own rules!! Time to flirt...

..... He’s never flirted before. Fuck, wing that too!

“Hey, babe,” he starts his greeting with a smirk, leaning against the wall all non-chalant. “Ghidorah, right? Name’s Gigan.”

Ghidorah watches him for a long moment, those faces unreadable, and Gigan was starting to feel a bit awkward before they finally respond. Oh, the three heads talk at the same time, in different pitches working in harmony. Their, -his!-, voices were beautiful and Gigan’s lust for him grew all the more. Damn, is there anything about this dragon that wasn’t so damn hot?!

So mesmerized he was in those voices that he almost didn’t realize one crucial fact: the dragon is speaking in a language he doesn’t recognize! It’s the first time he’s ever come across a language that isn’t automatically translated in his mind. Shit! He falters, before clearing his throat.

“Do you speak Kaiju?” 

The dragon tilts his heads slightly and responds again in a confused tone. But Gigan has no clue what he’s saying...

Welp, he knows what he’s doing tonight, and it ain’t mating this hydra like he expected. Dammit! “Right. I’ll see ya around, babe.” And that was the last thing he said to salvage the situation before he turns around and leaves the room.

But it isn’t over yet, far from it. Because Gigan is no quitter and something as simple as a language barrier wasn’t going to stop his pursuits!

So he spends all night not in his nest, but sitting with his Masters, researching the matter intently. Replaying the words that the beautiful hydra spoke to him in his mind over and over, and sending that recording through the database’s files. Any resource he had at his disposal, he was using it! Even space-Google was utilized! The Nebulans tried to help him, quite a few of the insects sitting on his shoulders and head whilst searching through their portable devices. 

“Technology has never failed,” they reassured him. “The answers exist somewhere in the Universe’s database, we just have to dig a bit. And that’s something we’re very good at.”

Finally, after hours of tireless work, which deprives the cyborg of his beloved sleep, he finally gets somewhere! And it turned out to be so simple, he almost blasted the Nebulans himself. Almost.

Turns out, Ghidorah is speaking an ancient language of an extinct race. The same race that created the dragon in the first place. Fuckin’... Gigan sighs. At least it’s something. And the Nebulans seem to be happy, as they were convinced that they’ve unlocked the final piece of the puzzle to make the dragon’s mind-control chip work as intended! As to what those beautiful words spoken to him meant?

“You’re an idiot. Your insects are idiots. You come in here wasting my time and taunting my chains. But when I break free, I’m going to destroy them and everything else that you know and love.”

Well, then...

He’s undeterred by those insults and threats and he installs this ancient language into his translator. Everything was coming together and he gives his head and body a shake to force the roaches to fly off of him. As much as he appreciates their help, -he can always rely on his insect parents to pull through for him-, right now, he has to do this alone. 

He makes his way back to the dragon with a happy grin and confident strides. The dragon seemed to be in as foul of a mood as he was earlier, but surely he’ll change his mind when he hears Gigan speak his own tongue! How can the hydra not reward such efforts?

He cleared his throat again, a smirk returning to his beak as he speaks his first words in this new language, a simple greeting.

Ghidorah is staring at him with slightly widened eyes, not responding at all, and Gigan wonders if he perhaps messed something up. Damn his tired mind, probably had it set on the wrong langua-

“You really can’t take a hint, can you, ‘Gigan’?”

The cyborg almost fell over. Ghidorah spoke that in perfect Kaiju language! Wha... But... How did- The three-headed wyvern didn’t seem to know any of it when they met just yesterday! His beak opened dumbly for a moment before he found his voice. “You can speak Kaiju...”

“Of course I can,” the dragon growled. “Last I checked, I’m a kaiju.”

“But you were just-” It suddenly dawned on the cyborg. This sneaky gorgeous little bitch... He couldn’t help but chuckle. Maybe it was his lack of sleep, but the idea of being angry over all his wasted time and effort didn’t occur to him. “You were only pretending not to understand me, huh? Alright, babe, you got me there.”

He once more leaned against the wall, a hook toying with one of the chains fastened to the hydra’s body. “Well, now that your little masquerade is over, how about we continue where we left off?”

“How about you listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once,” Ghidorah leans a face closer to Gigan’s as far as his chains would allow and hisses once more in that ancient tongue. “Leave me alone.”

Thus, the first of many times he will be saying that to this cyborg.

[cuinnamonbun]

I’m so sorry this took so long! I’ve been so swamped with my work and figuring out how each individual brother would react in the situation :( A bit of warning though, I’m still not quite familiar with Belphie’s character, I had to work with what little I knew of him by reading through every Belphie stan rant about him, the text messages/phone calls that we get from him and the Obey Me wikia page so I’m really sorry if I destroyed his character here >.< !!! But all of that aside, I hope that this is still enjoyable and readable to all of you :) 

And of course, a massive thank you to @dawndustleo for the request!!

Big brothers’ reactions here!

Part 2 of How the Brothers React to Accidentally Falling in Love with a Devout Muslim MC (Little Brothers)

Satan

Ah, yes. Our resident academic

Satan did not like our cute lil MC when he first met them (and they him) and these two were wary of each other

Honestly, the only reason these two would even become friends in the first place is because of MC tbh

I doubt Satan would approach them willingly in the hopes of making friends. At most, he would only converse with them to add to his impressive list of connections or for his own personal gain (cough making Lucifer miserable cough)

The more he spends time with them though, Satan slowly unravels the layers that make MC the person that they are and he’d be shocked at the depth of character they present since he usually just thinks all religious people are numbskulls and mindless sheep anyway

But MC managed to surprise him by demonstrating a wisdom to them that he has yet to associate with any human. Sure, it may not be as profound as Kant’s or Nietzsche, but any questions regarding theology or morality that Satan would throw at them for fun (with the sadistic intent of watching them blunder in their answer) MC managed to answer it as honest as they could 

To him, most people are predictable

Where most people would reply with a simple “i dunno”, MC did not and it was during these interrogations chatting sessions that Satan could truly admire the rawness of MC’s soul. Be it in the way they viewed the world or their thought process. Satan would be in complete awe of the world that they view through their lenses

Devout Muslims spend most of their life trying to live up to the example of their beloved Prophet Muhammad (may peace be unto him) and MC is no exception to this, their time in the Devildom would make it harder but they’d definitely hold on strong, especially with the angels there as well c:

So even if most of their answers would have something to do with God, the inherent longing and yearning in their voice would be enough to move even him

It’s this part of them that really started his infatuation with MC. They were so pure and virtuous that they were kind to even him, the sworn enemy of every believing Muslim in the world. They looked past his Wrath and understood him and his complexities that often, they would help Satan realise his own mysteries

Unlike the other brothers though, Satan was hyperconscious of MC’s choice in religion 

So the second he realised he was in love with them, his sin consumes him and he would destroy anything within sight and cursing God’s name to, well, Hell

When he finally calms down, that’s when the heartache sets in for him ;(

Because even if MC reciprocates his feelings, their devotion to God would far, far outweigh their love for him and they would always choose Him over Satan

Asmodeus

Asmodeus’ idea of love had always been skewed since the minute he fell from Heaven

Maybe he did experience true love back when he was an angel, but that had been so long ago that he’d almost forgotten how it feels like

As the Avatar of Lust, Asmo’s love language is extremely physical. It doesn’t have to be inherently suggestive but even the more innocent touches like a simple hug or even hand holding could escalate into something risqué

It’s not like he intentionally sets it off too. It’s his sin!! He can’t help it if a friendly hug pitches a tent in his pants!!

Like Lucifer, Asmo would first pursue MC for less-than-pure gains

He revels in attention from anyone and anything, if that person shows the least bit of attention to him (especially sexually) he WILL feel genuinely offended, like he’s not good enough

And with MC’s piety and immunity from Asmo’s charm, he would absolutely see MC as nothing more than a goal, a forbidden fruit, or the highest win one can get in a lottery

He would amp up his seduction and sin to the max level that even his brothers had to leave the room because it was so overpowering it began to mess with their heads and I can see MC not being okay with that and this would upset them a lot

Lucifer will have to force Asmo to apologise to MC every time this happens (a lot) and though his apologies are sarcastic and obviously ingenuine, MC was always so forgiving and so kind, treating him more than just lust embodied. With their high resistance against his charms, Asmo knows that MC is genuine in their want to be his friend

And this would definitely cause his heart to palpitate and soar in happiness. Because for the first time, someone is interested in him, his person rather than his body, his looks or his status as one of the seven Demon Lords of the Devildom

The constant impure thoughts of what he wanted to do with MC once they finally fall under his charm slowly turned into wholesome ones, with him thinking of the best ways he can make them smile like that one time when he said something that was truly amusing to them

He still won’t realise this though because the change had been a slow and steady one. The only way he would realise that he is utterly besotted and head over heels for MC is when MC had accidentally tripped and fell into his arms...and he felt nothing. Well, other than genuine concern and worry of course

He would be so shocked by that fact and he would run to Satan to confirm what he already knew

When he finally comes to terms with it, he was ecstatic and a little nervous. It’s his first time loving someone other than himself and he was so, so excited to share this happy news to MC

Unfortunately, MC would be forced to turn him down as gently as they could, explaining the reasons why. I would imagine it would hurt for MC to do this because they would never ever want to cause him pain 🥺

Asmo would be so shocked. Because why in hell would you ever turn him down? Because he was so sure that MC reciprocated his feelings. They were always so kind to him, so warm and gentle. Had he misread the signs? 

Asmo would give them a fake smile and assure them that it’s fine, that they were much better off as friends anyway even though MC didn’t look like they believed him

Asmo would act joyful as he usually did, but his brothers and MC knew that it was all an act, and while his brothers didn’t understand what’d happened (with the exception of Satan) it would absolutely crush them to see the most joyous of the brothers so dejected, even if he’d try his best to hide it

When MC left the Devildom, Lucifer will have to deal with the influxes of bills his little brother has accumulated from the copious amounts of alcohol he consumed trying to forget about them

Beelzebub

Unlike his older brothers, Beel fell in love with MC real quick

This demon is a big sweetheart and he treasures his family a lot, so I can definitely see him falling in love with a kind MC

Devout Muslim MC would always be on the lookout to help other people wherever they go and when they found Beel sad and hungry, they gave up their lunch for him

When they found out that Beel’s stomach is just practically a black hole, MC would take it upon themselves to learn how to cook all kinds of cuisines (if they couldn’t already) just so they could keep Beel fed and to make sure he doesn’t go around eating inedible stuff

“Beel! Don’t eat that, that is a plate. Come on honey, let me go prepare you a cheeseburger or a dozen, okay?”

Beel fell in love with them right then and there

With how his brothers have had to keep up with his everlasting hunger, they would definitely give up trying to feed him because one, it’s impossible to keep up with the Avatar of Gluttony’s appetite and two, they’re demons, they don’t do Good Samaritan deeds

In order to maintain their grades AND keep up with Beel’s black hole of a stomach, MC developed a little schedule that they taped above their desk and their bed, as well as digitalized a copy in their DDD to allocate their time wisely

When Beel found out about this, he paused. He paused, then gawked, then engulfed MC in a huge hug because no one has ever done anything like that for him and just knowing the extra lengths they went for him made his heart stutter

Mammon: What the hell, MC you made all of this for Beel?????

MC: You know what they say *putting a buffet of food in front of an awed Beel* The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach *pats Beel’s tummy with a smile*

Beel: *dying from blushing*

From that point on, he started following them like a lost puppy. Of course, it didn’t hurt that they constantly have little snacks on them for him but it was more so because he wanted their company

MC is patient with him and constantly smiles at him which drives his heart crazy and whenever he returns to his shared bedroom with Belphie, he always had this big dopey smile on him as he talked to Belphie about his day with MC and what they did and what MC wore and how cute they were looking at the different plush toys on display at the mall-

Belphie loves his twin but for the love of hell, please just let him sleep

But when Beel told him that he planned to confess to them, all traces of drowsiness would disappear from Belphie and he would have to explain to Beel on why that would be a bad idea

Of course Belphie would do so gently, but there was a heavy hint of urgency and worry in Belphie’s tone that Beel couldn’t ignore

That was the night Belphie would hold Beel while he cried himself to sleep :(

Despite knowing that they weren’t meant to be, Beel would still hang around them even if their mere presence would cause his heart to seize. It wasn’t their fault and Beel would never hold something like this against them. It just isn’t in his nature 

Even if MC reciprocated his feelings, he would never pursue anything more with them despite his heart jumping for joy because he knew it would deeply hurt his MC in the long run

It was precisely because of his love for MC that he would let them go, even if it pained him to do so

When MC left the Devildom, Beel tried his best to continue living his life as it were before but sometimes, he felt as though he might just let his hunger and heartbreak take over him 💔

Belphegor

Being the Avatar of Sloth, Belphie is well aware of the recurring nightmares MC has had since he first killed them. But even without his status as the lord of sleep, one could notice. It was that obvious

MC suffered trauma because of him and Belphie will carry that guilt with him to the end of his days 

The first few weeks, MC is notably wary of him; preferring to stick with Mammon or Lucifer during group activities, leaving the room whenever he was there and coming up with excuses to leave on the spot whenever he would sit next to them during meals

It brought him and his brothers terrible sadness to see their human change from a bright little thing to a meek little animal, trembling down to their knees. It reminded them of when MC first came to the Devildom; lost and fearful

But eventually MC would finally start interacting with Belphie; you know, a simple hello and no immediate fleeing whenever he wanders into a room. Baby steps, y’know? They would still cling to Lucifer or Mammon though

He would be so confused about it

Like, hello? I am your murderer?? Why are you trying to befriend me???

Like, this man really thought that they were going to spend the entirety of the exchange program just ignoring him. Not that he would blame them

But MC was so determined on moving past that and the least he could do was humour them

He would make sure that they were comfortable every time they interacted; which meant no sudden moves, no being an asshole to them, speaking politely to them and just giving them space in general

It won’t take long for MC to fully be comfortable around him again and trust him enough to form a pact with him

Now that MC is able to relax around him, MC and Belphie would be frequently hanging out with each other due in large part to Beelzebub who is just really, REALLY glad that his two favourite people finally like each other now 🥺🥺

In time, they would be able to trust each other enough to reveal the deepest parts of themselves to each other and the first time it happened, Belphie cried and MC...to his surprise, was not a stifling presence

They were silent as they listened to him speak, their attention rapt on him as he bared his soul to them and their presence was warm and comforting as he cried, with no judgment of any sort to be found

That was when he would truly start to fall in love with them and though he realised that MC would probably reject his advances if he were to pursue anything more with them, it didn’t stop him from trying at all

He found a good human not just for himself, but also for Beel and the rest of his brothers, he wasn’t going to let them go that easily

He finally understood why his little sister sacrificed all that she was to be with her human lover and he really thought that their circumstances were similar (spoiler alert it’s not)

His love for MC was absolutely genuine, which would make this all the more terrifying because he would truly believe that what he was doing was the best thing for them

Belphie is cunning and highly manipulative, he would most definitely attempt to skew MC’s devotion to God and attempt to convince her that the Devildom has much better things to offer than the Celestial Realm

He would try his absolute hardest to get them to stay with him in their realm 

“Oh, speaking of God, back when I was an angel, did you know this one time He tried to...” “Do you have to pray now? You could always do it later, you know. I mean, He is Ar-Rahim, the Most Merciful right? He’ll understand”

Devout or not, he will break through their strong will and convince MC to leave their religious path all the while pretending to support them and their religious freedom

If MC reciprocated his feelings, he would be overjoyed because this makes it a HUNDRED times easier for him to persuade them to stay with him and be with him forever

And it’s true, with his silver tongue and patience, he could absolutely crumble MC’s devotion to God if MC’s not careful

If Belphie was unsuccessful with his attempts to keep them with him forever, he would be absolutely enraged by it

“They’re MINE! You stay away from them! I am so irrevocably in love them and I REFUSE to let Him have them!”

He would probably most definitely start a war with the Celestial Realm over this 

[theladyofdeath]

Heat of the Moment {Elorcan}

Some Lorcan + Elide angst written alongside the LOML, @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​

Enjoy and here’s a tissue.

Prompt: “I fucked up” + “you need to leave”

Elide should have seen it coming. 

She couldn’t get the scene out of her head, couldn't erase what she had walked in on the night before.

Lorcan, jeans hanging below his hips, his hands gripping whatever lied beneath her hiked up skirt. And Elide, who stood there with her mouth hanging open as she watched out of utter shock. The girl’s back was pressed up against the wall,   her beautiful eyes fluttered shut as Lorcan pushed himself in and out.

They wouldn’t have even known Elide had walked in if it weren’t for the pitiful noise that tumbled from her mouth.

She shouldn’t be jealous.

It’s not like they were together.

But they should have been.

Elide and Lorcan were meant to be together. They knew it. Everyone knew it. But they had danced around it for years, claiming they didn’t want to mess up their friendship.

Friends.

He was her best friend.

He was the love of her life.

And now, the morning after she caught him fucking some random chick from the bar, Elide was hurt and utterly mortified. 

She had gone to him to give them a chance, to tell him what he meant to her, to tell him that she loved him.

She hadn’t heard from him since.

She’d laid there all night, staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t shut her eyes for more than a blink, because every time she did, she would see them, bodies moving together. Her television was turned up to max volume, a movie she’d seen a hundred times playing on repeat. If it wasn’t, and she sat there in the silence of the night, she could still hear the girl’s whimpering moans. But worse, she could still hear the growl of her name falling from his lips as he noticed her.

“Elide, shit….”

But she was gone before he could even put her down, before he could begin to try to unwrap her legs from around his waist.

So now she laid in her bed and watched as the night brightened into the dawn.

She felt like a child for crying, but couldn’t stop the tears as they came.

How foolish could she have been? Perhaps she had misread things. She knew he once had feelings for her, but perhaps he had gotten so used to their friendship that he didn’t feel anything more anymore.

She didn’t want friendship, though.

She couldn’t be just friends with him.

She glanced at her phone, thinking she should see if Aelin wanted to go get breakfast, but then she thought against it.

No.

She would lie there until her eyes went dry, whenever that would be, if ever.

She dozed off around 5:45, a heavy hand dragging her down into the blackness and silence of sleep. She was numb while she was asleep, the hours passing quickly, only waking when her phone suddenly rang on her nightstand.

She awoke with a small gasp, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She couldn’t tell what time it was, the clouds and rain outside obscuring any chance of the sun breaking through.

She reached for her phone and saw it was Aelin calling. She was no longer crying, but she couldn’t muster the strength to deal with Aelin right now. And for that reason alone, she decided to stay in bed.

The movie was on its 3rd playthrough when she heard her doorbell ring. Her phone lit up, alerting her of movement at her front door. Before she could open the notification to activate the camera, her phone rang again.

Aelin was persistent and Elide groaned as she flopped back on her pillows and covered her face with her hands, dropping her phone onto her blankets. It finally stopped ringing and when Elide checked the footage, sure enough, Aelin stood at her front door, tried to call her, and then left. After flipping the camera the bird, of course.

Elide spent the next few hours dozing in and out of a restless nap. She wasn’t tired, but her body didn’t want to be awake. She’d wake up in tears, and hard, shaking sobs would wrack her body. Other times, she’d awaken and feel absolutely nothing.

The sun was setting when her doorbell rang again. Knowing she was already going to be in for the ass chewing of her life from Aelin, Elide unlocked her phone, opened the system that controlled her locks, and unlocked the door. She nestled back into the covers and decided that if she was going to be bitched at, she might as well be comfortable doing it. And so she waited.

Until she heard heavy, booted footsteps in her entryway.

“Elide?”

Lorcan.

Elide froze, her blankets covering all but her eyes and the top of her head.

“I know you’re here,” he said, footsteps pausing as the door closed shut behind him. “I heard you. I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

Entitled prick. Elide said nothing. What could she say? I was going to tell you how madly in love I am with you until I caught you fucking some random bar blonde.

“Elide,” he crooned, his voice growing louder as he made his way to her bedroom.

Go away, she wanted to say, but nothing came.

She pulled her head under the covers and laid there, trying not to breathe too loudly or move much. Maybe if she was quiet enough, he would-.

The blanket was ripped off the bed and Elide squealed as she quickly sat up.

“Fuck.”

The tone of his voice dropped low, a familiar growl, Elide thought, as he took in the tank top she was wearing.  Which, aside from the scrap of lace Victoria’s Secret had the audacity to call a thong, was all she had on.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Elide, I figured you were just sick or something-.”

“You need to leave,” she said, interrupting him. She tucked her legs underneath her, crossing her arms across her chest. It didn’t do much to hide her ample assets, but it helped. And Elide couldn’t remember how to stand, how to walk, not when Lorcan was looking at her. It was a wonder she was even able to talk.

“What? Seriously?” He snapped out of his haze, his eyes leaving her body and focusing back on her face.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Seriously.”

Lorcan’s jaw locked as he dropped the blankets back onto her lap. “Elide-.”

“Don’t.”

“I want to talk to you-.”

“I don’t.”

A look washed over Lorcan’s face that Elide rarely saw - he was upset. Not angry, but purely upset. Then, one word came out of him that was scarcely ever uttered from him. “Please.” 

Elide blinked. She pulled the blanket back over her lap. She looked away, cheeks growing warm as she remembered what she had walked in on the night before.

How she wished it had been her instead of some girl she hadn’t even known.

“Who was she?”

The words were out of her mouth before Elide had even decided whether or not she wanted to say them. She kept looking out the window, out at the lights of the city in the valley. She didn’t look at him.

Lorcan hesitated. “I don’t- She- She doesn’t matter, El.”

“You don’t remember her name, do you?” The words were flat. Cold coming from Elide, nothing Lorcan had ever heard. He didn’t like it.

“No,” he admitted.

Elide scoffed. “I didn’t even think you were drinking. How’d you forget her name?”

“I never asked for it. Didn’t seem important at the time.” Lorcan’s voice was like ice, hard, yet somehow, Elide’s was still colder when she laughed. There was no humor in that sound.

This was why she had never tried to truly pursue Lorcan. This was how he operated. Elide longed for far more than to just be a notch in his bedpost.

“I can’t… I can’t with you right now,” she said, begging herself not to cry. “Leave. Please.”

“Elide-.”

“Please!” She yelled, her eyes welling up. A soft curse left her mouth as she angrily wiped at her eyes.

Lorcan didn’t move, but his anger faded, just a little bit, slowly. He sat down gently on the edge of her bed and looked at the wall. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for fucking a girl you didn’t know or sorry I had to see it?”

Lorcan didn’t answer. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Elide scoffed. “That’s a terrible answer.”

Lorcan was back on his feet, but Elide knew it was taking everything in him to keep his voice down. He knew how she felt about his temper, how his rage unnerved her. It was low, but it was rough, when he said, “What do you want me to say, Elide? Huh? I’m a 27-year-old guy, we like to fuck.” His harsh words stunned her, but she didn’t move. He continued to pace. “She had tits, she had an ass, and she was willing. I didn’t have to do a damn thing, she came up to me. And unless you and I are in a relationship that I somehow don’t know about, I don’t think I should have to apologize for that.”

You and I.

Elide opened her mouth but nothing came out. A moment of silence passed before Lorcan once again met her gaze.

“I came last night to tell you that I love you,” Elide said, her voice an unnerved whisper. Everything inside of her was trembling, her eyes wet and blurred with tears. “That I wanted you. But, I can see now that that was a mistake.”

Every ounce of anger that controlled Lorcan’s massive frame faded instantly. His lips fell open as he took a slow, small step back toward her bed.

But Elide held up her hand. “You need to leave.”

“El-“

“Leave!”

Lorcan froze. Elide rarely raised her voice, and now her voice was cold and earth-shattering.

They stared at each other in the broken silence, and in the back of her mind, Elide realized that at some point the television had been turned off. She was doing her best to keep her lip from trembling, her chest from heaving; anything to keep the sobs threatening to break from her at bay.

So when the tears spilled over and ran down Lorcan’s cheeks, her lips parted silently in surprise,

“You said you only wanted to be friends,” he breathed. His voice was unlike anything she’d ever heard from him, frail, unsure when it was usually so full of strength and confidence. “That you couldn’t see me like that. You, Elide. Why wouldn’t you-?”

His words broke off as he cleared his throat and looked away, quickly wiping away the tears, though more took their place.

“What was I supposed to do?” He asked, meeting her eyes as she sat there, a whirlwind of emotions. “Wait for you to decide that you wanted me? El, I’ve been in love with you for years. And you...didn’t want me. And I didn’t blame you. You had the right not to want me. You shouldn’t want me. You’re too good for this shit.” 

He looked confused, like a thousand thoughts were rushing through his mind that he couldn’t make sense of. And yet, he couldn’t stop the tears.

She couldn’t stop the images from the night before returning to her mind. But he was right. She had told him she thought they should remain friends. How was he supposed to know that she had changed her mind? That she was coming to give herself to him? Yes. It hurt like hell to see him with another woman. But, she shouldn’t have expected anything otherwise.

She began, “Maybe we should-.”

“Fuck this.”

Lorcan cut her off and with two large steps, her face was in his hands, his lips crashed against hers. She froze the second his hands were on her, locking up, and when his tongue brushed the seam of her lips, she whimpered.

He instantly let her go, assuming she was protesting and when he stepped away, giving her space, distance, she stared up at him.

“I’ll leave,” he whispered. “If you really want me to go, I’ll leave. But I don’t want to.”

Elide hesitated. A quiet voice that sounded oddly like Aelin’s crept into the back of her mind, telling her what she probably should have done, but she ignored it.

At the edge of her bed, Elide propped herself up on her knees, her blanket falling on her lavender sheets.

Lorcan watched her every move as she reached out and brushed her fingers along the zipper of his black jacket.

She was fully aware of how little she wore, how hungry his eyes were as they took her in. 

Her lips were still tingling from the touch of his and her body throbbed with the need to feel them once more. 

Her slim, gentle fingers slowly unzipped his jacket and she pulled him closer by the loose fabric. 

Lorcan fell forward until his knees were brushing against the side of the mattress. 

“Stay,” she whispered, and at first she thought it had only been said within the safety of her mind, but then Lorcan’s hand met hers where it held onto the side of his jacket. He moved her fingers, slowly and gently, to his chest, where his heart was beating wildly.

“This,” he breathed, “belongs to you. Wholly and completely.” She could feel the erratic thumping beneath her fingertips. “Fuck, it has for as long as…” He chuckled. “Gods, Elide, I’ve loved you since I first met you.”

Elide gazed up at him, onyx eyes sparkling in the low lamp light. She smiled and he thought she was the most beautiful thing in existence.

But that smile faltered and she looked down at the bed, at her exposed skin, almost fully on display for him.

“What is it?” He asked.

She glanced up at him. “Last night… I can’t get it out of my head and I-.” Her voice broke.

The light in his eyes faded. “I fucked up. Okay? I’m sorry.”

He had no reason to be sorry. He’d had the right to be with whomever he wanted. Yet, his apology hardly made her feel any better. 

Elide’s fingers fell from his. The absence of her touch seemed to be his undoing. 

He fell into his knees beside her bed. He looked nothing at all like the man Elide was used to seeing, but a desperate, broken man. “Tell me how to fix it and I’ll do it.”

“Lorcan-.”

“Don’t make me beg, El,” he whispered, cutting her off. “Because I will. You just told me you loved me...do you know how many years I’ve wanted to hear those words from you?”

“I’m not like those other girls,” she whispered, silently tracing the pattern of her duvet. Her eyes followed the swirls and loops, even when he fingers knotted together under her knees. “I can’t just meet some random guy at the bar and go home with him. I’m just… I don’t know what you’re expecting from...this, from us.”

His hand carefully extracted her fingers from her other hand. “I don’t expect a single thing from you, other than just to be with you.” He closed his fingers around hers, his hand dwarfing hers. He chuckled softly. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to just do this.” He ran his thumb over the back of her fingers. “To hold you, your hand. This is…exactly what I want.” Elide blushed and looked up at him. Lorcan cleared his throat. “But if you don’t put some more clothes on, I don’t know how much longer that will be enough.”

Elide looked at where their joined hands sat atop her bare thigh. She looked at her exposed legs and the way her tank top had begun to creep up her midsection. She looked up at Lorcan, his dark eyes hungry, but she could see the restraint there, holding him back. He was fighting against his most base instincts.

With shaky fingers, Elide lifted Lorcan’s chin up to meet her gaze. His jaw locked as he pushed her hair back behind her ear. 

And slowly, Elide leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. It was a soft, slow kiss. Gentle. Elide had seen many sides of Lorcan, but never one so intimate, so soft. It made her love him even more.

She loved him.

He was her best friend.

They understood one another.

Even when she was hurt, when she was furious, she loved him. 

Elide leaned back, just far enough to meet his eyes before resting her forehead gingerly against his. “If I give my heart to you, please don’t break it.”

Lorcan let out a slow, shaky breath. “I would never.”

Their lips met once more, Elides arms going around his neck as Lorcan’s calloused fingers trailed up her thighs.

I would never.

Gods, she believed him.

[thisisthepartwhereyou]

BEASTARS MINI-STORY #5: “Everybody Play the Game pt. 4” by JCL

---

We are in the restroom at Yanni's. It is quite big, which is not surprising considering Yanni's is a rebuilt pub. Legosi has just flushed the urinal and goes over to wash his hands in a nearby basin. As he does this, he hears a familiar voice coming from above.

???: "I see you got your tooth fixed."

Legosi looks up, and to his great shock sees his old associate, Kyuu the rabbit, perched way up in the ceiling and holding onto a pipe. Legosi gasps and jumps back, splashing water from the basin onto the floor.

LEGOSI: "KYUU?! What are you doing here?!"

He looks over his shoulder, staring back at the urinal with a disturbed expression.

LEGOSI: "You didn't come here to watch me do my business, did you?"

Using her rope, the bunny ascends to the floor and lands in front Legosi. She fixes him with her usual, deadpan eyes.

KYUU: "Whether you pee standing up, sitting down or with a leg up in the air is of supreme indifference to me."

She then lowers her gaze a bit and blinks.

KYUU: "... Speaking of which, your fly."

Legosi looks down, and realizing that he has forgotten to zip it up, promptly pulls up the fly. He looks a bit embarrassed as he meets Kyuu's look again.

LEGOSI: "How did you get in here?"

Kyuu points up.

KYUU: "Through the airvent. I originally planned to slip in through the main door, but the owner was busy putting a sign on it, warning against some kind of electrical malfunction. I just figured this was more discreet."

Legosi sweat drops at this.

LEGOSI: (Who are you, John McClane?) "Did Gouhin send you?"

The rabbit crosses her arms.

KYUU: "Yes. Since you still don't have a cellphone, and playing phone-tag with you at your condo is a pain in the ass, he figured that it was far more efficient to just send me to talk to you directly."

LEGOSI: "But how did you know that I was going to be here tonight?"

KYUU: "...That is not important. You should be more concerned about what I'm here to tell you."

LEGOSI: "Okay then. What is it?"

KYUU: "As you may recall, ever since last Rexmas, me, Gouhin and San have in cooperation with the new shishigumi kept a close eye on every unusual activity in the marketplace. Don't want to have another Melon on our hands, do we?"  

Legosi nods at this, remembering Melon in a not-so-fond manner, as the psychotic hybrid's face manifests like a grinning devil in his background.

LEGOSI: "No, we do not."

KYUU: "To cut things short, there has been some rumblings in the underworld, in which you, Louis and a few other names happened to pop up..." ---

We return to where the last chapter left off, with Haru facing her former high school bullies: Mizuchi the Harlequin rabbit, MELISSA the raccoon and MICA the domestic cat (unnamed characters which I have decided to name here).

HARU: "... You."

Mizuchi's friends does not look happy to see her again, but Mizuchi herself strangely enough does. Her eyes are filled with contempt, but she is still smiling.

MIZUCHI: "So you survived that wolf after all? Figures, I guess it must've gagged on you our something."

Mizuchi looks around, inspecting the surroundings in an overly dramatic fashion.

MIZUCHI: "So this is where you hang out these days? Seems like an odd place to look for new victims."

She then leans in towards Haru, getting a little too close for comfort. This makes Haru's right ear flicker. Mizuchi's eyes are filled with mock curiosity.

MIZUCHI: "Or are you out with some friends? Friends from your university? Friends who doesn't know about your... History? You know, I've actually looked forward to seeing you again. We have unfinished business you and I."

Haru stares back at her. She then snorts and lets little laugh escape her mouth. Mizuchi straightens up; the laughter surprising her and her friends.  

HARU: "Heh, sorry, but are you kidding?"

Mizuchi does not seem to see the humor of the situation. In fact, Haru's levity about this matter only seems to anger her.  

HARU: "That little tiff between us, wasn't that like two or three years ago? I mean we're not even in the same school anymore. Don't you think there are better ways in spending a Saturday night than chewing my ears off because I got kissed by... What's-his-face, way back then?"

One of Mizuchi's eyes begin to twitch; Haru not remembering her boyfriend's name are seriously exasperating things.

HARU: “Besides, from what I heard, you and your boyfriend patched things up, and I have a boyfriend now, so why dwell on old grievances?"

She says this with an imploring look, like she is trying to reach out to the girl's sensible side, considering this is not a night where she wants to deal with deal with these high school dramatics again. Melissa and Mica look sort of accepting to this idea; it has been a long time after all, and they did not go out this night just to pick a fight.

But Mizuchi does not seem to share this sentiment at all and grits her teeth at Haru.

MIZUCHI: "It may be old history to you, you filthy little freak. But do you have any idea what you did to us? You turned our relationship into a shackle!"

Haru sighs and gives off a frustrated expression. She had hoped that she would not have to deal with this sick blame-game anymore.

HARU: "That sounds dramatic. What did that make you, the ball or the chain?"

This seems to hit a nerve with Mizuchi, whose expression goes from angry to outright fierce. Haru tries to turn around and walk away, but the Harlequin rabbit steps forward and pulls the Danny-doll out of Haru's arms.

MIZUCHI: "Not so fast!"

For the first time Haru seems to lose her composure, looking openly upset as the doll is snatched from her. She stretches her arm out and tries to take it it back, but Mizuchi (who is at least a head taller than Haru) holds it up so that she can't reach.

HARU: "Give that back!"

Mizuchi shakes the doll teasingly over Haru.

MIZUCHI: "Oh? You want him back? This cute little fella?"

She looks at the doll, talking to it with a mocking tone.

MIZUCHI: "You wouldn't happen to be Haru-chan's boyfriend? Do you know what a slut she is?"

Her friends chime in with some cruel laughter. Haru is starting to look angry and embarrassed now.

HARU: "I said give it back! It's important to me!"

MIZUCHI: "And my boyfriend wasn't to me?"

She throws the Danny-doll over Mica and then gives the dwarf-rabbit a hard poke.

MIZUCHI: "You're right, we did patch things up and are still together, but that's because WE HAVE TO BE. It's my duty to stay together with that useless idiot, just to make sure harlequin rabbits don't go extinct. That is the way it was arranged between our parents, and I was happy with that... Until YOU dirtied him up. Do you have any idea how aggravating it is to have to stay together with someone, who wants to kiss a tiny little mutant he barely knows, rather than his ideal mate?"

Mica, who is swinging the doll back and forth by the tail like a pendulum, talks to Haru.

MICA: "So is your actual boyfriend here?"

She then tosses it over to Melissa, who catches it with some struggle as she is holding a paper cup full of coffee in her right hand.  

MELISSA: "We can't wait to to tell either of them what kind of a person you are! Then we'll see if they still like you!"

She laughs and tosses it back to Mizuchi, who turns and catches it, continuing their unpleasant game of hot potato.

COLLOT: "Tell us what?"

Mizuchi turns and looks up, and she and her friends suddenly look scared as they notice Collot's massive frame standing behind Haru. Voss is back on his shoulder, and the rest of the 701s are standing behind him.

MIZUCHI: "...!"

MICA: "Huge...!"

Voss looks excited as he looks down on the trio of girls in front of him.

VOSS: "Hey, more girls!"

Assuming that they are Haru's friend, Collot kneels down and extends his hand to them in a friendly manner, just like he did with Haru in chapter 2.

COLLOT: "You're friends of Haru's? Hello, my name's Collot!"

Seeing this, plus taking notice of the big group of canines, Mizuchi, Melissa and Mica go from scared to plain confused. Melissa even begins to extend her hand to shake Collot's, answering the polite gesture on reflex.

MELISSA: "Um, hi...?"

Haru on the other hand look annoyed at how Collot has totally misread the situation and tries to correct him.

HARU: "They're not-"

MIZUCHI: "STAY AWAY!"

Mizuchi's sudden scream causes Collot and Melissa to jump back from each in fright, which accidentally leads to Voss falling off the sheep hound's shoulder. Fortunately, Miguno is fast enough to catch the fennec before he hits the floor. Haru (and even Mica and Melissa) look surprised by the Harlequin rabbit's extreme reaction. Other visitors at the café begin look their way too, wondering what the commotion is all about.

Sitting up in Miguno's hands, Voss looks bewildered.

VOSS: "Jeez lady, what the hell was THAT?!"

Jack gives Collot a scolding expression, assuming he came on too strong with his greeting again.

JACK: "Collot, what did you do?"

Collot, looking a little shocked and confused himself, points at the trio with a trembling finger.

COLLOT: "I just... Tried to say hello...!"

Mizuchi stares at the large gathering of canines around Haru with an ever-intensifying distaste growing in her face.

MIZUCHI: "I can't believe it... I knew you were depraved, but I didn't think you were a race-traitor too. What, it's not enough that you have to ruin herbivore relationships? Now you go out and let a bunch of DOGS fuck you? DISGUSTING!"

This vile accusation shocks the boys, who stare at the vicious bunny with their jaws dropped. The other's at the café are staring hard at them now.

DURHAM: "WHOA! What!?"

Melissa and Mica give their friend a set of imploring eyes each.

MELISSA: "Mizuchi, you're making them angry...!"

MICA: "Maybe we should just leave. Can't you see that they're bigger than us?"

Jack, noticing that the situation appears to be escalating, steps forward and tries to play mediator.

JACK: "Look, I think there has been a serious misunderstanding. Can't we talk about this in a civil manner?"

Even Jack's friendly face seems to scare the bigoted Mizuchi, who holds her arms up in a rejecting X-formation.

MIZUCHI: "I said stay away! Touch me and I'll call the police and say you attacked me!"

Jack backs off with a fearful and hurt expression.

MIGUNO: "Wha- He wasn't even trying to touch you!"

Voss waves his fist at Mizuchi.

VOSS: "And what are you getting off by making vile accusations? We are just here with Haru for a game night!"

MIZUCHI: "Oh really? Five male carnivores hanging out with a tiny herbivore? Sounds more like the recepy to a predatory offense to me! And those markings around her ears? I bet it was one of you who made them!"

Haru's eyes widens at this, and she holds her ears. Durham bites his lip in shame.

HARU: "That was an accident...!"

MIZUCHI: "Accident? ACCIDENT?! Why are you defending them? Do you really have so little pride for your own kind, or have already slept with every herbivore in town so that you now has to settle for CHOMPERS!?"

The loud uttering of the word 'chompers' has a wide impact on on everyone in the café. The 701s look stunned, Yanni the owner look scared as he peeks out from behind the counter and the other patrons (who by now are not even staring discreetly anymore) look shocked.

JACK: "Wh-"

Collot gives off a shrill cry, being so outraged that his voice is almost hitting the falsetto-notes.

COLLOT: "WHAT DID YOU CALL US?!"

Haru has a furrowed brow, thinking back to when she first had the therm 'chomper' explained to her. ---

We enter a flashback back at Cherryton (taking place about two years earlier) where Haru and Legosi sit and eat their lunches in a staircase while talking.

FLASHBACK-HARU: "So it's okay for carnivores to call each other the C-word, but not for a herbivore to call a carnivore that?"

Legosi nods, rolling some noodle on his fork.

FLASHBACK-LEGOSI: "M-hm, more or less. It's a word with a lot of bad history attached to it; a derogatory therm for carnivores in general which paint us up as nothing but soulless flesh-eaters. Though it's kind of community thing for a carnivore to call another carnivore a 'chompa'. But I don't really like to use it though, even when talking to other carnivores."

Haru listens to this with interest. Legosi then gives her a serious look.

FLASHBACK-LEGOSI: "The last thing a herbivore should do is call carnivores 'chompers'. That's the first best way to make them angry." ---

Back in the present, Mica and Melissa give Mizuchi disdainful looks.

MICA: "Mizuchi!"

Mizuchi, confused by her friend's upset expressions, look back and forth between them.

MIZUCHI: "What? Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't say it to you."

Melissa hisses at her.

MELISSA: "That's still not something a herbivore should say to a carnivore...! Especially a big one who can easily hurt you!"

Haru turns to look at the 701s, each looking more offended than the other. They are clearly angry and/or hurt, but we can also see that they are doing their best not to let their anger overcome them; Collot is clenching his fists so hard that his claws are digging into his palms, Durham is shaking, Miguno puts all of his effort into holding back a struggling Voss and Jack looks down with a dark look.

Haru's ears then twitch as they pick up some chatter coming from behind them.

???: "She really went all out and called them chompers...!"

???: "Does she have a deathwish?"

Haru looks around, noticing that the other patrons are looking scared, clearly prepared for a fight to break out. On account of her sensitive ears, she can hear the worried whispers from them like they were speaking out loud.

???: "Everybody knows what a trigger-word that is for carnivores."

???: "They'll lose their temper, they'll lose their temper and tear her to pieces!"

???: "If I was a carnivore, I'd be furious."

???: "They'll kill her, kill her and eat her!"

She then looks over to the counter, noticing that Yanni is stretching his arm down for something unseen again. Sweat begins developing on Haru's brow. Mizuchi on the other hand doesn't seem to be aware of any of this, looking confident.

MIZUCHI: "They wouldn't dare, not in a café full of people! Besides, they already got something to eat with them!"

She is looking at Haru as she says this; the implication being that if the boys lose control, she will be the first to get hurt. This tears it with Durham, who looks furious over the insinuation. He raises a threatening fist and begins to step forward.

DURHAM: "Why you multi-colored little...! I'll-"

HARU: "ENOUGH!"

Haru cries out, surprising everyone and diverting their attention to her. Durham stops in his steps, looking down at the dwarf rabbit on his side. Haru then steps forward to Mizuchi.

HARU: "Look, you can say what you want about me. Heck, if it's the only thing that makes you happy, yammer all you want, but don't you dare talk smack about people you don't even know, just because of who they're with, or the fact that they're carnivores! I've only known them for an evening, but I think that they are kind, and pleasant, and funny, and they haven't done anything to deserve you or anybody's crap!"

The boys look on with big eyes as Haru berates Mizuchi. Probably because this is a first, with no herbivore having ever stood up for them before.

Haru then turns her attention away from the Harlequin rabbit and over to Mica and Melissa.

HARU: "AND YOU! What kind of double standard are you operating on to just stand there and say nothing? You're carnivores too, do you think these guys deserve to be talked to this way?"

The raccoon and the cat look caught off guard for getting called out by Haru of all people. Mizuchi on the other hand give an angry retort.

MIZUCHI: "Do you really think they'd like you if they knew what a little whore you are?"

HARU: "AGAIN WITH THAT?! I am still pretty sure HE was the one who kissed me, WITHOUT my permission none the less. So why are you still angry with me after all this time?"

MIZUCHI: "Because he wouldn't have even thought about going after you if you hadn't been such a harlot to begin with! Don't you see? It's because you couldn't keep your legs together to save your life that I can't even kiss him now without seeing your big, fat home-wrecking FACE!"

SMACK!

Haru delivers a hard slap across Mizuchi's face. Mica, Melissa and the 701s gasp. Mizuchi looks completely flabbergasted. Haru gives proceeds to give her an intense glare.

HARU: "If my face bothers you, just stay out of it!"

She then extends her open in a demanding fashion hand.

HARU: "Now give me the doll back, before I get MAD."

Mizuchi rubs her bruised cheek, at loss for words what has just transpired. The Haru she knew from a few years ago never fought back PHYSICALLY.

MIZUCHI: "... You want it back?"

The harlequin rabbit's eyes go darker and darker. Her fury begins to rise at an alarming rate, and as it does, her eyes get more and more bloodshot.

MIZUCHI: "Don't worry, you'll get it back."

Her free arm then shoots backward and pulls the cup of coffee from Melissa's hand. She holds over the Danny-doll, getting ready to empty its content all over it.

MIZUCHI: "AS SOON AS I'M DONE WITH IT!"

As she goes in to do this mean-spirited and petty act, her hand holding the coffee is stopped by a large, grey hand.

LEGOSI: "You're being very unkind."

Mizuchi look behind her, only to discover that a very large, scarred and menacing-looking wolf has managed to manifest behind her. Mica and Melissa, as well as Haru and the 701s, look shocked by Legosi's sudden appearance, as has managed to manifest with the fatal suddenness of an arrow launched from a crossbow.

We see in Mizuchi's background, past her terrified face, that she is thinking back to when when Legosi suddenly appeared behind Haru in the school hall.

MIZUCHI: (I know this wolf... From way back then!)

Legosi pulls the cup out of the rabbit's hand and hands it back to a surprised Melissa.

LEGOSI: "Your coffee."

Melissa takes the cup back, looking too scared to do anything else. Legosi's attention turns back to Mizuchi; his eyes narrowing in dislike. The threatening atmosphere he's radiating right now is so intense that even his own friends look scared of him; this is not the passive and awkward wolf that they have come to know!

LEGOSI: "I do not approve of you insulting my Haru or my friends. I suggest you stop it immediately."

He then lets go off Mizuchi's hand. She and her friends are left wide-eyed and frozen by the threat, but also by something else.

MELISSA: "My..."

MICA: "... Haru?"

Mizuchi turns and stares at Haru, then she points a trembling finger over her shoulder at Legosi.

MIZUCHI: "This is your... Boyfriend?"

Haru crosses her arms, purses her lips and nods. Mizuchi's jaw drops, so does a few of the patrons, who has not computed the exact nature of Haru and Legosi's relationship for the duration that they have been there. The harlequin rabbit is so shocked that she drops the Danny-doll on the floor.

MICA: "Oh, screw this!"

Mica and Melissa both turn around and run straight for the door. Mizuchi, at first surprised that the two just bolted without her, follows suit and runs past Legosi.

MIZUCHI: "Wait for me you cowards!"

As Mizuchi catches up with them, Melissa discovers the electric door opener, presses the button like crazy with Mica standing next to her. Yanni notices this from behind the counter and looks apprehensive.

YANNI: "Watch out! The door is-"

But it is too late, as the door AGAIN opens very swiftly (except now it goes inward) and slams the three Mean Girls up against the wall. The door, which appears to be stuck now, continues to sandwich them, with the three looking through the glass in door with big eyes, like a threesome of fish staring from inside an aquarium. Yanni, in a manner similar to Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone (1990), holds his hands on both sides of head and looks on in horror.

YANNI: "-defective...!"

Haru, Legosi and the 701s stare at this scene, all of them speechless. Jack then crosses his arms and looks pensive.

JACK: "You know, I'm starting think there's something to this karma-thing."

Durham glances at him.

DURHAM: "What? That it's a bitch?"

JACK: "Not compared to her."

Legosi gives Jack a surprised look as he hands the dropped Danny-doll back to Haru. The other 701s look impressed by this moment of shade-dropping. Haru covers her mouth and holds back a little laugh.

HARU: "Pfft...!"

TO BE CONTINUED (THE NEXT ONE IS THE LAST CHAPTER) ---

[dracolucius-abraxusmalfoy]

Part 1 of this ficlet

Part 3 is here

Part 2- for @fallautumncozyblog

A week later and Ron still won’t talk to him. He’s gone most mornings, by the time Harry wakes up, and he’s in bed before Harry gets back from studying in the library with Draco. The one time he’d come back well before curfew Ron hadn’t even been in the tower, even though Hermione and her books were spread out on the couch as usual. When he asks where he is, Hermione doesn’t even look up from her book, she just shrugs, says he disappeared an hour ago, and then falls silent again. 

Harry is halfway to mad, he thinks, just on this side of furious, but somehow the hurt overwhelms the anger, and so he ends up back in the window sill, waiting to see if Draco shows up. 

He does, only 30 minutes after Harry has returned, and  Harry frowns when he sees him.  

“Hi.” He says, quietly, but Draco seems to hear him, even from down the hall. 

“Hello.” Draco nods and slips into the space across from Harry when he gets close enough, tucking his feet under Harry’s legs. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks because as much as he had wanted Draco to show up, he didn’t think he would. Supper is well over, and Harry had told Draco that he was going to try and talk to Ron. 

Draco raises an eyebrow,  managing to look imperiously judgmental, even in what Harry is fairly certain are pyjamas.  

“What  are you doing here?” He asks, instead of answering, and Harry smiles, not sure he really expected a real answer in the first place. 

“Ron’s still being a tit.” He says, and Draco snorts. 

“What’d he say this time?” Harry can tell he’s tired because his accent slips. He’d been startled this first time he heard the west country accent take over the posh Queens English he’d been used to hearing for so long. It only happens when he’s tired, normally, but sometimes, if he’s comfortable enough he’ll let it slide. Harry always feels like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to in those moments, like Draco’s letting him see a vulnerable part of himself. 

Harry shakes his head and looks away from the soft way his blond hair is falling onto his forehead. It’s far too distracting. “Nothing. He wasn’t even there.”

“Oh,” Draco says, and Harry can tell he understands why that’s almost worse. Why maybe he would rather they scream at each other, because then maybe they could figure it out. 

“You know. I just, I don’t get it. I really don’t. I know that… that he hasn’t seen you the way  I have,  hasn’t spent time with you. To him, you’re still a massive muggle born hating git” he pauses, looks at Draco, who shakes his head in dismissal “no offence. And honestly, I understand that. You were a git. You still kind of is sometimes. But you’d think he’d trust me.  Trust my judgment enough to make an effort. I don’t want to have to choose Draco, and I’m so tired of fighting with everybody.”

He’s closed his eyes, and he only squeezes the, closed tighter when he feels Draco’s hand rest on his knee, feels the warmth of his body lean closer. 

“I know Harry. It alright, okay? I’m not going anywhere, even if Ron still hates me. I know-” Draco voice breaks and Harry can’t resist opening his eyes, just a little, to look, he expects the emotion of Draco’s face to be heartbreaking. He’s always so cool now, hardly ever gets riled up the way he used to, the way Harry used to be able to get him. 

“I know that he’s your family. They all are. The Weasley’s and Hermione. I won’t make you choose.” 

Before he even really knows what he’s doing his own hand is inching towards Draco’s. He pauses, just before their fingertips touch, and looks up to meet Draco’s eyes. He doesn’t look scared. He meets Harry’s eyes with a calmness that settles the last of Harry’s turbulent emotions, and Harry slides his hand the rest of the forward to tangle their fingers together. 

He nods, looking away,  and in a whispered voice says “Thank you.” 

They don’t talk about the rest of the night. They sit there with their hands twined together until their wands buzz, reminding them that curfew is coming up. They don’t kiss either, but somehow Harry knows that it won’t be far off, saw the permission in Draco’s eyes. He thinks that maybe holding hands, the way the had, is far more intimate than a kiss ever could be, or maybe it’s just Draco. 

Their relationship doesn’t change, not really. The next couple of days find them in the same spots they always are. In the Library until dinner, and then their window sill until curfew, but when Harry stretches his legs under the table and his foot bumps Draco's under the table he doesn’t move it away. The contact always makes Draco smile.  

Sometimes Harry worries that he’s misread things. They never do anything more than sit in each other’s company, but then he’ll catch Draco smiling, or looking at him, and he forgets that he ever doubted that there is something, something, even if neither to them are sure of what yet. 

He’s also afraid, because if Ron was mad about them being friends, what will he think about this? But Draco had said he wouldn’t make him choose, that he wasn’t going to leave, so Harry thinks, hopes that it will all work itself out.  

Hermione, as usual, is the middle man. There’s been little to no contact between him and Ron, and Harry learned the hard way that using Hermione to send messages to him wasn’t going to work out, but Hermione still manages to act as a mediating presence, so at least they aren’t screaming or trying to punch each other when they do end up in each others space. He knows that without her they probably would have. Neither of them is exactly renowned for controlling their tempers. 

He thinks then maybe the first step at reconciling with Ron is to talk to Hermione. He knows that she still doesn’t exactly approve, isn’t entirely comfortable with the idea, and he’s seen her, more than once, reach for the scar on her throat, flinching, when he mentions Draco’s name.  But she isn’t trying to convince him to drop it. 

“Mione?”

There must be something in his tone of voice because she actually closes her book and looks him in the eye. She’s frowning. 

“Is everything alright?” She asks

Harry nods, and looks away, eyeing the Baroque detailing around the ceiling. He’d asked around, once, but it seems like the only part of the castle that had ever been decorated in the style, besides the Great Hall. 

“No. I just wanted to talk to you.” He forces himself to meet her eyes again because he knows it’s important. “about Draco.”

She nods, and puts her book aside, moving closer on the couch. They’re alone in the common room again. Classing are still running but as eighth years a lot of their course work is independent. 

“Alright.” She says, simply. 

“I” he starts, but honestly he doesn’t even know how to say what he wants to say. He thinks that any verbalization of his emotions is going to be not strong enough, not right. 

“I just. Mione, you and Ron. You’re my family. I don’t want to lose you over something so stupid.”

She frowns again “Harry you’re not-”

He shakes his head, “No. I, we’re still friends.” He pauses, and thinks that maybe he should say something, something like ‘we’re more than friends’ but they aren’t are they, more than friends. He thinks it would be stupid. Possessive and wrong to claim Draco as his to someone else when she and Draco haven’t even talked about it. But… this is Hermione. She’s not just someone. “I. We’re, Draco and I- But that’s not.” 

She nods, and he can see the sympathy in her eyes, knows she does understand what he means, m even if he doesn’t. “I know Harry.” She says softly. “It’s okay. You don’t need to worry about that.” 

He nods and tries to continue. “You’re my family, my first family. All the Weasley’s and the rest of the Gryffindors and Hagrid, too, and even McGonagall. But you and Ron. You were the First.” He thinks maybe he’s going to cry, and Hermione looks a little like thee might, so he decides to move one. “But Draco… Hermione, he understands me. Instinctively, we understand each other. And he’s different. Or, maybe he’s not, maybe he’s just different on the outside, but he’s kind Hermione. He is. And sometimes, I see him talking to the other Slytherins, and I think maybe he’s been kind all along. He just keeps it close to himself. And I just want to make sure you know how much I love you, and Ron, and that you know that I can’t choose.”

She’s gripping his hand tightly enough that it hurts, and tears are actually shinning in her eyes. 

“Oh, Harry.” Her voice is breaking, and that sound, in a voice that’s always so sure, breaks the last of his own resolve. Tears fall down his face unrestrained and he struggles to hold in what he knows will be an obnoxiously loud sob. He’s never been a graceful crier. “Oh, oh Harry. We love you to, Ron included, I. I would never, never make you chose, Harry. You- I- You had so precious little happiness in your life. He makes you happy, anyone with eyes can see that. You’re so much freer with him, freer than you’ve been in a long while, I think. You needn’t worry. Ron. Ron is coming around. I think he was more hurt that you kept it from us. You used to tell us everything, Harry.” She shakes her head. “That isn’t my point though. We’re were standing there, for a while, before you saw us, you know? I saw how you were together, have seen it. I was upset too. Hurt, a little betrayed, but those are my emotions, things I have to deal with on my own, and with Draco. They aren’t your problem.”

He can’t say anything, so instead, he leans in and wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in her neck. She squeezes him tightly, and he manages to let out a croaky Thank You. He doesn’t let go for a long moment. That was exactly what he needed to hear.