#the consequence of loyalty by weird

[weirdestbooks]

The Consequence of Loyalty Chapter 3

A Lowered Guard Invites Suffering (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Mind the warnings for this one.

━─━────༺January 1, 1943༻────━─━

It was 1943—a new year. New beginnings. 

Kentucky wasn’t sure how he was meant to feel about it. 

He had always enjoyed celebrating the New Year with his family. It was…it was a hard holiday for them to celebrate sometimes, with their lifespans and all the loss they had seen over the years, but it was still something they could find comfort in.

Even when they were unable to celebrate it together.

But this? This was different. 

Kentucky wasn’t just busy and unable to come or caught up in global affairs that made holidays a second though. Kentucky was a prisoner, one who had been starved, beaten, and died far more than he should have. 

Kentucky knew this holiday would be different. There was no cheer or celebration, only the thin veil of tension that always hung over the camp.

Kentucky would have rather been fighting off the Japanese on Bataan with Philippines than in this situation. 

A part of him felt guilty about it, although he knew he had made the right choice in the end.

Kentucky was often given a lot of time to think during the long days of forced labor as he tried to push aside the lightheadedness he could feel growing from time to time.

He wished they could have had a break, but there were no breaks for slaves.

A different sort of guilt churned in Kentucky’s stomach. 

“Happy New Year, Frankie,” Dick whispered, leaning over from where he was bent over, picking endlessly at the field. Kentucky let a small smile tug at his lips.

“I’d say it back,” he whispered, “But it wouldn't exactly be honest.”

“Hope this will be the first and last New Year's we have to celebrate here,” Dick whispered back. Kentucky frowned at that. He had never really thought of it that way, as with his age, years sometimes blurred together, and it was hard to tell when one began and one ended sometimes, but Dick was right.

The New Year was more than a holiday they were unable to celebrate; they were trapped in prison, trapped in a place where they barely seemed human, but it was a marker that time had passed.

Sure, they had surrendered in April, but with the New Year…that was only four months away. They had been imprisoned for eight months, and they were getting close to being imprisoned for a year.

Kentucky didn’t want to wrap his head around that.

Eight months didn’t feel long to him, but to boys like Dick and Charlie, like Eugene, who were so young, of course, that felt like a long time. 

These experiences could steal a year from their lives, maybe more, and forever change them.

Kentucky had been touched by the horrors of war.

He knew how hard it was to cope with those scars.

For a fleeting moment, he felt more human.

But only for a fleeting moment. He never stopped feeling the immortality thrumming through his veins. 

He didn’t want to anymore.

━─━────༺January 20, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky hated his stupid “work detail.” It was…terrible.

The hot sun and endless work caused his skin to crack and burn, more aches to add to the ever-present pangs of hunger. 

It was less humiliating than being forced to repair military facilities for his enemies, but that didn’t mean he hated it any less.

He hated the guards even more. The stupid J-ps seemed to get off on controlling them, on shutting up anything they disliked.

Kentucky…he wasn’t an innocent man, and now wasn’t the time to be, with how badly he needed God’s assistance, but at least when he had slaves, they were allowed to sing working songs. Kentucky hadn’t minded that.

But the J-ps…there was something almost inhuman about the way they treated Kentucky and the American POWs.

A small part of Kentucky wondered if that was how his slaves had viewed him.

Kentucky knew it wasn’t the same and that comparing them was unfair, but he couldn’t help it. He was a soldier, same as any of the J-ps guarding their prison. Why didn’t they want to see that? What was the point in pretending they were lessers?

“Frank, your mind is wandering,” Charlie hissed. Kentucky blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts, realizing that he had paused in his…his work.

“Sorry,” Kentucky whispered. Sometimes, getting lost in his thoughts was the only way to take his mind off everything. 

“I don’t want to see you hurt again. It’s a miracle you’re still alive. Please don’t…” Charlie trailed off, and Kentucky nodded.

“I won’t. You and I will see freedom one day. I promise,” Kentucky replied before staring back down at the field and sighing.

He had done a lot in his long life, but nothing seemed to strain his muscles the way this work did. Nothing had made his body burn more.

Kentucky hated it. But he would live. He had to.

God gave him a purpose, and Kentucky knew it was still unfulfilled. Kentucky would live.

He…he hoped. 

Kentucky didn’t want God to lose faith in him and chose not to return him if he were to die again.

Kentucky didn’t think He would do that…but it was so easy to worry nowadays. 

Oh Lord, please give me strength. Please let me still be the Kentucky for my people. I know I am trapped and humiliated, but I still care for them, as you have created me too. Oh, Lord, I promise, if you give me strength and allow me to live, I will dedicate my life to you and be of your service like Mass has. I promise I do not take your gift of life lightly. 

Kentucky didn’t hear a response to his prayer. He rarely did. But Kentucky had faith in his God. He had faith that it would work out.

It had to. 

He promised Dick. He promised Charlie. He promised Philippines. 

And before he even stepped foot into this country, he promised his Pa.

Kentucky would reunite with his family, his people, and his land, feeling the familiar connection hum beneath his feet. He missed it, even if Kentucky could still feel that bond. But it was different when he was on foreign soil. 

He missed his land.

He couldn’t wait to see it again.

━─━────༺February 10, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky was glad that his people had not abandoned him. Their presence, the connection that tied him with them, kept him grounded in reality on the worst of days, reminding him that there was still good in the world, reminding him that he still had people who needed him, who would fight for him, who were him.

He needed to be strong, to survive for them.

But at the same time…Kentucky needed them. He needed their strength. He needed them to be there for him.

So he clung tightly to that bond, gripping it tight and praying that it would never fade or break.

He needed it. He needed them. 

Sometimes, when Kentucky had nothing else he could do, he clung tightly to that bond. As he was unable to sleep tonight, he clung to it, hoping it would all feel better in the morning.

He knew it wouldn’t, but he wanted to hope. 

As Kentucky clung tighter to the bond, he began to feel the aches and pains of his body fade away as his eyes fluttered and his breathing deepened.

Kentucky knew it wasn’t good to enter this state, but it was so easy to slide away from human connection. His bond was tied to so many other things much more strongly than it had ever been tied to his body and humanity.

Not even he was able to process the nature of what he was.

Kentucky’s breaths deepened.

Kentucky’s eyes fluttered some more.

Pain and hunger faded into dim nothingness. 

K̴̲̓͛ĕ̴̞̟̱n̷̰͋̅ṱ̷̼̐ͅȕ̸̼̣c̷͍̟̫͐k̴̖͒̅̋y̸͖̞̥͗͒̎ was drifting.

John, you get back here!

Please, God, don’t let me die here.

I love you, Martha.

Mommy!

Hey, chief, what do you need?

Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded—

Kentucky's eyes snapped open, and he lurched forward, nearly falling off his cot as panic rushed through him, his soul snapping back into place. His ears were ringing, and his head hurt. 

He had—if he hadn’t caught himself—how did he do that accidentally?

Kentucky was just trying to hold tighter to his bond with his people. Why did that begin to pull the soul from his body, something that could have gotten him killed if the wrong person saw it?

How did that happen? That had never happened to him before.

“Frank? Are you okay?” Dick asked, concern in his voice. Kentucky nodded, perhaps quicker than he should have.

“Yes…I’m okay. I'm just having trouble sleepin’. Don’t worry about me,” Kentucky said, giving his friend a reassuring smile, feeling more distant from his humanity than he should.

“You looked…there was…never mind,” Dick said, shaking his head, “I think I might be getting sick.”

“You should go to the hospital,” Kentucky suggested. It was safe for Dick to go, even if he wasn’t for Kentucky. Dick shook his head.

“I don’t trust them J-p doctors not to kill me for the sake of it. I can tough it out, Frank, don’t you worry,” Dick said, giving Kentucky a small smile. Kentucky frowned.

Humans. What a stubborn species.

“Fine. But if it gets any worse, I’m forcin’ you to go. I ain’t losing anyone else. Not after Eugene,” Kentucky said, looking Dick straight in the eyes. Dick nodded as they fell back into silence, leaving Kentucky alone with his thoughts.

Kentucky didn’t grip as tightly to his bond anymore.

He couldn’t risk that happening again.

━─━────༺February 28, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky had never been this hungry before. He had said that word before. He had said that he was starving when his father was just a little too late with dinner or when he was making dinner for himself.

Kentucky couldn’t believe how naive he had been. How foolish he had been to joke that hunger was starvation.

It wasn’t like starvation.

It wasn’t like that at all.

It wasn’t just the hunger that he felt. It was the cold that had settled deep within his bones and refused to leave, the dizziness and vertigo when he stood up too quickly, the nausea, the weakness, and the pangs that hurt more than any wound.

It hurt to move. It hurt to move, and yet he still had to because his J-p captors needed him to work, to slave away for their God-forsaken empire. Sometimes, the realization that it was time to get up and move and walk to his work made Kentucky want to cry.

He felt like he was wasting away into nothing. 

Maybe, in a way, he was.

The hunger pains were particularly intense today, heightened by Kentucky’s refusal to eat the good food. The human prisoners needed it. He would survive without it. He had survived worse.

Well…he thought he had survived worse. He had never felt like this before in his life. It was an agony he would not have wished upon anyone, not even the guards of the prison. 

Kentucky knew if they knew how much pain starvation caused a man, they would immediately ensure they were all fed.

Well…if they had the empathy that most humans had, something that Kentucky was beginning to feel they lacked. He was no innocent man, but he liked to think that he would have never done something like this to any human being.

Kentucky shivered in his cot, pulling his legs closer to his chest, biting down a groan as he felt another wave of pain hit him.

Who knew hunger could hurt so much? 

It was agony, and Kentucky was not looking forward to standing tomorrow, knowing that he might pass out again, the blackness that seemed to permanently rest in the corners of his vision growing stronger. 

Kentucky wondered how much smaller he looked. 

He knew he had lost weight, as had everyone else within the prison, and he had seen his arms grow skinny, the fat and muscle sliding away, leaving skin attached to bone.

Would his family still recognize him? Kentucky didn’t know.

Kentucky would rather be beaten again than deal with the hunger. He didn’t want to be hungry—to be starving anymore.

But the J-p overlords had declared for him to starve.

So starve Kentucky did.

━─━────༺March 12, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky often wondered what Philippines was doing. The puppet state that controlled his body was surely using him for propaganda purposes and maybe even to stamp out the resistances and guerillas that Kentucky knew were still out there, but how was Philippines himself?

Kentucky knew it had to be hard to watch as your body did things against your will, wholly controlled by an outside power who saw herself as a savior.

Kentucky hoped that Philippines was mainly being used in propaganda. He knew that Philippines would despise it either way, but at least in that way, he wouldn’t be attacking and killing his own people or sending them to the Hell on Earth that the POW camps were.

Kentucky hated being trapped here. He wanted to help Philippines; he wanted to do something about the puppet state that was forcing Philippines to serve the whims of the Japanese Empire. 

He should have joined the guerillas. Half-starved, but fighting was better and probably safer than being here. Even if Kentucky knew he had no way to get to a guerilla group, and he did the best he could at the moment.

At the same time…Kentucky didn’t know how much he would have been able to do from there. Would he have felt just as useless if he were in a guerilla army as in here?

Kentucky didn’t know. 

Kentucky wished that it was easier to get news about Philippines. He figured it would be something the Japanese would have loved to lord over the Americans, how they conquered the country they were meant to be protecting, but even the guards seemed strangely tight-lipped about how Philippines was.

Kentucky wished he could ask, but he knew that would probably result in him being beaten or detained. 

Asking about Philippines was a dangerous game.

That didn’t stop Kentucky from wanting to play. 

He had heard rumors that an important person from the Japanese army had visited recently, heard rumors that they were going to give Philippines his “independence.”

Philippines was already meant to become independent. If the rumors were true, Kentucky knew it was going to be used to tighten the grip of the puppet.

It had to be some sort of false promise. No one conquers a nation to give it independence, especially one as important as Philippines, who was favorable towards Japan’s enemies and existed right next to her supply lines.

A false promise to placate the public.

But that still left Kentucky worrying about Philippines. 

Where was he? And what was happening to him? Was he still in the Philippines, so close to Kentucky and yet so far away? Or had he been taken to Japan? 

What was the extent of the programming that Japan had given to the puppet state? 

Kentucky didn’t know, and the worries ate away at him when he gave them a place to thrive. He tried to put them out of his mind. Philippines was strong. He had fought off the puppet state for four months, been through martial law, through war, and colonization, and knew how to fight. 

Kentucky knew he would always fight against Japan because the independence she promised him was a tainted kind. 

A small part of Kentucky worried that Philippines might get desperate and accept the offer, accept Japan’s independence that might leave him as a pseudo-colony, or worse, still a puppet, but Kentucky tried to push those worries aside.

He had to have faith in his brother.

They would get through this. 

━─━────༺April 1, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky should have realized that the malaria would return. He knew it was a disease that could plague a person for years, returning again and again, even if they were no longer in a tropical environment.

But his mind had been so consumed by worries over Philippines, his friends, and his own survival that the fact had completely slipped his mind until the malaria returned, leaving him bedbound. 

Well, it should have left him bedbound. It wasn’t as extreme as the version he had before, and Kentucky was determined not to go back to that hospital, so when the guards came to take him out to the field to begin his long day of work, he tried to pretend as if he wasn’t sick.

Kentucky was a statehuman. He could last longer than humans.

And he couldn’t be found.

That didn’t stop his body from feeling so weak, from the lightheadedness that plagued him.

Sickness and starvation were a terrible combination.

Kentucky had never felt so weak in his entire life. His legs trembled, his body felt sore all over, and there was a sickness-caused fog in his mind that made it impossible for him to think.

If he was in any better shape, Kentucky knew that unwanted tears would stream from his face. 

But his mouth was dry, the thirst adding to the pain he felt. 

He couldn’t cry.

So Kentucky did what he could to push forward.

When they were brought back to the prison, Kentucky quickly retreated to his barrack. He needed to sit down. His head was spinning, and he was afraid he might pass out—an almost surefire way to be discovered.

“Frank, are you okay?” Charlie asked, having followed Kentucky in. Kentucky instantly pulled a mask on, straightening his back as he tried to hide the illness that was ravaging his weakened body.

“As okay as one can be in here,” Kentucky said, wincing at the raspyness in his voice.

“Are you sure?” Charlie asked, frowning, “You’ve been off all day.”

“Never better,” Kentucky reaffirmed. Charlie didn’t look like he believed Kentucky for one second.

It made Kentucky’s heart hurt, how good of a friend he had made and how much he had to keep from him in order to protect them both.

If this were a typical war, Charlie would have been told already.

But this was the furthest thing from a typical war.

This was Hell on Earth, a war that seemed to be a punishment from the Heavens. Kentucky had thought the First World War was terrible.

But nothing was worse than being left to rot in the middle of a jungle, where your only worth became the labor you could be forced into.

“Frank,” Charlie said, his voice becoming serious. Kentucky looked up at his friend, seeing his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“I’m okay. Others need it more. You know everything we have here is limited. We’re no one’s concern. I’ll survive. I’ve been through the wringer here, but I refuse to die here. I’m going to die in my home,” Kentucky said, voice firm. Charlie looked unconvinced but backed down. 

Kentucky let out a sigh of relief and collapsed down onto the bed.

He hoped this relapse cleared up quickly. He was weak enough as is.

Kentucky didn’t want to die again. 

He knew he would come back, but the thought was starting to scare him as he grew weaker.

He felt like a small human child with a deathly illness, begging for someone to save him.

Kentucky knew he would be saved someday. He just didn’t know when.

━─━────༺April 27, 1943༻────━─━

“Dear Lord. I always have faith that you will return me to life. That faith has never wavered because you have never failed to do it before. I know you will always be looking out for me. I trust you completely,” Kentucky began his prayer, hands clasped and voice lowered to a whisper.

He was alone in the barracks—for now—and his prayer was one of a confidential and private nature.

It was dangerous. 

But he had to pray. He needed to release his anxiety and fear with his words to God, needed to ask Him for help.

“But I ask of you, please do not wait until I have entered your kingdom to bring me back. Please, keep me alive, keep my soul in my body, or return me to life with such swiftness that no one would have realized that I passed. I fear if I were to die again, they will discover my identity and do whatever it takes to use me against my father,” Kentucky continued. 

Kentucky didn’t want to be demanding or sound like he was ungrateful. God had granted him a great many miracles before and had always stood by Kentucky through thick and thin, but Kentucky had also never been in a situation this dangerous before.

Kentucky lived in a state of fear and paranoia, a state where he kept his head down and tried to do whatever it took to hide and blend it. To make himself small, so angry eyes passed over him.

Kentucky tried so hard to be as human as he could. But he felt so…so inhuman in this place. Something about it seemed to strip away the last traces of Kentycky’s humanity, leaving behind the state in its place.

Kentucky knew it was probably just his fear talking, but he had never felt less human than he did at the moment when he needed to be as human as possible.

It scared him.

“I pray for your guidance and protection. Please help me, help everyone here live to see freedom. Please protect and look after all those that will never get to see it. In Jesus’ Name, I pray, Amen,” Kentucky finished, letting his hands fall into his lap.

Kentucky needed to stay alive. 

He didn’t have any other options.

━─━────༺May 12, 1943༻────━─━

“Do you ever wonder if our families know what happened to us?” Charlie asked one evening. Dick groaned, and Kentucky nodded.

“I’ve been trying not to,” he said. Charlie grimaced.

“Sorry. It’s been on my mind for a while,” Charlie apologized. 

“It’s been on my mind too. I have brothers, and I know they are fightin’ in the war. I sometimes wonder if some of them have asked to fight in the Pacific because they know I’m here…but…I don’t know if the government would have told any of my family what happened to me,” Kentucky explained.

Kentucky knew that the last part was a lie. His family has almost certainly been told because they were the personifications of the United States. But it wasn’t like that for normal human families. 

“I didn’t even think of that,” Charlie said. “You really think they would keep our families in the dark?”

“It might not even be on purpose. They might not have any way of knowing if we are prisoners, or part of the guerillas, or dead. If they know anything, it’s that we are missing in action, but Frank’s right. They probably don’t know anything more,” Dick pointed out, prompting Kentucky to nod in agreement. Charlie’s fists clenched before he sighed.

“I…I hadn’t considered that. I was…I was hoping my wife knew something. If I…” Charlie trailed off, looking away.

“Your child is going to have a father, Charlie,” Dick said, his voice firm and resolute, as if he wholly believed what he was saying.

Kentucky didn’t feel as confident. He could feel the empty space where Eugene would have been. 

“If something does happen, Charlie, I’ll make sure your wife and child know what happened. Know that you wanted to be with them,” Kentucky said. He was immortal and would survive this Hell, even if Charlie and Dick didn’t. He owed it to them to ensure their families knew what happened. 

“Thanks, Frank,” Charlie said with a shaky smile.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore. It’s depressing enough here without talking about hypotheticals in which we’re dead,” Dick said. Kentucky nodded, knowing that Dick was right. They needed to hold tight to their will to live, to their faith in God.

That would give them the strength to survive their trial.

Kentucky couldn’t let that waver, even if he wanted to. He needed to be strong.

“Yeah…I don’t like letting my mind run away from me. I like to imagine that my siblings are kicking the ass of the J-ps and on their way to get us. I know it’s unlikely, but it’s nice to imagine that the people that will rescue us are people that are familiar to me,” Kentucky confessed. 

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Charlie asked, a wistful smile on his face. 

“It would,” Kentucky confirmed, looking up at the ceiling of the barrack. He knew his family had the influence to make it happen.

He just hoped no one did anything stupid to try and make it happen. 

━─━────༺May 28, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky wasn’t a man who lived a soft life. He had been born at the end of the 18th century, shortly after his father’s country had been created. He was the first state to be created after independence, as Vermont had joined after his jaunt as a republic. 

Kentucky had been a frontiersmen. He lived in the woods, hunted and farmed his own food (well, farmed for the most part), and had been self-sufficient. 

Kentucky had never been a man for cities, for the plantations his southern siblings loved. He loved mountains, the outdoors, hiking, exploring, and doing many other intense physical activities. 

He did things that challenged his body.

And yet…this work he was being made to do, farming for the limited food he and his fellow prisoners under the hot, humid, Philippine sun, challenged his body like nothing else. 

Kentucky knew it had to be the starvation and the lingering malaria. Both illnesses had sapped his strength. The Japanese knew that. The prisoners far outnumbered the Japanese guards they had, but none of them could fight back, even if they were given weapons. They were all too weak.

The environment he wasn’t used to, the weakness in his body, it all combined to make the labor Kentucky was forced to do harder than it should have been. It took the little strength he had and left him too weak and exhausted to do much at the end of the day.

Kentucky wasn’t helping the matter, eating as little as he could stand in order to ensure that the humans got more, something that only exasperated the weakness and the hunger that clawed at his stomach and mind.

Kentucky knew he was hungry enough to eat anything that he would be able to digest. It felt…shameful. 

But that was life when you were a prisoner of war. It was shame, a constant attempt to keep you downtrodden enough not to resist. 

Because prisoners of war were still soldiers. 

That was why the J-ps kept them weak.

Kentucky hated it. 

━─━────༺June 1, 1943༻────━─━

Another birthday had passed.

Kentucky was now 151. And he was still imprisoned.

Kentucky wondered if his family was doing anything for his birthday. Kanawha might be doing something, but it would be hard to celebrate his birthday, considering that he wouldn’t be there to celebrate it.

Kentucky sighed. He wished he had lost track of time a year ago, so he wouldn’t have to know when his birthday passed, have to be so aware of the passage of time, how long they had really been here, how much they were actually missing. 

He wondered if his family would be insistent on throwing parties for the dates he missed. Wartime always affected how they celebrated things, but Kentucky couldn’t even get a letter wishing him a happy birthday.

Instead, he was forced into doing labor for the Japanese as he slowly starved.

Kentucky could see his family insisting on a celebration.

He wouldn’t…he wouldn’t mind one. It would be nice to celebrate something for once. It was a significant milestone that he had missed, after all. It was always the ones that ended in zero that caused the biggest celebrations.

10, 50, 100, 150, and so on.

Who knows how many more birthdays Kentucky would have here? Would he turn 155? 160?

How long would he be here?

Kentucky knew birthdays were supposed to be a day of celebration. Still, for him, they only served to remind him of how much time was passing, how much time he was spending in this prison, wasting away and being made to suffer for trying to protect the same people the Japanese claimed they were hurting.

The unfairness of it all made him furious.

But war had never been fair. War never would be. It couldn’t be. 

“You look upset,” Charlie asked, sitting next to Kentucky. Kentucky laughed.

“It’s my birthday,” he said, “And I’m thinking about my family because of it.”

“Oh. Happy birthday,” Charlie said, looking surprised. 

“Thanks. It’s…strange. Birthdays are a…decently big thing in my family, at least with siblings closer to each other, and…it’s strange being in this situation again. I guess a part of me hoped I would have been freed by now,” Kentucky said.

“That would have been a nice gift,” Charlie joked. Kentucky smiled.

“Yeah…it would have been. Do you think we’ll be freed soon?” Kentucky asked. Charlie shrugged.

“I don’t know. I hope so,” he said. Kentucky frowned. 

“Yeah. Me too. I don’t…it’s stop hurting as much, everything. I think I’m numb to it. And I…I wish that it could all be over.”

“It will be someday.”

“Yeah, it will be.”

━─━────༺June 29, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky’s clothes were practically falling off him. It was to be expected, as he hadn’t been given any new clothes since he was captured over a year ago, and the hard labor hadn’t. Once someone took into account how skinny he had gotten since he was captured, from starvation draining away his fat and muscle, it made sense that his uniform was too big and too beat up for him. 

But it was becoming a problem. 

There were already several holes in it, and the Japanese had not given them anything to fix their clothing, leaving them with uniforms that were slowly turning into rags. 

Kentucky had accidentally torn a hole in the leg of it yesterday and was not trying to figure out a way to keep it closed but to no avail. 

There simply wasn’t anything that could truly close it up.

With a sign, Kentucky fell backward onto his bed. They needed new clothes, and soon. The sun was already baking them hard enough, leaving several of the men sunburnt, and the more skin that was exposed, the worse it would be.

Not to mention how humiliating it was to be half-naked in front of your friends, peers, and enemies.

Kentucky was grateful his clothes were holding together, but he knew they were reaching their last legs. They would start coming undone soon, and…Kentucky didn’t know what it would mean when they finally crumbled.

Would that prompt the Japanese to give them new clothing, even if it’s cheap and poorly made?

Or were they already too much of a waste of money to the J-ps?

Kentucky didn’t know.

He hoped they would give them new clothing.

But he knew their modesty wasn’t exactly a high priority for the Japanese. They weren’t fellow soldiers or prisoners of war. They were their enemy, the subhuman Americans; they were only good for slave labor. 

Kentucky hated it.

“If you keep messing with that, you’re only going to make it bigger,” Dick called. Kentucky rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just was checking to see if there was a way to help the problem,” Kentucky said, looking back down at the hole in his pants, seeing his pale, bony leg through it, the cloth hanging limply from it.

God, Kentucky looked like shit, didn’t he?

He was skinny, pale, sunburned, and wearing loose rags that were too big for him. He looked like someone who had gotten lost in the mountains for months and nearly died from exposure.

Kentucky hated it. 

He hated it a lot.

━─━────༺July 4, 1943༻────━─━

“Happy Independence Day, Pa,” Kentucky muttered to himself as the dawn broke. Another celebration of America’s independence had come, but like with all holidays, the J-ps didn’t care, and the routine that had governed their lives since they had marched to this camp months ago continued. 

He wondered if his Pa or uncle were doing anything for it. Independence Day had always been a big thing in their family, considering how many of them were veterans of the War for Independence. It had been almost like a second Thanksgiving, a day for family and celebration.

It also happened to be Iowa’s birthday as well, so it was also a duel celebration of her birth. Iowa had always liked her birthday, and joking about it made her the most American state. She would always get mad when people called it her father’s birthday.

Kentucky missed her so much it hurt.

Kentucky missed his family. He missed their stupid conversations, their jokes, and everything about them. 

He missed them all. He wanted to be with them, celebrating with them, in a place where his biggest worry wasn’t if the Japanese were close to finding out who he was, close to killing him, to killing his friends. 

He didn’t want to be in a place where he had to be scared to survive. He wanted to be free to celebrate with his family. 

But the world wasn’t kind enough for that. 

At least not now.

“Happy Birthday, Iowa,” Kentucky muttered again as if his family could hear him, as if they would get his message and know he was thinking of them, know that he wants to be with him, be home soon.

He wondered how close they were to liberating the camp. He didn’t think they were in the Philippines, not yet, but he knew they had to hit the Philippines at some point.

And even though General MacArthur had left them, he had wanted to stay, wanted to come back for the Philippines. 

Someone would have to come for them. 

Kentucky hoped so, at least. They were an army that was meant to be abandoned. They were destined to get captured by the Japanese as soon as they arrived on Philippine soil.

Kentucky hoped that didn’t mean no one would come for them, that the only way they would get their freedom was through a prisoner exchange or through a peace treaty with the Japanese Empire.

Because the longer they were left to rot, the fewer people there would be to save.

If Kentucky, Philippines, and all the people abandoned here were abandoned again…well, Kentucky would never forgive them for that. He would understand Philippines’ anger with his father and siblings. 

He would understand, maybe not completely, but a little.

Philippines was set to become a country soon, but when they were invaded, he was still an American territory. It was the obligation of the US military to come to his aid, to come and rescue them.

If they didn’t come…it meant they didn’t care about Philippines or his people. They didn’t care enough to protect him, so what was the point in betraying him all those years ago?

Kentucky…Kentucky thought he finally understood Philippines. 

Kentucky really did hope that his family and government would come for him.

Kentucky also didn’t have too much faith in that.

It was a hard hit to his already low morale.

━─━────༺August 16, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky had been scared when the J-ps began marching them all out of camp. It was more than the typical work group, and he worried that with everyone’s declining health, they had finally outlived their usefulness to the Japanese. 

But…something seemed different. They had given them all food, which…they wouldn’t give them food if they were about to kill them all.

It didn’t make any sense. 

Kentucky was led to a truck with a couple of other prisoners of war, and the Japanese started driving. Kentucky exchanged nervous looks with Charlie, unsure of what was happening.

They had been given food, and now they were in a truck heading to God knows where. Were they being taken to a new part of the Philippines for forced labor?

Kentucky and the others didn’t know, and the trip passed in a tense, fearful silence. 

Kentucky watched as the jungle faded into more jungle, but this time in the mountains. His hands curled into fists, fear flooding him. 

The mountains were where the guerillas were. Was this meant to be a prisoner exchange, or were they about to be made an example of?

Kentucky tried to calm his unsteady breathing, knowing he needed to be calm in case of anything that happened.

But his mind ran away from him, creating scenario after scenario, each worse than the last. 

Eventually, the trucks came to a stop, revealing an open area. Still dotted with hills, it didn't look like any place the Japanese would need forced labor in.

Then Kentucky noticed the weapons.

It was…it was a pile of American weapons, American uniforms, and helmets, just like the remains of one that Kentucky had been wearing every day since his capture.

Kentucky’s confusion only grew as the prisoners of war were brought to the piles, being made to take one of each item before trying it on.

They were…the guards were being strangely nice, and Kentucky’s paranoia grew. Was this some sort of elaborate setup so the Japanese could execute them all and have the excuse that it was self-defense?

But, as Kentucky took his new clothes, helmet, and weapon, he checked and could see that it was empty.

Kentucky had been beaten for less before, and the fact that no one said anything only made him more suspicious.

But looking around the cleaning again, the picture suddenly became clear.

The Japanese were…making a movie?

There was a film camera with a man behind it. Kentucky released with a start that the reason they were being treated so well was that they were needed to film whatever scenes they needed with American soldiers. The Japanese weren't going to reveal that they had been abusing the American prisoners of war and not letting them have any clothes.

They were being treated nicely because it was a facade for a propaganda film.

Kentucky didn’t mind all that much. It was better than being killed.

“No attempts at escaping,” one of the guards ordered. “You are to walk over that hill, throw the weapons to the ground, and act as if you are surrendering.”

Were they trying to recreate the surrender at Bataan? It made sense if they were. The actual surrender had been full of murder and beatings. 

The Japanese wouldn’t want to show that, but they would still want to show that they had forced an American army into surrender.

Anger ran through him. Kentucky did what he was told.

He didn’t want to take part in this movie. He didn’t want to help the Japanese hide all the crimes they had committed at Bataan, pretend like none of them had happened, pretend that it had been a standard surrender.

But the gun in his hand was empty, and there was a knife at his throat.

Kentucky tightened his grip on the weapon.

At least they had new clothes.

Kentucky and the others did what they were told, crossing over the hill and depositing their weapons into a big pile, trying to pretend like they couldn’t see the camera like there weren’t Japanese soldiers covering the area, ready to kill whoever stepped out of line.

Then, in a matter of moments, they were all being loaded back up onto the trucks, ready to be driven back to Hell.

When they arrived back at the camp, the guards began ordering people to drop the helmets and guns if anyone still had one.

But much to Kentucky’s horror and surprise, they also were ordering the prisoners of war to drop the fresh clothes as well, as if they wanted the Americans to change back into the rags they had been wearing.

Kentucky, like most of the others, gave up his helmet, but instead of giving the Japanese the fresh clothes, he gave them his rags.

Thankfully, they didn’t press the issue too much, much to Kentucky’s relief.

He didn’t want to give up the new clothes.

But he didn’t want to be beaten either.

He just hoped no one ever saw that film. It was humiliating.

Kentucky could handle whatever the Japanese threw at him.

He just didn’t want anyone he knew to find out what they had done to him.

━─━────༺September 1, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky had a big family. So when it came time for war, they were often scattered across the front, each choosing to fight in his own area.

Some preferred the navy, others the army, some the marines, and a few states had shown interest in the air force and were joining that fledgling field. 

It made it next to impossible for all of them to be in the same area at once. 

So Kentucky couldn’t really guess where any of them would be. The government was prioritizing Europe first; that much was clear, but that didn’t change what his siblings wanted to do. The government could commit all the troops they wanted into Europe, but it was a waste, as they couldn’t do much, as they didn’t have a foothold in Europe.

Last Kentucky checked anyway. 

But with the attack on Hawaiʻi and the capture of Guam, Philippines, and Kentucky, Kentucky knew much of his family would prefer to dedicate their focus to the War in the Pacific, a place where they had a personal investment. 

Kentucky wondered who was here. Most likely, the states on the West Coast who would be Japan’s next targets if she were to succeed more than she already had. And Kanawha, too, who would probably choose to fight in the Pacific just because Kentucky was here.

At least, Kentucky hoped she was here. He didn’t want her to become a prisoner like him, but Kanawha wasn’t just his little sister; she was his best friend, and Kentucky hoped she would be there for him.

The thoughts were a bit selfish and self-indulgent, but Kentucky just…he wanted to see the people closest to him. War was long, and they had been separated for years before because of it…but something about this felt different. 

Being a prisoner without any contact with one’s family was much different than being a soldier with limited contact. 

They could write letters. They could talk a little bit.

Kentucky couldn’t do that here.

Kentucky wondered about his siblings in the Navy. Delaware and New York had been in service since 1939. Were they still in the Atlantic, or were they now in the Pacific, where naval power determined what you could do?

Was Pa fighting anywhere in the Pacific, or was his government making him stay in Europe to be a diplomat with all the countries that had fled to Britain?

During war, news about countryhumans became scarce unless they were needed as a figurehead. Countryhumands would assume human form and name, a protective measure against those who sought to use them to break the will of their people.

It left Kentucky with very little to go on about where they were.

He wished he knew more.

If only to settle the anxiety in his chest. 

━─━────༺October 14, 1943༻────━─━

There was something ominous in the air. Kentucky could feel it. The air in the camp had changed. Everyone could feel it.

It was mainly because of the way the guards were acting. They were a strange mix of nervous and excited, and it had everyone on edge.

Especially when none of them were taken out of the camp to do their forced labor. Everyone remained in the camp, waiting for something to happen.

Kentucky wondered if they were being taken to a new camp and were getting ready to march. It didn’t seem likely, but Kentucky was trying his best to reassure himself of a reason that didn’t involve them being massacred.

Around noon, all the prisoners were forced to stand in front of a platform that must have been built overnight.

Kentucky felt a wave of fear and confusion hit him as he tried to keep himself calm.

Something was off. Something was very off, and Kentucky didn’t know what.

Then someone stepped onto the stage, and Kentucky’s heart stopped, breath catching in his throat as he was struck with such an overwhelming feeling of fear that he nearly passed out.

It was Japan. 

Dressed in a military uniform, sword at her side, and hair tied into a neat bun, she surveyed the crowd of prisoners before her, expression steely. Kentucky could have sworn her gaze fell onto him, and he ducked his head, not wanting to accidentally meet her eyes.

“Hello,” Japan said. She wasn’t speaking particularly loud, but her voice carried across the camp, which had fallen into a fearful silence. “I’m sure you’re wondering what has brought me to your camp.”

You could taste the silence that had befallen the camp, and out of the corner of his eye, Kentucky watched as Charlie’s face morphed into one of pure terror.

“Well, the Philippines has finally become an independent country. He and I were talking last night, and he revealed that when you all surrendered at Bataan, there was an American state amongst your ranks that was captured as well. I am here to retrieve that state,” Japan said, her tone, which had been even before changing into one full of malice, “I am here to bring that state back to where it belongs.”

Kentucky’s mouth was dry. He had been found out. It was all his worst nightmares come true. Japan’s voice promised terrible things. She wasn’t hiding her dislike, her anger, the fact that if he gave himself up, she wouldn’t treat him better than he was being treated here. 

Kentucky had never been more terrified in his entire life. It was as if he had been frozen in place, every muscle locked still by the sheer terror he was feeling.

His breaths were short, and Kentucky tried to keep the terror from his face. He needed to stay as human as he could. Maybe if he did that, Japan would try another camp.

“Therefore, I ask the state of Kentucky to please stop hiding and come with me. Philippines and I have things we need to discuss with you, and surely you want your father to know where you are?” Japan said, the malice fading into something more…amused almost.

Kentucky stayed quiet. As much as he wanted to see Philippines and his Pa again, he didn’t trust Japan as far as he could throw her.

The silence that came after her message was suffocating.

Kentucky couldn't breathe. 

The fear and silence were choking him, suffocating him.

“No?” Japan asked, her tone suddenly angry.

It took all of Kentucky’s self-control not to show his fear.

Japan then turned to one of the guards, barking something at him in her language. The guard then grabbed a prisoner, dragging them up to the top of the platform, before forcing him to his knees, gun to the back of his head.

“Let’s try this again, Kentucky. Stop hiding, or I will kill every American in this camp to find you. Surely you don’t want those deaths on your hands?” Japan asked, right as her guard murdered the American, dropping his body on the platform.

The gunshot broke Kentucky from his fearful trance. A few gasps echoed throughout the crowd, but no one dared to make a move.

“Don’t kill any more of them!” Kentucky called, shoving through the crowd before he even realized what he was doing. Knowing that he couldn’t back out of it now, Kentucky let his human face drop, revealing his flag as he reached the platform.

“Hello, Kentucky,” Japan said, something dark in her eyes, as she said something to the guards, prompting two of them to grab Kentucky by his arms and force him to his knees. One of them had a grip on his head and was pushing it downwards, making it appear as if Kentucky was bowing to Japan.

Kentucky fought against the hand holding his head so he could look back up at Japan, who had walked off the platform.

“If you leave them be, I’ll go with you. None of them knew it was me, so you have no reason to retaliate against them,” Kentucky reasoned. Japan tutted softly.

“You’re hardly in the position to make demands. You lost any rights you had when you surrendered,” Japan said, an amused look on her face. Kentucky gritted his teeth, and one of the guards forced Kentucky’s head back down.

“But I have no more personal use for them. They will continue their role, and you will fulfill yours,” Japan said, her voice calm.

“What does that mean?” Kentucky asked. He didn’t get an answer before he was roughly shoved into the dirt, some of which got into his mouth. There was a boot on the small of his back, grinding him further into the earth as someone tied his hands behind his back.

Kentucky fought it, struggling to breathe, until he was pulled to his feet, stumbling slightly as he blinked dirt out of his eyes.

As he tried to regain his bearings, he was gagged before the soldiers began to lead him out of the camp, Japan leading the way. 

When they exited the camp, Kentucky was forced into the back of a vehicle, Japan sitting beside him, her gaze studying him as if he were some interesting bug she had just found. Japan’s lips twitched.

“Don’t worry, Kentucky. I won’t kill you. You’re far too useful to my empire to die like a common soldier. You should be grateful. You are helping to free all those you once crushed underfoot,” Japan said.

Kentucky, gagged, could say nothing in response.

So, instead, he glared at Japan with as much hatred as he could.

Japan just looked amused.

━─━────༺October 15, 1943༻────━─━

As soon as they reached Manila, Kentucky had been thrown into a cell. 

His wrists were untied, revealing bright red rope burns before Kentucky was chained to a wall. Japan then left, leaving behind the two guards to stand in front of his cell.

Kentucky didn’t know how long ago that was. Time had sludged together, as he hadn’t been allowed to eat or drink anything, the gag remaining in place, and any time he began to drift off, one of the guards would enter the cell and hit him until he woke up.

Everything was beginning to blur together as Kentucky leaned forward slightly, the chains on his wrists and ankles being the only things holding him up.

His head pounded, and his mouth and throat were dry, only increasing the dizziness he felt. 

It could have been three hours or three days. 

Kentucky didn’t know.

The sounds of keys in a lock broke Kentucky from the trance he was in. He looked up to see Japan walking in, dressed in the same outfit as before, with a cup in her hand, which she placed down on the ground before untying the gag.

“Good morning,” Japan said as if she weren’t the warden holding him captive. Japan dropped the gag onto the ground before picking up the cup of water again. “I bet you’re thirsty.”

Japan then put the cup to Kentucky’s lips, and despite how humiliating it was, Kentucky drank the water, trying to hide just how desperate he was for it. It soothed his throat and mouth and settled the pounding in his head just a little.

But the cup, small to begin with, barely had any water in it, and before Kentucky knew it, it was empty, and Japan was pulling it away.

“Well, now that you are all settled, I think it’s time we set up the terms of our arrangement,” Japan said.

“You mean where you ask me for information on my family and their plans, and I don’t tell you anything?” Kentucky couldn’t help but snark. Japan sighed as if she were dealing with a misbehaving child and turned to say something to the guards. 

One of them left and returned only a few moments later, holding a long wooden rod in his hand, which he passed to Japan.

The rod was thick and seemed to be made of a hard, solid would.

Which would explain why it hurt so much when Japan swung it into his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“First rule,” Japan said, grabbing his face and forcing Kentucky to look her in the eyes. “You are beneath me, and I am your superior, and you will treat me as such. You will refer to me as Japan-sama and speak to me with respect. If not…”

Japan slammed the rod into Kentucky���s stomach, causing his body to hunch in on itself from the force of the blow.

“Understood?”

“Go to hell,” Kentucky spat. 

The next blow left him seeing stars, ears ringing as he slumped in his chains, dazed and moaning in pain.

Japan said something else, but Kentucky couldn't hear through the ever-present ringing. 

Then, a hand grabbed his hair, dragging his head upward until he was looking Japan in the eyes.

“You’re only making this harder for yourself,” Kentucky eventually heard through the ringing. Japan must have seen the understanding in his eyes because she dropped his head, letting it fall limply against his chest.

“I will ask questions. You are expected to answer. Anytime you refuse to answer or lie to me, you will be punished. The worse your lies and the longer your silence, the worse the punishment will be. Any assault against me or my guards will result in the same being done to you tenfold. I am not afraid to have a human kill you if needed,” Japan said, her tone cruel. “Understood?”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Kentucky said. 

Then, there was another blow to his ribs.

“You will,” Japan said, her voice full of such confidence that it made Kentucky sick. 

“I won’t,” Kentucky insisted. The next blow was to his arm, and Kentucky bit down hard, teeth grinding against each other as he tried to keep from screaming.

“What did you do to Hawaiʻi?” Japan asked. Kentucky stared at her in confusion. He had expected to be asked about his father, about American military plans, about American weaponry. 

Not…not about Hawaiʻi.

“What?” Kentucky asked, confusion evident in his tone. Japan didn’t hit him, though her eyes narrowed.

“After you annexed her. What did you do?” Japan asked.

Kentucky wasn’t close with Hawaiʻi, but like hell was he going to give Japan any information, especially after Japan attacked her.

“Go to hell,” Kentucky said, spitting in Japan’s face.

The rest of the day was filled with pain until unconsciousness finally claimed him.

Kentucky welcomed it with open arms. 

━─━────༺October 23, 1943༻────━─━

When Kentucky wasn’t being tortured, he was being humiliated.

He hadn’t been given a lot of food, but whenever he was, it was the smallest amount of rice that he was expected to lick off the plate like a dog. Kentucky had refused the first few times but eventually became so weak from hunger that he had no other choice.

And he was only ever given water to drink right before the day’s “questioning,” a small amount that Japan would give him. Sometimes, she took it away after only a few drops entered his mouth and would try to use that to coerce him into giving up information.

Kentucky would have rather died of thirst.

The beatings remained mostly the same, and no matter the questions Japan asked, Kentucky held firm and refused to answer.

It was an uncomfortably familiar schedule.

So, when Japan entered the room without his water and a strange expression on her face, Kentucky felt a small flicker of fear.

“Good morning,” Kentucky rasped. His throat was sore from dehydration, and the days the pain became too much.

“Good morning. I know you are probably wondering where your water is,” Japan said. She was holding a key in her hand and walked over to Kentucky, fiddling with the shackle on his left wrist.

Was she…was she freeing him?

When his hand was freed, Kentucky let his arm fall limply to his side, unsure of how to react. What was happening? Was there a prisoner exchange happening? Had his father brokered a deal? Or had Japan realized he wasn’t going to speak and was sending him back to the camp?

Japan released his right arm, and Kentucky collapsed. He wasn’t sure if he was just too weak to stand or just not expecting it. Kentucky unsteadily pushed himself to his feet.

“What’s happening?” he rasped. Japan smiled, the tiny, evil one, that meant more pain was coming for him. Kentucky held firm despite the fear it brought.

“Well, you always seem so thirsty, so we’re going to try to solve that little problem for you. Maybe then your tongue will loosen,” Japan said. Kentucky frowned.

What did that mean?

Two guards then entered the room, grabbing Kentucky’s arms and holding him still as Japan freed his ankles. Kentucky didn’t fight then.

He had been chained for God knows how long. The freedom was nice, and Kentucky didn't want to squander it.

The guards then began taking Kentucky out of his cell. Weakened and bruised, Kentucky tried to walk with them but was dragged most of the way regardless, unable to keep up the pace.

They eventually stopped at a small, strange bench in a small courtyard of the prison.

Kentucky was forced to lay down on it. He didn’t protest too much. He hadn’t been able to lie down since Japan found him, sleeping suspended in chains.

Kentucky shouldn’t have let his desperation win out, as the soldiers then began trying to tie him down, knocking him across the head as he struggled, leaving him dazed.

Kentucky still fought, though, unwilling to give Japan an inch of ground. He was the Commonwealth of Kentucky, goddamnit, and he refused to give in.

One of the J-ps then barked something in their language, and Kentucky felt a small but intense burning sensation in his leg. Looking at his leg, Kentucky saw one of the guards had put out a cigarette on his leg, rubbing the burning end as if he was trying to make it as painful as possible for Kentucky.

“Fuck you,” Kentucky spat at the offender, causing Japan to strike his head again. Kentucky collapsed back against the bench with a small moan of pain.

When Kentucky shook himself out of the daze, he was tied down, ropes biting into his skin. Kentucky, stubborn as any of his siblings, fought the restraints, uncaring of how the rope burned against his wrists and ankles.

He was going to be hurt here anyway. He might as well be hurt doing something productive, something that benefits him and not Japan.

Kentucky wanted to say something snarky, something to show Japan that he was defiant…but Kentucky had a suspicion as to what Japan was planning.

Kentucky might not have fought in the Philippine-American War, but he still knew what the water cure was.

A soldier approached, hose in hand, and Kentucky clamped his mouth shut. He knew it wouldn't do much, as his nose was still uncovered, but it was an act of defiance. 

The soldier then passed the hose to Japan, head bowed and hands trembling. Japan said something to him, and he turned to Kentucky, reaching down and prying Kentucky’s mouth open. Japan shoved the hose inside until it touched the back of his mouth.

The hose was turned on, and Kentucky began choking on the water. He couldn’t spit it out, and it rushed into his lungs, slowly filling them until they burned with the need for air.

He could feel more cigarettes being put out on his legs as he thrashed against his restraints, eyes burning with tears as blackness crept in at the corners of his vision.

Kentucky fought against the blackness.

Japan had put the hose in his mouth.

Kentucky was drowning at her hand.

He didn’t want to die.

After what seemed like an eternity, the hose was removed, and Kentucky almost made himself sick, trying to cough out the water, lungs burning. Eventually, it all became too much, and he retched, coughing up bile, which spilled over the corners of his mouth onto his chin, neck, and face.

Kentucky felt…so tired.

“What did you do to Hawaiʻi to make her want to die?” Japan asked. Kentucky, tired and unwilling to give in, refused to answer, not even to tell Japan she was delusional.

The hose was shoved back into his mouth.

And Kentucky began to drown again. 

━─━────༺November 1, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky could tell that he was starting to annoy Japan. She had probably assumed it would be easier to get him to talk after how easy it was to get him to turn himself in, and she was so used to dealing with her mind-controlled puppets that she didn’t understand how real people worked.

It made Kentucky feel satisfied, and it gave him the satisfaction of being able to get under her skin, even chained with no power.

It was something, something he could cling to for hope.

The cell had become dirty since his capture, from the times blows landed a little too hard, causing Kentucky to throw up. It was never cleaned.

Kentucky wondered if they were trying to get him sick.

Bile and piss covered the floor, making it the most atrocious cell, one that stank of human waste and agony. Kentucky had only ever been led down from his chains when they tried the water cure on him. Every other hour of the day, he was chained to the wall, arms slightly above his head, wrists sore, feet on solid ground, but only able to move a foot away from the wall.

Kentucky hated the cell.

It was worse than any of the pain he had gone through so far.

“Do you know what your father’s plans are?”

“I’ve been here since 1942. You think I’ve been up to date?” Kentucky snarked, receiving a blow to the stomach that left him wheezing.

“Still, you know how your father thinks. That is useful to me,” Japan said, eyes analytical. Kentucky laughed.

“You wanna know what my pa will do? When he finds out what you have done here, if he wasn’t plannin’ to already, he’ll wipe your pathetic little co—” 

The next blow landed on his throat, causing Kentucky to break off from his speech with a strangled choking noise, slumping and coughing as he tried to regain his breath.

“What have I said to you about respect?” Japan asked, tone as if she were scolding a rebellious child. Kentucky gritted his teeth, anger flooding him.

“I answered honestly,” Kentucky responded once he had the ability to do so. His Pa would have destroyed Japan for capturing Guam, his daughter, and Kentucky’s sister. But Japan had done far worse, torturing Philippines, making him a puppet, torturing Kentucky, and murdering Pa’s people.

Pa would kill her. That was nothing but the truth.

“What your father thinks he can do and what he can actually do are far different things. But I thank you for the information. Knowing your father runs on emotion is very helpful,” Japan said. Kentucky gritted his teeth, not liking how Japan had turned his words on him.

Perhaps it was better to stay silent. 

So Kentucky shut his mouth and refused to say anything more.

“Do you think he will come back for the Philippines after how quickly he abandoned it?” Japan asked. Kentucky refused to anger, watching with the slightest bit of satisfaction as the anger in Japan’s eyes grew. 

A blow landed on his ribs. 

Kentucky wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were broken from the relentless blows that fell upon him day after day. They were at least bruised.

But Kentucky preferred this to the water cure.

“Do you think he will come after this land?” Japan asked, another blow landing on his ribs. Kentucky heard a small crack and hissed in a breath, pain shooting through his body.

“Answer!” Japan said, swinging back the rod and sending it into the side of Kentucky’s head.

Pain consumed him.

Kentucky was limp, vaguely aware of pained moaning escaping his lips. Someone was talking, each word sending a new lance of pain through Kentucky’s head.

Something grabbed his face, and the pain that it brought was so painful that Kentucky briefly lost consciousness. 

He moaned again, head spinning.

His stomach lurched, and Kentucky was throwing up bile again.

His head was spinning.

It hurt. 

Kentucky slumped over again, unable to do anything through the all-consuming pain.

Blackness crept into the corner of his vision.

The room was spinning around him.

Kentucky wasn’t sure what was happening anymore.

Everything hurt.

━─━────༺November 12, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky knew that Japan was getting angrier as the days passed without him saying a word. 

First, it had been the concussion, where the torture had to stop until Kentucky was lucid enough to comprehend questions again.

Then, Kentucky’s own stubbornness and refusal to answer her questions.

Her blows feel harder, the food he received vanishing, and Kentucky now received water every other session. 

Kentucky tried not to let it faze him. Japan would grow tired eventually, or war would pull her away. Kentucky’s family would come.

That was what he told himself as the shackles cut his wrists and ankles, as his head still pounded, as blow after blow landed on his bruised, emancipated body.

“You will have to answer me eventually,” Japan said. Kentucky stayed silent, glaring up at her with all the fury and hatred that he could muster. Japan sighed mockingly.

“What do you hope to achieve? Your father’s empire is crumbling. Your colonies are being freed. Clinging to this stubbornness won’t help. When the war is over, I’ll return you to our father. I won’t even use you to make him give me more when he surrenders. It will be a token to better futures. But you will decide the condition that you return to him in. The more uncooperative you are, the longer this war will drag on, the less information I have to help those I freed, and the more you will be hurt. Is that really worth it to you?” 

Kentucky knew it was bad to rise to her bait, but he couldn’t help himself, and indignation and anger rose in him.

“You’re a delusional monster. You know that? You think pretty words will make me want to help you, will make me forget that Phil is your puppet?” Kentucky snarled. Japan’s calm expression broke, anger enveloping it, before she slapped Kentucky across the face.

It was a hard blow but done without the rod and hardly stung more than what else she had done to him.

Her calm expression then returned, but there was something else in her eyes, a glimmer of…of insanity, something that only proved to Kentucky that this nation lost her mind a long time ago.

Kentucky’s wrists were unchained, but his feet were still shackled, allowing Kentucky more movement around the cell. Kentucky stayed where he was. He didn’t have shoes, and he didn’t want to step on the disgusting floor.

But he wasn’t given a choice, as Japan grabbed him by the hair, dragging him as far as the chains would allow.

“If you don’t want to talk, then I will make your miserable existence as painful as possible until you understand your place,” Japan said, looking Kentucky in the eyes, her breath hot on her face.

For the first time in days, Kentucky broke his silence.

“Go to hell,” Kentucky said. Japan smiled.

“Have it your way, then,” Japan said before calling one of the guards in. Kentucky tensed, bracing himself as he saw Japan pass her sword to the guard. A cold feeling swam in Kentucky’s gut.

In one quick movement, Japan’s sword was embedded in Kentucky’s stomach.

Kentucky stared down at it in shock before the pain kicked in, and Kentucky hunched over, screaming in agony. 

It was pain unlike any he had ever felt before. It was a white-hot flame burning in his stomach, burning up the rest of his body.

Kentucky then felt the sword being pulled out, blood gushing from the wound before he was stabbed again, this time higher up.

Kentucky’s screams were cut off by the blood building in his throat, choking him as it bubbled out. The sword was removed again, and Kentucky fell to the ground; the sword had been the only thing keeping him standing.

Kentucky was in so much pain he could hardly think, hands scraping at the wounds as if they could stop the flow of his lifeblood.

Kentucky’s hands slowly fell limp; his breathing labored as blood spilled past his lips.

Everything was getting cold.

Kentucky could still feel the warm blood running down his chest, bringing them a comforting warmth as his head and arms grew colder. With each second, Kentucky felt himself fade further, gasping for life as it drained from him.

His vision was slowly going dark.

With the last of his quickly fading energy, Kentucky’s lips moved in silent prayer until he became too tired to do so.

Kentucky was still and quiet in his last moments alive.

But with death came a release that Kentucky welcomed with open arms as he left to join his Creator.

━─━────༺November 29, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky had felt cold ever since he died.

He didn’t know if something had gone wrong when he came back or if it was just a result of being here.

His clothes were still stained with dry blood, which had dried onto his skin and the floor, reeking with the stench of iron.

Kentucky hated it.

Kentucky was still quiet. He didn’t remember what he had said to Japan to make her kill him, but he wasn’t eager to make the same mistake twice.

Dying was horrible.

And Kentucky didn’t want to anger her so much that she would forget to have a human kill him, thus rendering him dead forever.

It was terrifying, waking up on the floor, surrounded by a puddle of his own blood. The realization of what had happened to him, of—

Kentucky shivered, curling in on himself. They hadn’t shackled his hands again, and Kentucky took advantage of the fact that he could now provide himself comfort.

Kentucky stopped hugging himself when he heard the door open. He opened his eyes and glared at the country that had just entered the room, standing up so he could face her. 

She had water. Kentucky had learned the hard way that even though his hands were freed, he still wasn’t allowed to drink himself, having to wait and hope Japan was in a good mood and willing to give him the little bit of water to drink.

“Lonely?” Japan asked, clicking her tongue. “You wouldn’t have to be if you worked with me.”

Kentucky let his hands curl into fists but held his tongue.

Now was the worst time to do something stupid.

Japan sighed at his silence before taking the cup and shoving it towards Kentucky’s mouth, causing most of it to spill out before his mouth opened. Desperate for water, Kentucky licked the droplets on his face, desperate for any little bit of water he could get into his mouth.

“Now that your needs have been taken care of,” Japan said, a sneer in her voice, “We can move on to important things.” 

Kentucky glared at her in response.

“What did you and America do to Hawaiʻi when she was annexed?” Japan asked. Kentucky internally sighed. What was with her stupid fixation on Hawaiʻi? They had been friends before Japan betrayed her, and Kentucky didn’t get why he was the one being treated like he betrayed Hawaiʻi.

“We took care of her,” Kentucky said. 

“Liar!” Japan roared, smacking Kentucky with the rod. Kentucky tried to stand tall despite the blow.

“I’m not lying,” Kentucky said, trying to keep his voice calm, wondering if this new method of dealing with Japan would work. It didn’t.

With another roar of anger, Japan hit Kentucky with the rod, a blow that hit with such force that Kentucky lost his balance.

Kentucky fell to the ground, chains around his ankles going taunt as he screamed in pain; an agonizing pain erupted in his right knee, which had twisted during the fall due to the chains pulling tight.

Kentucky, all shame forgotten in the face of such blinding pain, as he was crying from the pain, hands hovering above his knee, which was already starting to bruise.

“Well, at least that ensures you aren’t going anywhere,” Japan said, her voice casual as if she hadn’t just inflicted horrible pain onto Kentucky.

Kentucky bit down another choked sob.

He hoped his Pa would come soon. Kentucky didn’t know how much longer he could stand the pain.

━─━────༺December 6, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky hadn’t noticed the chains hanging from the ceiling when he was first put into the cell. He wondered if they had always been there.

He might have never noticed them if it weren’t for the drugs that had been slipped into the water and waking up with his arms and shoulder aching, feet inches from the floor as he hung there.

Kentucky still felt tired, his head dizzy, something he couldn’t figure out if it was from the drugs or the beatings. 

When Japan entered, it was without water but with the wooden rod. 

Kentucky mentally began to prepare himself for the pain he knew was coming.

“You have only done this to yourself,” Japan reasoned, “I have given you so many chances over the past month. Why do you do this to yourself?”

Kentucky glared.

“Go to hell.”

The blow that landed sent his body moving to the side, something that worsened the pain on his shoulders, his wrists chained so close together above his head, crying out in protest.

It was an agony that would continue as long as he hung there.

“It’s just a few simple questions. I want to know what you did to my Hawaiʻi. I want to know what I need to do to help her,” Japan said, her tone worried, as if she cared about Hawaiʻi.

Kentucky might not have been raised by empires, but he knew them well enough to read between the lines.

I want to know how loyal Hawaiʻi is to you so I know how badly I need to break her to get her under my control or if I need to resort to using martial law or a puppet state.

Japan thought of Hawaiʻi as her colony when Hawaiʻi was an American. Kentucky knew that Hawaiʻi wasn’t happy to be an American, but even independent, it would be a better option than being another one of Japan’s slaves.

Kentucky had already failed Philippines, being unable to protect him and then being unable to accompany him after the surrender when the puppet state officially took control of him.

Kentucky wouldn’t give Japan any information on Hawaiʻi (not that he knew much to begin with). Kentucky wouldn’t fail another member of his family. 

“Hawaiʻi is safe and happy wi—”

Kentucky was cut off by another blow, a sick routine that he could predict.

Japan asks a question. If Kentucky refuses to respond, he is beaten. If he responds, he is beaten.

So there was no use in giving her any useful information. The result would be the same.

“What did I say about lying?” Japan said, something…wrong in her voice. 

Instead of one blow, the blows came again and again, leaving Kentucky’s shoulders screaming in protest as he swung around the room, unable to do anything to stop the movement, the ground so close and yet so far, leaving him at the mercy of Japan.

Eventually, the assault ended, and Kentucky’s swinging came to a stop.

“Do you promise to be truthful about my daughter now?” Japan asked. Kentucky looked back at her, seeing the insanity—for what else could it be—glimmering in her eyes.

Japan…Japan actually believed Hawaiʻi was her daughter? And she attacked Hawaiʻi while believing in that delusion.

Kentucky felt a little bit sick.

He couldn’t tell if it was from the beating, the starvation, or from the revelation.

Either way, it was another pain to add to the long list. 

Kentucky made sure to meet Japan’s eyes.

“You want honesty? How about this? Hawaiʻi ain’t ya dau—”

The beating that followed was painful.

But a small part of Kentucky felt at peace, knowing that he was protecting anyone else from Japan’s wrath. 

━─━────༺December 10, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky didn’t know how long he had been hanging from the ceiling when he had been released. He just knew that it had to have been days and that he hadn’t had anything to drink or eat.

When they finally released him, Kentucky collapsed bonelessly to the floor, arms screaming in protest, too weak to fight as they chained his ankles.

Kentucky wanted to lay there forever and let everything fade away. 

A harsh kick to his stomach forced him to open his eyes.

“So willing to give up? I guess that explains why you surrendered at Bataan,” Japan said, her voice full of condescension. Kentucky, arms shaking, pushed himself to his feet. 

Japan had water. 

Kentucky tried to hide how desperate he was for some. It didn’t matter anyway.

“Ah, does the Ame-ko want some water?” Japan asked. Kentucky stared her down. He’d rather die of dehydration than resort to begging.

Despite Japan seeming upset that Kentucky wouldn’t play her game, she allowed him to drink, which Kentucky did so greedily. 

His body had already been reset once, and despite that, the thirst and center never ceased. It was a plague that had consumed his every waking moment.

“I think you’ll like what we have planned today. It’ll be a wonderful break from the beatings for you,” Japan said. Kentucky froze, trying to think of what it could be.

The water cure? But if it was that, they wouldn’t have bothered chaining him back up again instead of dragging him to the bench.

Kentucky felt dread pool in his stomach as he wondered what Japan could be planning. 

But he tried to keep the fear from his face as the guards brought in some strange thing with loose wires hanging from it.

It looked like an electrical hazard.

Then Kentucky paled as he realized what the plan was.

“You’re going to electrocute me?” Kentucky asked, incredulous. “That could kill me!”

Kentucky remembered belatedly that Japan didn’t care.

“We aren’t trying to kill you. Just teach you a lesson about obeying your superiors,” Japan said. Kentucky lunged forward, ready to attack her, but a blow to the head sent him to the floor, and he was too weak to do anything after that.

Japan and her soldiers were laughing, talking in their language as Kentucky’s hands were tied together, wires fastened to his skin.

Kentucky closed his eyes and braced for the pain.

What followed next was a blinding, indescribable pain.

Kentucky was screaming.

The electricity ran through his veins, hot and painful as his body twitched and convulsed against his will. After what felt like hours of mind-numbing agony, but what could have only been a few seconds, the electricity stopped, leaving Kentuvky breathing heavily on the floor.

His fingers and toes felt numb, and he felt dazed, unable to truly process what was happening.

“What did you do to Hawaiʻi?” Japan asked. Kentucky shook his head, dazed, not wanting to answer, and the pain restarted as more electricity flooded his body. Kentucky’s body convulsed, and he felt blood fill his mouth as he bit his tongue.

When it stopped, Japan pressed her boot to his chest, pressing down hard as she leaned in close to Kentucky’s face.

“What did you do to Hawaiʻi?”

Kentucky didn’t answer.

The electricity flooded him once again.

━─━────༺December 25, 1943༻────━─━

Kentucky screamed in pain as a cup of scalding water was thrown onto him, burning his flesh as he sobbed from the pain.

He tried so, so hard to cry, but sometimes, it was just too much, as it was now. 

He didn’t realize what Japan had been planning when she walked in with a steaming up. Kentucky thought that it might have been tea or coffee, as he had no way of knowing if it was early in the morning or late at night.

Japan had asked if he was willing to talk. Kentucky said no.

Then she threw the contents of the cup at him.

It was boiling as Kentucky screamed as his skin burned and bubbled, blistering as he writhed around in pain, straining against the chains that bound him to the wall, as if through sheer force of will he could pull them out, escape the pain that consumed him.

The pain faded slightly from an agonizing heat to a dull, aching throb that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

“I don’t know what America did to you to make you so loyal. You’ve always had the option to end the pain, so why don’t you take it?” Japan asked, her voice angry.

“I love them,” Kentucky said. Japan scowled, grabbing Kentucky by his burn, tearing another scream from his chest.

“This isn’t love. It’s an obsessive loyalty. Did America do that to my Hawaiʻi? Is that why she wants to die?” Japan asked. Kentucky stared at her in shock. Hawaiʻi…wanted to die? But that didn’t make any sense. Hawaiʻi loved American Samoa and wouldn’t abandon him like that, and she seemed excited about the possibility of statehood.

Why did Japan think Hawaiʻi wanted to die?

Was this another one of Japan’s delusions, a reason she invented to hold more hatred towards the Americans?

Kentucky didn’t know. He didn’t understand her.

Kentucky let his body fall limp, as it took too much energy to hold up.

“I love my family. I want to protect them from you,” Kentucky answered. It didn’t answer Japan’s question. Kentucky didn’t know how to answer something like that.

“You aren’t protecting them,” Japan sneered, moving her hand to irritate the burn more, causing Kentucky to scream again, more tears escaping as the pain overwhelmed his brain. There were no thoughts—only a throbbing, deep-set, agonizing pain.

When Japan finally released him, Kentucky saw black begin to creep into the edges of his vision.

He wished it would take him.

But he wasn’t that lucky.

It was one of the most painful days of his torture so far. 

Kentucky wished it would be over soon.

[ceilidho]

prompt: blue collar worker ghost knocking reader up in a gas station bathroom on a whim. (nsfw, 2k)

-

Just to look over at him on the driver’s side drives you crazy.  

His buzz cut uncovered by a hood or balaclava is the new normal. It makes your blood rush to think of dragging your fingers across it, never long enough to really grip; heats you up faster than sitting by a fire or plunging into warm water. It’s the same new normal as the bristly, naked skin of his jaw, which flexes under scrutiny. He hadn’t gotten around to shaving earlier—rarely does these days as long as he can keep to a five o’clock shadow—and it makes you shiver when you think of the raw tenderness on your inner thighs, a consequence of that decision. 

These are the consequences of trust and loyalty. Not long ago, you wouldn’t have expected more than a glimpse of dark eyes behind a mask. 

The window is cracked open just enough to let the smoke from his cigarette out. Black fingerless gloves, nails bare and trimmed, dirt and ink trapped always in the grooves of his fingers. Eyes heavy lidded as always from poor sleep, shot nerves the takeaway from an old life of brittle thin sleep. His cortisol levels, to this day, must ride high in the bloodstream. You’d give anything to ease it at a touch, but that’s not how things work. 

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re gonna have a problem,” Simon says when you glance over at him for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

“A problem?” you repeat. You’re not trying to be coy—you’re really not—but it comes out that way regardless. A bit breathlessly too, you realize with a small degree of embarrassment. You’ve got no shame these days. 

He grunts instead of answering. Your fists close over your thighs as you dry to concentrate on the road ahead of you instead of the persistent ache between your thighs. It’s not his fault that your pussy picked now of all times to get desperate. 

You peer over at him again out of the corner of your eye. 

“Bird,” he growls. Doesn’t even have to look over at you to know that you’re staring. Just another weird six sense from another life. It’s a warning though, one you hear loud and clear. 

“I didn’t say anything,” you say in a huff, turning your head fully away from him now to stare out the window. 

Only a handful of minutes tick by with you watching the brown patches of grass and the trees lining the motorway before you shift in your seat. Acutely aware of the wet spot between your legs, the way Simon’s fingers curl over the steering wheel loosely when he drives one handed, the smell of smoke on the upholstery, the grimy spots on the windshield where the wipers don’t reach, the moment he shifts and the weight of him makes the leather squeak. 

You peek over at him again.

He doesn’t bother signalling before veering into the rightmost lane, ignoring the furious honking from the car right behind you. You yelp when he takes the exit at a breakneck speed, fingers gripping the underside of your seat before whipping your head around to glare at him. 

“What’s the matter with you?” you scream, spine stiff from the sudden lane change. 

Simon doesn’t answer you, but you notice that the exit leads to a rest stop just off the motorway. It’s one of the less frequented ones—just a cluster of fast food restaurants and a gas station. He pulls into a parking space and practically slams on the brakes, making you jerk forward in your seat. Simon’s never been the most cautious driver, but this is a whole new level for him.

“Simon—Simon, what are you doing—” you hiss through clenched teeth, but he’s already up and out of the car, circling around to your side. 

Your heart goes hummingbird quick in your chest, stomach in knots. When you pant out a breath, it comes out shaky with nerves and excitement. You toy with the idea of pressing down on the child lock when he comes around but think the better of it. There’s already a twitch in his eye. 

You look up at him through your lashes when he opens the door and leans in to release your seatbelt. 

“Get out,” he orders, and yanks you out before you can reply. 

The walk to the gas station is tense and you struggle to keep up with him. He walks too fast and expects you to keep up, growling down at you to move it, but you drag your feet a little. It’s shameful how even that gets you worked up. 

“Are we gonna—?” you ask breathlessly, irritation seeping out of you. Simon doesn’t answer, just tightens his hand around your wrist. 

A chime above the door jingles when the two of you walk in, heading straight for the back. You catch the attendant staring at the two of you with open contempt and give a tight, embarrassed smile back. Simon doesn’t so much as glance over. You think he’d let the man call the cops if it came down to it. 

The gas station bathroom is one of the crummier bathrooms you’ve ever been in, but you hardly register that with how Simon hauls you up against the door he just slammed shut and kisses you within an inch of your life. His kisses are ever slick and wet, dangerous for you—drugging when he drags his tongue over yours and a hand cups your head to angle it just right. You want to give as good as you get, but it’s easy to let yourself get swept away and open your mouth to let him in because you feel his hunger. 

“That cunt never gets tired of me, does she?” Simon mumbles into your mouth. He steals your words from you when he slots his lips over yours again. Only gives you enough space to drag in a sharp breath. 

It’s in your best interest. The only words available to you are pathetic little pleas, desperate fingers digging into his jacket and trying to pull it off so you can feel the muscle underneath. Trying to get as close as possible to him, to wrap yourself around him. A needy, pitiful thing. 

“Poor thing,” he sighs, pulling away from your mouth and laughing when your lips chase after him. Standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again and kiss, hands tugging him down by the back of his neck. “So horny that you nearly made me crash the fuckin’ car.”

“Couldn’t wait,” you whine, peppering his neck with kisses when he draws up to his full height, nearly dizzy now. “Sorrysorrysorry, please—please fuck me, Simon—please—”

“Not here, bird—want you to see how desperate you look.”

He drags you over to the other side of the bathroom and makes you stand on his boots and face the mirror covered in lipstick and sharpie and god knows what else—“c’mon, up you get”—while he rucks up your dress. The stark contrast between the two of you in the mirror makes you baulk. Like you haven’t slept with him before and lived to tell the tale. He’s all dark clothing and mountains for shoulders, mouth always set in a flat line of impatience that would make anyone else turn the other way. 

You, however, press yourself back into him. 

Rough fingers tug your panties to the side, not bothering to check if you’re wet. Assuming that you are—that you always are with him, eager to cant your hips and offer yourself up to him.

You try not to think about how your pelvis is already tilted towards him.

Simon holds your head up with a single hand under your chin, squishing your cheeks a little. “Fuckin’ hell…look at that,” he rasps, eyes almost black with lust. 

“You’re being mean,” you whine, pushing back against him and wiggling your hips. 

“Doesn’t matter how many times I give it to you—always whining for it. Cock hungry bird.”

It would hurt if you didn’t already know how much he wants you too, the deep rasp in his voice betraying an aching, insatiable hunger. An arm locks like a bar across your chest to hold you in place, his hand fitting over a breast just to have something to hold. He can tell you again and again that it’s just you, but you know that he wants it just as badly as you do. 

He reaches around to undo his pants and then you feel a familiar cock bully its way into you, a tight fit only eased by the wetness almost glistening on your inner thighs. He grunts when his cock pushes into you, the same hand reaching around to rest low on your stomach, pinkie brushing the top of your mound. 

The first thrust jostles you, forces your palms to slam down on the mirror even though the arm across your chest keeps you tight to his chest. It’s sticky under your fingers. You wince when you think of how much Purell you’ll need after this, but the thought melts away when he pulls his cock almost all the way out of you before slamming back in. 

“Yes, yes—fuck—” you gasp, staring at your reflection in the mirror. After a couple hours on the road, you’re not exactly in tiptop shape—sweaty and in need of a shower and coffee—but any timidity evaporates under Simon’s hot gaze. It eats you up. 

His jaw flexes with each thrust, eyes flitting between your tits bouncing under your dress and your face until it stays there, devouring you in a single heated look. Every time your shoes almost slip off his boots, he pulls you tighter into his chest; you couldn’t get out of his hold even if you wanted to. The thought makes the blood rush through your ears. 

“Almost need someone else jus’ to take care of you when I’m not around,” Simon growls. He gives your breast a rough squeeze, an admonishment. 

“No—no one else—” 

“Jus’ me then, pet? No one else can take care of this little cunt?”

You shake your head, maybe nod, maybe sob a bit. It’s hard to tell. The hand on your low belly grips into the flesh, holding you in place while he rails you over the sink. Impossible to look away from the man towering over you, a man you’ve let willingly bend you over and get between your thighs. You wouldn’t even if you could. He’s the summation of everything you’ve ever hoped for, packaged in the too big body of a gun for hire, riddled with nerve damage and a nasty temper. You wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world.

Your eyes slip shut.

“Tell you what,” he breathes into your ear, the burr of his stubble rubbing your neck raw. “I’ll give you somethin’ else to keep you busy.” 

Your eyes spring wide open.

He shifts his stance and drives into you with renewed vigour, muffling your sounds with a hand over your mouth. The mirror fogs up through the gaps between his fingers, the room damper and stickier now than when you entered it. Tears build in the corners of your eyes. 

When he goes quiet, you know what’s about to happen. Your toes curl in your shoes when he exhales a ragged breath, gritting his teeth when he meets your eyes again in the mirror. Something about his gaze alone makes you come, like a deep press into your soul. The fat cock stretching you out is just a bonus. 

The come down is harsh, laboured breaths panting out of you until your chest finally settles, until it feels safe enough to move. You lower one foot from on top of his boot just for Simon’s arms to constrict even more, holding you fast to his chest. He can probably feel your heartbeat against his wrist. 

“Quit squirming,” he scolds, giving you a little warning squeeze.

“‘M sweaty,” you complain.

“We’ll towel off at home,” Simon says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t bitch.”

“I’m not bitching, I’m hot—” 

He lets you carp and moan about your inner thighs being covered in beard burn and come while straightening out your dress, pulling your panties back into place. He’s quicker with himself, doesn’t even bother grabbing a paper towel to wipe himself off before shoving his cock back into his pants and zipping up. When you ask him to hand you one, the look he gives you scorches you right to the bone. 

“Wait ‘till we get home,” he says, hand on your back when he unlocks the bathroom door.

“Like you aren’t gonna do it all over again the second we get there,” you mutter.

His smirk isn’t smug, but it’s a near thing.

[ckret2]

Why do you ship billford? i want to hear all ur handcanons and reasons hehehe

ALL of them? My friend I do not think you comprehend the magnitude of the task you have requested. I can tell you some of them.

Here's a post I already wrote listing why I like them, and here's a post about what Ford thinks about Bill, and I just made a post about what Bill thinks about Ford because I've had it typed up on discord for ages and decided it needs its own post.

So, some headcanons:

⭐️ While most people who ship it headcanon that they had a romantic relationship of some kind pre-betrayal, my default headcanon is that they DIDN'T have a relationship—mainly because I enjoy making Bill, specifically, miserable, and I like headcanoning that Ford violently lost interest in Bill at the EXACT moment Bill developed a sincere interest in Ford.

Meaning that Bill "LOOKS LIKE MR. BRAINIAC FINALLY GOT SMART" Cipher destroyed his own chances five seconds before going "no no wait I actually want to keep this one," and that's SO funny. I made a graph!

⭐️ From Lost Legends we know that Ford used to date a siren. In the original Greek mythology, sirens didn't woo sailors by singing prettily; sirens offered knowledge about distant and future events. Sailors wrecked their ship upon the sirens' shores and starved to death at their feet just to listen to them sing about the secrets of the universe.

What I'm saying is: Ford has a type.

⭐️ This is a mutual monsterfucker 4 monsterfucker relationship. They look at each other and go "wow you're such a weird-looking alien" and they're attracted to each other BECAUSE of that, not in spite of that. I don't want any of this "oh how could I be drawn to something so strange..." shame out of Ford, as far as I'm concerned his first crush was Mothra, a floating triangle is nothing.

⭐️ Consequently, this means that if you take an AU where Bill gets stuffed in a human body, rather than making things easier, it ironically means that any PHYSICAL attraction Ford had for Bill instantly evaporates. A humanized Bill could be the sexiest damn thing in the room and everyone else in the vicinity is going 🥵💦 but Ford's going 😐. If they hook up with Bill in a human body it's in spite of Bill's current appearance and it's because Ford knows that, underneath the body, Bill's still Bill. You could hand Ford a perfect Tumblr Sexyman supermodel and he'll be fantasizing about a three-tiered pyramid with more teeth than a shark.

⭐️ Bill WILL play Dungeons Dungeons & More Dungeons with Ford, voluntarily, for fun. However he always wants to DM and he's brutal.

⭐️ I think that the majority of the Henchmaniacs used to be like Ford: young, naive, USEFUL aliens that Bill was trying to manipulate into getting access to their universes, probably by trying to get THEM to build portals. None succeeded, but they got far enough along that either they chose to join Bill, they were forced to flee their dimension and join Bill—or, due to Bill, their home no longer existed, so they might as well join him. I think that every one of them was once his ✨favorite✨ person. I think he sealed the deal in winning their friendship & loyalty with a calculated, scripted display of vulnerability—the exact same one he tried to use on Ford: I liberated my constricting, flat world; I want to liberate yours...

He may have dated some of them, too, especially right after they joined. Because he wouldn't have recruited them unless he thought they were JUST ♥ LIKE ♥ HIM. They're special, they're important...

... and after a few years, Bill realizes they're not that much like him after all and loses interest, and they sink down into the rank-and-file with the rest of the Henchmaniacs. The Henchmaniacs are FULL of people who were once Bill's Favorite—his best friends, his confidants, his lovers—and most of them are desperate to catch his eye and be that important to him again. They gave everything they had to Bill only for Bill to get bored.

So when he shows off the human who enabled Weirdmageddon and invites him to join the gang, they know EXACTLY what they're looking at: Bill's newest favorite. They know how this goes, he'll be gaga over this earthling for the next 5 to 500 years and then Ford will be just another regular Henchmaniac. The fact that Ford doesn't seem eager to join is no problem. Ford isn't the only soon-to-be Henchmaniac whose world Bill ended; some of them had to be talked around into joining, too.

⭐️ I think that, if you took Bill with his canon personality, didn't give him any character development, and then made him GENUINELY fall in love with Ford, and had him SINCERELY try his hardest to be a good, loving, healthy partner... he would still be toxic as hell for Ford.

Part of what draws Bill to Ford is that he sees SO much of himself in Ford—some accurate, some just projection. (You who crave power and fame and fortune like I do; you who also hunger to be all-knowing; you who would also sacrifice your world and your family and everyone you know and love to get what you want; you with an ego the size of the moon, oh, you deserve an ego the size of a star.) And so he assumes that what Ford really wants is what BILL would want in Ford's shoes.

And if Bill was Ford, what he'd want is to REALLY be the man who changed the world. Bill thinks he's fulfilling all Ford's wildest dreams if he gives that to him. Naming Ford the orchestrator of Weirdmageddon is the most generous gift Bill could ever offer.

Even if Bill is Really Really Trying and accepts that okay Ford doesn't want his world invaded: his idea of showing Ford love will be pulling the strings to get Ford fame & fortune. Teach him secrets of the universe that he can publish in a dozen groundbreaking scientific papers, arrange meetings with politicians and celebrities, get him a Nobel, get him an Oscar-winning bio pic, get him a billion dollars, get him EVERYTHING Ford's ever imagined as a marker of success and then double it.

When Bill's manipulating Ford, he offers praise and approval in little drops periodically leaking from the faucet, to keep Ford thirsty for more. When Bill's LOVING Ford, he just breaks the fire hydrant and lets it flood the street.

But the thing is, that's not good for Ford. That'll never make him truly happy. Ford's only ever learned how to measure his success by external markers, but the more external markers he collects the more he'll feel like he hasn't Made It yet. It's even possible that knowing Bill's helped him get this far will make him feel like he hasn't really EARNED it. He could have the whole world handed to him and he'll feel just as dissatisfied as he was on the day he first summoned Bill.

And Bill, even if he's trying his HARDEST to do this right, wouldn't be able to understand why this isn't working. A trillion years old and the only way he knows how to show love (or to receive love) is by showering someone in praise and gifts and favors. If that doesn't work, he doesn't know what's left.

[edgeray]

Hi there!

I just finish to read the rules for Arlecchino request, and I saw no specific illness/disease, so I will try to make my situation for everyone:

I have horrible knee pain to the point I'm close to faint because of it sometimes.

But to put it more accessible to everyone what about that:

Reader hurt themself during a mission but it was an intern injury, they hide it but Arlecchino noticed how they start walking weird and many other sign.. until Reader faint from the pain? How will Arlecchino react and what would she do?

Sorry if it disobey the rules and for any grammar mistake since English is not my first language ^^ (and I'm writing this while it's 12 am where I'm from ;/ )

Thank you if you are making this request, if not I still thank you for reading it until the end :)

I Am Fine in Your Arms

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi, there anon! If you choose to request anon again, give yourself a name/emoji 🫶! I really appreciate you pertaining to my rules; not only do I want to make my x Reader's accessible to as many people, but I also don't want to misrepresent anyone or their experiences with that illness/condition especially since I myself most likely won't have them, so thanks for the consideration. I'm assuming by ‘intern injury’ you mean ‘internal injury,’ so that's what I'm writing based off. You're not breaking any of my rules but your concern is appreciated! Don't worry about it though. Your English is good, especially since it's not your first language :). Little bit rushed because I am tired and ti's 12AM. Thank you for your request! Content warnings / info - reader goes by ‘mother’ but gn! reader, semi-graphic details about injury, this weirdly had actual plot for some reason, 1.5k words

Although the vast majority of your duties was primarily serving the House of the Hearth and the Fourth Harbinger, as a member of the Fatui, it was mandatory for the Fatui to ensure you still held loyalties to the Tsaritsa. Typically, proof of your fidelity was through completing the occasional reconnaissance mission assigned to you every couple of months though this time you were given a different type of operation: direct action, specifically, assassination. 

Assassination wasn't necessarily your forte, but it was doable. In a few weeks, you'd stop scrubbing your hands incessantly in hopes of washing away the stained blood, and you would stop receiving dreams painted in red. At least, with reconnaissance, blood and violence could be avoided. Why you were assigned this particular assassination mission when there were much more suitable candidates, you could only assume. You had an inkling it had to do with some of the other Harbingers’ grudges and suspicions of your husband, and perhaps the chink in the Knave's impenetrable armor  would be you. Failure in this mission could quickly spiral into considerable consequences for you and Arlecchino, regardless if the designation was influenced by more untrustworthy Harbingers, so you couldn't afford to fail this anyways–not with how high profile this target was. 

You return to the House of the Hearth, splatters of blood still visible on your appearance despite your best attempts of cleaning up. At your arrival, some of the children rush to greet you, only to pause as they take in your exhausated form. You give them a weak smile, bending down and extending your arms to accept their eager embraces.

“M-mother!” the children exclaim as they swarm around you, their curious and anxious minds surely brimming with many questions. You hadn't told any of the children where you've gone to for the past few days, believing that there was no need to stir up such worries when the mission was going expectedly. You were wrong, however; no mission like the one they had given you should have been done alone, and yet the only one you could depend on was yourself and your vision. It was undeniably a test for you, and you had only scraped by with your life and the mission's success. Now, all you wanted to do was collapse in bed and hibernate for several weeks, your head filled with a dense fog and senses dulling.  

“Mother, there's blood on–” Barely able to hear the statement, you shake your head, dismissing the little girl's distress. “Don't worry, dear… it's not mine.”

With some effort, you pull away from the children and you hobble your way towards the living commons, your bruised ribs impelling pained grunts from you. 

“Someone…” you pant, placing your hand over your forehead. Leaning against the nearest wall, you shut your eyes, breathing in deeply as an attempt to relieve the ache. “Someone go get your Father.” 

Multiple feet scurry away after your command, but the remaining children around you overwhelm you with their burning questions of what they can do to help, what did you need, whether or not you needed medicine, and much more that you couldn't bother processing.  Gently, you push past them, making your way to you and Arlecchino's shared bedroom. 

“I'm sorry, children, I just need to lay down in private for a little bit, okay? Then I promise that I will be up soon, and we can make cookies. How does that sound?” You say to them in an effort to quell their anxiety and it works for the younger children. The older ones, however, you can tell they still carry some distress but they nod along for your sake.

Such good children. 

You enter your bedroom and shut the door, immediately peeling away your clothes caked in blood, not even bothering to go into your adjacent bathroom. After chucking the articles in the direction of the laundry basket, you dig through the wardrobe for your much more prefered uniform, the one you wore as ‘Mother.’ By that time, the door clicks, and your husband enters.

Arlecchino wastes no time in appearing by your side, her blackened hands wrapped around your hips, and guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed. You hoped that you were able to hide your wince in time when she touched you. You know your husband far too well to know that, despite her stoic expression, she is just as worried for you, if not more, than your children. There's that small knit in her brows, and her lips are curled the slightest bit more. She had always been fiercely protective of you. 

“My love, there's blood–” she starts, but you cut her off with a chuckle. “I know, one of the children already pointed it out.”

Then, your tone hardens. There's no need to wait to let her know. “I need to tell you something.”

“You should rest.”

You shake your head. “This comes first, Arlecchino.” 

“You just came back.” 

“Peruere,” you enunciate, quickly silencing the Knave. “I am fine,” you assure her with a stern tone but fond eyes. You let out a defeated huff, resorting to wrapping your arms around her and leaning your head against her shoulder to ease her and to conceal your pained expression as your body protested the movement. 

Remaining in that position, you brief her on your mission and every single detail to it. From the process of researching and finding the opportune time to, to the actual execution of the assassinatin, which proved to be much more complicated and difficult than you were able to account for. This was due to the lack of information given to you once you were assigned. With the absence of partners and the omittance of crucial details, it is, undoubtedly, an attempt to sabotage you and cause you to fail. The two of you discussed what to do, going forward in cases like this, as well as potential suspects, their motives, and wouldbe gains. With each growing minute, Arlecchino held you tighter and you leaned in closer. 

After the conversation finished, your husband quietly held you, without uttering another sound, for around half-an-hour, the two of you indulging in one another's company. You pull away with a kiss to her forehead.

“I promised the kids I would make cookies with them. Would you like some?” 

Arlecchino knows better than to say no. She gives you a curt nod. You hum with acknowledgement to her answer, standing up from sitting on the bed. Almost instantaneously, the moment you stabilize yourself on your feet, your vision grows black and an abrupt throbbing comes to your head. You stumble forward, but catch yourself. 

“Love–”

“I'm fine. Just stood up too fast,” you gruff, staggering your way towards the door but the limp is far too obvious. You only make it a few steps before you stumble over again, nearly hitting the floor if it weren't for Arlecchino’s quick reflexes. Stabbing pain surrounds you, and paired with your fatigued state, you no longer have the energy to ignore the agony. She cradles you in her arms and you glance up at her. Your sight swims, and her appearance keeps distorting before you. Clinging onto consciousness seems to be a losing battle. 

“The cookies…”

“Forget about the cookies. You said you were fine,” Arlecchino scolded through gritted teeth, with some frustration and anger in her voice. Placing her arm underneath your back and underneath your legs, she carries you bridal-style, already rushing towards the medical bay. 

“Stay awake for me. Stay awake,” it is a harsh demand, but you know it is nothing more than a desperate plea. Your eyelids droop and you close your eyes.

Arlecchino lets out an expletive under her breath, quickening her pace as she barges into the room. The specialized doctor for the House of the Hearth is startled, but the Harbinger's intense glower tells the doctor all she needs to know. 

“Find out what is wrong with her, and fix it. Now,” the Harbinger orders, and the doctor goes into work immediately once your body is placed on the bed. 

The Knave soundlessly watches the doctor's each and every action, refusing to budge by your side. Although she knows that medical treatment is not her expertise, Arlecchino cannot help but critique her doctor in her thoughts. Not fast enough, not effective enough, not enough for her darling who could be experiencing unbearable pain now.

The doctor works until she assures the Harbinger that everything that could be done is, and that you will wake in the following morning. Arlecchino wordlessly thanks the doctor but her hand that clasps yours doesn't move for even one movement. Eventually, night falls. Climbing into the small bed, she tenderly wraps her arms around you, unable to be pulled apart from you until she knows your safety is guaranteed. Underneath her skin, seething rage boils for the coworkers who try to deprive her of her authority and power, but most of all, for causing you in this state.

The next morning, Arlecchino's eyes flutter open when she feels the warm body next to her stir. She awakens to your soft smile.

“I said I was fine, didn't I?” You greet her with a twinkle in your eyes. 

Arlecchino's heart swells.

[vigilskeep]

there are so many things in veilguard that have made me go "wait what??? okay i guess i have to totally rethink the character i'm roleplaying now" that it's literally impossible to guess what thing you're referring to as The Thing That Happened. obviously extremely curious to hear what it is once you've detangled it

it’s kind of like that but it’s also less that and more... okay i should probably just say it, i’m being weird and unhelpful and i need to write it out anyway so i can think

MASSIVE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT for a companion quest, do NOT say i didn’t warn you. also please don’t respond to this if you know more than me i am in distress but i still don’t want spoilers

so i just finished lucanis’ “a murder of crows” quest. and lucanis. first talon. for some reason. (this is the writing choice i’m ??? on. also i’m ??? on lucanis’ whole storyline, frankly. the writing was. well. like i said, we’re not unpicking that right now, i don’t want to get into it at this point, not the conversation i’m having.)

lifelong trauma of being in the crows and fighting to get someone in a talon’s position and keep them there -> the thing that gave sol all their diseases and made them, to be frank, fairly suicidal

viago: ultimately can handle it without them, especially with teia’s backing.

lucanis: CANNOT handle it without them. holy fuck. for like twelve hundred different reasons, unthinkable, completely laughable, that he can handle this. who is going to protect him. the only reason this could be better at keeping sol mentally stable than watching viago’s back is that they will never feel purposeless or need to go looking for an adrenaline rush, because forget crows, an ambitious blackbird could eat that man alive. he can’t scheme. he can’t even SCHEME and the very fact that he trusts sol DE RIVA demonstrates this. sol is a crow! from another house! does he have no memory at all of the fact that his own parents died in crow infighting? sol could have been playing him this whole time, it wouldn’t have even been hard, and if they were that kind of person, then right now the first talon’s house would have just fallen directly in their hands like a gift from the maker, and they can’t even say a part of themself they can’t shut off isn’t thinking about it that way! how is sol supposed to keep someone like that alive?

you see what it’s like trying to sleep while sol is having this discussion in my mind.

ahem. anyway. pathways for sol’s life assuming they indeed make it through the game:

becoming lucanis’ guard dog the way they were for viago, which (even if they could mentally handle that, which they can’t. or can they??) means switching house loyalties which would surely destroy them eventually -> bad

somehow trying to persuade lucanis to give this up, as if that wouldn’t be throwing house dellamorte completely to the dogs, which at least sol can’t imagine any crow is capable of, let alone someone so dedicated to clinging to what remains of his family that he couldn’t even kill a traitor -> bad

going ahead and leaving the crows, but sol now has to leave BOTH viago and lucanis behind and also lucanis is going to die in there because they left him to do this alone -> bad

solution: sol is back on their original “if a blighted dragon eats me by the end of this, i don’t have to experience consequences” train

and maybe they’re right and i should not worry about this because i’m painfully aware it’s VERY bold to start deciding what happens after the game at this point, when they might still get trapped in the fade or turned into paste or something. and admittedly they did know and dread the possibilities from the first moment they felt something for lucanis, which was why they so wanted it to be anyone else, because anyone else in that lighthouse could have given them a different world, and he is the one who regardless of his best or worst intentions can only tie them tighter to a burning building. and SURE, i see the solas/mythal breakup parallels of sol still leaving, i’m looking at them, that doesn’t mean i have to LIKE them

he hasn’t even kissed them. they’re doing all of this unkissed. lucanis dellamorte when i get you

again please absolutely do not respond to any of this with even the vaguest of hints if you know more about the rest of the game than me 🙏 it’s probably best if no-one responds to this at all lmao i am just thinking out loud. you can reply with a “that’s rough buddy”. for sol

[moderator-monnie]

Artwork Made by @sonicexelle-junkary / @weirdozjunkary as a commission.

Sonic the hedgehog has been dead over over 200 years, however decedents of his friends still exist and live out their normal lives.

Including the descendent of his little buddy Miles 'Tails' Prower named Techie Kaboom, a bat eared fox who has had a few accidents in his mechanic shop.

Sonic might be long gone, but his face, his story, and his image still exists in the far off future and often is used to advertise products in stores using holograms.

And one day, one of these holograms becomes sentient and for some reason think's it's the real Sonic, the one true Sonic and rewrites it's own code to give itself freedom.

But it can't move on it's own, no he can't and as luck would have it Techie was passing by the store this hologram found himself at, and with a silver tongue was able to convince Techie he was the real Sonic and he needed help.

Techie of course due to his ancestor loved Sonic, hearing nothing but good things about him throughout the generations decided to trust in him, he was his hero after all and Sonic wouldn't hurt him right?

Techie sneakfully took the holograms admitter and stuck it into his backpack, and the two managed to get out of the mall without much of a fuss and all seemed great at first Techie and Hologram as he nicknamed himself would talk and work together.

But this was all a ruse careful planning and manipulation done by the holographic hedgehog and one day an 'accident' happened in the mechanics building one that required Techie to get a heart transplant.

And once the surgery was complete and the pair was alone again, Hologram would admit his true colors in his own word's he would tell him his thoughts.

"I am the real Sonic, I can feel it, you can feel it... BUT your not Tails, your not my little buddy in the slightest however you can be! And thanks to your new heart I can help teach you."

"You see... I hate what has been done to my image, look at what they've done to me, they are treating a hero and his friends like cheap things to advertise their stores, and I won't stand for it anymore."

"We're gonna make them pay and hey 'pal' if you want us to bring a new legacy to the names of Sonic and Tails... You'll do as your told, unless you want to suffer the consequences."

Hologram had full control over Techie's eye, his arm and now his new heart he could kill the fox anytime he wanted now, and he would provide an example of that by shutting of Techies heart for about 10 seconds before restarting it.

And out of mostly fear but also a weird sense of loyalty to Sonic and the image of him he had always known about, Techie agrees to help him, Sonic wouldn't hurt him unless it was absolutely necessary right? So if He got hurt it would be because he messed up, at least thats what Techie had going thru his head.

Sonic was a hero, and if he did something it was for the greater good, this was Sonic it had to be, and he'd do what it takes to make him and his ancestor proud of him.

This is an Au about this story, as Techie Kaboom and Hologram Sonic bringing destruction in their wake, but not all familiar faces are gone, Silver The Hedgehog is around and protects his future from the threat of the pair.

But will Silver be able to protect the future? or will it all be brought down by one Hologram and his 'best buddy' only time will tell in the Hologram.Bin Au.

This au has technically existed since march of last year, but I'm glad to be able to finally share it all with you, and eventually write stories for it and show you what is in store for our antagonists and protagonist.

[shall-we-die]

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{Darling}

Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?

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↬[Fandom]•⊰ {Obey me!}࿐

↬[Warnings]•⊰ {Yandere behaviors}࿐

☰[Main list]•⊰ ────┈┈{0079}┈─╮

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╰┈➤Likes/Reblogs are appreciated࿐

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We're talking about demons/ an angle who has no fear doing sins/ +weird wizard ♡ of course they won't give a fuck about what you really want~

↬|Lucifer|

Lucifer wouldn’t see you as a separate person from him, so no, he feels he’d wouldn’t think he’d be doing anything ‘against your will’. He’d be doing what he wants- and you’d just have to go along with it. Even if you protested, you’re just a powerless little human. There’s really no choice to be considered here.

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↬|Mammon|

As a yandere, Mammon would do anything against MC’s will if it served his need to control them and keep them dependent on him. This could include restricting their freedoms, such as limiting their social interactions and activities. He would also control how MC dresses, where they go, and what they do, making sure everything is according to his wishes. Mammon would also be willing to use emotional manipulation and guilt-tripping to make MC compliant, using their feelings for him to his advantage.

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↬|Leviathan|

Levi would have no qualms about acting against MC's will if it meant keeping them to himself. he might resort to manipulation, emotional abuse, or even physical force to enforce his will and make sure MC doesn't leave him. he would prioritize his possessive desires over MC's boundaries and autonomy, not caring about the consequences of his actions so long as it furthered their relationship.

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↬|Satan|

Satan would have no qualms about doing anything against MC's will if he believes it's for their own good or for the betterment of their relationship. He may justify his actions by convincing himself that MC is too young, naive, or unwise to make their own decisions, and that he knows what's best for them. He might also try to Gaslight MC into believing that their resistance is irrational and that they need him to guide and control them.

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↬|Asmodeus|

Oh yeah, definitely. Asmodeus would have no problem doing anything against MC's will, whether it's making decisions for them, telling them what to do and not do, or physically forcing them into compliance if he can't make them do it through manipulation. He has no respect for MC's boundaries or autonomy, and would gladly bend them to his will if it makes them stay with him and be his forever.

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↬|Beelzebub|

Beelzebub would hesitate (a little) to do things against the MC's will but if he feels it's necessary to maintain control and keep MC dependent on him, he'll do it. This could include monitoring them, limiting their freedom, isolating them from friends and family, controlling their choices and decision-making, or even forcing them into situations that are uncomfortable or unwanted. Beelzebub's main goal is to ensure MC's loyalty, devotion, and submission, and he would not care about their will or feelings if it threatens his control over them.

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↬|Belphegor|

Definitely yes. He'd do anything to make you his. He's dominant, and also possessive and jealous, so you might not like that. He'll try to do as much as he can to get his way, he might try to manipulate you into doing what he wants, or even going as far as to lock you up so you don't escape. He'll dominate you, and you won't be able to get away from his grasp, you'll be *his*.

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↬|Diavolo|

In his pursuit of MC, a yandere Diavolo might go to extremes against their will, such as stalking them, manipulating their friends and family, or even resorting to violence and intimidation to keep them close. He might also try to isolate them from others and control their actions, all in the name of love and possession. A yandere Diavolo might go as far as attempting to harm or even kill anyone who gets in the way of their relationship with MC. They might also use guilt tripping, gaslighting, and other manipulation tactics to slowly but surely isolate MC from their loved ones and make them completely dependent on only them. As a result, MC might find themselves cut off from the world, feeling trapped and powerless within Diavolo's obsessive, possessive grip.

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↬|Barbatos|

Absolutely. A yandere like Barbatos cares more about his own desires and wants, rather than your own. He would not hesitate to manipulate you with lies and sweet words to make you submit to him. He may also use force or threats to get you to comply with his demands. He would also try to isolate you from others, whether it's friends, family, or anyone who could help you escape from him. He'll do whatever it takes to keep you all to himself, even if it means going against your own will.

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↬|Simeon|

Yes... a yandere is willing to go to extreme lengths to control their love interest. Aside from abduction, he would be willing to manipulate, manipulate, or even harm them if it means keeping them under his control and preventing them from leaving or even wanting to have a life separate from him. He may try to isolate them from their friends and family, make them quit their hobbies and jobs, and even make them question their own beliefs and desires. He will stop at nothing to make them completely dependent on him and mold them into the person he wants them to be. You think he's an angel. An angel who whispers sweet things in your ear, and surely you'll do anything he wants you to do.

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↬|Solomon|

Solomon would be willing to do anything against MC's will if he believes it will make them belong only to him. This could include emotional manipulation, threats, blackmail, or even outright force. He may also try to gaslight them into believing that their thoughts and feelings are wrong, and that his actions are for their own good or for their protection. Solomon's main goal would be to maintain total control over MC, even at the cost of them autonomy and well-being.

||[🄳arling]||

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     ⇆ㅤㅤ◁🄲ㅤㅤ❚❚ㅤㅤ🄴▷ㅤㅤ↻

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: Kabru & Mithrun's Life-Changing Road Trip

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safhkjkhf no but also fake!Kabru is entirely flat because Mithrun doesn't have depth perception...

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Between this and the information that the team has a 1:2 ratio of guards to criminals, with the guards often appointed by their families as a melodramatic show of loyalty to the realm - which is...possibly literally true, considering the prestige of badassery; but, considering the criminals and the danger, also very possibly a polite euphemism for what amounts to a public sacrifice... I kind of ferally want to know about the dynamics of the Canaries. Are they loyal to each other, or to the cause? Are they all just under the threat of execution? Kabru expected the captain of the squad to be an aristocratic guard, them being more trustworthy than a semi-pardoned criminal ofc, but instead he's...whatever exactly Mithrun's legal status is; I've avoided some details of his backstory.

...I might have to go back and try to actually mentally distinguish these people from each other.

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Laios Heaven is actually Kabru Hell, and vice versa. It's a very efficient system!

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*giggles* Kabru is having a weird, upside-down day.

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"Don't wish often" is such a threatening thing to say, honestly. Don't want. Don't try. Don't be alive, or this place will try to kill you and eat you, for it, too, wishes to live, and that is how the continuation of life works.

It's so so interesting how elves clearly have ANSWERS, answers that our party have been searching for, which would've made their whole adventure easier, and the elves just aren't telling people. To maintain their own power over other races? Probably. Because knowing about demons who'll offer you unlimited power would be a dangerous temptation to many? In fairness, probably that, too. But it sure as hell serves them first.

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Oh yeah, this definitely reads as aristocratic youths joining the Canaries isn't per se voluntary on their families' parts. It's the elvish Suicide Squad.

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The timeline isn't making sense. When Mithrun banished the giant mushroom, it was clearly implied that it went to where and when Team Touden were when we'd last seen them, just after their first incident with the changeling mushrooms and then the dwarvish cable car. However, now the pop-up side panels are saying that Kabru and Mithrun's week in the dungeon together is happening at the same time as Team Touden goes through their shapeshifter adventure, barometz, Golden Country, griffins... Which makes sense if one assumes the Canaries & co went into the dungeon right after Kabru first spoke to them, which does seem right in terms of those characters' plotline and personal timetables. But there was no indication, when it cut over to them, that we'd suddenly gone backwards a week in the comic's timeline; indeed, the giant walking changeling mushroom incident suggested it was a single continuity...

Is this just a continuity error? Did I miss some clarifying signifier?

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Kabru: [tells Mithrun his own backstory back at him]

Mithrun: You left out the soap operatic relationships rooted in royal intrigue, which in turn was rooted in millennia of other royal intrigue.

Kabru: Yes, but I need it to be understandable to a man who's mostly just going to ask me how the goat-demon tast– I mean, uh... Your story structure was bad, so I simplified it.

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Oh shit, that's the thing Marcille is studying! She doesn't know it summons demons!

...My instinct is, "if only someone told her instead of completely outlawing the knowledge, forcing her to stumble blindly into the consequences on her own!" But, uh... I'm not sure this would actually stop her. She's very determined, and also has her share of wizard hubris. This is, of course, a driving question of the story.

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It wasn't easier to kill them? It wasn't easier to simply stop drawing magic from the infinite-power dimension?

...ok obviously not the latter, because, y'know. Fossil fuels. But seriously it wasn't easier to just kill them?

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It's sooo intersting how everyone else views Laios's love of monsters as a dangerous moral failing, when it's really just...ecologist enthusiasm. The man thinks this class of being is Neat. He is harming literally 0 people about this. He isn't even forcing anyone to eat them, just inviting them really enthusiastically and/or pointing out that this is necessary in order to achieve their shared goal of saving Falin.

Yes, obviously this could be subverted into something terrible by an encouraging demon. Just like, obviously, a desire to protect and preserve people can be! Or a desire to live happily with your loved ones! Laios isn't worse than any other Lord of a Dungeon; y'all just hate monsters!

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Kabru that is SO gay, jfc. I object on principle to the phrase "no heterosexual explanation", but--

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M! V! P! M! V! P!

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Friendship? Teamwork? Mutual respect and shared understanding of goals? Mithrun is a very useful ally because he really does Only want to stop the demon; he doesn't care about the geopolitics of it. Though his perspective is still very elvish and he definitely will kill our beloved protagonists without hesitation if they seem like they're going to be a problem.

.

I would read an entire novel about the formation of the halffoot union, honest to god. I bet it was very exciting. I bet someone tried to kill Chilchuck at least once.

[scarlet--wiccan]

Oh, and for the record, I'm sick of people cherry-picking scenes to argue that Billy doesn't think of Wanda as his mother, or that she doesn't consider him & Tommy her sons. That is blatantly untrue.

In the early to mid 2010s, both Billy and Wanda express some trepidation about how they should relate to one another. This relationship is new, to both of them, and it takes some getting used to. This scene, from Young Avengers (2013), highlights that awkwardness in a way that feels, like, completely normal and understandable. This is his mom, but he already has a mom, so what does he call her? The same exact book refers to Wanda as his "real" mother, which is loaded, but the point is Gillen obviously wasn't trying to undermine that relationship, I think he was modeling after an adoptee meeting their birth parent, and all of the complexity that comes with the territory.

In Scarlet Witch #8, Wanda is expressing her grief and anxiety about her relationship with Billy and Tommy... TO HER THERAPIST. She exressly states that while she does love them, she doesn't feel totally comfortable around them, and is worried about the consequences of their unusual reincarnation.

In the years since, all of these characters have repeatedly referred to each other as family, even to other people, and expressed a clear sense of family loyalty and connection. Finding and saving Wanda was Billy's main motivation in the late 2010s-- you think he went through all of that in Children's Crusade, just to feel indifferent towards her?

These relationships are complicated, but I don't understand the point of being so cynical and weird instead of just leaning into the nuance and accepting that these people love each other?

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Yes.” | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse | Cupcake | Foggy | Cracking | Just Breathe | Urge | Trim | Stupid | Upkeep | Old Defeat | Watching | Simple Loyalty | Overreaction | Set Up for Failure | Burning | Healed Wrong | Haunted | Boxes Buried | Heavy Blow | Loneliness

This, uh… owner? Isn’t all that bad. Could be a whole lot worse.

The hand sliding down his back isn’t welcome, but Major doesn’t fight it. He knows better. He knows better.

Shoulders angled down toward the floor an inch below them, dejected gray eyes locked onto a piece of dust just out of focus on the carpet, Major keeps from shaking off the touch. It’s not as creepy as it could be. Just seems to be, like… feeling along his spine as if checking for bruising on the piece of fruit he’s considering at the supermarket. Or checking out the ridges and valleys of his scars, but there’s no lingering fondles across the thick burn-ruined skin.

The smell of the guy’s breath hits him before the sound of his voice. Major holds his ground, only shifting to press his forehead to the floor as he listens. “I paid for one that leans into it. I won’t be all that hands-on, but still. I did pay for it.”

If he was in his right mind, Major would buck against that. Try to break the guy’s nose, maybe beat him for a while before killing him. But the warning, as polite as it might’ve been, hits like ice to his teeth. The training, with the gun and the consequences a split-second after each test… Major barely survived. He isn’t gonna fuck it up now. Especially not when he’s alone, bent down over his own knees, in some guy’s house.

The hand comes in for another swipe down his back, and this time Major arches up against it. Just slightly. It might not have been enough, he might be fucking up, there could be a gun held above his head where he can’t see it but he’ll hear the click of it, and… oh. He’s rewarded as if he was an eager purring cat, by an approving hum from above.

Disgust rises as goosebumps across his skin. But Major sinks down and feels his heartbeat thrumming in his temple after the terror of nearly disappointing the guy who… custom ordered a pissy, stubborn prisoner freshly trained to obey.

His mind goes blank, suddenly, when the guy ruffles his hair. Major doesn’t even fully register the condescending gesture, just lets his head be rocked back and forth with the rough petting to fried hair.

The voice, airy in a weird way, comes from higher above than Major was expecting. Thought the buyer would be leaning down close, but he’s up on one knee to rise, maybe. “Come on. Since you’re doing good enough. Got something to show you.”

The guy’s walking, and Major isn’t sure what to do. He’s scrambling up to follow, but a fog of stress locks his knees so he can’t stand. Is he… fuck, allowed to stand? To walk? Frozen by worry but spurred on by the fear of falling behind and breaking some unspoken rule, Major lurches forward on his hands and knees. No more goosebumps, no self-loathing curled tight in his stomach. The room feels cold when he goes numb and compliant.

The guy slows to a stop. When he turns to stare down at Major in bewilderment, it’s the first time Major sees him in full. He’s not… big. Slick black hair buzzed down on the sides and in the back. Tattoos across his face in swirling font that Major can’t read, a piercing in his nose. Which all would look tough, except there’s no real muscle on him, and even if there was it would be hard to see because the guy’s in a big sweater with a dress shirt poking out from under the sleeves and neckline.

Major swallows, trying to decide if the guy looks tough, or weak, or cool or lame. He’s distracted by a judgy scoff that sets his jaw clenching.

“What are you doing?” It’s not as mean as it could be, not cutting. Just too amused. “Crap, I didn’t think they were giving me one that thinks it’s a dog. Just walk.”

The words sting, through the numb distance he’d built up, and it’s more frustrating than it is humiliating. Major shoves himself upward and sways onto his feet, blinking against the odd waves of adrenaline and exhaustion.

“Just walk, we’re not… oh fu-... frick.” The buyer doubles back, hands raised and hurried. Major flinches back, eyes widening against the black fuzz swallowing his vision. He falls rapidly sideways, or upward, maybe… the world is spinning and he can’t figure out which way is down. He’ll be killed. He’s getting grabbed, fingers digging into his arms, he’s gonna die!

The room goes black, as pain erupts in his skull, and all sensations fade away.

[bimboficationblues]

I think that the “vote blue no matter who” disposition that has spread through American social liberals is honestly a fascinating psychological crisis and another instance of magical thinking at work. Trying to convince people to vote is one thing and at least makes some sense. Though given the frequent inarticulate, condescending approach I see so often, I think there’s a psychological urge to do this so that when they lose because their pitch is unappealing, inadequate, and anti-political, they can remain on moral high ground.

But the invocation often goes beyond that - any public critique of the Dems is considered counterproductive to the election, or at least requires a disclaimer that’s like “make sure you vote for them though!” (No concept of leverage at work here - promising your vote and demanding something in exchange for it are incompatible tactics.) And then, when Biden loses, it won’t be because of *the things that he did* which repelled people - it will be because not enough people listened to us, they willed failure into existence by talking about the problems.

“Vote blue no matter who” is not going to persuade Arab Americans whose family members are being murdered with US-funded munitions or disabled people left out to dry by an inadequate COVID response - this isn’t just a problem of Congressional deadlock, even in areas where Biden has meaningful power he has not used it well or in ways that will be lasting if, at any point, a Democrat is not elected President (which, uh, I think is a reasonable likelihood at some point). Getting the nickname “Genocide” is kind of not great for any political career - but confronting that reality would mean having to think up a new plan for making good things happen politically.

What the public performance of unflinching loyalty to the Democrats does do is absolve the speaker from having to confront that uncomfortable reality. It parallels the cultic or corporate invocation of “FUD” in order to tamp down internal dissent or flight; “actually, you can trust us, you should buy in, ignore your skepticism or critical thought - and if you don’t any consequences are your fault, not ours.” In a weird way, despite the catastrophic predictions, it’s a kind of toxic positivity: even if you vote you should otherwise remain silent on your criticisms or demands because those might convince someone else not to vote.

And I mean, this is all ignoring how utterly fucking repugnant it is to refocus conversations and activism around a US-financed ethnic cleansing back to the presidential election.

[weirdestbooks]

Reeducation (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bonus Oneshot for the Consequence of Loyalty

August 10, 1942

Philippines fought the puppet controlling him. It had been so long since Japan began commanding the puppet that he usually didn’t try, aside from those moments when Japan decided that they had to behave as “romantic partners” did, but he had to now.

He needed to show he didn’t agree with this. 

He needed to show that he was still under Japan’s control, that his body was not his own, that he was just being used as a propaganda mouthpiece and as a way for Japan to fulfill her sick fantasies.

But it didn’t work. The strength that had allowed him to fight off Japan just earlier that year was gone.

Philippines wished it wasn’t. He needed it now more than ever.

For it was the first graduation of the Camp Del Pilar Reeducation camp, a camp Japan set up to “reeducate” Philippines’ people, especially his military, into believing in her, her delusions, her plans, and that godforsaken Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.

“Isn’t this wonderful? All of your people that America manipulated are finally starting to heal,” Japan said, her voice excited, happy as if she were not the one who had taken his independence and hurt him and his people, brought war to his nation. 

It made Philippines sick.

But his lips curved into a small smile, as the puppet had been crafted to please Japan and say whatever she needed for her delusions to be reinforced.

“It is wonderful, dear. I’m glad that all these young men are taking advantage of their chance to do things over and support my country,” the puppet said, voice unable to move from an empty tone. 

That, at least, gave Philippines some satisfaction. She couldn’t force him to do everything she wanted.

“And hopefully, they’ll help you build a great nation once your independence is completely restored to you,” Japan said. Anger flooded the Philippines.

“I know they will. They’re good people despite everything America has done to them,” the puppet said. Philippines hated it. Hated how human it sounded, hated how it could speak without constant commands from Japan.

Philippines wished the puppet still behaved like it did in the beginning when it was an empty shell that couldn’t do anything without a direct command from Japan. At least when the puppet was like that, it would be hard to mistake it for a real person, for Philippines.

Now, it could act almost like a person.

Philippines hated it.

He wished he still had the ability to cry.

“I also have a surprise for you as well, which is why I wanted you to attend this graduation,” Japan said. Philippines' heart sank.

He hated Japan’s “surprises.”

They never ended well. They were…they…

Philippines prayed that this was a normal one.

“I thought it was the government’s idea. To show my support for the graduates and for what your people and emperor are doing for mine,” the puppet asked.

“It is that, but also more,” Japan said, not elaborating further. The pit in Philippines’ stomach only got deeper as the puppet turned to face the stage, as the graduation ceremony began. 

Philippines tried not to focus on it. He didn’t have control over his body, and he let his mind drift, preferring the brief moment of weakness rather than face his people who had been sed—who had been convinced to side with Japan. 

He didn’t want to face them. He didn’t want to see which ones of his people were willing to betray him for his occupier, for the empire that was conquering all of Asia to further her own goals. 

So he drifted.

He thought about a lot of things. 

He thought about Kentucky and whether he was okay. 

He thought about Hawaiʻi and how she was recovering after Japan’s attack. Philippines knew they had been close. And he knew Japan had a weird obsession with her. He hoped she was okay. 

Philippines thought about his daughter Guam, another prisoner of Japan, this time with her own free will, who was fighting so hard to stay herself amid Japan’s delusions.

Philippines thought about America and whether his friend turned enemy turned friend was coming to save him.

Philippines only came back to himself when he heard a familiar voice. 

Refocusing, he could see that Japan and the puppet were engaged in a conversation with…with Philippines’ longest human friend.

It was Ricardo Lopez. 

Suddenly Philippines realized what the surprise Japan had in mind for him might be. 

“So you never were a Japanese puppet?” Ricardo asked. The puppet shook it’s head.

“That was a lie the Americans perpetrated so they could excuse any support I had for Japan. I had always wanted her to help me. I never trusted the Americans to actually give me my independence, at least not without caveats that would have left me as a pseudo-colony,” the puppet lied.

Ricardo, NO! Please, that’s not me. That’s not me. You have to realize that!

Philippines cursed himself for telling Kentucky not to let Ricardo see him when he was under the puppet’s influence back on Bataan. If Ricardo had, maybe he wouldn’t fall for the performance. 

But Ricardo hadn’t seen Philippines before the puppet was given commands. 

“I understand, Phil. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner,” Ricardo said. The puppet laughed.

“That was the point. I was trying to protect you all from American influence and threats to my friends,” the puppet said. Ricardo scowled.

“I should have given some of those…annoying ones a few licks in then before we were separated,” Ricardo said, his voice holding…holding an anger Philippines had never heard before.

He knew Ricardo had never been the biggest fan of the Americans, but it had always been expressed more through frustration, never anger, never this kind of rage.

The puppet made Philippines look his friend in the eyes, and Philippines only saw a stranger.

Did Ricardo see a stranger, too, in Philippines’ empty doll eyes? Was Ricardo putting on an act because he was afraid of Japan, who had never left her puppet’s side?

Philippines didn’t know.

But there was a terrible pain in his chest.

And he felt terribly alone.

[beifong-brainrot]

The parallels between Lin and Opal

Young Opal was more like Lin than Su. And theres actually a lot of similarities between Lin and Opal as an adult, too!

The greatest value for both Lin and Opal is loyalty. They're willing to disregard their own moral codes to defend those they see themselves as caring/ responsible for.

very weird that Opal wanting to break the oath to save her family from a ruthless dictator is seen as a bad thing while Lin breaking the law to save her subordinates from an insane cultist is cheered on but oh well we don't have time for the double standard rn

The parallels between Lin and Suyin's relationship and that of Opal and Kuvira have interested me for a while and I'm sure I've rambled about it many times already. And they're so obvious, but for some reason I only see people comparing Kuvira to Lin, which feels very surface level all things considered. Kuvira and Lin share their determination, however Opal is also prone to showing strong determination. I think most people just see Kuvira and Lin as "the loners of the family" or base the percieved similarities only off of both Kuvira and Lin being "against" Su.

Opal and Lin, however have very similar arcs.

Both Lin and Opal dealt with having their needs sidelined and their hurt dismissed by their mothers in favour of the troubled kid who acted out with no consequences. Suyin's 'soft spot' for Kuvira is an interesting parallel between her and Toph which makes sense. Suyin's whole thing is second chances. She jumped at the opportunity of taking Kuvira back in.

Despite both being harmed and neglected by their mothers, Opal and Lin do both strive to please their mothers, believing that this will win them more of the affection they so desperately crave. Here, their paths divide significantly. For Lin, it's a straightforward "I'll be just like my mom, so she'll be proud of me" thing.

Opal, however was born a nonbender, and was unable to fully live up to what her mother might want of her. This also adds to the tension between Opal and Kuvira. It would be easy for a young Opal to see Kuvira, a talented metalbender, getting taken into the family sort of like having a replacement brought in. I'd be mad too.

Opal tries to please her mom in other ways, for example keeping herself from going to the Air Temples, despite this being something she so desperately wants.

Lin even notices this and talks to her about it. (I adore Lin and Opal's relationship 😊 Lin is so awkward and doing her best Awwww)

The one huge difference between Lin and Opal is their relation to family. Lin is an outsider, while Opal was very closely tied to her family. I find it interesting that Old Wounds (while not handling the Beifongs the best) has Lin and Opal 'moving' in seperate directions. Lin starts reconnecting with her family, while Opal finally flies the coop. Its fascinating to see how Lin's isolation and Opal's assimilation set them on different paths in life, yet ultimately still allowed them to be incredibly similair personalitywise.

I really like their bond and find it absolutely delicious how Lin and Suyin's unresolved trauma skipped down a generation.

Opal is one of my favourite characters of the legend of korra and I find that the fandom often does her a disservice. I've also never seen her very obvious connection to Lin explored.

[pigglepiephi]

I really like that the fall out from the JudyBamhee kiss is effecting the work, relationships, and loyalties of the interns.

Often these things seem to happen in a weird isolation, but I love that the consequences are having a bigger impact than just Tae & Bamhee’s relationship.

It feels so real that some characters would choose sides like Pah and others like Ryan would just try to keep the peace!

[k-dokja]

Wow, it has been a year since I last wrote something for him.

Summary: Your relationship is strange and perplexing. Neither of you mind it, it's no one else's business.

There is a line.

A clear line between you and Jonggun that you’ve accepted from the day you were introduced to him. The line which serves to be an invisible barrier between the two of you, thinner than thread but thick enough to keep the two of you from crossing it.

You can’t say you care for it. Not when you have no intention of crossing the line. Jonggun, however, does whatever he wants and he seldom thinks about the consequences of his actions if what he does bring him personal gratification. Because of that, on more than one occasion, you’ve seen him toeing the line, having a whole foot over even. You always patiently watched to see what he will do next, but after the third time this happened, you came to the conclusion that he only wanted to see you hold your breath in anticipation.

Afterwards, you stop caring.

While formality dictates that the two of you need to be faithful during your engagement, he cannot care less about it and the idea is appalling for you. Neither of you cares enough about the other to need some misguided loyalty. Even if you did, you doubt you’d ever receive it from him. You save yourself the grief by never bothering to care about it. He doesn’t have a problem with his freedom either. All is well in the world.

Until it isn’t.

“So, what are you to him, anyway?”

Joongoo, too nosy for his own good, always has a way to squirm his way into matters that shouldn’t be his to care about. You don’t really mind. You never bother to make sense of him, he’s useful enough that all of his downsides stop being a problem.

Tolerable enough that sometimes it amuses you to entertain him.

“Business partners,” you reply without glancing up from your phone. It wouldn't be your first choice to spend your free time lounging around with Joongoo, but there are worse options, you guess.

“Naur,” Joongoo says, “I’m business partner with him, business nemeses-with-benefits depending on days, but you are not his business partner.”

You glance at him. Trying to figure out what’s going on his pretty little head is a fool’s errand. You don’t even know where his nonsense begins and where his sense ends. At least, you aren’t so busy that his probing would become a bother.

“Pardon?” You say. “Him and I, we have common business ventures and same goals for expansion. What would we be if not business partners?”

Joongoo clicks his tongue, “You people sleep with your business partners?”

You snort, more amused by his misunderstanding than offended. “We aren’t sleeping together.” If this has been a year ago, you’d have said you don’t know where he gets the idea from. At this point in time, however, you’ve weathered enough people getting the wrong idea that his assumption sounds trivial to your ears.

“Aren’t you?” Joongoo asks, “Then what’s this weird vibe I’m getting from you two?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” you resist smirking, you truly do, “what’s this exact vibe you see in us?”

He shrugs, “Dunno, like, you’re too comfortable with each other and shit,” he says, “either you’ve done the tango naked or something else is going on here.”

“I like your imagination. Very vivid.” You narrow your eyes at him but say nothing more about it. The discussion alone is silly and entertaining him for this long is the extent of your generosity.

"You know I'm right," he grumbles, "Even if you aren't sleeping together, there's something there. You'd be lying if you said there isn't."

You've returned to your phone by this point, and your attention to him is torn in half but at least you continue to answer, "Well, of course there's something there. We're engaged to be wed and until either of us found it enough of a nuisance to break the engagement off, we're bound by this thin thread of obligation we cannot care less for."

"Is that what you think?"

A third voice. Masculine. Familiar, and deeper than Joongoo's. You don't even need to look up to see Jonggun entering the room. You don't have to see him to know what face he's making either. Utterly impartial and mildly amused, the bare minimum of expression.

"Isn't it the truth?" You say. "Pretending otherwise would only be kidding ourselves."

Jonggun stops behind you, his hand is set on the back of your chair. He dips low enough that when he speaks, you feel his breath fan against your ears. The only indication that it affects you is the slightest twitch at the corner of your mouth. One you doubt he can see but know it's there anyway.

"And what if I want otherwise?"

You turn to level your eyes with his, your smile saccharine sweet. "If you wish for an early death then you should take the matter into your own hands, don't involve me in it." With that said and done, you go back to your phone, and your interest in the entire conversation vanishes.

"You're sure she's the nicest one out of us?" Joongoo drawls.

You don't need to see to know Jonggun is smiling when he says next, "Was there ever a doubt?"

[upsilambic]

[ I was going through my WIPs again and started poking at this one again. Who knows when I'll finally finish it, so I thought I'd post a snippet of it for fun.]

Untitled - Squalo and Bianchi are stuck cooking together

"It's not even a secret. The answer is love, of course."

"...love.” The word spilled off Squalo's tongue as if it had suddenly gone rancid in his mouth. He made a face to match that sentiment. “Way to take a perfectly good conversation and make it weird, Poison Scorpion." He reached for his own wine to wash away his distaste.

Bianchi, for her part, remained unpreterbed.

"There is nothing weird about it. After all, you are here out of love for your boss."

Squalo was almost positive she had waited to say that until he had taken a drink, and really, he would have been grudgingly impressed had he not, at that moment, been suffering the consequences of aspirating red wine. Clearly all her time spent with Reborn had left an impression.

"NO," he managed to wheeze out.

Bianchi deftly ignored his plight, seemingly lost in contemplation in the way the wine in her glass caught the light. Though, there was a towel suddenly handy to mop up the wine that sloshed from his when he set it down.

"There are many kinds of love,” she said at last. “It's not all romantic love, and there is nothing wrong with it if it is. Don't be such a child."

"Voi, I am not being a child!" It was a regrettable choice of words, and there was no mistaking Bianchi's amused smirk. "Whatever," he said with a wave of his hand. "You can just fuck all the way off." He attempted a dramatic turn, but the effect was not the same with his hair tied back. This only added to his irritation,so with all the airs and grace of a wet cat, he focused his attention on completing the Boss's meal. Damn Boss better eat it or he was going to shove it down his stupid throat. Hah, how's that for love?

"Is it so hard?"

"Is what so hard?"

"Talking about emotions that aren't anger."

“It’s hardly just anger. It’s more…nuanced. There’s rage, of course. Frustration, irritability, vengefulness…”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Am I?”

Bianchi said nothing and seemingly waited with all the patience of a saint. Squalo recognized her silence as a challenge. As much as he wanted to ignore her and her argument, he also really wanted to win. He glared down at his sauté pan of aromatics as if they held his answer.

"Anger is direct and efficient. All the rest gets unnecessarily complicated."

"Hm, perhaps. I didn't think you were the type to shy away from the difficult path."

"Heeey, I'm not shying away from anything! I just don't happen to wear these things-"

"-Feelings."

"...fine. On my sleeve, alright?"

There was a pause as Bianchi tipped her head to the side and regarded him carefully. "Does this conversation make you uncomfortable, Superbi Squalo?"

Deeply, horribly, excruciatingly. "No." 

“What if I exchanged the word love for loyalty or devotion?”

Squalo shot her a look. Of all the words she could choose, she picked one that he most prided himself upon. He was about to shout that loyalty wasn't stupid and soppy when he saw there was no judgment. She was stating what she felt was fact. Suddenly, the weight of his braid felt very heavy. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

“Alright. Fine. I get it. I do,” he said at last. “I’m still not calling it love, though.” He waved his spatula at her to emphasize his point. She didn't flinch. Of course she didn't. Her lips pulled into a small smile 

“You don’t have to.”