#one thing about me: if a person loves cats then i almost certainly like them

[overtake]

Max: mentions cats

Me: 🧎‍♀️🫶🙏🏼💕🥰😊💓😻❤️‍🔥🫦🤌💖

[theeoriginals]

klaus or elijah (your choice) x former flame!reader 👀

all i want | elijah mikaelson

+ Ohhh I loved your cat and mouse one! Could you please make a calm housewife/mom of the friend group type of girl and Elijah falling for her in a kind of best friend to lovers situation? Idk I just think it would fit cause elijah’s very family oriented and I see him falling for a dear old time friend too? Idk so uhm yeah. Feel free to refuse ofc!

elijah mikaelson x vampire!reader (no y/n)

author's notes; combining these requests :) hope that's ok!!

warnings; vague references to past violence but nothing insane. exes to friends to lovers, just plotless fluff, with an extra side of fluff. yes elijah is extremely charming, yes he can't make eye contact with a pretty girl. duality of man.

It’s an unspoken thing, what lingers between them still. Unspoken in the sense that they don’t talk about it, but everyone else does. 

It always shocks people to learn that the oldest vampires on Earth are ridiculous, catty gossips. Elijah doesn’t know why it’s such a surprise. Living as long as they all have, you’ve got to keep things interesting, otherwise immortality becomes mind-numbing. He supposes that it just doesn’t measure up to their reputation for being ruthless animals, which isn’t unfounded. It’s just not the only thing they could be classified as. 

Ruthless monsters that defend each other to the death at the end of the day, no matter how many times they’ve stabbed each other in the backs, certainly. Childish gossips that like to start rumors and rewrite history when they get a little bored, definitely. The two identifiers can coexist, and very much do.

And this thing, this unspoken thing that is unspoken for a multitude of reasons but none more so than the simple fact that even as long as they’ve known each other it’s still fragile, and something could break it with ease, is only unspoken to Elijah. 

His brothers and sisters, however, like to do nothing but talk about it. 

“Well, she’s almost here,” Rebekah rolls her eyes, but it’s just for the fact that her older brother is going to be a lovesick idiot the entire time the girl is here, and it really takes away from Rebekah’s own quality time with her. “No wonder Elijah’s been bumbling around like a fool all day.” 

Klaus chuckles, and the two of them dutifully ignore the glare their brother sends them. “Do you think she sent him a letter to announce her arrival? Elijah always loves things like that,” 

Rebekah’s blue eyes light up. “Oh, yes! I wonder if she sprayed it with her perfume– us ladies used to do that with a suitor back in the day,” She fans a hand towards her face, closing her eyes at the small breeze it creates. “They don’t text or call, of course, it takes all of the personality out of it. And god knows Elijah’s all personality,” 

Klaus laughs again, and the two finally glance across the room to where Elijah’s leaning against a wall, glaring at them with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“I hate you both,” He says, earning another round of laughter from them. “And stop going through my things, Rebekah. Those letters are none of your business.” 

The blonde girl pushes her lips out in a pout. “But I get so bored, Elijah. You can’t be mad at me for entertaining myself,” 

“I fear he just hates fun, dear sister,” Klaus says, feigning a wistful tone. “He doesn’t approve of my methods of entertainment either.” 

“That’s because your methods of entertainment always end in a bloodbath,” Elijah says accusingly, earning a shrug from the hybrid. “You’re both immature. A thousand years old, still acting like children.” 

Their faces twist in offense in unison, and Elijah distantly thinks that even though they’re not even fully related, let alone the same age even in their vampiric years, they were twins put on this Earth to terrorize him and ensure that he never knew peace. 

Before they can begin their outcries of dramatized offense, and Elijah can continue to lightheartedly mock them, a voice comes from the hall, echoing fondly. 

“Must you two always tease your brother?” The smile is obvious in her voice as she walks into the room, and the three of them snap their gazes towards the woman in surprise. “He’s a delicate soul, you know. His poor heart can’t handle too many jokes,” 

Elijah recovers quickly, rolling his eyes, though he can’t (and won’t) stop the smile from growing on his face as she meets Rebekah for a hug. “Oh, wonderful. That’s just what they need. Encouragement.” 

She chuckles at his poorly-feigned exasperation, and the sound settles in his ears like a morning dove’s song. She releases Rebekah from the hug and leans down to where Klaus is stretched out in a chair with his feet kicked up on the table, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Glancing around at the vaulted ceilings of the compound, she sighs wistfully. “I can’t believe this place looks the same as when you bought it,” She shakes her head in slight disbelief. 

Klaus shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “When we first returned, there was some… cleaning up to do, but it’s maintained its shape wonderfully.” 

If she catches onto his double entendre, she doesn’t say anything, just nods in understanding. That’s something Elijah has always liked about her– she lets things go unsaid. She’s always had the ability to connect with him and his siblings in a way that most others can’t, and even when Elijah is at his worst, she’s been that olive branch that he can grab onto to bring him back to himself. Always so understanding and level. It’s a wonder that she still associates with any of them, given their penchant for chaos. 

Finally, she turns her attention onto him, and in its entirety he feels breathless. Even after decades of knowing one another, it’s never gotten easier to hide his ardor for her. He knows she can still read him as easily as she could thirty years ago, too.

“Elijah,” She says his name better than he’s ever heard it, with a tilt to her head and a fondness in her voice that makes him feel more alive than anything else he’s found in his centuries on this planet. 

She crosses the room to where he’s at, because he froze in his spot as soon as he heard her voice, and wraps her arms around him like she’s never been more relieved to see him. 

It’s another thing he’s always liked about her. She’s never stopped loving him. He knows that. Lives with it everyday. 

Regrets a lot of things, too. 

He says her name back as gently as he can, like she’ll break in his arms. He wonders if she thinks of all the times she has broken in his arms, and then he tells himself there’s no way she’s forgotten it, because he hasn’t. And that is something that is theirs and theirs alone. 

She pulls away and he misses her touch the moment she goes because it feels rarer and rarer with each day that passes. Every time she leaves, he fears it’s the last time he’ll see her. 

He doesn’t want to ruin her visit with these thoughts. Even though he knows she’d offer him endless comfort, he doesn’t want her to worry about him for a second. 

She turns to face them, clapping her hands together with a smile. “Well, then. What’s first on the agenda?” 

────── 

Something that comes with living as long as Elijah has is learning that some things about yourself you’ll just never be able to change. Such things like being a vampire in itself, having a firm hand when it comes to doing business with people. He’s been told he’s somewhat of a snake, and he’s well aware of his silver tongued ways, and it’s something he knows he can’t change, and hasn’t ever wanted to. 

One thing that has yet to fall under that category of acceptance is his jealousy. 

In his defense, he’s never jealous when he thinks he should be. He’s never been jealous of his siblings, spare for a few embarrassing months spent around the doppelgängers, but Elijah has never had to envy someone for something they had because if he wanted it that bad, he could just take it. 

But this. This he knows is jealousy, pure and unbridled, and nauseating, if he’s feeling that correctly. 

This is the jealousy that he’s seen destroy entire regimes. This is the jealousy that has driven his family to madness at times. 

And of course, she’s at the center of it all. Of course she is. There would be no other way he could feel this so strongly if she was not involved in it somehow. 

She’s the source of a lot of jealousy, he knows. He’s jealous of the carefree relationships his siblings get to have with her because they don’t have to be burdened with the feelings of the past that are most definitely still there. They don’t have to worry if they looked at her lips for too long, or if they held her a little too gentle to be considered entirely friendly. They don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing, stepping past that line they so carefully drew in the sand for everyone’s sake. 

These are the consequences of his actions, he knows. It doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, though. It might make it worse. 

Watching his siblings drink freely as the band played on was nothing unfamiliar. Patrons had long since joined in on the fun, and he’s sure there’s a crowd outside looking in on the celebration of unknown origins. 

At the center of it all, she is there, standing on a table with a crowd of adoring admirers surrounding her as she swayed and moved to the music. He would swear there’s a light shining on her, just for her, projecting her shadow above everyone like some sort of angel. He thinks she has every right to be worshiped. 

And the reason he’s so maddeningly, bitingly jealous is because he is the reason that he’s not the one dancing with her. He can’t be the one to dance with her, and he can’t be the one that makes her laugh like she is because he’s the one that said they shouldn’t be together. He is the one who broke her heart, and he doesn’t deserve an ounce of the kindness she still shows. 

So all he can do is sip his drink at the bar and watch as she pulls his sister, sweet, dangerous, devastatingly insecure Rebekah, up onto the table with her and shares her spotlight with her. Making his sister light up like she does with no one else. Earning another round of cheers from Klaus and Kol as they watch on, demanding another round of drinks for everyone in an odd show of generosity. 

She brings out the best in his siblings. In him. 

It makes him burn bright inside. Boiling, hot to the touch. He knows then and there that there’s a reason he’s seen something as trivial as jealousy take down the most powerful of men. Love is such a dangerous thing to get involved in in the first place, but finding someone, finding the woman who makes you feel like you could conquer the world is something else entirely. It bypasses dangerous and heads straight into fatal. 

Because she makes you feel like you could conquer the whole world, but the second you lose her, it all means nothing. You’ll tear it all down if it means she won’t be there, too. 

And the worst part of it all is the only reason he feels like this is because he is the one that ruined it. Blamed his family, blamed his parents, blamed everything else but his own fears for the reason they couldn’t be together. The distance, the timing. Whatever he could grasp, he pulled it out of his pocket and gave it to her on a silver platter, served with a distant coldness he’d long since perfect, and never wanted to use on her in the first place. 

He had so much time under his belt, but he was such a child. So helpless it bordered on criminal, all because he fell in love and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

It’s embarrassing more than anything else. 

He hasn’t taken his eyes off of her since she started dancing. Hadn’t stopped listening since he heard her first laugh. Didn’t want to miss a single second, just in case. 

For the first time all night, he blinked and turned his head away from her and threw the rest of his drink back like it was water. 

He could allow himself a bit more wallowing. Just a bit. 

────── 

“Well, Rebekah’s safe in bed. I even got her in pajamas, believe it or not,” Her voice carries even in its whisper, and he looks up from his lap as she enters the small living space, hands clasped in front of her as she takes a seat in the chair beside him. “Original vampire or not, I doubt she’ll feel very good in the morning.” 

Elijah hummed, thinking of his dear sister and how even if she’d healed a thousand times over, she’d still find a way to complain. He adored it. 

“What about you?” 

He raises a brow, lips twisting confusedly. “What about me?” 

She gestures towards his slightly slumped form on the couch pointedly. He follows her direction, looking at his rumpled suit, and the white button up he’d undone the top four buttons off, at least. He feels momentarily embarrassed at his state of disarray but he simply huffs out a laugh, lifting his gaze to meet hers again. 

“I’m a mess,” He shrugs, earning a quiet laugh out of her. “But I don’t think that has anything to do with our drinking tonight.” 

“I can’t disagree, unfortunately,” 

He hides the way his grin threatens to split his face behind his face, rubbing along his scruffy jawline as he looks at her. The longer he lingers, the more she avoids his gaze. 

“What?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Elijah,” She intones, such a familiar adoration in her voice that it nearly makes him sick. He doesn’t deserve it. “You’ve been so quiet tonight. What’s on your mind?” 

“You,” 

Her eyes widen in shock at his quick, candid answer, and he has to hide his own surprise at how quick the word had shot out of his mouth. 

“Me? What about me?” 

“Everything,” He sighs, shifting his long legs so he could turn towards her and give her his full attention. “I’ve missed you.” 

“Oh,” She breathes out, looking slightly bashful. “Well, I always miss you. I wouldn’t ever leave if I didn’t–” 

She stops herself, covering her mouth with her hand as a sheepish look crosses her face. He knows she wants him to move past her slip up, but he doesn’t. Can’t. 

“If you didn’t, what?” He leans forward, looking at her imploringly. “Why do you stay away so long?” 

She takes a moment to collect herself, picking at the skin around her nails half-heartedly, like it’s not really bothering her, she just doesn’t want to be so open right now. He’d feel worse about pushing her if he didn’t feel like his heart was leaping out of his throat. 

“Well, I didn’t think you wanted me around that much,” She says quietly, gesturing towards him. 

He rears back like she’s slapped him. 

“How could you ever think such a thing?” He whispers her name, a distant veil of horror laced in his tone. Fear, really. 

“You said,” She says, face furrowing in confusion. “All those years ago– you said that there was no reason for me to stay here with you in New Orleans. So, I– I left. And I travel all the time until I come back here for as long as you’ll let me.” 

Elijah feels something gripping his chest and it feels remarkably like his heart is breaking. 

His voice breaks on her name and he leans forward again, reaching into her space to grab her hands in his. Allowing himself this piece of her that he simply doesn’t deserve. 

“I never,” He stops, breathing out harshly. “I never wanted you to leave. I just–” 

He stops again, squeezes her hands, and then steels himself because this is the least he owes her. 

“You deserved more than to be stuck here with my family,” He starts slowly. “I never– I never wanted you to leave. Every time you walk out of those doors, I want to chase you down and make you stay. You have to believe me when I say that I only ever wanted you to be happy, and you wouldn’t have found that stuck here in the mess we had made back then.” 

There’s a poignant silence that settles as she processes his words, and he holds the ragged breath that builds in his chest when she begins to drag her thumbs along the backs of his hands, smoothing at the skin there. Ever so gentle. 

“All I’ve ever wanted was to be here with you and your family,” She says, shaking her head like she’s scolding him, even though her tone is anything but. “Being here makes me happier than any place I’ve traveled to. And I’m– I’m truly grateful that you had my best interest in mind, Elijah, but you have to understand,” 

She trails off and an incredulous laugh leaves her lips as she smiles at him. “I’ve loved you my entire life. And my heart used to break every day knowing that I’d only have a short time with you. When I turned, I was so– I was so happy because I suddenly had the rest of time to be with you. And you… you broke my heart, Elijah. You truly did,” 

She presses her thumbs into his skin firmly, just a pressure point to punctuate her words. “But I have never stopped loving you. And every time I walked out of those doors and left you behind, my heart broke again. You wouldn’t have ever had to make me stay. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.” 

Elijah’s breath stalls in his chest, and lets it out slowly, shakily. There’s a distant string of hope he lets himself pull on, just this once. Because she let him. 

He meets her gaze and smiles softly, just for her. “Will you stay, then? I’m– I’m asking you, truly. Will you stay?” 

She nods before he even finishes speaking and laughs quietly, the sound just for him. “Of course I will, Elijah. I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” 

“Forever,” 

“Forever, then. I’ll stay forever.” 

[tightjeansjavi]

Cigarettes & Feelings

Part One (+18)

“I always fall for the things that will hurt me.”

(Javi Peña x f! reader)

A/N: so uhh this originally was going to be one part and then I got to writing it and I was like uh oh…and now 🫠 here we are! This is going to be a 2-3 parter at the least. *sigh* here we go again!

~word count: 1.6k~

Summary: Agent Peña, Bogotá’s infamous playboy. Has he met his match when he meets you, the US Embassy’s newest receptionist.

Warnings: Javi is a douche, cocky typical playboy, thinks that he can sleep with anything on legs, huge ego, kinda mean, doesn’t take well to you bruising his ego, fear of intimacy, would rather flee the scene than face his feelings, denial of feelings, flirting, banter, some sexual tension? (If you squint) reader doesn’t take any of his shit, still finds him attractive but heard the talk of his reputation, definitely going to turn into a game of cat and mouse, eventual smut, angst, unrequited feelings, heartbreak, pining, unestablished relationship, no use of (y/n) only description is that you’re an American no physical descriptions used.(+18) minors dni!

Agent Peña Playlist:

Bogotá, Colombia 1988

When you accepted the position to be a receptionist at the US Embassy in Bogotá, Colombia. You were thrilled to be leaving the states finally. You had desires to travel the world, meet new people, create new experiences, fall in love? Nah, that would be far too cliche, especially for an American. Your first day in the office was bombarded with the other receptionists warning you about a specific DEA agent; Javier Peña. Bogotá’s well known playboy. Frequent brothel customer, tool, has a bit of an anger problem, devilishly handsome, can break your heart with just a kiss, Javier Peña.

Agent Peña had slept his way through Bogotá. Coworkers, sex workers, married women, naive American girls, informants. Even men found themselves falling for Javi’s addictive charm. As soon as you were informed of the DEA agents' consistent conquests, you were going to do everything in your power to not fall for his charm. You were going to do your absolute best to not fall into his deadly trap. No matter how handsome, how beautiful his pools of brown eyes enticed you, you would not cave. The cord could only withstand so much pressure before it ultimately snaps, right?

Javier embraced all kinds of women into his sheets. He was unshy in the bedroom, and that's why it came as no surprise to him that almost every woman in Bogotá knew his name, and they knew the kind of lover he was. His lovers would be left in a sweet, sticky sex stained gaze. Javi’s presence would linger on their bodies, their clothes, their sheets for days to come. Cigarette smoke, musk, inducing cologne, would envelop their bodies in a comforting warmth. When his scent no longer lingered, they would be left craving more. Javier couldn’t blame them, not really. He took a sense of pride in knowing he was more than an adequate lover in the bedroom. Outside of the bedroom? Well, that's where the playboy reputation came about. Javier didn’t date. He didn’t develop crushes and he certainly didn’t fall in love.

To protect the women he slept with feelings, and his own, he strictly stuck to one night stands. No matter how good the sex was, no matter if he felt a connection, an ounce of intimacy, he fled each time. He had a few slip ups here and there. He was only human after all. He craved human touch just as much as the next person. He learned quickly from his mistakes and his heart was even more closed off than before. Locked away in a steel cage, and buried deep within in the ground. He threw the key away and swore to never unlock it.

When you showed up to the office for the first time, Javi’s breath was stolen from his lungs the second he laid his eyes on you. He had encountered countless beautiful women, from all over the world. Why were you any different? Why was his heart racing? Why did his unnecessarily tight shirt suddenly feel even tighter? Why was he profusely sweating? What the hell was happening to him?

“Who is that?” He found himself asking Murphy, with a cigarette pursed between his soft lips. The smoke was slowly curling around his face, obscuring you from his view momentarily.

Steve glanced up from his typewriter as he followed Javi’s gaze to the receptionists area in the office. He raised a brow before chuckling, “New meat from the states. It’s her first day, so you better be nice, Peña.” he teasingly warned his colleague.

Javi quirked his brow up as he looked over at Steve. He scoffed under his breath, eyes rolling slightly. “American, huh? Who says I wasn’t gonna be nice in the first place Murphy? You think so highly of me.” His tone was sarcastic as he leaned back in his chair, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Steve gave him an ‘are you serious?’ look before he pulled the sheet of paper from the top of the typewriter to start on a fresh page. “You’re not the most welcoming to anyone unless you wanna sleep with them, Javier.”

“¿Me estás llamando puta? You fucking hillbilly.” Javi chuckled.

“Just telling you how it is Peña.” Murphy responded with a disinterested shrug.

“Who says that I don’t wanna sleep with her? All the more reason for me to be nice.” He crossed his arms behind his head, leaning back with a knowing smirk.

Steve wasted no time to crumble up a piece of paper and chuck it right at Javier’s head.

“You are such an unbelievable fucking pig sometimes, you know that Javi?”

“Bogotá’s most irresistible Playboy.” Javi responded humorlessly.

Unbeknownst to the two DEA agents, you were watching their interaction from afar. You couldn’t help it. Javier was stupidly handsome. You were only appreciating the way his lips wrapped around the cigarette pursed between them so effortlessly. How the hell did one man make smoking look so goddamn attractive? A light, airy giggle slipped past your lips before you could stop it from happening.

Javi’s head whipped all the way around when he heard your sweet giggle. It tickled his eardrums in the best way possible. He wasted no time to ash his cigarette into the ashtray nearby on his desk before he was rising from his desk chair, shooting Murphy a playful wink before he strode over to your little cubicle.

You did your best to look busy, and act inconspicuous when two tan, muscular forearms were visible in your peripheral vision. Your manicured nails were quickly typing away on the typewriter. Javi’s scent was overwhelming, intoxicating and a tad irritating. The mix of lingering cigarette smoke, and an unidentifiable cologne, was a dangerous combination.

“Is there something you find to be particularly amusing sweetheart?” Javier nearly purred the pet name out past his sinful lips.

“Not at all, Agent Peña.” You were quick to respond without looking up from the keyboard. You were feeling slightly flustered, but you’d be damned to let him know that.

“Javier.” He corrected you. “My name is Javier but you, my dear, can call me anything you’d like.” He was still leaning over your small desk space. His stupid broad shoulders were casting a shadow over you from the overhead fluorescent lighting.

“Uh huh. That’s nice Agent Pena. I’m kinda busy right now, so is there something important that you need? If not, I'd appreciate it if you left me alone so I can focus on my job. Thank you so much.” The tone you responded with was flat, unamused to say the least.

Javier was taken aback momentarily by your distaste towards him. He was used to women twirling their hair, giggling, fluttering their lashes at him and flirting right back without a care in the world. What he realized then, was that he was gonna have to try a little harder..or give up entirely. He might have just met his match without even realizing it.

“My apologies, miss. I just wanted to come over and introduce myself.”

“I don’t think an introduction is necessary, Javier. I’m fully aware of your reputation around the office, and the city. Now, can you please take your hands off my desk? It’s rude to tower over someone like that.” You finished typing before pulling the paper off the typewriter and stood up, finally meeting his eye contact.

“Ah. Of course, the mindless office gossip from the Embassy’s finest receptionists.” He leaned in slightly, his stance still intimidating nonetheless. You got a small whiff of his cologne, and a peek at the glistening tan skin below the two open buttons on his stupid tight shirt. “Isn’t it rude to judge a book by its cover before you have even opened it, cariño?”

“I’m sorry? I think I'm going to take the word of multiple women in the office over yours Javier.” You challenged back as you stepped out from behind your cubicle with a manila folder in hand. “Here is that phone conversation between La Quica and one of the informants you slept with. Looks like you have a date later, Peña.” You shoved the folder into his broad chest before walking away, heels clicking on the smooth tile.

Javi felt his mouth go dry as you shoved the folder into his chest. He watched as you walked away, eyes zoning in on the slight sway of your hips. His ego wasn’t just bruised, oh no no. You had completely torn him a fucking new one. His knuckles tightened and flexed over the material of the folder, bending it slightly. His eyes averted to the other receptionists who were quietly typing away. He wondered if they all had told you about his reputation, or if it was a specific receptionist. Either way, he was going to find out one way or another.

He stopped at Valentina’s desk, leaning over the expanse of it. The same way he did at your own cubicle. “Val, was it you querida?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Javi.” The young receptionist glanced up at him briefly, before looking back down at the keyboard.

“Mhm. I’d suggest that you find new plans for Friday night.” He pushed himself up off her desk before he walked away, like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.

Murphy had the biggest fucking smirk on his face when his colleague returned to his desk and immediately grabbed a cigarette before tossing the box into the desk drawer and slammed it shut.

“Damn. She really had you by the balls, huh Peña?” Murphy did his best to hide his chuckling, but it was hard not to. It wasn’t everyday that he got to see Javi turned down like that.

“Don’t you fucking start with me, you fucking hillbilly.” Javier responded in a snappy tone as he quickly lit his cigarette and tossed the lighter down onto his desk without a care in the world.

“Ouch.” Murphy clutched his hand to his chest in faux pain to which Javi responded by flipping him off.

Yeah, you had ruffled his feathers pretty fucking good. That was for damn sure.

Translation: ¿Me estás llamando puta?

“Are you calling me a whore?”

_______________________

Tag list: @chaotic-mystery @peterhollandkait @pedgeitopascal @userpedros @pedrospartner @korynnekorynne @kirsteng42 @yazsos @last-girl @amanitacowboy @lovers-liability @tinygarbage @777-wonders @dinsdjrn @myrealmofchaos @loquaciousferret @pedrostories

[artful-aries]

Hello, I loved your oblivious reader confession request!!

Would you mind doing the same question but for Pantalone and Ayato?

Please stay hydrated (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

It is a STRUGGLE for me to drink anything let alone water simply bc I am dumb. But thank you for the sentiment!!! I hope you enjoy this

Confessing To An Oblivious Crush (Pantalone, Ayato)

Pantalone

He’s a bit of a flirt when it comes to the right person, he’s always going to give you special looks, grazing touches, and subtle winks, all of which will fly completely over your head

Needless to say, he’s a little bit stunned when you act so casually around him as though he hasn’t been throwing enough money at you to make anyone flustered. You are flustered to a degree, but not in the way that he wants you to be. You just think of him as nice, a sentiment he almost abhors

Pantalone doesn’t think himself as a particularly cruel man by any means, but the last thing he wants you to think of when you think of him is nice. Seductive? That’s his ultimate goal. Reckless? He certainly can be when it comes to things he wants. Sleazy? He’ll take it if it means you actually realize he wants you. But nice? Nice is for your average, mundane man, and he is anything but that

The subtle dance around your obliviousness is fun for the first few weeks, but he begins to grow just a tad bit impatient as time goes on

He briefly considers buying advertisements in all of the newspapers in Teyvat to announce his feelings for you, but he figures that would go over your head too, likely chalking it up to some strange prank of his, as if he were ever the type to play juvenile pranks in the first place

When monetary sentiments fail to catch your attention, Pantalone shifts gears and gets more touchy. He won’t be inappropriate, but he always manages to find a way to have his hand linger on your shoulder, or his chest graze your back as he scoots by you

It’s in this subtlety that he realizes his efforts are futile, and he has to bite back his pride when you ask him why he’s been so clumsy lately

Pantalone will not stop his efforts until you have returned his feelings or rejected him outright; even if you were to reject him, he would likely just double down and try to win you over even more. When he sees something he likes, he won’t stop until he gets it

Eventually, he grows tired of waiting and just calls you into his office one day, borderline cornering you as he stares down at you with a smirk and announces his feelings for you

He won’t let you leave until he at least gets confirmation that you understand exactly what he means. No, he doesn’t just like you as a colleague or friend, his heart burns for you

When you admit that you feel the same, Pantalone feels a sense of accomplishment, feeling like he is one step closer to being the man who has it all

You are certainly his sweetest conquest so far, and he can’t wait to grow even closer to you in order to see just how much this boon is worth

Ayato

He almost prefers the oblivious types, not only for the cat and mouse like game both of you will take part in even though it’s without your knowledge, but also for the genuine honesty that these types of people often display

It provides almost a sense of mental stimulation for him to piece you together like a puzzle, finding out what buttons to press and how in order to get the reactions he relishes in

You also save him the headache if wondering what you’re thinking or what your goals are; it’s painfully obvious that you have no idea that you have attracted the attention of the head of the Kamisato Clan

He is never cruel or unfair, but he’s certainly not without mischievousness as he flirts shamelessly with you

As much as he would love to spend quality time with you, Ayato is extremely busy, so he makes up for this by sending you lots of thoughtful gifts (gifts so nice that you clearly wouldn’t buy them for anyone else other than someone you deeply cared about)

When he does get to spend time with you, near endless words of praise will flow from his lips, some of his compliments purposefully worded as innuendos solely to watch how you blush and squirm

Ayato finds it remarkable that you can get so flustered at his words yet somehow not realize he is being completely serious. But that just adds more layers to this game of his

He flirts and pulls back, repeating this pattern with various intensity to see how you react, but he will stop if this ends up upsetting you somehow

As his feelings grow more serious, he begins to take a more genuine, straightforward approach with his feelings for you. To his amazement, you still act as clueless as ever despite him talking at length about how he thought you would make a good partner for someone (it’s him, he’s someone)

This will end up pulling a genuine laugh out of him, one that would likely leave you confused because you hadn’t said anything particularly funny

When you ask him about it, Ayato will come clean and say that he found it absolutely adorable how oblivious you were to his advancements

If somehow you were still confused as to what he meant, he would gently take your hand and kiss the back of it, looking up at you with smoldering eyes and asking you if that answered your question

[cambion-companion]

I cannot concentrate on my work (ironically as a TA writing up my phd thesis) because I read your intelligence 8 tav x raphael fics and now I am shaken to the core and all I wanna do is daydream about being a clueless little slut in the house of hoep

please saer can I have some more

hahaha I'm so glad that brain worm took root, intelligence 8 Tav is delightful. I also wanted to incorporate this lovely ask as well and express my gratitude for the support you all have given me this month. All is well! Enjoy a drabble with a Tav/reader utterly oblivious to the true nature of a cambion...to them he's just a tiefling with wings! how cool!

Raphael + reader (gn) drabble

(I'll probably write another that's more romantic/cute but this was too funny to pass up)

"You have an uncanny talent at getting into the most outlandish situations." Raphael pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, inhaling a deep breath.

You looked around at the decadent room he'd rented for himself, steam rising from two baths and flower petals ornamenting the lush red carpet. "I wouldn't think a devil-guy would be the sort to have tulips thrown about."

"Roses." Raphael corrected, his hand clasping firm about your upper arm just in time to save you from slipping on the wet tile and braining yourself. "I would wager a hefty sum of gold your mind does not entertain too many thoughts at one time."

"Thank you." You murmured, touched. You allowed him to escort you to safety upon a chair and watched with vague interest at how his lips twisted in bemusement. "I should thank you for saving my bacon back there. Wasn't expecting to survive that. But Shart always gets Withers to bring me back when we run out of those glowy scroll things."

"I do believe I sense a migraine coming on." Raphael squeezed his eyes shut briefly before crossing to pour you both a glass of dark brown alcohol.

You took the fancy crystal glass and downed the drink with gusto, only realizing your mistake when the scorching whiskey had passed into your gullet, and you burst into a coughing fit. Raphael sighed and gave you a solid couple thumps on your back as you struggled to breath. "There now. Death by imbibing spirits too eagerly is no way to enter the afterlife. Not until you've served your purpose, at least."

"What?"

"I'm concerned for your well-being, dear."

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve. "That's really nice of you, Raph." He winced at the nickname but just barely managed to keep a pleasant neutral expression. "I don't know why everyone else threw such a fit about you, you're not a bad dude."

"I'm flattered." Raphael almost felt a sense of annoyance at how easy this was. He enjoyed a challenge, and this mortal was certainly not bringing it. He drained his glass fluidly and returned it with a clink to the table. "Now, your person is more or less stable for the time being."

You looked around, checking behind you. "What person?"

"Your body has been plucked from the peril you so naively flounced into." Raphael clarified, a slight edge to his words now, he was running low on patience. "Be a good mouse and run along, fetch me the crown and we can part ways amicably."

"I never imagined mice to be much good at fetching." You mused, rising to your feet as Raphael practically pushed you from his room. "That seems more a dog's forte. Oh, we have a most wonderful dog back at camp-"

The door closed in your face, so close it almost clipped your nose. You stared at the dark wood for a moment, then smiled and shrugged. You spoke a little louder so he would be able to hear through it. "His name is Scratch! What was I saying? Oh yes, dogs fetch crowns and balls better than mice! Maybe keep that in mind when giving people animal nicknames!"

No answer.

He must have gone to take a nap. You were sure cambions probably did that often since they seemed to act much like cats in every other way.

Smiling to yourself you departed, convinced that you and Raphael were now bosom friends.

[unholybacon355]

Melting

Sana x Dahyun

Word Count: 2.1k 

A/N: No, I don't just write about Jihyo ahahahah, and also... Thanks to the persons who helped me this time, you know who you are but i still don't know if i have permission to named you. Anyways, enjoy it.

It was quite a compromising situation, at least seen from Dahyun's perspective. OK yes. She was sitting on the sofa, which was quite normal, nothing out of the ordinary, but it was what was between her and the sofa that made the difference. Or rather, who stood between Dahyun and the piece of furniture.

Sitting on the couch, and obviously under Dubu, was Sana. Or was it Dahyun who was over her? Interesting question, for which the Korean did not have an answer right now. The important thing was that the body of the Japanese rather than getting in the way, what she did was support Dahyun's weight. Because for God sake, at this precise moment she wasn't able to stay upright, much less stand up.

The sweat on her back made the skin stick to Sana's breasts, even when her pleasure forced her to arch a little she could feel the other girl's body against hers. The soft mounds of her pressing against her flesh, and even the stiff buttons that crowned them digging into her back. But the truth was, she didn't have much time to think about it right now.

Sana's hands ran over her body in a skillful way. Oh!, those hands that she loved so much but she did not dare to admit it. The hands paying special attention to her chest, kneading Dahyun's breasts like a cat kneading her bed; while her fingers played with the Korean girl's rigid nipples. Oh, those wonderful hands. However, her mouth was not far behind, depositing small kisses behind the ear of the minor, or sucking along her neck. She even sometimes licked the thin layer of sweat that began to accumulate on Dubu, since the temperature had risen a lot in the room. Especially since they had undressed.

How everything had happened was something they didn't want to think about, they only had each other in this wonderful moment. All Dahyun understood was that now things had changed and neither of them had to hide what she felt anymore. Certainly an important issue to have reached the way they were now. Sana completely naked and Dahyun only keeping the lower part of her underwear. The Japanese sitting on the sofa and the Korean over her with her back to her. The older one hands running through the body of the younger one and giving her as much pleasure as possible.

In any case, the truth was that for Sana this was not a difficult task. Dahyun had fantasized so many times about those wonderful hands running over her body, that practically the moment the fingertips of the older one touched her pale skin, she melted without remedy.

Dahyun looked down and saw Sana's hands playing with her chest. Seeing those gorgeous veiny hands grabbing her tits only made her wetter, if that was even possible at this point. Clearly her underwear was already ruined, but she couldn't care less about that now. All she wanted was to replace that sodden garment with her stark nakedness. Giving Sana access to the most intimate corners of her body, exposing as much skin as possible for her skilled hands to roam.

Somehow their minds seemed to be connected as the Japanese released one of Dahyun's breasts to make her hand go down the minor's body. She traced the shape of her muscles with a finger, outlining every inch of an impatient Dahyun's abdomen. The action only contributed to get small moans from the Korean. Luckily they were alone in the apartment and no one could hear them, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing. After all she was almost naked on top of hers, until recently her best friend, begging for more of her touch.

“Dahyun-aaah. You look really needy for my hands.” A small nervous giggle accompanied Sana's lewd words, as if she felt embarrassed after saying them. Of course, this was not reflected in her actions, since her left hand continued to play with the corresponding breast of the minor; while her right hand was now fully resting on Dahyun's abdomen.

Dubu's body seemed to burn where Sana's palm rested, making the temperature of her abs skyrocket. Torturously descending in a march so slow that it seemed to Dahyun that she was not even moving. Setting her body on fire and increasing the temperature where Dahyun needed that hand the most.

The kissing and sucking never stopped on her neck, on her ear and jaw, even on her shoulder. But she needed them somewhere else, maybe on her tits or where even Sana's hands hadn't reached yet. However she was sure that she was not going to get that today, the Japanese were not going to give her that privilege tonight. She still began to rock her hips back and forth, in a pathetic attempt to get some friction where she was depriving her. Which only guarantees a new nervous and seductive giggle from the other girl. “Dahyun-aaah. Are you so needy?"

Finally Sana's fingers reached the edge of her underwear, and to the younger girl's surprise the other girl continued to descend over the garment until she placed her hand directly on Dahyun's crotch. Moisture was now soaking through Sana's fingers, covering them in a thin, sticky film. As expected the underwear was completely ruined and offered virtually no protection as Sana began drawing circles directly over Dahyun's most sensitive part. Even so, it prevented her from what she longed for right now, what she wanted madly and what she had imagined so many times in the past.

It was clear that Dahyun wanted, and she couldn't hide it anymore, Sana's fingers inside her. Those precious fingers that had her so crazy, so madly in love in secret. To be honest, she wasn't just in love with her fingers, but with the whole thing. With her gestures, with her giggle, with the way she looked at her, with her skin tone, with how defined her muscles were lately, with how kind and caring she was with everybody. How she cared for her and how she was a little jealous of her when there was someone potentially “Dangerous” around Dahyun. Of all those little details that apparently no one else could see, because otherwise she couldn't imagine how the whole world wasn't madly in love with Minatozaki Sana. But it was those hands and her fine fingers that kept her awake. The same fingers that for some devious reason were now so close, but not yet inside her.

Sana kept drawing circles on Dahyun's flooded intimacy, without stopping the kisses on the neck or caresses on the chest. Doing everything at a pace and with a coordination that invited one to imagine that she, too, had been wanting this for a long time. As if both of them had finally given free rein to all her fantasies. Fantasies where they abandoned their masks of sweet and adorable people, and gave themselves up to more mundane and adult desires.

A muffled gasp from her own mouth brought Dahyun back to reality. Sana's intrusive hand had finally ventured into the innermost reaches of her being, slipping under her underwear. She could feel her wet fingers playing with the sensitive bud that was her clit, giving her a pleasure she never thought she could have. Her deft digits rolled the sensitive organ in a dance she hoped would never end, drawing more moans from her mouth. This time perfectly audible, loud and real as the love she felt for the girl who was giving her so much pleasure.

She wanted to tell her something, return her caresses in some way, but it was really difficult for her to speak. Instead of words all that came out of her mouth were moans and gasps, maybe a couple of letters together but nothing more. Right now she was nothing more than clay being molded by Sana's skilled hands. She wasn't able to articulate any words, so she had no reliable way to let the other girl know how much she enjoyed her touch. Though certainly the moans, the way she writhed, and how wet she was were surely giving her a clue as to what she was feeling right now.

Then nothing more than a gasp that filled her lungs with air and stopped her breathing for a few seconds, could show what she had felt when Sana finally invaded her. When she finally could feel those fingers making their way through her sensitive flesh moistened by so many external caresses. She rested her head on the Japanese woman's shoulder with her eyes tightly closed and her lips parted wide. As if she was going to scream at any moment, but no sound came out of her mouth. She was gasping for air even though her lungs were full, and the world was spinning and she felt like she was going to fall even though she was sitting firmly on top of Sana.

She looked down, where her legs were open and the Japanese's hand merged with her body. She looked with the hope of finally after so many fantasies to see those fingers of hers entering her and leaving herself. Hoping to see what she had dreamed of for so long. But fate was cruel and despite the fact that she was living it, her own underwear prevented her from seeing it. That long-ruined garment already covered Sana's hand and kept that beautiful sight away from her eyes. She was only able to see the fabric moving as if it were echoes of Sana's fingers. Nothing more than a shadow show that kept her away from the light.

Still what she felt was wonderful. If when she touched her abdomen her muscles seemed to burn, now they were close to melting point. She felt such heat in the center of her that she didn't understand how things around her didn't spontaneously combust. How was it that this room was not engulfed by the flames of her passion as the two of them did. They were certainly questions that had no answers and she had better things to think about right now.

In constant swing of the fingers inside her, in addition to the caresses in the rest of her body, they were throwing her to her limit. Her legs couldn't take any more tension, her feet only rested on the tips of her fingers making her carry all her weight against Sana. The temperature rose to unimaginable extremes throughout her body, every last one of her muscles seemed about to burn. It was hard for her to breathe normally, and thinking was an almost impossible task for her. Her mind was flooded by everything the Japanese woman made her feel, so there was only room for pleasure in her head. She felt so hot, as if her small body was wrapped in a heavy blanket that made her feel hotter and hotter.

Now her entire body was trembling, being run through by spasms that emanated from her crotch to the rhythm of Sana's fingers. Tremors ran through her, altering her body chemistry. That added to the high temperature that it had reached had ended up clouding her senses, throwing her beyond all limits known to her. She was totally overwhelmed by the thousands of sensations she felt in every fiber of her body. As if she were in the center of a whirlwind of pleasure.

And so without warning her muscles clenched one last time, throwing her into the abyss of climax. Feeling how she came in Sana's hand while she rested her head on the Japanese's shoulder one more time. Feeling an overwhelming relief and exhaustion at the same time throughout her body.

The Japanese woman helped her ride her orgasm by moving her fingers slower and slower until they came to a complete stop, and hugging her tightly with her other arm. Once the spasms ended she managed to lean back on the sofa and put the tired Dahyun next to her. The Korean could only react by hugging her by her waist and hiding her head on the japanese chest. There were too many things to talk about, too many things to say, but this was not the time. They both had to rest, and judging by Dahyun's calm and rhythmic breathing, she had already fallen asleep.

“Rest Dahyun-ah. You did very well ”Then Sana also hugged her before kissing the top of her head affectionately, and the two of them fell asleep on the sofa in the living room. Tired but happy beyond limits. Both with a wide smile on their faces.

[slicznymartwy]

stand by your man

You’re not sure how much time passes, but it’s certainly been long enough for your selfish cat to have had its snack and returned.

tags: first meetings, cannibalism, thomas hewitt wears a face in this one guys, canon-typical violence, misogyny, slut shaming, fluff and angst, ambiguous/open ending, i mean to me its happy but yk, bad guys win sort of ending notes: second person pov – cis fem reader with some defined traits (tall, midsized, long hair). everything else is up to interpretation. i'm sorry if this fic seems really cruel towards thomas :( i love him i promise

read on ao3

Humid felt like an understatement on a day like today. Walking inside your little wooden shack felt like swimming in pond water, thick and stagnant. The morning wasn’t so bad but, before lunchtime, you had thrown open every window on the chance that a breeze would sweep through, even if it was only for a moment.

But there’s no wind today, which leads you and your old orange cat sitting like panting dogs out on the front porch. Your stomach growls, but you can’t imagine getting up and cooking for yourself like this. You want some soda fountain ice cream, but downtown is a long walk and the drugstore has been closed down for a few months anyhow.

Groaning, you roll onto your side and daydream about frothy root beer floats. You’re so deep in your fantasy that you hardly notice when your cat scrambles onto her feet, faster than summer lightning, and books it out the dusty yard on the heels of a field mouse.

“Goddamn it, Peanut,” you say to nobody, watching her go with a disappointed sigh. She must’ve been starving to run like that in this heat. You watch her go and go until she runs into the grass. Then you don’t see her at all.

You’re not sure how much time passes, but it’s certainly been long enough for your selfish cat to have had its snack and returned.

“Peanut?” you call out, sitting up. She’s nowhere to be seen, not even in the shady live oak a stone’s throw from the house. You stand up and walk out towards the grass, feet burning on the sun-exposed dust.

“Here, kitty kitty!” you call out, looking for movement in the fields. There is none, so you cup your mouth and try again, louder. “Here, kitty kitty! C’mere, Peanut!”

Nothing but the buzzing bugs.

Your little housecat wasn’t made for the Texan wilderness. She was getting old and preferred to spend her days napping in whatever spot was the coolest.

Wading into the tall grass, you almost want to forget about ever having a cat, but you know you could never. You love Peanut, even if she gets on your nerves.

The fields are droning with critters that you can’t even see. It’s like they’re all complaining about the heat, and you find yourself agreeing with them. You wish you had grabbed some shoes before heading out, but you’re already this far – besides, if you return home now, you’re sure you won’t want to keep looking.

You don’t know how long you walk, but the sun is high over your head when you find an old wooden fence. Trees line the property on the other side, and it sure is tempting to hide under those pretty green leaves for a while, but you’re getting more worried the longer you look for your cat. Maybe a dog or a snake got to her first.

You hop up onto the fence and swing a leg over, then the other. Standing on the bottom rung, you hold onto the post for balance. Cupping your mouth with your free hand, you shout out into the field, “Peanut!”

Thomas was bored.

They had guests two days ago, but Thomas was already finished separating meat from bone and cartilage. Before that, it had been almost two weeks since their last visitors, and he thinks he got a little too excited at the prospect of getting to butcher something.

They weren’t even handsome enough to keep. The whole thing felt like a waste.

It’s a hot day, but Thomas doesn’t mind it. It not much, but walking in the shade at least gets the sun off of him. The oaks circle their home, and he can walk in on one end and come out on the other, pretty much in the same place. He’s curious today, though.

No meat at home. He might as well walk as far as his legs will take him.

The leaves sway and rustle together quietly when the wind comes by, but even then the air feels thick. Thomas trudges along, looking for something he doesn’t know about yet. There’s movement in the brush, but he can see it’s just a fat orange cat. It bolts when Thomas stomps past it, running into a clearing of tall grass. Thomas keeps on going, searching.

Hearing a shout, he knows he’s found it.

The noise was far, but not too far to walk towards. The sound keeps repeating, and it’s a female sounding voice; today’s his lucky day since he didn’t bring anything with him. She might go kicking and screaming, but it shouldn’t be too hard to throw an unsuspecting woman over his shoulder and carry her to the basement.

Reaching the tree line, the brush and the tree limbs part to reveal you.

Tall and full bodied, he sees your legs first. They’re pressed together as you stand on his fence, and your dress rides up as you bend forward at the waist.

“Peanut!” you yell, and he realizes it’s what you’ve been yelling the whole time. You curse under your breath and wipe at your forehead. Your hair is long and it’s loose, falling down your back past your shoulders. You’re sweaty and you don’t wear any shoes. Thomas watches your curiously.

You must have given up on whatever you were doing, because you step down from the fence and lean on it, putting your forehead on your folded arms. Thomas stares. You don’t look like the usual kind of guest.

Guests were usually tourists, and although Thomas couldn’t place you, he could tell that you were local. You wore a house dress like Momma, and you didn’t wear shoes outside. You were a Texas girl, Thomas realized.

He’s not sure the last time he met a real Texas girl. Probably not since he stopped going to the doctor in town, and that was when he was still a little kid.

Thomas was torn. He’s never killed townsfolk before. Meat is meat, the annoying little Charlie in his head hollered at him, but his Momma was in there too, telling him that there wasn’t anything left of their town. Shouldn’t he try to keep their town alive? Wouldn’t that make Momma happy?

He’s still debating with himself when you turn around and startle. He’s expecting you to scream and run away from him, but you don’t. You close your eyes, cover your chest, and sigh heavily.

“I am so sorry, mister. I thought it was just me and the June bugs out here today,” you say, opening your eyes again.

You smile at him, and Thomas feels like someone’s nailed his feet to the dirt. You watch Thomas as he watches you. Your smile falls a little bit, and Thomas knows why. He was expecting it, anyways.

“I’m sorry if I’m trespassing, mister, really. It’s just that I live out that way and my cat ran away this morning. I’ve been looking everywhere for her, I thought I could get a better look of the field from up on the fence,” you explain, gesturing behind yourself as you talk. Thomas likes the way your hair moves when you turn, and even though it’s wet with sweat, Thomas's fingers itch to stroke it out of your face.

He's no genius, but he can tell you’re worried. You’re making the same worried face Uncle Monty makes when Uncle Charlie was yelling at him. He was gonna walk anyways, he tells himself, as he gestures for you to follow him.

You look surprised, but you hurry to his side as Thomas starts striding through the trees. You sigh once you’re in the shade.

“Hell of a day, today. Even the shade is hot enough to fry an egg,” you say, walking behind him. You were taller than the other girls that came around here, but still only came up to his chin. He wasn’t gonna bother waiting for you to catch up, one way or another, and strode forward.

Your daddy always used to say that you could talk a gate off its hinges, but walking with this enormous stranger, you found yourself all out of words.

He cut a massive and daunting figure, especially with that dark mask covering his nose and mouth. His clothes were dirty, with brownish reddish stains covering him and his butcher’s apron. His dark curls were unruly and stuck together from sweat underneath the straps and buckles of his muzzle.

There was no better word for what he looked like than mean, but that never scared you off before. Your grandpa was a mean-looking man too, but he was also the sweetest man you’d ever known. You just wished the guy would talk to you too, that’s all. Maybe that would make the twisty nerves in your stomach go away.

Just as your mind starts getting creative about where the stranger could be taking you, he continues past the tree shade to an open field. The grass is still tall here, but it makes rolling waves on top of mounds of dirt.

“Guess here’s a good place to look,” you say, and you trudge forward in the tall grass. The dirt is cool between your toes, and you make little clinking noises with your tongue, interrupted by the occasional, “here, kitty.”

Thomas leaves your side to look on his own. The grass here is thick, and the holes make for some nice shade. Probably pretty nice for a little critter looking to get out of the heat.

You’re bent over, inspecting one of the holes, when you hear a familiar grumpy meow. You shoot back up, glancing down in the tall grass before your eyes land on the masked giant. In his arms is your fat orange cat, looking very displeased about being out in the sunshine.

“Peanut! You found Peanut!” you cry, jumping for joy before running to his side. The man stands there, frozen in place, while you take the cat from his arms and kiss her little forehead.

“Naughty girl, running away from home like that,” you scold, patting the spot above her tail like a faux spank. It barely even lands on her, but she still meows in annoyance. You laugh a little bit and look up at the man who’s already looking at you. Your smile softens as relief makes way for gratitude.

“Thank you, mister. You’ve got no idea how much this little guy means to me. How can I repay you?” you ask, holding on tighter to your cat so she can’t jump from your arms.

He doesn’t answer. You bite your lip.

“You free tomorrow?” you change your question. The man pauses before nodding. “Meet me by the fence again, okay? Same time as today.” The man watches you blankly, but the fact that he’s helped you already puts you more at ease. You smile at him and nod with a sense of finality.

“Thanks again. I’m gonna get out of your hair now.” He stands in the sun, and as you retreat back to the shade for your journey home, you can feel his eyes on you until you’re hidden by the trees.

“He seems nice,” you say to Peanut, who cries out pitifully at being carried. It’s gonna be a long walk home, you realize, as she squirms in your arms to break free again.

Thomas isn’t stupid, no matter what people like to say about him. All things considered, though, he feels pretty stupid standing behind the oak tree nearest to your meeting spot by the fence.

He knew you were coming this time. He could have brought his chainsaw, and if that was too heavy, he could have easily grabbed a hammer or his hook. He could’ve even kept them in his pocket, if he wanted to keep his hands free for the hour long journey.

Instead, he stood weaponless behind a tree, nervous to see you again.

His heartbeat races when he hears footsteps coming from the other side of the fence. He’s finally made up his mind to turn around and leave when you finally spot him. He sees a flash of your smile before forcing his eyes to the dirt.

“Hi, mister,” you say, and just like yesterday, his feet don’t really work. “Sorry if I’m a little late, it’s only ‘cuz I was pulling this out the oven.” He looks over at you and sees the brown basket in your arms, a plaid napkin covering whatever was inside.

Thomas nears you, noticing how your long hair was pulled away from your face into a braid that disappeared behind your back. You wore the same dress, but Thomas liked the way it looked on you. It clung to your chest and loosened around your hips, but the material was thin enough that it stuck to your sweaty legs just slightly.

His attention was forced back to the basket when you put it against his chest. With an empty brain, he grabbed it with both hands from the bottom.

“It’s water pie. My nana used to make it during the Great Depression. Kinda feels like that again nowadays, huh?” you say.

You smile as you say it, but it doesn’t feel like your big smiles, like the kind you gave him when he found your cat, or like how you smiled when you saw him behind the tree.

Thomas opens the napkin to see a still warm pie in the basket, glossy with a mix of white and yellow. He’s never heard of water pie, but Momma didn’t get the chance to make a lot of desserts these days.

He walks to the shady tree, wiping a hand on his apron, and sits heavily with his back to the tree. He has to look over his shoulder to find you, and you’re still standing by the fence.

Annoyed that you’re so far away, he quickly gestures for you to join him.

You give him one of your real big smiles and jump over the fence before sitting next to him, back also to the tree. He watches you take a dull butter knife from the basket and slice the pie up. You look up at him, and he looks down at you.

“Do you eat with that on?” you ask.

Thomas shakes his head. He keeps staring at her.

“Wanna take it off?” you ask next.

Thomas shakes his head again on instinct, but once he stops, he takes another look at the pie. He remembers it being warm still. His head nods once, the movement miniscule like he doesn’t want to admit it.

“I’ll look away if it makes you feel better. Swear I won’t look,” you say. Thomas breathes weird and turns away from her before reaching up to take it off.

You hear the buckles being undone and take it as your cue to turn away from the man.

It’s another hot day today, but you wouldn’t have missed your impromptu visit even if the fields were burning. Sure, the man might be odd, but he was mysterious as all get out and you longed to know more about him. It felt a little bit like you were a school girl again, crushing on a cute boy from your class, but it didn’t matter; you promised him repayment, and you always tried your hardest to make good on your word.

You reach behind yourself blindly for a piece from the basket and accidently brush against his hand.

“Oops, I’m sorry,” you say with a little laugh, eyes trained ahead at the fence.

He takes a piece, then you take the slice next to his.

The filling is sticky and gooey, but it stuck together solid when you picked it up. You eat it slowly, savoring the memories that came with the taste, as well as the gentle breeze that picks up under the leaves.

You debate with yourself for some time about grabbing another slice but, figuring he probably wasn’t looking your way, you reach behind yourself and touch the ceramic pie dish instead. You run your hand in a circle and all you feel are crumbs.

“Well gee, mister, I’d’ve made two if I knew you’d be so hungry!” you said cheerfully, grinning as you brought your finger up to your mouth to lick it clean. It wasn’t exactly true, since you barely had the ingredients for one, but he probably already knew that, the town being in the state that it is. “I’m glad you liked it. An empty pie dish is a great compliment.”

You can hear the buckles of his mask again and keep busy by reaching for the basket behind you, folding the napkin back up. It’s pleasantly quiet before the question that’s been at the tip of your tongue since meeting the man finally springs out.

“What’s your name, mister?” you ask, still not looking at him. He doesn’t respond, and you risk glancing back at him. His mask is on, but he doesn’t look at you. It occurs to you that maybe the guy just can’t talk.

Opening the napkin again, you take out the knife and use the rounded tip to write in the dirt. It’s awkward and it’s none too pretty, but your name is clear enough to read. You look to him with a smile and hold the knife out to him, handle first.

He looks between the knife and your name on the ground before carefully taking it from your hand. You already knew his hands were massive but seeing the difference so plainly before your eyes made you blush. Tearing your gaze away from his appendages, you watch the dirt instead as he spells his name out. He writes it thickly, his muscles gouging out the dirt easily with a dull rounded tip. Thomas.

You glance up at him, and when your eyes meet, it feels like electricity.

“It’s nice to meet you, Thomas,” you say. You don’t expect an answer, but he nods anyways.

The sun was past its peak when you finally stood, brushing off your dress. Thomas met you at the fence after you had jumped over it again, basket swinging on your arm. You asked him if he could meet again tomorrow, promising another dessert.

He told himself to say no. He couldn’t picture hurting you the way he did when he first saw you, but he knew this wouldn’t be any good. He’s not the type to make friends, especially not with pretty ladies. It must be his heart controlling his neck muscles because he nodded instead. At least he got to see that smile again.

And so, he met with you again. And then again the day after. Then even the day after that one.

It was only a matter of time before his uncles and Momma realize he’s been out of the house for most of the day, but only Charlie says something about it during their family dinner. He’s loud in Thomas’ ear, and Thomas keeps his head down avoid looking at him. It makes him feel better to call him Charlie in his head. Not Hoyt. Just stupid drunk Charlie.

“You better focus on your work, boy,” Charlie threatens, steak knife pointing at him from across the table.

Thomas goes down to meet you the next day, anyways.

“Hi, Tommy,” you chirp happily, straddling the fence before hopping onto the other side. Thomas liked that you started calling him that, but he doesn’t let himself show it.

He rubs his hands on his apron to get the nerves out of his system and gives a little wave with his first free hand. You don’t have a basket today, but Thomas doesn’t mind. He’s just glad to see you.

“How’s your day treating you so far?” you ask, like you always do. Thomas shrugs, like he always does too. “Peanut misses you, I think. She wants to come with me, but always stops on the porch.”

Thomas thinks about the orange cat again. He wants to tell her that it probably just misses you, since it had been glaring at Thomas from your arms that day. Instead, he just tilts his head at you, not knowing how to gesture all that with his arms.

It’s easy to listen to you. Even when you leave open ended questions, you don’t make Thomas feel pressured to respond. He’d long since given up on pantomiming since he was a teenager, but people still annoyingly waited for his responses. You talked to him like he was an adult, and you never complained about having to deal with him.

You’re talking now, something about Peanut pushing things off counters, and all Thomas can feel is gladness. It’s been a long time since he felt it so strongly, so innocently. He kind of feels like a little kid again, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you under the shady tree in the summertime.

When he touches your hand, you cut yourself off and look up at him. It startles him a little bit, because he realizes that he had nothing he really wanted to tell you. He just wanted to touch you.

“You doing okay?” you ask him, putting your other hand on top of his. Thomas looks down at your hands and nods. He’s doing better than okay. He wants to keep feeling your soft skin on his hand.

“You sure? Looks like somethings on your mind,” you say, sounding sorry. Thomas struggles with how to tell you, which he’s sure you notice. He suddenly takes your hand in his and flips it so that your palm is facing up and your smooth delicate wrist is visible. With his calloused dirty finger, he starts to spell.

“What are you doing?” you say, standing a little straighter and watching how he made the same shape again and again. “Are you… is that a K?”

Thomas nods quickly, looking at you for a split second before focusing down again and drawing a straight line.

“That’s an I. K-I…” you look at him attentively as he gathers his courage. He writes the next two letters quickly in succession. He does it once more before you look up at him, your pretty eyes wide and shinning. “S-S. Kiss.”

Thomas is sure his face is flushed, but he nods. There’s no backing out of it now.

“Oh, Tommy,” you say, and your confusion melts into a smile. “Of course, I’ll kiss you.”

He’s still hunched over from writing on your arm, so the hand you put on his cheek doesn’t have to work much to guide him towards your lips. You’re ready to lean in when your lip brushes against his mask. You laugh softly, running your hand down from his hair to stroke along his covered cheek.

“Can you take this off?” you ask softly.

Thomas shakes his head quickly, covering your hand with his as if you might try to rip it off of him anyways. He knows you wouldn’t, but he can’t think about risking it. Not when you’re so close.

You bite your lip as you think. His own lips move under the mask, imaging what it would be like to touch yours with his. He wishes he was normal. He wishes he had one of his real masks on.

You guide him down lower and tilt your face higher up, and Thomas can feel your lips on his forehead. His eyes close instinctually. He trusts you.

You kiss the spot between his eyebrows next, and he sighs shakily. His hands move your waist, holding you gently.

Then, you kiss the bridge of his nose, and your bottom lips must brush against the edge of his mask. His stomach turns at himself, but he pushes the feeling away.

Your lips follow along the edge of the mask, kissing on the little bit of skin showing under his left eye. When you kiss his temple, your hand moves to cup the back of his head and he shudders.

“I hope you’ll trust me enough, one day,” you say softly, and he practically bends in half to hide his face in your neck. He doesn’t cry, but his throat feels tight like he might. He swallows it all back. He shakes his head softly in the crook of your shoulder, wishing he could correct you. He would bare himself to you completely today if he didn’t think you would run screaming. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to handle that.

Your hands are a soft but persistent pressure on his shoulders. When he straightens up again, he looks down at you.

You lean up suddenly, lip slotting against his mask. Your top lip brushes between his. You taste like sugar and summer air. The kiss is done quickly, but Thomas can’t open his eyes yet. He licks his lips where yours just touched him and commits the taste to memory.

“You still in there?” you ask after a long moment, and Thomas opens his eyes to see you smiling playfully at him.

Thomas smiles when he nods, and stops nodding when you lean in to kiss him again.

He’s never felt so light in his life, having said goodbye to you at the fence after another hour of listening. You even kissed him goodbye, lips touching briefly through the mask as you stood on opposite sides of the fence.

Thomas promised you tomorrow, nodding at your request to see each other again.

His good mood lasts until he gets close enough to the house to hear shouting. He sees Charlie flailing his arms like a mad man by the back of the house, yelling Thomas’s name.

“Where in the ever-loving fuck have you been?” he shouted by the garage, spit flying. Thomas hurried his gait as he neared them. Charlie was bleeding from a wound on his forehead. He steeled himself for what the furious man would sling at him next. “I’ve been screaming for you for the past fucking two hours. Jesus fucking Christ, Thomas! You know, I defend you when people call you names, but maybe you are slow. Just how fucking gone are you up there, huh?!”

Thomas glares at the dirt, imagines pushing his thumbs into Charlie’s eyes until he can’t scream anymore.

“I can’t even look at you, you fucking disappointment. I brought home two stupid as fuck tree-humpers for you, and this is how you repay me? Look at what they did to me. Look!” he grabs Thomas’ apron and shakes him, and Charlie makes him look at the cut on his head. It’s nothing, Thomas has seen him give himself worse when he’s drunk.

“Go get your toy and mow those fuckers down. They’re not getting far, not after what I done to one of them,” he mutters, looking down the dirt road where Thomas can see the distant figures of two limping people. Sighing, Thomas takes off after them, grabbing a hammer from one of the junk piles by the garage.

He didn’t think about you until well into the early morning. He is taking a break from his work, sitting outside while the rest of the family slept in their bedrooms. Blood coated his apron, and he sat on the wide porch with a heavy sigh. He thought about you, wondered how someone so nice could ever want somebody like him.

Thomas was not stupid. He knew murdering people was wrong, just like he knew he was wrong for liking it so much. And he knew he was wrong for liking you.

Rubbing his new face with both hands, he hauled himself up to walk back to the basement. He readjusted the eyeholes as he walked – he had made them too small this time. He’d have to fix that before he did anything else.

Thomas is only one step away from the trees when Charlie hollers his name from the back porch. Thomas sets his jaw and looks over his shoulder to see his uncle gesturing and shouting at him. He can’t make sense of what he’s saying, and he doesn’t really care to. He doesn’t let up, though, so Thomas forces himself to turn back around and trudge back to the house.

He stands in front of Charlie silently.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demands. Thomas has no way of answering, even if he wanted to. His arms cross thickly over his chest instead.

Charlie glowers at him, and Thomas’ stare is just as dark.

“You listen to me, boy. Now, I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, but I think I had good reason to be cross with you. Your family needs you here, Thomas. We need you to keep us safe. What if something happened to your momma?”

Thomas’ eyes glance at the house, where he knew his momma was resting comfortably. Still, the thought unnerved him. Looking back at Charlie, he sees the self-satisfied look on his face, like he knows he won.

“Be a good guard dog and guard the fucking house. Please.”

Thomas’ jaw tightened. He thought about you, walking from your home to see him. Thought about what you might’ve brought, although he wouldn’t care either way as long as you were there. But Charlie had a point. What if Charlie brought guests and they tried to hurt one of them? What if they hurt Momma?

A frustrated noise left his throat and he stomped away from Charlie back to his basement. He couldn’t think straight. The damn sun shined too brightly, and it made his head hurt. Slamming the door to the basement shut, he welcomes the darkness and sets his sights on his unfinished projects.

He only rises from his basement when the sun starts to set. A walk through the house tells Thomas he’s alone, the other members dispersing to be on their own too.

He’d been sad, passing the time while thinking about you getting stood up. Sadness in his chest, he walked to the fence anyways. He might feel better if he could just look at it and imagine how you look in your pretty dress.

At the end of his trek, he freezes as he passes the last low hanging branch. There you are, laying unconscious by the oak tree. He rushes to your side and hesitates helplessly before kneeling next to you. He holds onto your shoulders and tries to shake you awake, harsher and harsher as you don’t wake up. He’s beginning to panic when you suddenly open your eyes with a gasp. You stare up at Thomas with wide eyes. They shine in the white Texan moonlight.

“Thomas?” you whisper.

“What time is it?”  You sit up and Thomas stays next to you, arms awkwardly hovering around you like you might fall asleep again. He’s breathing hard like he’s been running. “Is it nighttime already?”

Thomas nods, sighing finally once he catches his breath. Head low, he touches your arm and drags his hand down past your elbow to catch your hand. His brows are drawn, and despite his size, he seems to shrink as he clutches you like something delicate that might blow out of his hold.

He looks up when you touch his chin, gently guiding him to meet your eye.

“You okay? Did something happen?” you ask him. Thomas just shakes his head, squeezing your hand in his. He carefully turns your arm over, revealing your wrist. There, he writes down four letters. S-O-R-Y.

“Sorry? Oh, bubba, you don’t have to be sorry,” you murmur, smiling at him. “I needed a little nap, anyways. C’mere.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a little hug. He melts into you, forehead pressed against the crook of your neck.

“Sweet boy,” you murmur, hand rubbing down his spine. “It’s okay. You’re alright.”

“I should start on back,” you say after a few silent moments, your hand still rubbing comforting circles on his back. Thomas stiffens and pulls away, and he won’t meet your gaze. You don’t want to part from him tonight, you realize.

When he glances at you, you’re biting your lip.

“Unless you know somewhere we can spend the night?” you suggest softly. Thomas’s face is blank as he thinks about it, but he soon stands up and holds a hand out for you. You take it and he hauls you up, leading the way through the trees. You like how he holds your hand, all encompassing and pleasantly warm in the breezy night air.

He brings you to a barn, standing alone in an empty field. It looks out of use, but bales of hay still line some of the walls, as well as some common tools for the land. You don’t bother looking around too much – you only have eyes for your Tommy. He stands in the barn, looking around for the best spot to lay down. You know it’s wherever he is, his wide chest looks like it’ll be a softer pillow than what you have at home.

“Tommy, c’mere,” you say, finding a bed of dry hay that looks cleaner than the rest. You sit down first, laying back in the rustling fodder. Your eyes meet his as you stretch your arms above your head.

Thomas stands above you. His eyes are dark.

“Lay down with me,” you speak softly. Thomas glances out the open barn doors for a moment before giving up on whatever battle was going on through his mind. You watch him unfasten his dirty apron and hang it off one of the half stables beside them. He lays down beside you, his heavy weight making the pile unsteady. You fall into him with a little laugh, a steadying hand on his chest.

“Oops,” you say with a little smile. You’re surprised to see Thomas return it. He has such a handsome smile; you wish he would smile more for you.

Leaning up, you kiss him through his mask, hands coming up to hold his face.

He exhales heavily, it almost sounds like a moan. He tries to kiss you back, but it’s impossible through the thick leather. Sighing  softly, you kiss his temple and forehead instead, trying not to seem too frantic. It’s difficult, though, as you feel your body make you aware just how badly its craving Thomas.

“Please, Tommy. Please. I wanna kiss you. Please take it off,” you whisper, lips brushing against his tanned skin.

Thomas goes stiff hearing his pleas and pulls away. You watch him go with a pout. He turns away from you slightly.

“Thomas,” you say softly. He turns away further. Sighing quietly, you touch his shoulder. “Tommy. You know it don’t matter to me how you look. Not one bit. I’m always gonna think you’re my handsome guy.”

Thomas shakes his head, but you don’t give up. Kneeling, you hug him from behind, arms wrapping up to his shoulders from underneath his arms.

“I mean it, Tommy.” You put your forehead on his warm back. “I would never think bad about you. Hell, you could kill someone and I’d find a way to defend you,” you say with a little teasing smile. You feel Thomas put his hand on your forearm, gentle and unmoving.

“I could keep my eyes closed,” you suggest quietly. Thomas turns at that and looks at you with imploring eyes. You smile at him, small and secret, and free an arm to cup his cheek. You kiss the bridge of his nose just above his mask before pulling away.

You sit up and turn away from him partially, eyes closing and hands coming up to cover your eyes. “Ok, Tommy. I’m ready.”

In the dark, you rely on sounds. It’s quiet for a moment, and then you hear the buckle of the mask being undone. You exhale shakily, your heart beating near out of your chest. He must have set it down on the ground beside them because you can feel his hands on you, one on your elbow and the other covering your hands just over your eyes.

You’ve never really been described as small, but you feel it next to him. Even without vision, his presence alone towers over you. It should be intimidating, but it only makes you feel safe.

Your lips part and you drop your hands, letting Thomas touch your face directly. It’s even better since you can now put your hands around his back and hold him close.

Despite his size, he kisses you timidly, like he’s shy you’ll shatter into pieces with too much force applied. His touch is so gentle, even as he crowds you. You kiss him back passionately, encouraging him silently with your enthusiasm. You suddenly long to be naked in front of him, to let him blindfold you and use you however he needs. You know he’d be careful with you if this is how he kisses.

“Tommy,” you murmur between kisses, hands fisting in his shirt. “Tommy, I think I love you.”

Thomas can’t answer you, but he kisses you again and again like he’s saying the same.

Weeks pass. The summer turns into autumn, but the heat doesn’t go anywhere. Thomas can’t meet every day, but he wishes he could. Tourists come by from time to time, and everyone in the family does their part to make ends meet.

You’re all alone out here, he knows from your late-night talks. On evenings where neither of you had anything to do the next morning, you and Thomas would walk together to the barn. You always clung to his arm once the building was in sight, glancing up at him from time to time with your shiny eyes. He’s pretty sure you were both a little nervous everytime, but it was a good kind of nervous. He didn’t know there could be a good kind until he met you.

Thomas holds you on the hay pile, more comfortable now with a blanket you brought from home thrown over the mound. You’re naked, and Thomas likes your soft cool skin against his own. Although you’re both covered in sweat, the night is cool and comfortable, and Thomas likes the way you rub your hand slowly across his chest.

When your stomach growls, Thomas glances at you.

“Sorry,” you say. You smile, but it looks sad. “Just hungry. It’s been hard finding stuff to eat with the town being empty.” He knows the feeling well.

He takes your arm from where it’s resting on his stomach and gently twists your wrist towards himself. H-O-M-E, he spells.

“Mine?” you ask softly, head cocking to the side.

Thomas shakes his head and points to himself.

“Yours? What about it?” you ask softly, looking up from your wrist.

F-O-O-D, he spells next. Your eyes go wide.

“Oh, Tommy. You’re too kind to me,” you say softly, and Tommy lets go of your arm so that you can hug him.

His arms instinctually go around your waist, holding you close. He wants to tell you that he’s not just being kind. He would give everything he owns to you if what he owned was worth giving. He kicks himself mentally for not thinking about getting you some food sooner, though.

“Can we go tomorrow?” you ask. He wants to bring you there today, but there won’t be any food this late. He nods, hands running down your back slowly. He can feel his rough callouses catch on your smooth skin, but you don’t flinch or move away. You never have from him. He wants you, more than he wants to butcher, more than he wants to help his family.

“I should go home,” you say. The sky is dark, but the moon is large and bright in the sky, like the sun. Thomas shakes his head.

“No?” you say, laughing a little bit. You lean back and cup his cheeks over his mask. When you smile down at him, he imagines the touch of your lips against his own. On your back, he draws four letters, S-T-A-Y.

“All night?” you ask, pushing some hair off his forehead.

He nods, eyes stuck to your lips, so close but impossible to reach in that moment.

“Won’t your family be looking for you?” you wonder. You rub your thumb along his eyebrow, soothing him into shutting his eyes.

Thomas shakes his head slightly at the question, not wanting to knock your hands off him. He’s sure Charlie will be mad, but he doesn’t care. How could he when he has you in his arms.

“In that case,” you start, moving your legs apart to straddle his hips, “I suppose I’ve got you all to myself.” Thomas watches you closely as you run your hands down his chest and past his stomach, settling just above his open belt. Neither of you get very much sleep that night.

In the morning, he takes you by the hand as he leads you through the front door. The house is quiet despite its size, which makes it seem like it should be teeming with activity and sound. The outside is grey and dusty, same as the front foyer where you stand beside Thomas. You glance around, giving him a nervous smile when you finally hear footsteps coming from the other room.

“Thomas Hewitt, where have you been all night! You had us worried sick!” an older lady says, coming through the doorway. She’s short and plump, with tendrils of her grey hair framing her face, and her glasses make her look like a schoolteacher. She stops when she sees you, clearly surprised. “Oh! You brought company!”

You smile at her, stepping forward as she comes to meet you. She grins at you and takes your hands in her own.

“Hi, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you,” you say, introducing yourself with your name.

“Oh, the manners on this one! Usually, our guests are a little more ornery!” she says to Thomas, laughing. You don’t understand what she means, but you smile graciously as she tries to lead you back to the room she was in. You start to follow her, but stumble against Thomas as he blocks your way. He shakes his head at her.

“No?” the lady questions. She looks confused, but Thomas shakes his head again. He takes your hands from her, and then you feel his arm around your shoulder, keeping you at his side. “Thomas? What on earth is going on with you?”

You’re just as confused, but you don’t want to get in between a family dispute. You look up at Thomas, waiting to see what he does next.

“Is she why you didn’t come home last night?” the woman asks. A cold sweat blooms on the back of your neck with her face falls completely, turning into a blank mask. You’ve only just met her, but you can hardly recognize her from the woman that took your hands.

“I’m Thomas’ girlfriend,” you say, your voice smaller than you intended. You try to clear your throat politely. “I care about him very much, ma’am.”

You gasp when the woman turns on you, her finger pointed at your face as she snaps, “I don’t know how you tricked my son into falling for your tricks, you whore! Hoyt!” Thomas grunts, and the noise startles you – you’ve never heard the man make a sound louder than a labored breath before. Thomas pushes you behind his back and away from who must be his mother.

“No, I’m not a whore,” you say, but your voice is so meek under her disapproving stare. You clutch onto Thomas’ arm, and you can feel his tense muscles.

Someone stomps down the stairs then, an older man in a sheriff’s uniform. Seeing the pistol on his belt, you start to shake.

“And who do we have here?” the man drawls – Hoyt, your mind supplies,

Thomas shakes his head vigorously and stands in front of you completely now, shielding you from his mother and the Sheriff.

“She says she’s Tommy’s girlfriend!” his mother cries, as if she was grieving. The man barks a laugh at that, loud and unbelieving.

“A girlfriend, Tommy! That’s where you’ve been running off to all these weeks! How much he owe you, trollop? Because he ain’t got no money to give,” the man mocks meanly, guffawing as he tries to walk around Thomas to get a better look. You shrink behind Thomas as he does his best to keep you hidden away. “Bet you found her trying to hitch a ride off the highway.”

“I lived in this town my whole life, sir. I swear I’m no hussy,” you say, voice weak and muffled against Thomas’s back.

“Oh, yeah? That mean you two are in love or something?” he says, managing to grab your forearm and pull you out from behind Thomas. You shout in pain as you’re pulled between the two men, causing Thomas to let go of you. Without your shield, you’re faced with the old man and his drunk breath. You cringe away from him when he leans into you, inspecting you like you’re just a thing.

“Just get her out of here,” Thomas’ mother mourns.

“I ain’t no hussy!” you sob, eyes closed as tears start to escape your lashes. The old man laughs in your face, and he shakes you with his grip on your arm.

“Hear that, Momma? She ain’t no hussy! So, you sleep with Tommy for free?”

“I love him,” you sob, face crumpling as you feel yourself finally break. You wish you understood what you did wrong by these people. Thomas tries to break you and Hoyt apart, but the man shoves him away despite being smaller than him.

“Love? You love him?” Hoyt almost screams with laughter. “Does she even know what you do, Tommy? She ever see you without that mask on?

“Why don’t you go ahead and take it off? Take it off, Thomas! Shouldn’t your girlfriend know what you look like?” he turns you in his arms, forcing you to face Thomas. Your heartbreaks for him, and you see Thomas duck his head down low, arms bent by his stomach as he anxiously fidgets his hands.

“Stop it, leave him alone!” you sob, trying to wrench yourself out of the man’s hold.

“Why? Don’t you wanna see what he looks like? Pretty thing like you should have a handsome boyfriend to go along with it, huh?” Desperate, you look behind you to see Thomas’s mother watching the scene unfold with a handkerchief under her nose. You cry out when the man shakes you again, his grip unforgiving for such an old man.

“You know what? Why don’t we give your girlfriend here a tour, huh Tommy? What do you say?” Hoyt asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer when he starts to drag you out through the front door and down the porch steps.

You stumble down them, almost falling out of the man’s arms, but he forces you upright again before going around to the back of the house. Thomas follows you both, and you can see the frantic way he tries to grab for you but hesitates. Even now, you know your sweet Tommy is afraid to hurt you, but you wish he would rip you out from Hoyt’s grip and stand up for himself.

At the cellar door, Hoyt lets go of one arm to push open the wooden door. You can’t see beyond where the sunlight hits the steps.

“Don’t be shy. Go see,” Hoyt says, before you’re pushed down the steps. You shout as you fall, managing to cover your head with your hands, but your body throbs in pain once you land on the cold concrete below.

You weep at his cruelty, curling in on yourself to hide away from the next blow. Instead, you can hear Thomas’s heavy footsteps down the wooden steps. His thick arms wrap around you, and he holds you tightly to his chest.

“Tommy,” you sob, pushing your face into his chest.

“Tell her, Tommy! Tell her what you do! Share your family pride!” Charlie shouts, laughing at them.

“That’s enough,” Luda Mae says quietly from somewhere behind him.

“Show her who you really are, boy, then see if she loves you,” Charlie says. Then he slams the door to the basement shut, leaving them both in darkness.

“Tommy,” you whimper through your tears, starting to lift your head out from his chest. You’re stopped by Thomas’s large hand cupping the back of your head, keeping you close. You can’t see the room, but it smells like blood and rot, and it makes your stomach churn.

You don’t ask him because he won’t be able to explain anyways. Hoyt’s words echo in your mind, and even if it makes no sense, you can understand that something is wrong here. But Thomas holds you and rocks you like a child until you have no more tears to give.

You wake up when the setting sun turns the sky orange. You rub your eyes and sit up, suddenly aware that you’re in an unfamiliar place. No one is around. Looking around the room, you see it’s a simple bedroom, with threadbare sheets. The only furniture besides your bed is a nightstand and a dresser with a missing drawer.

“Tommy?” you say out loud, but you don’t hear anything in response. You stand up and go downstairs, realizing as you enter the foyer that you’re still at Thomas’s house.

In the kitchen is the same woman from before.

“Oh, hi, darling. I figured you’d wake up soon. I realize I never introduced myself. I’m Tommy’s momma,” she says, like she wasn’t accusing you of something terrible earlier in the day. You smile weakly at her. You want to ask where Tommy is. You want to go home.

“Why don’t you sit down? You missed supper but I’ve got some leftovers still on the stove.”

You hesitate, but finally make your way to the kitchen table. Your stomach growls at the promise of food as you sit.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m sorry for before.”

“Nonsense. I don’t think any of us understood how much you meant to our Tommy.”

You smile and start to eat when she puts the bowl in front of you.

“Where is Tommy?” you ask, looking up at her.

“Working,” she sighs, smiling at you. “We had guests come by in the afternoon.”

“Like a bed and breakfast?” you ask naively. She laughs at you, right to your face.

“You’re a funny one, girl. I see why Thomas likes you. Pretty and with a good sense of humor.”

You smile, laughing shakily as you eat some of the stew. You can’t tell if it’s pork, beef, or rabbit.

“I want to see Tommy. Where can I find him?” you try again.

“He’s working, sweetheart. He made it very clear he don’t want you in the basement anymore.”

Flashes of the basement make you dizzy, and you shake your head.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, dropping your spoon in the bowl and holding your face with both hands.

She sighs gently and puts her hand on top of your head. She rubs your hair flat gingerly.

“Oh, baby. You are home. Everything’s gonna be alright now. You’ve got us to take care of you.” She lets go of you and gets back to her work from before you came down. “You just let Tommy blow off some steam first. He and Hoyt got into a little fight after he brought you to bed. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You swallow thickly as you look around the grey kitchen. You wonder what kind of work Thomas could be doing in that basement with his guests. You look at the bowl of food in front of you.

You’re so hungry.

© slicznymartwy 2023, please do not repost or copy.

[grizzersmamma]

Omg omg omg omg I just read both of your Deamon AU fics???? They are so good!! And beautifully written!!!

please please if not too much trouble, can I please request for that Au?? Maybe like all of 141 meeting each other and Deamon’s for the first time?? I picture Gaz has some kind of bird like a mourning dove or a humming bird and Price has a stronger dog breed- like a Shepard of a sheep bearding dog — y know something protective?

UGH I LOVE THIS AUUU A

((sorry if you aren’t taking requests on this, I just wanna say it’s the best thing I’ve read💕💕💕))

Requests are always open! (I just might take a while because I'm slow af lol)

I wanted to get this out this weekend just passed, but I got a fresh 'rona shot on Friday and it took me out with more precision than a sniper bolt to the face jfc. I absolutely adore the thought of Gaz with a little birb (a pretty one ofc), but I'd actually already picked something out for him, so I hope you like it almost as much as your idea. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: John Price has hand picked every member of his Task Force carefully to create the perfect team we have today, even if it hasn't always felt like that.

Notes: Written from Price's POV reflecting on the team's past.

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

Taglist: @heyitsropi

The first time John met Simon, he was only that, Simon Riley. The Ghost was yet to exist, and in his place, was a young man still full of life. He was friendly enough to the men close to him, but with a weariness toward anyone unknown.  

That caution, of course, extended toward John in the early few days. The first few times they interacted, he was strictly professional, his daemon even more so. The panther would stalk along beside her human, remaining in silence throughout all discussions, coming and leaving as quietly as a shadow. 

But over time, the younger man gradually began to settle. Simon certainly wasn’t the only person in the military to suffer from a rather poor childhood riddled with trauma and pain, and his team were kind enough to never push him too far. He would always maintain a slight distance between himself and the rest of the men on his squad, but he was often quick to smile and joke with them, telling what very well could have been the worst “dad jokes” known to man.  

Both Simon and Elanor seemed to revel in the pained groans his terrible jokes could invoke, smiling innocently as if not understanding why everyone was so upset. It wasn’t a surprise to learn that Simon had a younger brother, he certainly had the annoying-older-brother act nailed down perfectly.  

After a few good missions together, Simon was less reluctant to talk about his family with John in the room, discussing what he planned to get his nephew for Christmas, where he wanted to take his mum out for lunch during leave, and how he was going to get Tommy back for getting a stain on his ManU jersey.  

Simon was a good man and a great soldier, and John was disappointed when the time came for him to return to his own unit. John was to travel up north toward Herefordshire and Simon was to meet with some of their American contacts to help root out a cartel down in Mexico.  

Ghost was not the same person as Simon. He had the same daemon, the same brown eyes, but he was not Simon. He lacked the underlying gentleness in his eyes, and he’d grown to be cold and closed off toward everyone around him, friend or foe.  

If Simon’s daemon had been quiet before, she was dead silent now. Liz would trot over to the cat with a slowly wagging tail and try to greet her, but the panther would just look at her, before slinking off to go rejoin her human. It was heartbreaking to see a daemon who had only just started to come out of her shell become so walled off again.  

Sometimes he wouldn’t even see the animal in the same room and couldn’t help wondering where the daemon could have vanished to. Just seeing a daemon so far away from its human sent a shiver down John’s spine whenever he thought about it, his fingers instinctively curling themselves into the soft fur of his own.  

The reports he had seen about what had happened to Simon to create this Ghost, some of them first-hand from Simon’s own therapist, sent his stomach rolling uncomfortably, and the parts about their treatment of Elanor? He had sweat beading his forehead and Liz pulled into his lap. The rough collie did her best to comfort him, but he could feel her own distress at just the thought of such a thing happening.  

It took well over half a year before Ghost and Elanor were comfortable with turning their backs on John and Liz, and several before they were comfortable working alongside them. The Ghost and his daemon worked alone, but John and Liz were gradually, slowly, at the rate of a melting glacier, becoming an exception to the rule.  

This made it particularly difficult when Ghost was introduced to Soap.  

John MacTavish was, and still is, a loud and confident man. He doesn’t tolerate nonsense and will proudly stand behind his own personal morals and beliefs, even if it’s to the detriment of his professional career. He stands for what’s right, regardless of the consequences, and he’s entirely unapologetic of that fact.  

Soap’s daemon, Gwen, is a perfect match for him. A honey badger, just as unconcerned with the thoughts and feelings of others, and entirely fearless, even when up against daemons easily twice her size. They share a fierce aggression that would have most shaking in their boots, and John has seen firsthand even lions fleeing from their warpath.  

To say that Soap was a bit... much... for Ghost would be an understatement. Soap is so openly friendly with every team he works with, both verbally and physically, and his rather emotional responses to things seem to constantly have the masked soldier on edge.  

Since their first meeting, Soap has learned to reign in his emotions and has matured greatly with the help of experience and the guiding hands of more seasoned soldiers. But several years ago, fresh out of SAS selection, he was far too much for a quiet Ghost who could hardly stand having even John working with him at the best of times.  

While their first meeting didn’t exactly go swimmingly, it ended amicably enough since Soap didn’t seem to take Ghost’s reluctance to socialise to heart. Meanwhile, Ghost just appeared glad to have a break from spending time around someone so bright and bubbly, almost immediately vanishing on a solo mission for a week.  

Kyle was a much safer bet for working alongside Ghost. The young man, while inexperienced, was the top of his class and always eager to learn more. He was like a sponge, soaking up every little piece of advice he’s given and doing his best to apply it to his work. He always asks the right questions at the right times, and always thinks on his words before speaking.  

His daemon, a friendly marbled polecat by the name of Milly, was the first daemon Elanor was willing to open up to. She wasn’t insistent like many of the other daemons in the military, providing the panther with plenty of space, but always choosing to sit beside her, greeting her with a happy chirp. These simple greetings were eventually returned with small nods or pleasant rumbles, and over time, and two daemons fell into the rhythm of being at one another’s side.  

Gaz was always seeking out new things to learn and Ghost had plenty to teach. No matter how difficult the lesson, he would always have the determination to see it through to the end, and his mature, competent nature was gradually winning over the stubborn lieutenant. On the rare occasion where Kyle wasn’t with John, he could be confident that Ghost would have the younger man’s back.  

But Gaz brought more than plain professionalism to their team, he also brought the fun, youthful spark that the group had been missing. His sassy remarks during OPs and cheeky behaviour off the field was worming its way under Ghost’s thick skin, and John could see it in the way his lieutenant began to offer banter of his own in return.  

It was like watching a grizzled old dog interacting with a friendly young pup, slowly relearning what it meant to actually enjoy life here and there. Sometimes Ghost still needed that time to be alone with Elanor, but Kyle and Milly were drawing them out of the dark and back into the light again.  

More often than not the two could be found sitting peacefully together, doing nothing but enjoying the company of their fellow brother in arms. Whether it was eating meals together in private where others wouldn’t see Ghost removing part of his mask, running on the track first thing in the morning to wake themselves up, or claiming the bench under the old tree where they could discuss upcoming schedules or laugh at the young recruits just learning to walk, it was all done by each other's side.  

John could see the pride in Ghost’s eyes whenever Gaz managed to get an upper hand on him in training, he could see how Elanor now greeted Milly with a gentle headbutt, how trust was building between them and their team was solidifying into something unbreakable. Gaz was a loyal man, almost to a fault, but he had awarded that loyalty to John and Ghost and, in return, had been given it back tenfold. 

But the team was yet to be complete, and it wouldn’t be, not until John MacTavish joined them.  

John was admittedly still not certain how well Ghost would take to working so closely with Soap after finding the other man a tad overwhelming the first time, but with Liz’s encouragement and seeing how much Ghost was beginning to come out of his shell, he had no choice but to commit to the selection. Soap’s file reported nothing but constant rapid improvement. He was a talented, driven man, and precisely someone John wanted on his new task force.  

The offer was sent out and immediately accepted.  

Soap and Gaz were, understandably, complete menaces. Two young men eager to prove themselves and have a little fun while they’re at it. They’re thick as thieves and both just as determined to inconvenience John as much as possible while dodging reprimands like the plague. “A bunch of children” he’d called them one day, earning a grunt of agreement from Ghost, Liz and Elanor sharing a look of endless suffering. 

As for the relationship between Ghost and Soap, the best John was hoping for was for them to learn to accept one another, even if that was just enough to be able to put their best foot forward during missions. And it worked well enough, until Las Almas happened. Until Sheperd happened. 

Until Simon happened.  

Years of hiding away, and suddenly it wasn’t Ghost standing before him. It was Simon.  

Soap was looking right at him, and Simon was looking right back.  

Something had changed between them. From the report he got from the two soldiers about the events that transpired he couldn’t tell what, but it was clearly something significant. It had changed them from work colleagues to something far more dangerous. A better man would have nipped it in the bud before it had the change to potentially ruin them, but John has never claimed to be a good man, good men don’t last long in their line of work.  

If he and Gaz are a good team, Ghost and Soap are unstoppable.  

When they think he’s not looking, John has caught how Gwen excitedly jumps around Elanor’s body, learning against the dangerous predator and covering her with affectionate licks. More surprising, is how Elanor returns the behaviour, nipping playfully at the badger’s feet and tussling about on the carpet like a pair of kittens.  

It isn’t until he sees Soap’s bare hand brush through Elanor’s fur that he knows the depth of what they are to one another.  

He just hopes he hasn’t made a horrible mistake.  

[baldursghaik]

Tagged by @wisp-of-chaos!

Thank you so much for the tag! (and it’s also a miracle I even saw it, tumblr is so bad about giving me @ notifs, but this one didn’t even link, I was so lucky that I happened to see it on my dash!)

Without further ado, Thyneron:

Phobias and other fears: The list of things he’s NOT afraid of might be shorter, because he is the world’s biggest scaredy-cat. His main fear is death, though: the hurting, being scared, and the pure finality of it all. He’s almost equally afraid of other people dying as well, because it’s a reminder of how terribly fragile people (himself) are, and how quickly it can all be over.

Pet Peeves: People who are mean spirited and unnecessarily unkind or cruel.

3 things you can always find in their bedroom: Books, nice soaps/perfumes, photos of his family and pets.

First thing they notice in a person: Their eyes, and whether they seem friendly or not. He is an absolutely garbage judge of character.

On a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance? 2, he is the coughing baby vs the hydrogen bomb of general existence.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? 100% flight, he is as conflict avoidant as possible.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person? He is deeply, DEEPLY, family oriented. He comes from an enormous family, and has even continued to live with this parents well into his forties in spite of being well off on his own accord. His parents enjoy that their eldest son gets along with them so well, but they do wish he’d go and actually start living his own life.

What animal represents them best? Rabbits. They’re perhaps the best known prey animal (which is Thyneron to a T), but they also symbolize reproduction, death, and rebirth, which fits his entire arc in bg3 (and the life he lives beyond) quite nicely.

What is a smell they dislike? Florals, anything grassy. He much prefers woody, earthy, and metallic scents.

Have they broken any bones? Prior to turning illithid, no. There’s certainly something funny about avoiding even a single broken bone your entire life and then having them all snap simultaneously though.

How would a stranger likely describe them? Anyone’s first impression would be that this guy is loaded. Further impressions would be what any tiefling could expect: commentary on the horns, tail, etc. Most people would probably be somewhat puzzled to see a tiefling so well off. Beyond that though, most people can probably peg that there’s something a little… off about him. Not necessarily in a bad way, but he certainly doesn’t fit in anywhere. He’s too well dressed, too formal, too bright/loudly colored, too everything. In short, he looks like a bit of a tryhard who’s both out of touch with average people, but also the patriars and nobles he was raised alongside.

Are they a night owl or morning bird? A night owl. Usually spent staying up late reading, but occasionally drinking/partying with his family.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? He loves anything fermented, tangy and sour. He dislikes anything bland and delicate, as he prefers rich foods with intense flavors. He’s especially fond of cured meats.

Do they have any hobbies? Reading is his primary hobby. Most of his “work” day involves sitting in the library and losing himself in anything he can get his hands on, whether it’s ancient historical documents or cheap bodice ripper romances. This man would read the phone book if there wasn’t anything better to do. History is by far his preferred subject, though.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises? He would love this. Happy surprises are always welcome! He’s sociable (… as much as he can be for a homebody shut-in) and likes to be around people, and this would pretty much make his day that people cared enough to plan something for him.

Do they like to wear jewelry? He’s got several piercings: three in each ear, a loop in each eyebrow, and a nose ring. He probably would have added to the collection if it weren’t for that whole “turning into a squid” thing. He doesn’t particularly enjoy jewelry post illithid transformation, though (at least… on himself).

Do they have messy handwriting? He has impeccably neat and precise handwriting. Like all good historians, though, he can read even the most illegible chicken scratch.

What are the two emotions they feel the most? Guilt and fear. Primarily guilt. He is intensely privileged, and he knows it, and spends a not insignificant amount of time agonizing over it.

Do they have a fabric? Shot silk! I never bother to actually paint it in because I’m lazy, but I absolutely envision that his fancy day clothes are shotted blue with green, to provide a subtle iridescent sheen.

An example, if you’re not familiar with it:

What kind of accent do they have? He’s from the Upper City and sounds like it: he’s well spoken, formal, and polite. On a purely vocal level, he’s a little bit nasally, but sounds like he’d have a pleasant singing voice if he actually tried.

I like that this meme has painted him to be an extraordinarily better person than he actually is, which is a pretty excellent illustration of the fact that he’s an awful person, but believes that feeling bad about it is enough to absolve him of his actions.

Tagging: @themumblingmouse, @arcandoria, @ronqueesha,

@voidspearzhovae, @des-no9, @poly-hebdo, @adultfiendfinder, and anyone else who wants to do this!

[jeannereames]

Do you think alexander considered hephaistion his alter-ego?

"He, too, is Alexander"

Did Alexander think of Hephaistion as his alter-ego? Quite possibly—but not by that term. For one thing, “alter-ego” is Latin, and we find it first used in writing by Cicero, although it may have been (quite possibly was) in common parlance prior.

The concept did appear to exist in Greek, but the tendency to apply it to Alexander and Hephaistion owes chiefly to two attestations. The first is the recorded meeting between Alexander, Hephaistion, and Sisygambus, wherein he supposedly said, of Hephaistion, "He, too, is Alexander." The other concerns a quip attributed to Aristotle, mentioned in Diogenes Laertus that friendship is one soul in two bodies—but this not found Aristotle's surviving works, despite a longish passage on friendship in his Nikomachian Ethics.

Without being unduly cynical, we must always take exact phrasing with a grain of salt. I think there's very little we can be certain Alexander said. Same problem with Aristotle, unless you're reading his actual writings, and even some of those are dubious, such as the infamous Ath Pol, or Constitution of the Athenians. We typically distinguish these as “pseudo-Aristotle.” (So if you see “pseudo-”some-name, that means the work is attributed to that person but almost certainly not actually written by him/her.)

So, as part of my usual ‘Let me ‘splain you why you can’t trust that story/saying…,’ let’s play some dating games here.

First, Cicero is our initial attested use of “alter ego,” in a letter to his friend Atticus, that dates the phrase to somewhere between 68-44, or middle of the first century BCE. Maybe we can push it back a little earlier to the early first century, but I’d be uncomfortable pushing it further without solid evidence. Popular terms change. Anybody call a fashionable (male) person, “That cool cat…” these days—except as a bit of a joke? I didn’t think so. 😉 But “cool” itself is otherwise still in common use. So we have to be careful about when terms are popular.

Now, the story of Alexander before Sysigamgus is best known from Curtius (3.12.16-17), but Diodoros also relates it (17.37.5-6), and so does Arrian (2.12.3-8)—although with a caveat. He says it doesn’t appear in his trusted sources (Aristoboulos or Ptolemy) but he tells it anyway, apparently because he approves of the actions in it.

We don’t know where it comes from. Maybe Kleitarchos? Possibly Kallisthenes? It does not appear in either Plutarch’s bio of Alexander or his Moralia, although normally he loved these sorts of anecdotes. There’s a good reason, however, that Plutarch doesn’t tell it (see below). Justin is just too short. (It also appears in abbreviated form in a couple of later Roman sources, Valerius Maximus and Dio Chrysostom. So it was clearly popular in the rhetorician crowd.)

So, what are the words attributed to Alexander? Diodoros’ Greek is kai gar kai outos Alexandros estin: “and for also this [man] Alexander is” (6). Arrian renders it kai gar ekeinon einai Alexandron: “and for that man is Alexander” (7). Curtius puts it, albeit in Latin, nam et hic Alexander est: “for he also Alexander is” (17). Yes, I rendered those into English pretty exactly, even if it sounds a bit funny. First, it helps show how every translation is an interpretation, but also allows us to watch the parsing itself.

None of them is exactly the same, even if the meaning is the same. That’s a good reminder we don’t have his exact phrasing!

Assuming the event even happened.

Why should we doubt it? Aside from Arrian’s skepticism?

This story feels a LOT like a classic lesson in proper clemency. I’ve talked about the importance of clemency before. The bulk of this tale is meant to show a chivalrous Alexander early in his career, before he fell victim to divine aspirations and the lure of that nasty Oriental Luxury <tm>. See what a good guy he was?! Plutarch, in his take, insists not only did Alexander not rape the royal women, he wouldn’t even look at the women. That’s probably why he doesn’t tell this story, because going to their tent absolutely IS looking at them, donchaknow. It’s even funnier because it’s Plutarch who tells us Statiera died in childbirth well, well after that baby could have been Darius’s. (Consistency? What consistency? Pfff.)

My point here is that the story may very well have been fabricated to make a MORAL point of how to be an honorable victor—whether in the era of the Successors (which grew increasingly bloody and vicious), or in the later Roman period. It would also provide a perfect example for Curtius to contrast with Alexander’s later Asian debauchery.

You may be wondering, But why would they make up an entire story like that? Wouldn’t people know?

Um, to prove my point I give you…Twitter, QAnon, and whatever quote is being attributed (wrongly) to Samuel L. Jackson this week. The more often people hear something, even a lie, the more likely they are to believe it’s true. Arrian’s other stories of after-Issos events has Leonnatos going to talk to the women, not Alexander (and Hephaistion). Of course, it’s entirely possible Leonnatos went the first evening, while Alexander and Hephaistion went the next morning. It even makes a certain amount of sense that he’d visit the royal women. So, the bare-bones of the encounter may be true, but mistaken identities and all those speeches were likely put in people’s mouths later.

Incidentally, there’s a pun in the line, as alex-andros translates to “protector of men.” So Hephaistion is also a protector of men. Romans and Greeks ate up that sort of word-play.

As for the Aristotle titbit…Diogenes Laertus reports a list of “sayings” (aphorisms) attributed to various philosophers. For Aristotle, one is: “To the query, ‘What is a friend?’ his reply was, ‘A single soul dwelling in two bodies’” (5.20). I’ve seen people claim he was referencing Alexander and Hephaistion. There’s absolutely no reason to assume that except romanticism and an Alexander-centric view. In our surviving writings by Aristotle, he barely mentions Alexander.* Shock, I know. 😂 But Alexander wasn’t at the forefront of his mind.

Additionally, as I said above, we have a longish bit on friendship in the Nikomachian Ethics, where that definition doesn’t appear, although nothing he says about true friendship in it contradicts the quote, either. But “Sayings of…” were a popular form of literature in antiquity, and sometimes a clever quip got attributed to more than one person! Maybe Aristotle did say that, but it’s not in actual writings about friendship by Aristotle. Aristotle’s writings on friendship are rather more complex; he lists three types of friendship in Book VIII.

Anyway, this little in-depth study is meant to help folks see how complicated it can be, to get back to what ALEXANDER himself said, thought, or even did.

Yet one thing ALL the sources agree upon: Hephaistion was Alexander’s favorite, not just (or even primarily) as a commander, but as a person. I’ve never read any claim to the contrary, and I have (quite literally) read everything in the ancient sources that concerns Hephaistion (and most everything that concerns Alexander too).

So, while it’s impossible to say that Alexander considered Hephaistion an “alter-ego,” or ever called him “Alexander too,” you can rest assured that every ancient source agrees that Hephaistion was dearer to Alexander than anybody else, maybe even including his own mother.

—————-

* 391a2: his “On the Universe” treatise opens with a reference to “Alexander,” who I think it’s safe to assume is the king. And 1420a5, is “Rhetoric to Alexander”--except that treatise is widely understood (even in the medieval world) to be bogus: e.g., a "pseudo-Aristotle" text. Plus Alexander is mentioned in a couple fragments.

[paintedmage]

Reupdating my Yu-Gi-Oh Headcanons list

All my headcanons are from the Duel Monsters portion of the series, most of which are influenced by the anime and personal thoughts and ideas.

Atem has a thing for anything strawberry. Strawberry drinks, baked goods, artisan goods, you name it. If it's got strawberry, Atem will almost certainly eat it. Even as Yami, he would take over Yugi's body sometimes to enjoy strawberry flavors(Yugi thought it was silly but also was happy Yami had something he liked)

Of course, my headcanon of Kaiba treating Yugi like a second little brother after Atem departs. Seriously, Yugi becoming an unofficial Kaiba brother because of Seto's love for Atem and feeling bad that Yugi doesn't have his own big brother now is something that feeds me life.

Atem's last name is Sennen. His full name is Atem Yami Sennen

Kaiba's full name is Seto Ryuuki Kaiba. Sometimes Atem calls Seto by his middle name, and Seto loves how whispery and velvety Atem says it.

Kaiba and Mokuba's birth surname is Konami. Their parents names were Sara and Akira(called Aki for short)

Kaiba and Atem are 100% gay and demi, Yugi is bisexual and nonbinary(goes by he/they pronouns)

Kaiba and Atem are both intersex, Kaiba's intersex biology allows for childbearing, but it's not something he likes to think about or really wants, as pregnancy means a loss of control over his own body, and Kaiba can't imagine not having control.

Atem eventually returns through magic nonsense and everyone is overjoyed to have him back (Yugi and Kaiba especially, for their own reasons)

Kaiba has a cat. Her name is Zahra and he adopts her from a shelter not long after the Ceremonial Duel, telling Mokuba things are feeling a bit lonely and maybe a pet would help make their home a little less empty. Despite his cold exterior, Kaiba loves animals and would adopt every single one from every shelter in the world if he could.

Atem loves cats and hits it off with Zahra(Kaiba doesn't like that he's no longer her favorite person but Atem spoils her as much as he does so he supposes its fine), and for some reason, strays gravitate towards him and he occasionally comes home with a new cat in his arms, announcing. "Ryuuki, another one chose me!", and Kaiba just goes with it, loving how the mansion staff are now always kept on their toes by the MANY cats now running amok.

Kaiba's favorite of Atem's little cat herd(also called a clutter) is Luna, a pretty tortoiseshell with golden eyes and dainty white paws. She gets attached to him rather than Atem(much to Kaiba's delight)

Later down the line, Kaiba finds an abandoned corgi puppy. Unable to ignore the creature, he takes her home to Atem and their many cats. They name her Duchess as she quickly becomes a spoiled pup.

Yugi and Marik are a couple. I just think they're cute together. They'd eventually have a son(Kaiba helps them create their son by taking Yugi and Marik's DNA and making the baby in a tube in his lab. Because I'm absolutely certain Kaiba could do that sort of thing if he tried) and name him Atemu, after Atem. Because Yugi just loves his brother so much. (cue Uncle Atem shedding tears of joy), and when Atemu is 2, they have twins; a son and daughter named Toki and Tera.

Atem and Kaiba get married and Atem 100% is in charge of wedding planning cause he has better tastes than Kaiba when it comes to this sort of thing. And Atem convinces Seto to let him wear a dress for the wedding. Kaiba becomes Seto Kaiba-Sennen.

Kaiba and Atem eventually have twins unplanned, a daughter named Kaida and a son named Yami, both taking Atem's last name of Sennen. The pregnancy is full of complications for Kaiba due to his unique situation, and the changes to his body cause a lot of dysphoria, but Atem is always there for him when things get rough, knowing that Seto can get through this with the strength and grace he applies daily.

Joey becomes a KC Security Officer because he's "A good guard dog", according to Kaiba.

Tea becomes a successful dancer on Broadway, landing many lead roles. Yugi and friends are glad to see her follow her dreams, and occasionally, Kaiba will sponsor musicals and plays that Tea is in, his way of showing his friendship.

Tristan opens a martial arts and self defense studio, wanting to teach others how to protect themselves and the ones they care about.

Bakura begins to work for the museum, and always manages to rope Atem into helping during his free time, as Atem WAS an ancient Pharaoh.

Atem works graphic design for Kaiba Corp (he's a surprisingly good artist)

Yugi works at Kaiba Corp for the game development division. Sometimes he brings Atemu and Toki into the office with him, and he tries to coordinate dates where Kaida and Yami are brought in when Seto and Atem come to work so their kids can bond with each other. (Yugi wants his sons to have a deep connection with their cousins asap.)

Atemu looks a lot like his namesake uncle, thanks to the combo of Yugi's hair and Marik's complexion, but his eyes are Marik's lavender. Toki and Tera are pale like Yugi with soft, sandy-colored hair like Marik, and Yugi's amethyst eyes.

Kaida looks a lot like her father Atem, bearing his tri-tone hair, although the ends of hers are blue instead of red, she bears his darker complexion, and the shape of her eyes is quite similar to his. She gets Seto's blue eyes. Yami, however, is a mini Seto Kaiba with Atem's purple eyes. (the little guy has already mastered the 'Kaiba scowl')

Later down the line, Atem and Kaiba have two more kids. Ryuuki and Sara. Both kids have Atem's dark complexion. Sara's hair is black and wavy and she has Kaiba's blue eyes. Ryuuki, however, much like his brother Yami, has Kaiba's brown hair and Atem's amethyst eyes.

Mokuba absolutely adores his nieces and nephews, being sure to talk about them to anyone who will listen(or is forced to). He also spoils them whenever he can, wanting to give Kaida, Sara, Ryuuki and Yami the whole world, wanting them to have a childhood full of certainty and light, unlike what he and Seto had. Uncle Mokuba ftw.

Kaiba rebrands Kaiba Corporation to Sennen Corporation.

Joey eventually finds a nice girl and hooks up with her, and Atem, being a former Pharaoh, officiates Joey's wedding.

Joey soon becomes a dad, having four kids. Jack, Jana, Kaden, and Jacob. The little ones are a handful, having Joey's spirit and knack for trouble. And Kaiba says "Wheeler, the world had enough of you, why'd you add four more?" the first time he meets the kids. However is is quite fond of them, as his children have friends to grow up with.

[hathorneheiress]

Unexpected embrace

Grayson stared straight ahead as he watched the sun set. The warm Arizonia breeze rustled through his light blond hair.

He had been invited by Gigi, his half sister, for dinner. At first, he refused the invitation. Her older twin sister, Savannah, probably didn't want to see him. And their mother, Acacia, well.. she had been nicer than he deserved. Especially since he was the result of her husband, his father, affair. But after much texting back and forth with pictures of cats and threats to have them attack him, he gave in.  

Gigi had a way of getting to him, and he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing. She made him feel things that he hadn't felt in a long time. And the more he thought about it, the more excited he felt to see her.

Dinner was just the 4 of them. None of his brothers. Not Duncan, Savannah's horrible boyfriend. It was quiet, but nice. Gigi had certainly had caffeine, so she did most of the talking. Which was fine by Grayson. He secretly enjoyed listening to her though he couldn't explain why. 

After the scrumptious meal of steak, baked potatoes, green beans, and buttery biscuits, Gigi and Savannah disappeared to do who knows what leaving Grayson alone with Acacia.

"Want to join me on the patio?" She invited him.

"Sure."

And that is how Grayson found himself silently admiring the beautiful sunset. It was perfect for a picture, something Grayson loved doing: taking pictures. And if Acacia wasn't right there, he might consider it.

"I'm glad you came." Acacia broke through his thoughts. "It meant a lot to Gigi. And if it's worth anything, it means a lot to me too."

He tried not to think about what that could mean for him and failed. He had wanted a mother almost as badly as he had wanted a real father when he was younger. Skye was by no means what people would call a mother. He thought she deserved that title. Acacia, on the other hand, did.

"Thanks for persuading her to keep reaching out. She told me you did." he clarified when she gave him a look.

"You're good for her. Savannah and her... well let's just say they aren't as close as they used to be and Gigi has been awful lonely of late. You seem to have filled the void she needed."

"I think I can say the same for me." Grayson quietly admitted. Gigi was that one light spot in his quiet, lonely sort of life. Yes, he had his brothers and Avery but when he was with Gigi it was different. She didn't pick on him (Or not as much) for how stern and strict he was. She gladly and readily accepted him for who he was. Faults and all. When he was with her, he actually felt like an older brother, and not a thirty-year-old trapped in a teenager's body.

Before Grayson could keep thinking something unexpected happened: He found himself being pulled into a hug. Alert bells and warning signs instantly flared up inside him. This was foreign and unheard to him. He was never properly hugged like ever. He tensed, not sure if he should push Acacia away or just sit through the discomfort. 

But as he sat there, enveloped in her loving grasp, something arose from the pits of his stomach: an emotion. A feeling of like someone actually cared and loved him.

So instead of fighting it, he did the opposite. He let his body relax. Let himself feel the loved being given. Pretend for that one blissful moment that he wasn't Grayson Hawthorne: grandson of billionaire Tobias and this supposed to be perfect person. But just a son enjoying a hug from his mother.

He could get used to this.

[theeoriginals]

could you do elijah with a catwoman type of reader? she likes the finer things, she's flirty/loves the chase, and whatever else you think fits! maybe they've been seeing each other secretly (like when katherine/elijah were doing it secretly in tvd lmao) OR they meet for the first time (e.g., she steals something from him and gets caught but gets away and she's hints at seeing him again next time) this is so specific but do whatever you want with it!!

cat and mouse | elijah mikaelson

author's note; this was so fun thank u for requesting <3

warnings: witch!female!reader, tension, abruptish ending bc I didn't know how to drag it out more, brief shapeshifting but I like barely touch on it, because it's sort of inconsequential to the story. reader is close with Klaus, but it's purely platonic! honestly could class this at love at first sight, with how I wrote elijah. fluff, just some heavy make outs, nothing too graphic. reader is flirty and confident!! no use of y/n!

There’s an inherent seductiveness to wearing a mask. It’s almost more vulnerable than just showing your face, because you have to rely on your words, your wit, to get the job done. Of course, there isn’t any specific job she’s needing to get done tonight, but she tries to never attend these sorts of things without a personal mission of some kind.

She gets bored, is the thing. 

Even though she's got everything she could ever want and more, she gets bored and she can't help what happens after that. It's a bad habit, she knows. Her friends always laugh, hiding their smirks and smiles behind her hands when they come over and see the newest shiny thing that wasn't there before. When they hear of a shadow that terrorizes people, seemingly at random. 

It's harmless, though. She's never hurt anyone by doing it. She just laughs a little and maybe she stays the night with some of them, and gets what she wants and more. Cures that boredom in a few different ways. 

It’s started to creep in again, that feeling. It’s why she’s here in the first place. Klaus is a friend, but she tries to keep out of his hijinks for her own safety. Most people here in New Orleans know better than to pledge loyalty to the hybrid, because no one around him is safe for long, even his own family. 

That’s the premise of tonight’s party, according to Klaus. Reuniting his family for what seems like the hundredth time. She feels it’s starting to lose its emotional impact, what with how many times he’s daggered and undaggered them, treating them like they’re pets or something. But she doesn’t voice any of this to Klaus, because she’s smarter than that, and she isn’t equipped to deal with the thousands of years of family drama between the Originals. 

It seems odd to have a masquerade ball as a welcome home party, but she digresses. It’s pointless to question his motives, and it causes her more of a headache than anything. It’s easier to just enjoy herself, and even easier than that to try and find a cure to her boredom. 

It's starting to settle in like a fog of some sort, except it's not hazy or particularly tiring, it's more like steam. Like a hot sauna, soaking the surface of her skin, leaving her panting, thirsty. 

So she leaves the relative safety of the open bar, and lifts her chin up, keeping her shoulders in a stiff line so that people move for her, because she certainly won’t move for them. 

She’s nearly through the dance floor when she’s stopped by a firm hand on her wrist, and her arm is extended with the light tug just before she twists around, braced to deal with whatever idiot has grabbed her. 

She stops short at the sight of the man, only half of his face covered by a mask unlike hers that shields everything real about her except her eyes. 

There’s a smirk on his lips, like he’s amused by something, but she can’t fathom what by. “Excuse me?” She raises a brow, incredulous expression hidden by the mask on her face. It’s rather flimsy, overall, but the rhinestones placed strategically around it juxtapose the sleek black dress draped over her frame, making her appear as nothing more than a shadow. 

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” 

The voice is unfamiliar, and she loathes the thought that a stranger is teaching her with such familiarity. “I wasn’t aware it mattered,” She gestures vaguely with her other hand, reminding herself of the rather loose grip he has on her wrist. “The party will go on without me, I’m sure.” 

The man ducks his head in a conceding nod, but the smirk on his face has done nothing but get bigger the longer she entertains this odd interaction. “You’ve hardly danced all night.” 

She knows he can’t see the twist of curiosity on her face, but her body must portray it anyways, because he’s immediately elaborating. 

“I’ve had my eye on you,” He says, accented voice a lulling drawl. She’s sure it would put anyone under a spell, given the chance. “I couldn’t let you leave without getting at least one dance, and perhaps your name.” 

“Awfully presumptuous of you,” She notes, though she closes a bit of the distance between them, suddenly interested in the proposition. “I’ll give you a dance, but you’ll have to convince me for a name. I don’t give that out to strangers.” 

He nods again, pulling her to him, closing the rest of the distance between them. “Of course,” 

It’s easy to fall into step with him, practically painted against his chest, there’s no real rhythm to what they’re doing, but it’s working. She’s staring into his eyes from behind the shadowy mask, and he’s looking into hers, like he’ll get every answer he wants from them. 

“So,” He starts, blinking slowly like he doesn’t want to spare a split second from them just in case he misses something. “Do you know anyone here, or are you just here by word of mouth?” 

“I’m familiar with the host,” She says carefully, noticing the way his eyes darken with a hint of surprise. “He’s a friend. I do business with him, sometimes.” 

He seems to see the deeper meaning behind her words. “I wasn’t aware he had many friends of your variety these days,” 

“Oh, he doesn’t,” She says, smirking beneath the mask at the short chuckle that leaves him. “But I suppose there’s an exception to everything. It works for us. I’m still alive, after all. Not many can usually say that after dealing with him.” 

The man’s mouth twists wryly. “I can’t disagree with that.” 

“You’ve obviously got something in common with him, too,” She notes plainly, leveling the playing field between them about information they can peel out of each other without really saying anything. “Perhaps he has more friends than either of us are aware of.” 

“He’s got plenty of secrets up his sleeves, I’m sure of that.” 

He turns them suddenly, hand spanning across the open back of her dress, and she can’t stop the quiet gasp that spills from her lips, hopefully muffled by the mask, though the slight twitch of his fingers against the bare skin of her back says he heard it loud and clear. 

“If I give you my name, may I have yours?” She asks suddenly, aware of the song playing for their dance coming to an end sooner, rather than later. “A fair trade.” 

“I am nothing if not fair,” 

She hums, though she partially doubts his words. He’s shown in the past few minutes that he can play any game she plays, just as easily. 

They dip into the shadows for a moment, ducking out of the colorful lights flashing on the makeshift dance floor, and she makes a decision quickly.

She lays her hand flat against his chest, skating her nails along the pieces of his suit as she slides up his neck and to his jaw, moving fast to push the mask off his face as her other hand rips her own off. 

She doesn’t give him time to blink, or get a real look at her face before she’s smashing their lips together, squeezing her eyes shut as he backs her further into the darkness. She twists them just before they hit the wall, relishing in the way his breath is knocked from his lungs. It doesn’t seem to bother him for long, because he’s drawing her back in, sighing against her lips like she’s just breathed life back into him. 

She skirts her hands all around his lithe frame, feeling the muscles that tense under her touch, hidden but not unnoticeable by the lines of his tailored suit. She drags her nails up under his jacket, rustling the neatly tucked fabric, and pulls her lips away from his mouth to drop down to his jaw, flicking a sharp canine against his jaw and delighting in the choked off noise that breaks from his throat. 

She hides her face in the curve of his throat, leaving marks that disappear almost immediately as she makes them. Panting for breath, she clenches her hands where they lay on his waist. “What’s your name?” 

He licks his spit-swollen lips, head thrown back against the wall as he tries to collect what little of himself he’s got left. “Elijah,” 

“Elijah,” She echoes, tongue curling prettily around the syllables of his name. “Elijah.” 

“Yours,” He says, calloused fingers digging into the exposed skin from her dress. “What’s your name?” 

“My name,” She says, pressing her lips to the shell of his ear, smile practically audible. “Is a secret.” 

Before Elijah can even let out his next breath, every point of pleasure she’s got on him disappears, and he’s left feeling abruptly cold. He rips his eyes open, blinking as they adjust to the bleak lighting, and his chest heaves as he looks around for any piece of that mask, or that dress. Strains his ears to hear the breath of her voice, the pulse that drowned out every song playing. 

She’s nowhere to be found. Elijah tries to be annoyed, but a smile grows on his lips and he can’t help but slump against the wall as he attempts to fix his suit where it’s been tugged at and wrinkled amidst their brief burst of passion. 

A smear of lipstick lingers on his skin, and her intoxicating scent drifts in the natural breeze. 

His curiosity is a dangerous thing. 

────── 

She sets out on a familiar path, forgoing her flesh tones and simpering smiles for four legs and a sleek black coat. She covers more ground like this, makes her way to the Quarter and past all of the usual mess happening. No one really looks twice at her in this form– it's how she prefers things, for the most part. 

There's a specific brand of chaos that she's seeking, and she hears the familiar echo of the man's voice as she approaches the compound. If she could smirk like this, she would, but as it is, all she can do is reveal the two sharp fangs that hang down onto the sides of her mouth and pick up her pace ever so slightly. 

The door to his study is open and she sees him pacing back and forth, talking loudly to no one in particular. She isn't sure if there's other people in the house right now, but it certainly wouldn't be the first time she caught Klaus talking to himself. 

He seems to notice her just as she leaps onto his desk, shuffling the stack of stationary sitting atop it. 

"Oh, good, and now you're here to bother me," He stops his pacing, turning to face the black cat sitting primly on the desk. "What is it you want?" 

She stares blankly at him and he rolls his eyes, face set in that familiar glare that's basically tattooed on his features. 

"I don't know why you bother with this," He gestures at her, rolling his eyes again. "The sooner you're in a form I can actually speak to, the sooner I can get you out of my house and back into the Quarter, wreaking havoc on those who have wronged me." 

She can't help the sudden desire she has to irritate him just a bit more, so she bats a leg out and kicks a ceramic figurine off the edge of his desk, watching his fists clench at his sides frustratedly as it shatters. 

Yawning dramatically, she flicks her tail out and perches on the edge of his desk, shaking off the sudden change in appearance as he glares at her, entirely unamused by the whole act. 

"What do you want?" 

She huffs, ever so dramatic, and pushes off his desk, walking around him to drape her arms over his shoulders and dig her chin into the muscles there. 

"I'm bored, Klaus. And nobody likes it when I get bored." 

He sighs, entirely put upon at her dramatics. "What do you suggest I do about that?" 

"What's got you so tense? Maybe I can help with that, hm?" She tries, digging her nails into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. 

"My generosity has come back to haunt me," 

His words earn an immediate laugh from her and she peels herself off of his back, walking across the study to throw herself down onto the couch, laying an arm over her eyes. "Oh, yes, your generosity, which you are so well known for. What have you done now?" 

“Must everything be my fault? It could very well be someone else, you know,” 

She lifts her arm from her face, giving him an entirely unamused look that he dutifully ignores. 

“You know,” He starts again, earning a quiet groan from her that he ignores just as easily. “I undaggered my siblings because I thought they would be less upset with me after all this time. I threw them a party! I gave them access to as many humans as I could!” 

“Oh, I know– how could anyone ever hold a grudge for being stuck in a box for hundreds of years because their brother didn’t want to have a moral compass?” 

He glares at her and she pushes up from the couch, stretching her limbs as she goes. “How about you just let them be mad at you, and you give me the name of one of those people who have supposedly wronged you?” 

Klaus sighs, but he gives in easily, just like she knew he would. It’s why they work so well together. He can’t resist her inherent desire to make a mess. 

────── 

The Quarter is as lively as ever, but the energy is always different when the sun goes down. She likes it better this way, when the tourists have returned to their hotel rooms, scared off by enough local legends that they don’t dare wander too far in fear of being sucked into some magical nightmare. 

She likes when the nocturnal things come out to play, because it means there’s so much less attention on her, and what she’s doing. It makes it easier to get things done, this way. 

She’s nursing a drink at the bar in Rousseau’s, unable to resist the draw this place has for witches and vampires alike. It’s mostly seen as a neutral ground, because no one’s willing to risk a place to get good food and drinks over a turf war. 

She’s been making eyes at a boy across the room, quickly looking away when he catches her eye, hiding a bashful smile in her drink. It’s a fun game to play, and it grows easier with every passing minute to lure them in. Even if there’s something off about her, they can’t resist it. Like a mouse walking straight into a trap, just for a bite of the cheese. 

It doesn’t take much longer for the boy, Ethan, to approach her. He’s got a smirk on his face, and he’s obviously under the impression that this is a sure thing. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but,” He shifts, setting his drink down on the bar next to hers. “I saw you looking at me from over here.” 

She swirls the straw in her drink around a few times, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Is that all it took? Me looking at you?” 

He chuckles, moving to stand more directly in front of her. “Well, you seemed a little lonely, sitting here all by yourself,” 

She sits up in her seat, smirking. “Are you going to fix that for me?” 

“That will be all, thank you, Ethan.” The strikingly familiar voice comes from behind her, and she instantly slumps in her seat, a wry, defeated smile twisting onto her lips despite how much she tries to stop it. 

The boy in front of her straightens up, defensive at the sudden rejection, but as soon as he sees who it is standing behind her, he backs down. His eyes flicker to her, and she flutters her finger in a wave, dismissing him easily as the man quickly takes his place standing before her. 

“That wasn’t very kind of you, Elijah,” She says, taking a sip of her drink. “I was doing business with him. Your brother’s business.”

“You were a very difficult woman to find, do you know that?” 

She raises her glass to him in a mocking toast. “And yet here you are,” 

“Is that what my brother considers business these days? Usually that sort of exchange was reserved for his closest confidants,” 

“A good businessman is always adapting,” She shrugs, watching his eyes roam her face, committing every part of it to memory. “Did you find me for any particular reason, Elijah? Or am I just honored to have the company of an Original,” 

“You stole my watch,” He says, looking anything but upset. “And a button, of all things. Now, the button I’m less worried about, but the watch is an antique.” 

She hums, eyes narrowing at his easy going demeanor. “You spent all this time tracking me down over an antique watch? Forgive me for my assumptions, but I don’t believe that.” 

He nods, still smiling fondly, like she hasn’t been almost entirely antagonistic to him since their first meeting. “I also want your name.” 

“Surely you know my name by now,” She says, huffing a disbelieving laugh. “You couldn’t have found me otherwise.” 

“I do,” He nods again. “But I want to hear it from you. A fair trade, and all.” 

She heaves a sigh, pushing to her feet off the chair to stand before him, once again practically glued to the front of him. “A man of your word, I see,” 

He hums an agreeing noise. “Even when we have nothing else, we have our word. I’m also not one to go back on a deal. I don’t like loose ends.” 

“That’s a shame, I love loose ends,” She grins widely, earning a chuckle from him that says he’s nothing but charmed. “Follow me.” 

She gestures towards the door, and Elijah is quick to fall into step behind her, though she isn’t sure if it’s her past disappearing act or something else that has him so keen to do as she says. 

They step outside into the humid, but cooling air, and she glances up at the pale moon above them, feeling every bit of warmth from it that one would get from the sun. 

“I’m curious to know how you found me,” She says, looking at him as he walks beside her down the mostly-empty sidewalks. 

He sighs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, looking every bit as pressed and pretty as he did at the party. “I thought about asking around at first, of course, but I figured if you wouldn’t even share your name with me, the second you caught wind of someone asking about you, you’d become harder to find.” 

“Smart man,” 

He hums, and smiles. “My brother, his girlfriend, is a witch. I asked her for a favor. You left your mask at the party, so,” 

“Foiled by a simple tracking spell,” She says, putting on an air of defeat that has him chuckling, her following suit shortly after. “I appreciate your tenacity, Mr. Mikaelson. Not many want to play my games,” 

“Is that what it was, then? A game?” 

“Of sorts,” She says, coming to a stop at the steps that lead up to her little apartment. “It’d be quite bold of me to play a game of cat and mouse with an Original, don’t you think?” 

He steps closer to her, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head, examining her. “I think that you seem to know quite a bit about me and my family, but I’ve just barely scratched the surface of you.” 

She steps closer to him, the tips of her shoes hitting his. “I do owe you my name, don’t I?” 

“A deal’s a deal,” 

She echoes his words softly, already pressing up on her toes to meet him halfway. “A deal’s a deal.” 

There’s much less fervor in this kiss than the last, but no lack of passion. It seems to strike them both breathless, and she finds herself leaning into him, wrapping a hand around the end of his neatly knotted tie to pull him in impossibly closer. 

A split second later, she forces herself to pull away, sighing shakily as she looks into his lustful, deep gaze. She whispers her name quietly, watching his pupils blow out as it carries between them. He echoes it back, just as quietly, and she nods, hand still wrapped in his tie, where his are still clutching her waist, keeping her from running again. 

“Is that all, then?” She asks, voice still a whisper, like she’s afraid to break whatever has settled between them. “A deal’s a deal.” 

“What’s that you said earlier?” He sighs, chest heaving with the breath. “A businessman is always adapting.” 

He pulls her back into him, catching the corner of her mouth with his lips before he realigns, barely parting for a second to press repeated kisses to her soft lips that taste like the sugary drink she’d had at the bar. “Besides,” He breathes in between kisses. “You still have my watch.” 

She laughs into the next kiss, and it spills out into the night, making him let out his own laugh that sounds just as utterly besotted as hers. 

He forgets about the watch. But by the time he remembers it, he figures there’s no harm in letting her keep it. If only to have an excuse to see her again. 

[delicate-pointofview]

Hello guys, welcome to my blog!

₍ᐢ・▵・ᐢ₎⋆࣪:

I will try to talk a little about myself in this pinned post, so if you could read it, I would appreciate the effort!

.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩

Disclaimer

Here are some warnings before I dive into my life and other stuff:

I am a proship, anti fiction censorship and very kink positive. This blog will have mature and sensitive content. If you are an anti, a minor, or simply can’t handle sensitive topics, please, just block me. Don’t come here trying to fight or manipulate me into feeling bad for liking the things I like, because I don’t care about your opinion. I am a grown woman with a strong sense of self, I don’t fall for nasty tricks.

.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩

About Me

My nickname is Ari. I am a POC, cis woman, 29 years old, currently studying an IT course, but having an artist soul.

I’m a sex-positive bi-assex and also a diagnosed bipolar and auDHD.

My favorite color is pink, but don’t have a favorite animal. I love all of them, all animals are cinnamon buns in my opinion, but I have one dog and 5 cats!

I have an introverted, peaceful personality. I’m a Taurus, INFP 4w5, and I like to identify myself as a platypus or a tardigrade.

I like to write, watch TV shows and animes, read, play Animal Crossing, Spiritfarer, The Sims or any cozy game that has almost no fight, talk with my few friends and play RPG.

I’m also a ballerina. In 2023 I taught ballet for all ages and this certainly was my dream job! Classical ballet is one of my longest hyperfocus, I remember being crazy about it since my childhood!

I intend to graduate at a physical therapy college at some point in my life, to work with dancers rehabilitation.

.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩

Blog Contents:

This Tumblr will be dedicated to post writting related contents. Here I’ll share my stories, as well as post drafts, musics, moodboards, etc, all of them related to my works. Writer related memes will appear around here as well!

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My Other Socials

🐰 AO3: Arikt

🛁 Pinterest: Arikt5

*️⃣Twitter: _arikt5_

₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩

Fandoms

Well, I am into a lot of fandoms, but this blog will cover only the ones I write fics about. They are:

🍵 Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler)

🥐 Death Note

🍡 Yuri on Ice

🌻Good Omens

🧁Bright Young Things

🌈 Changeling the Lost - RPG

🧸 World of Darkness - RPG

.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩

Ships I’m into:

Again, here I’ll only address the ships I write about:

🎀 Sebaciel (Black Butler)

🛼 Claude/Alois (Black Butler)

🩰 Otayuri (Yuri on Ice)

💕 Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens)

🍓 Ginger/Miles (Bright Young Things)

🎪OCs/Preexistent Character (Kuroshitsuji, Death Note)

🪂OCs/OCs

.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩

Writing

Currently I am only writing fanfics, but I have some original works, some of them inspired by the Role-Playing Games I have participated through all those years. In this session will be the links to all of my wroks.

(I’ll eventually translate all my stories to english and post them on AO3. But rn, I have only one published)

Novels

The Ice King and the Golden Boy (Kuroshitsuji Sebaciel Ballet AU)

Your Soul is Mine (yet to be translated - Kuroshitsuji AU with OC)

A Brand New Chance (yet to be translated - Death Note AU with OC)

Drafts

Morning. - Depressed ramblings of my Death Note OC Lucy Cecile Chinatsu;

Venus Fly Trap - My Changeling RPG Character Naru Hime talks about her impressions about herself and her interactions with other people;

OneShots

Night-Blooming Rendezvous - Sebaciel short fiction for Sebaciel Spring Spree 2024. A bittersweet story about a love so strong it physically hurts.

.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩

Thank you all who read this post till here! I hope we can be good friends! If you have a writing suggestion to me, wether it is about headcanon ideas for fanfiction or just a tip, you can write an ask or send me a message! I will be glad to talk to you!

[myloveforhergoeson]

tw: discussion of scars + childhood injury

“woah… what’s this?”

gingerly, roxy caught james’ left wrist between her calloused fingers, turning his forearm to face her direction as they cuddled on one of the many lounge chairs by the pool. with his well maintained tan from hours spent in the los angeles sun, the thin white line was almost impossible to spot; she’d certainly never noticed it before today.

thumb swiping over the scarred area, she felt james slightly flinch at her touch. “it’s nothing… old injury.”

removing the right arm slung around her waist, he shifted to the left a bit, dark sunglasses obscuring the look on his face. he covered the mark with his hand for a moment, palm over the area like a bandaid, before taking a breath and gathering his girlfriend in his arms once more.

with her ear to his chest, she could hear his heart race. though that might be due to their proximity, the feeling of his palms growing clammy on her bare skin told her otherwise.

she silently praised her choice of a red crop top for the day.

“i’ve got one on the back of my leg,” she said in response to the chill, moving her right foot into the air and wiggling it a bit to ease the tension she could sense radiating off of him in waves. “one of dani’s dogs didn’t like me very much. i got too close to her one day and she really decided to let me know… god, that shit hurt like hell.”

one of his brows raised, signifying she’d caught his attention. “you had to know that she didn’t like you. dogs are super vocal about that type of thing aren’t they? like, missy really hates logan. we think she can sense he’s more of a cat person.”

“i know you’re not blaming me for being viciously bit by a crazy animal right now. everybody else loves me! why should i assume bear felt any different?”

air shot out of his nostrils in a silent chuckle, tickling the top of her head, almost going unheard against the chatter of other hotel patrons on the deck around them. “the dog was named bear?! baby, you were totally asking for it!”

visions of the black labradoodle ran through her mind, much like how bear loved to run through dani’s family’s large, open property. “she was a total sweetheart when mag and dani were around her… maybe she doesn’t like gorgeous, talented women or something.”

james’ nose exhale turned into full on laughter, roxy practically bouncing off his chest as his body shook at her words.

from the table beside their lounger, roxy reached out to take a drink of the lemonade she’d picked up from the cafe, offering the cup out to her boyfriend as well.

after a long, slow sip, james’ free hand set it down before sinking into her long hair. instinctively, her arm draped around his waist. “i forgot to put the blade guards on my skates after practice one night. coach worked us so hard that day i was just happy to get off the ice and get home; too distracted by what my mom might be making for dinner to think straight. walked out of the arena with my bag in one hand and my stick and skates in the other, hit a patch of black ice before i reached her car, and ended up cutting myself up pretty darn good.”

just the thought of the sharp, stainless steel of an ice skate anywhere near her skin caused a shiver to crawl down the girl’s spine. “that must have been awful…”

“well a trip to the er, sixteen stitches, and a bunch of ibuprofen later i was feeling just fine. i think my ego was more bruised than anything. my mom was super freaked though.”

“well yeah,” roxy nodded, finger rising to trace the lines of the soft black tank top james wore, “any mom would be worried about such a substantial injury. i’ve never had stitches but i imagine sixteen means it was very big and very deep.”

closing his eyes, james took another breath. “deep? yes. big? eh. nothing like the time carlos got a metal plate put in his head.”

“jesus christ. i’m going to pass out just thinking of it…” her hand curled into a fist, taking the smooth fabric with it.

a few kids from their class were starting up a game of volleyball in the pool in front of them, sounds of shouting and splashing water distracting the writer from their conversation momentarily.

“but you’re right,” james continued. “my mom was worried - just not about me. more about the mark it would leave than anything… she even called an emergency meeting for her product development team to start work on a scar cream. i still use it to this day.”

roxy chose not to comment on the success of the cream if she was still able to see the mark that remained on her boyfriend’s skin, though her heart panged at his words. clearly, brooke’s concern had reached him, just for the wrong reasons. she saw it in the way he instinctively covered the area when she’d mentioned it, in the solemn way he discussed the product he still used, months, maybe years, after his accident.

without thinking, her fingers caught his wrist again from where they tangled in her locks and pulled his forearm to the sun once more. the scar stood out more prominently to her now, and now she couldn’t even remember what he looked like without it. it was part of what made james james. “she shouldn’t have made you feel that way... it was an accident; you were seriously hurt. who cares what it would look like in the future? what should have mattered was your safety in that moment and beyond.”

he didn’t respond to her, gaze somewhere off in the distance behind the tint of his shades. this time, when roxy swiped her thumb over the area, he didn’t jump.

“we all show concern in our own way i suppose,” he whispered into her hair, placing a kiss on her crown before resting his chin there.

as they cuddled by the pool, james hugged roxy just a little bit tighter.

[gren-arlio]

CAUTION: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CRIMINAL?

(Image made by @kirstenonic05. Huge help on this, so thank you.)

Hello, one and all, it's Gren here. Today is Witch's birthday as well as Halloween, and to celebrate such a momentous occasion for the girl who appears in oh so many of my posts, I'm gonna to do two things besides say happy birthday to her.

An in-depth look on what The Witch has committed, her devious crimes.

How to handle/deal with/tolerate her if you're a random person, or you're a special guy.

Possible prosecution of her. Keyword "Possible".

I basically became Schezo's Private Investigator for a solid few months and today, I'm here to drop it all out for the press to see. Puyo fans are gonna be in shambles tonight.

This will be a detailed tutorial on what happens if you see The Witch, how to deal with her, and what happens if she approaches you. Hope you enjoy this overly elaborate shitpost.

-----

What IS The Witch?

For those blissfully unaware, The Witch is a wanted criminal, a young 15 year old felon who often resides in the realms of Madou Monogatari and Puyo Puyo, owned formerly by COMPILE, now by SEGA.

(A rough draft of what the suspect looks like. Be careful. Actual draft of her from Madou Monogatari Saturn.)

She seems harmless, but that's how she gets you. Never trust teenage girls who can brew potions, I learned that the hard way.

Commonly, she's a blonde haired, blue eye teenage girl, about 5'2 (158 CM) and 99 pounds (45KG), seen with a blue robe with tints of white and red, a blue hat and some of the worst shoe game I've ever seen.

However, she has been seen in a green robe with a red amulet, a steampunk outfit, and even cosplay as either Arale Norimaki from Dr. Slump, a literal cat, and Emilia from Re:Zero. (Besides the cat one, all really good alts in Quest design wise and Puyo-N just has good designs.)

(Video recording of The Witch cooking something malevolent)

-----

What? Crimes?

You heard me right good folks, as the guy who has documented her misdeeds for weeks on end, (AKA I've been casually researching other games and she appears,) I have found many of her criminal acts, some worse than others, and some shit I definitely made up. Here are a few cases, some of which are somewhat stretching the definition, but it's alright:

Attempted Murder:

Most notably committed in Madou Monogatari Saturn, where whilst getting kidnapped by Incubus, she absolutely torched the man. Could claim self defense but still.

Harassment:

Mostly to Schezo, when you stretch the definition long enough, it can be considered verbal harassment. If you count 4Komas and Compile Club Underground Edition, visual harassment is...certainly on the table.

(Attempted) Petty Theft:

More notable in Waku Waku Puyo Puyo Dungeon, where she tries many-a-times to get Schezo's robes, even threatening assault if he didn't.

Assault:

Threatened Schezo with it for his clothes in Waku Waku Puyo Puyo Dungeon, saying she'll rip them off.

You may ask, "Aren't Puyo matches assault cases?" And to that, I say...no. Usually, it's a joint agreement. The same goes for Waku Puyo, it's part of the attraction itself, the person somewhat signed up for it. However, I don't think personally trying to rip someone's clothes was part of the rules.

Drugging:

Most noticeable in the Tottemo Puyo Puyo Manga, where she drugged Arle with a love potion to make her fall in love with them, but it failed. Badly.

(Not many people know this one too much, so I thought I'd show the time where the crime occurred.)

Possession/Distribution of Alcohol to and as a Minor:

In Puyo 20th Anniversary, she just so happened to have something that made our boy Klug feel a tad unwise. Apparently happened to Lagnus too in Quest, but we're unsure, since it came from a 2nd source.

(Also, I know she didn't mean to give Klug it, but...why did she have it anyways?)

Crimes Against Schezo Wegey:

Along with almost every crime here, during the run of Compile, she's committed the worst one of them all: Being a Simp.

Easily the most notable for me, In Waku Waku Puyo Puyo Dungeon, she's normal to almost everyone else (she has beef with Rulue for some reason,) but the minute Schezo is in a 2 mile radius, she "forgets" to take her normal pills.

(Image recording of her harassing Mr. Wegey. She's just saying "it" looks super cool, leaving Schezo confused on whatever she meant, and yes. It's about his clothes.)

Second most notable (for me) is PuyoLympics, where the SECOND he takes off his robe to show the uniform he got, she starts acting a little unwise, to put it bluntly.

(Prelude image seconds before The Witch commits her worst crime yet. Being a Simp. Also the NicoNico video I saw for this had some of the most down bad dudes ever, don't become them please)

We also must speak about her acting unwise when she saw Madou Saturn Schezo, asking to touch the man.

And how could we forget when she got possessed by Marle, who totally gave her back her Madou conscious after laying dormant for God knows how many years and began her quest of simping yet again?

Saying submit to me, saying that she doesn't know why she feels so desperate for him all of a sudden, and then prolongs the word fun? Marle was scheming that day...

(First off, somehow I got this with both her eyes closed. Didn't expect that. Second, why does it look like Schezo is grabbing his own name box?)

We can forgive many of her crimes. But we can't forgive this crime specifically.

-----

What Do You Do When You See The Witch?

Now, most likely, you'd want to report her to the feds, the police if you will. But her world doesn't have police somehow, and that's rough buddy. However, The Witch is a very social person, and might want to talk to you.

This will be a step by step guide on what to do if you're a normal person near The Witch or if you're Schezo. Gotta look out for everyone.

However, for all:

The Witch is incredibly dangerous, and unless you're a relative, odds are, something malicious WILL be brewing.

Willingly going near her is dangerous as well, but if you live for danger, ignore this section.

For the Everyday Guy:

Keep your distance. The easiest thing to do, thankfully. If you don't approach her, odds are, she won't interact with you unless she wants something.

Don't own a Meteor Grimoire. She can sense that.

If she decides to go near you, do not panic, nor run yet. She has magic, you don't most likely, so unless you want a fireball or a Meteor hitting you, don't run.

Keep the talk short and brief. Prolonged exposure can be detrimental to your health in the long run.

If she asks for something, there's two ways to go around it. You can either give it to her quickly, or be the innocent victim of her next robbery/crime.

Don't try anything she gives you. Ever.

This is a split path. If she tries to take something from you, you can either choose to finally run or fight. Thankfully, she's pretty average at Puyo, so a good player can fend her off.

If everything goes well, she will leave you alone. And if you run, she probably won't chase you that much since you're just kinda a random dude to her.

For Schezo Wegey: (Or People in a Similar Scenario)

Before you even go out, don't wear cool-looking robes.

Don't own a Meteor Grimoire. She will sense that, especially if you're Schezo.

Same with the everyday man, keep your distance. If she spots you, it's absolutely over. Schezover, even.

If she spots you, everything changes now from the everyday man. She wants to approach you, she wants you...r items, or actually legit you. Don't show visible panic. Pretend she's not coming.

There's no shot you're going to be able to keep conversations short, she probably knows that you're trying to leave fast. However, try to keep your responses short enough, but not short to the point that she catches on.

If she asks for You, do NOT panic externally, which is easier said than done. Try to ask to elaborate. If she doesn't, you're fucked. If she does, give the thing to her...unless it's your clothes.

If you run, she's will very much chase you. There's several pieces of evidence for that, and unless you can run 100 meters in maybe 12 seconds, she will catch up to you with her broom. Even then, stamina issues for people, and she flies. Don't risk it unless you're absolutely confident.

This is a situation where you want her to leave first. If you noticed with some of the times Schezo gets harassed, she tended to leave first (Puyo 20th, Waku Puyo,) while in some cases, Schezo got out first (Madou Saturn, PuyoLympics but that went poorly), so try to make her leave first by doing...God know what.

If she tries to fight you, fight back. Self-defense is always good, and if you're Schezo or have a body similar to his, odds are her Meteor will hit you, but you'll survive. He's survived worse, you probably can too.

If everything goes well, you're free. Least for a little longer.

If you lose the fight, and everything else failed, FUCKING RUN. If Schezo can do it upon losing to her in Waku Waku Puyo Puyo Dungeon, you can too. Probably. Maybe.

Proof you can probably survive a Meteor:

(The Witch uses her spell...for 66 damage.)

-----

Let's Say, Theoretically, She Gets Arrested. What Happens?

(Old image my girlfriend made years ago. Little did we know how it'd end.)

Prosecuting her will very much be a challenge because simply put, there's no damn police in Madou/Primp. Well, good ones at least.

For you see, there ARE police in Primp or Madou as a whole. But in Quest, there's police in Intral City, the place Atari's from, but unfortunately, even in there, they don't exactly do much.

Call up Miles Edgeworth and teleport him here, then we got a shot, or even some other stupid good lawyer.

I'm no Laywer, but I think she'd go to jail for her crimes.

-----

Conclusion:

The Witch is a very dangerous felon. Armed and Dangerous, it's best to stay as far away as possible, especially if your name is Schezo Wegey or occasionally Arle Nadja. If you see her...well, you have the steps, or you can say fuck it and ball. Your choice.

-----

And Now, Actual Updates:

I enjoyed writing this, it was fun. With this, I'll repeat myself from last posts.

I'll be taking a 2 week break from this. I'm experiencing minor burnout and I do need a break, I've been doing this consistently for a couple of months now.

I'll also be taking a break during Thanksgiving week, Christmas, and New Years week as well to spend time with family.

Thank you all for your support, it means an absolute ton to me and I'm grateful I have people who actually love my work. Hell, I've even made a few new friends from this, and I couldn't be any happier with the progress I made.

I began this stuff on the notion that no one will read these, but it'd be better to document these sorta things just for fun. Little did I know, a little over 35 followers later, that people would enjoy what I made and the info I share, even if some of it is... somewhat peculiar. The support I've gotten from the community is unreal, and it's genuinely appreciated that you guys care so much. Even you reading this means a lot to me.

Thanks guys. Happy Halloween. Hope you enjoyed the show.