#there's something poetic about almost drowning

[lazydogz]

//tw for Neil's death and discussions of drowning//

Todd never learned how to swim

His parents never cared to teach him, it seemed like they lacked in all qualities of parenting unless it pertained to pushing him to the brink of burn out in academics. It was something to be expected when he lived in the shadow of his older brother, paling in comparison to every aspect of the two. Jeffery seemed to always be five steps ahead, by the time Todd had even grown old enough approach the old lake on his own Jeffery's free time was eaten up by extra classes and sports, leaving Todd on his own.

And he tried, he'd taken a deep breath and slipped below the cool waters just to try to prove to himself he could do something on his own. Prove that there was something more about him but the lake seemed to have a penchant for empty chested individuals much like Todd, the water swarming him and pouring into his lungs like an barren jar tossed into a lake.

He kicked and gasped for something more than the murky waters surrounding him on all sides but all he tasted was clay on his tongue and the blinding sand in his eyes. Hands reached out towards the shards of light cutting through the dark waves just above his head. The catfish watched him from the bottom, their god-like eyes and opened mouths filled with awe as the waited for him to join them at the muddy bottom.

And just as the thought that this was it crossed his mind, just as every bit of fight fled his body and he could feel the scales against his skin, he was pulled back above the surface. He coughed up the water in his lungs and through bleary eyes looked up to be met with the harrowingly disappointing look on his father's face, a haunting look. He could draw the very look he was given blind.

They never asked what happened and Todd was half convinced they thought he did it on purpose.

Todd became wary of lakes, he didn't trust what laid beneath the mirrored surface even when the blue skies made it look so inviting. He watched his steps while on old and unsteady bridges, crossed his fingers whenever he balanced on fallen tree trunks over rivers and never once tried to swim again.

Years later he's practicing lines on the old dock at Welton, watching his every agonizing step backwards as Neil approaches him fast, spitting out quotes with a hypnotizing passion. Each step closer and the dock dips unsteadily on the water, rising and falling as Todd's heart beat wildly in his chest. The edge is coming closer to his feet, his boots nearly hanging off the wooden planks and Neil is still coming at him, mind completely lost in the weaving of his character through carefully practiced words.

And then they're nose to nose, boot to boot, and the unsteady dock dipping dangerously to one side, threatening to send the two toppling over into the chilly water. Neil was smiling like an utter madman and after taking a deep breath in, Todd noticed his hand was clutching at the front of his coat, keeping him steady, keeping him in place and above the water. His face felt hot and suddenly they needed to break apart and sit shoulder to shoulder.

They watched the calm water reflecting the soft clouds in it's face, the autumn leaves skimming the surface and the tiny ripples running each one makes as it lands, disrupting the otherwise peaceful painting of the sky it had made. Todd's heart still was beating so fast, even more so when Neil leaned closer to his side.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" He whispered beside him.

Todd looked down into the water, finding the mirrored version of himself looking back up at him. And Neil, Neil beside him staring at him with the same eyes he looked out at the lake with. A certain fondness as if he'd known this all his life, it'd carved out it's own special place in his heart.

Todd cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, yeah it is." He couldn't ignore the way his chest was fluttering with butterflies.

A week later Neil kissed him out on the same dock with the reflection of the moon in the water as their only witness.

The months move by and soon enough Todd is in bed, feeling as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head as he processes what Charlie had told him. Suddenly, he was back in the water, he can't breath and everything was closing in on him. The light that was so close in reach has been washed away by the darkening waves.

He didn't remember how he got outside, the cold air sinking it's teeth in his sensitive flesh and freezing the tears on his rosy cheeks. He walked aimlessly, he didn't know where he was going but his feet are carrying him towards that godforsaken dock. His blood ran hot, threatening to erupt from his veins if he doesn't turn around, not even throwing himself into the powdery white snow tames the feverish agony running through him.

Then the wooden planks, covered in the blindingly white snow, are beneath his feet and he's screaming out into the emptiness of the lake till his voice ran raw and his lungs gave out. So much sat on his tongue but he couldn't get it out through his sobs, tears freezing to his face just as quickly as they had left his eyes.

And then for a moment he stands in the cold oblivion, staring out at the frozen over lake in quiet contemplation.

Todd prayed that maybe if he stepped out onto the frozen expanse of the lake it would shatter beneath his swaying legs and swallow him whole. That maybe the icy water would fill his lungs and just maybe that would numb the agonizing ache of his heart.

Maybe he'd finally feel less empty if his chest was filled with water.

[lizajane2]

I constantly think about Arthur's quote, "I can barely speak English." because the same man is saying things like, "I must moderate my approach to wine." "Despite my best efforts to the contrary..." or "I have to insist." At times he can be poetic (threatening or not) in the way he says things too. For example, "Maybe when your mother's finished mourning your father, I'll keep her in black on your behalf." Or one of my favorites, "Lack of something to feel important about is almost the greatest tragedy a man can have."

Or how about when he finds that crashed airship along Little Creek River? He mentions Icarus, a Greek myth about a man who flew too close to the sun and the wax melted, causing Icarus to plunge into the sea and drown. At that time not everyone is learning and reading classical literature, you literally have to go out of your way and read that shit in a book. Sure Dutch and Hosea taught him to read, but what outlaw is teaching a teenager about Greek Mythology?

Arthur is smarter than he gives himself credit for. He's by no means stupid. He's self-aware and far more emotionally intelligent than he comes off as.

And it makes it a bit more tragic when you think of the potential Arthur might’ve had outside of being an outlaw.

[matsunoluvr]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ how I think the boys from love and deepspace would give a first kiss :3

warnings: suggestive content (obviously?), writing might be out of character, spoilers in general, i get carried away explaining everything because i'm afraid of being accused of mischaracterisation

[story spoiler] first kiss = first kiss where mc is a hunter/the timeline in game

authors notes: i have favourites and it will show CLEARLY in my writing… sorry (not sorry no1 rafayel stan) and i am a yapper

characters: rafayel, xavier, zayne and sylus

link to my master list here!!

more below the cut :3

sorry rafayel... but i feel like he's the most unskilled at kisses because - hear me out - you're his very first kiss. lemurians as a species seem to value bonds and loyalty, and as the literal sea god he wasn't able to nor wanted to just hook up or mess around - he's looking for devotion!!!

(okay, we ignore the kiss in forgotten sea myth story because like come on there was literally no romance mc was drowning)

definitely waits a while before kissing you, rayafel really takes his time to fall into place. after all, he needs to make sure his beloved bride/groom is well and truly his!!!

the type to wait for the ‘right moment’ - but doesn’t force or stage it ykwim? like the time comes naturally - e.g. watching the sunset, or you’re leaning close to him whilst he’s painting

he’s a romantic 100% like there’s a reason his 'floral promise' card was (imo) way fluffier compared to the others - like xavier's was tender-ish but rafayel was fucking melting

he's a sweet talker I just know it.

that charm he uses on his clients? he doesn't want to nor will he manipulate you with it but you know he's going to ramp up the charm to tease you a little

definitely knows his effect on you and uses it to his full advantage (cough cough fiery undercurrents secret times) like whispering in your ear, making excuses to touch you or get close to you

(i think he’d be more 'traditional' because of lemurian customs - the whole bonding + [forgotten sea spoilers] the sea god ceremony where the mc must devote themselves to rafayel displaying a strong level of devotion)

SUCH A GENTLE KISSER OMG like compared to his almost bratty and childish personality he’s a gentleman when it comes to kisses (also because he's kind of unsure what to do...)

the type to tuck strand of your hair behind your ear, fiddle with it a little maybe twirl it around his finger before trailing a finger along your jawline... i can see him like massaging your ear too? idk how to describe it he's a handsy man

first kiss was definitely more sweet than passionate ugawhriulgs he's such a cutie

right after the first kiss i think he’d be pretty affectionate, rather than bratty/tsundere since for him to kiss someone i believe he’d really need to love them (and therefore is more open to being vulnerable)

affectionate as in saying something cheesy probably, commenting on how you tasted or another one of his poetic, artistic quotes (dw raf we love it)

wouldn't be satisfied with just one after that, i can see him going in for a more passionate second and even a third (i mean look at his 'floral promise' memory OR 'fiery undercurrents') in the same few minutes

these follow up kisses would probably be longer and way less chaste, hands moving from tilting your chin up to your waist ahahahahahuwfa

you'd have to show him the appeal of tongue if that's your thing because he's seen it before but never really saw what was nice about it

"But... you're just drinking each other's saliva?" "Rafayel that's hot-"

definitely relived the moment in his head hundreds of times after that night - and you bet your ass he painted a piece inspired from your first kiss with him

any kisses after that i feel like they would follow this default pattern;

if he initiated the kiss i think he’d be more cocky and teasing, especially if he surprised you with one and he sees your flustered face

“Didn’t expect that huh, cutie?”

if you surprised him, however, get ready for typical rafayel childish behaviour, blushing and averting his eyes, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and a pout

“Hey- what was that for!!” Σ（・□・；）

either way rafayel is the worlds silliest man and would cave into literally anything with just a few kisses from you

ALSO KISS HIS COLLAR BONES AND YOU'VE GOT A WHOLE NEW SCENARIO TO UNFOLD

oh i just have a feeling this man is devouring you because puh-LEASEE?? sir we aren't forgetting your 'tender night' card i know that night was anything but tender

xavier is the definition of pent-up desire because this man has been waiting a LONG time and he's not going to be able to hold back very well

(taking heavy inspiration from his '21 days' memory because with his reaction it kind of feels like his first kiss with mc... but tbh i don't know much about xavi)

he's definitely not shy when it comes down to it, yeah he gets flustered if he thinks about it because of course imagining kissing the person he's pined over for centuries is going to fluster the shit out of him but he doesn't shy away form the idea or avoid the topic in conversation

i feel like he'd bring it up casually - like in the 'partner go go' event (aka heartbreaker-chasing-rhythm-game event) he was so insistent on the 'kissing page'

mc was like "apparently you can solve arguments with a kiss" and this mf straight up said "we can argue then" this man is STARVED

i feel like you'd need to initiate the kiss or give him very clear signs you'd be okay with a kiss for it to happen, i don't know why i just feel like he's that type of person

the first kiss is deep despite him trying his best to hold back - you can just feel his desire and longing oozing out of him and he's definitely on fucking cloud nine

xavier's holding your face and stroking his thumb along your cheek and god damn he's good at kissing where the fuck did he learn this from?

the type to break the kiss and then fucking bulldoze into the next one and my god his restraints have broken and he's actually kissing you as if it's the last thing he's able to do on earth

100% a tongue user he's biting at your bottom lip before slipping it in the sly minx

after the kiss he's more flustered than he expected to be - kissing the love of his life (literally) sends him into a flurry of emotions he's never really experienced before

given how possessive xavier is i wouldn't be surprised if halfway through making out he managed to leave a hickey or two in very. visible. places.

he isn't even pretending to feel guilty in the slightest, a smug grin as he shrugs out a half-assed apology.

"Sorry, I guess you'll have to try hide it. Or don't, that would be easier."

if you leave any marks on him he's not leaving you along that night. forget sleeping you two are recreating 'tender night' ALL night.

but seriously, if you leave hickeys over his neck (his canonical sensitive area and where he feels vulnerable) he's going to go crazy because what do you mean you want everyone to know he's yours??? what do you mean you want him as much as he wants you??

tldr; xavier is unusually talented with his mouth and is desperate to prove it to you.

i accidentally wrote way more for xavier than i expected i even cut out some bits holy crap maybe i’m more into xavi than i thought

oh no... zayne you beautiful man i am so sorry... (here comes the one character i have no idea how to characterise + no clue about his lore zayne fans pls bear with me)

okay - zayne looks like a gentleman and i'm sure he very much is even in intimate moments, but i cannot get rid of the idea that his first kiss w you was lowk spicyyyyy

like OH MY GOD I JUST WATCHED SNOWY SERENITY RN I FUCKIGN KNEW IT

that man was pouncing on you in a hospital bed, dishevelled, and kissing you deep my god like the type of kiss that literally as you forgetting where you are

i feel like zayne would be the one to initiate the kiss, again no idea why maybe i'm falling into the dominant zayne agenda

you're probably surprised when he kisses you because he's usually so composed, the 'cold unfeeling' dr zayne - then suddenly he's panting and pushing himself on top of you (consensually of course), pinning you down and going to town.

when he kisses you i don't think he's much of a lip biter, but if you bite his lips or lick at him or anything he's not opposed, as long as your lips are on his and vice versa

after the first kiss he's going straight into another one, his patience has thinned to the point of snapping and now he just needs you.

his hands what does he do with his hands? i'm thinking the typical otome face hold, gentle grasp juxtaposing his fervent kisses LOL

now, why does he kiss you?? how does this all build up? unfortunately all i can think of to match this scenario is something angsty or something along the lines of zayne has fucking had it and all he wants is you

"I need you... please."

this is the type of kiss where he wants to drown in you, breathe you in and just smother his being into yours to forget and erase whatever else is happening/happened

if he's kissing you and pinning you down and you bring up your hand to interlock fingers with him - your warm hands against his cool hands? wow his kissing is all of a sudden even more passionate.

after the little make out session he's going to go all mushy on you, physical affection of an embrace something uncharacteristic of him to match his dishevelled state

in kisses after the first i like the idea that he checks your pulse mid make-out and just silently smirks/chuckles when he notices it's faster and more erratic than usual

"Why are you nervous, this isn't our first time."

he also has this sneaky habit of whispering incredibly close to your ear, the reason why i choose to point this out it because i feel like sometimes he uses his evol to his advantage to like, breathe out cool air on your neck/ear and likes to watch you shiver

the ultimate dominant figure if you try to kiss him first and take control he somehow manages to overcome you and take the lead without using his strength, just good ol' sweet talking and technique

congratulations, you managed to snatch a kiss from the renown leader sylus!!!

i can see why people would think he's promiscuous or a fuck-boy because honestly i see it, but imo just because he is more flirtatious, assertive and... responsive (try tapping his... crotch... in the café LOL) does NOT = play boy

to me it just shows that - unlike the other LIs - sylus is just more forward with his approach, he has that devil-may-care like feel to him ykwim?

"Do I like you? What type of question is that, isn't it obvious? Or do I need to show you?" is much different to "Hey baby girl lemme rock your world tnite xx"

but just because he's got a 'fuck-all' attitude doesn't mean he fucks around with random people, he's 1. got standards and 2. living in the n109 zone?? do you THINK he can afford to let random people close just to fuck???

that being said i don't think he's a kiss virgin, just very selective and honest man when it comes to love and physical intimacy

now, when i say he isn't a fuckboy, that doesn't mean i don't believe in cocky-smugass-know-it-all sylus - he kisses well. and with PASSION. and probably the worst part is that he knows it.

first kiss with sylus? i can't imagine him making a large fuss about it like rafayel, nor it having to be some "i'm-at-deaths-door-and-need-to-kiss-you-atleast-once" situation like zayne, but no matter where or when you two share a first kiss he is making sure you remember

that being said, there was definitely a LOT of romantic and sexual tension between you and sylus for at least weeks before the kiss, i mean the air was thick with suggestive glances and denial

i think you two'd have to already be in close proximity which is very easy to achieve with sylus (touchiest man award goes to him) for the first kiss to initiate

he's grabbing your waist, or your face, makings sure your eyes are on. him. as you two kiss. watching with delight no matter what reactions you have, he admires you through surprised and flustered to confident and defiant

rather than a tender first kiss it’s probably a full blown make out session, just desire and lust flooding out of the both of you after having built up for over a month.

assertive does not mean he's going to force a kiss on you to clear this up, more that he likes to take the initiative and take control as you two kiss <3

yeah he's into biting (wow what a big shock) - likes biting your ear, or neck, or bottom lip, one time he tried nipping at your tongue too.

you can bite him back, he likes it.

"Hah, looks like someone is baring their claws tonight..." he’s really into that whole cat thing huh.

what does mr sylus do with his hands? waist, hips, ass, around your neck, pulling your face in by squeezing your cheeks, fingers threading through the hair on the back of your head, you name it he does it. again, i think sylus is a touchy man.

he doesn't mind if you try to take control, just dont expect to be successful. different to zayne - as in he will overcome your control with his evol and strength…

inappropriate use of his evol has occurred (he ‘tied’ you up and made out with you (CONSENSUALLY))

after his affinity 15 (i think) memory i can just tell he’s freaky with it bruhhh so yeah handcuffs are probably something he indulges in

if you’re persistent or physically overcome sylus you might get rewarded with a resigned, more submissive sylus

the idea or sight of someone man handling/overcoming his strength really sets him off.. i mean have you seen “no defence zone”?? but you’re really going to need to work to get him to this stage, and he’s going to have to love you

“No one’s ever seen me like this, lying on my back and begging for you.”

secretly finds out through you that he enjoys being dominated (BRAT SYLUS FOR 2024) so climb on top of him and kiss him until he’s blushing and panting hahahahahaha

tldr: sylus isn’t a fuck-boy but he sure kisses like one

AN; as an ao3 writer may say, no beta we die like caleb i wrote half of this when i was half asleep LMAOO anyways i hope this was okay please dont attack me BYE

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own / DISCORD SERVER

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

[dancewithdeath11]

Damnation

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller knew he was damned, why would a pretty thing like you be with a man like him anyways?

Warnings: Smut 18+, lowkey religious undertones (talks of damnation, sin, using god's name in vain (lol)), just fuckin’, not too dirty, more like poetic smut? Love dirty old man poety rizz, fem-anatomy, unprotected sex, use of pull out method 

Wordcount: 1.5K

======

Breathing never sounded so loud. So frantic. Steeped in carnal lust and punctuated by growling grunts. 

He knew. He knew it deep down. Knew this was something bad. Something that shouldn’t happen. Something that would spell out going to hell together hand in hand by the mock of the angels. 

But something like this was worth the damnation. 

It made sense that sins like this were associated with hell. It’s hot, his greedy hands wandering across the sweltering expanses of your skin. The choked moans against one another's lips. Half hooded eyes of a man almost twice your age taking it all in.

How your innocent, ditsy fucking haltertop was bunching around your waist from when he untied it from the pretty bow that you had it in. Although, his hands were shoving the pathetic excuse for clothing back up. It got trapped under your tits, unintentionally, all so he could dig his worn fingers into your supple waist. His jeans were pushed down just enough, your shorts on the ground somewhere. It was almost unfair how you were left so exposed while he was almost fully dressed. 

Joel Miller knew from the second you came up to him that he was screwed. 

At first he thought it was a delusion. Seeing something that wasn’t there. A mirage of an oasis out in the desert that he wanted nothing more than to drown in. In what world would he guess your silent infatuation? Occasionally catching your gaze at the Tipsy Bison or around town. Of course, Joel would spare a small smile for a pretty thing like you. You would return it, beaming at him from where you were, lifting a hand to waggle your fingers at him. 

But he was knocked out when you came up to him for the first time. Your charm broke him quicker than he’d like to admit. After that you were a pleasurable constant in his life. The two of you run into each other quite often. Either quick hellos or long talks. His eyes were fixed on you and only you. 

He couldn’t, shouldn’t.. He swore to himself he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t tarnish you like that. Touch you with his bloodied hands that had taken too many lives. They were permanently stained, a fixed reminder. That should’ve been all it took. No way could Joel Miller do anything with someone pure like you. He was a sinner. 

But oh..

When you came up to him. Sweet you asked for help. How could he deny? 

More importantly, how could he foresee the future? How would he know that you’d pout up at him with the same kissable lips he knew spoke prayers in that house of worship they had in Jackson. He knew you went every Sunday. Was he supposed to know what to do when you flirted shyly, smiling and batting your eyelashes? What about when you grabbed his tainted hand with your soft one? 

Joel was just a man. A weak sinful man who hasn’t touched a woman in years and now here he is. With you. 

He told himself. Just one kiss couldn’t hurt..

But after he had a taste, it was too much. He was diving right into the mirage of water. Drowning in you. Entirely and wholly. 

You’d moan, it was a saccharine sound. Deep and raw like fresh honey, “Oh God..” 

“Takin’ the lord’s name in vain, honey?” Joel chuckled, but it turned into a groan as he felt you clench at his chastising tone. Your nose scrunched in a way that Joel quickly came to love. Face pinched in pleasure as you struggled to keep your eyes open, occasionally slipping up and closing them. But you would open them back up just as quickly. 

Joel watched as you panted and squirmed beneath him, hair fanned out like a halo around you on the rug. “S-Shut-” You didn’t even get to finish before you interrupted yourself with a moan. 

You let out a low whine of frustration as you reached back behind you and grabbed at a fallen pillow. A reminder to Joel of how bad he was. Taking you on the couch like a desperate teenager at first, but when switching around the two of you ended up on the ground. A well loved rug scratching at your bare back, the hard floor making his knees hurt. 

Everything felt rough though. The rough scratch of Joel’s beard as he shoved his face into your neck. Kissing over the sweaty skin and marking you with purpose. Sloppy wet open mouth kisses that makes you tilt your head back and to the side to give him more access. Dirty girl.. Sinful. 

Joel’s rough thrusting was practically sending you up the wall. The head of his cock knocking something deep inside you. That something had you arching under him. Frantically reaching for a different kind of purchase every time, unable to decide where you should put your hands through the haze of lust. But at the same time he was sending you away, he’d drag you back with a tug to your waist.

Joel grunted as he looked down at you. Watching as your face screwed up in pleasure. The flush that covered your cheeks and spread down to your chest where your tits were slick with sweat and littered with hickeys. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth with want, but again, Joel was a weak man. 

He took your nipple in his mouth, nipping at the hard bud before laving over it with his tongue. His other hand skates up your side to give your other breast attention. Pinching and tugging your nipple, twisting it till you let out a whimper of pleasure. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging just as greedily as he had been grabbing at you before. It’s all his fault. You’re tarnished. Greedy, lustful, desperation showing through with the way you bucked your hips against his and held his head in place from where he had his mouth on your breast. Breathless moans leaving your lips as he scraped his teeth over the plush skin. 

“Joel-” It was a weak call, pitched in a vaguely familiar way. But he could tell why you were calling to him. 

He could feel it all in the way that you were rolling your hips back against his a little weaker than before. You were clenching his dick in a way that had him grabbing your waist a little tighter. The erotic sound of your moans filled the room. Accompanied by the dirty wet slapping of skin on skin from where your slick coated the inside of your thighs. “Shit, sweetheart, ya sound like a goddamn pornstar..” He entertained himself with a smirk, then pressed another kiss to your sternum. 

Idly thinking of you in one of those dirty old films. Maybe he could find a camera, make a little home film of the two of you.. Joel cursed the thought because of how much he liked it. 

“What’s that?” 

Another fucking reminder of how much younger you are than him. 

He elects to ignore your question rather than explaining it, baring his teeth as he sucked in a sharp breath. You open your mouth to ask him again, but he shuts it down as he begins to thumb over your clit. Fingers splaying across your mound as he swipes his thumb over the too sensitive bundle of nerves. 

A broken cry leaves your lips. He leans up to be face to face with you. Wide innocent eyes meeting his, tears just balancing on your lash line. Joel cooed at you, “You close, baby?” He slowed the rocking of his hips, instead focusing on thrusting harder. Shoving his cock back into your dripping abused pussy like he was mad at you. 

Tears streaked into your hairline. A quick nod followed by a weak uh-huh, that was overtaken by a moan. It didn’t take long.. One, two, three good thrusts later and your legs were trembling as they tightened around Joel’s waist. You tenses and looked about ready to fold in on yourself as you cried out like a woman possessed. “Shit- fuck, joel! Oh Joel-” it was a hiccuping kind of cry. Your hands finding his biceps and nails biting into his skin as he sped up again. Searching for his own release. Getting off on how much slicker you got as your tight cunt spasmed and clenched around is cock. 

“I know, baby, I know..” He gritted out. Pinching his eyes shut as he tried to find some kind of self control. Hissing as he dropped his head, chin to chest as he pulled out and fisted his cock. Shooting his spend all over your throbbing pussy and stomach. “Fuck…” He sighed and opened his eyes again. 

There you were, taking quick shallow breaths as you looked at his cum pooling on your skin. And he watched as you took your delicate finger and swiped it up, bringing it up to your mouth. A flash of pink as your tongue darted out to lick it. Then you sucked your finger into your mouth, licking it clean as you finally made eye contact with him. 

You pulled your finger from your mouth with a pop, smiling up at him innocently, “Can we..do it again? Please, Joel?” It was innocent. You were innocent. But how could he not? Especially when you asked him so nicely. 

He licked his lips. 

Oh, he’s going to hell…

======

[anotheroceanid]

TWO OF THE (MANY) SCENES DELETED FROM CHAPTER 7 OF WTHB

(If something looks weird, it's because I converted markdown to html and THEN to RTF)

SCENE 1

APOLLO

WINTER SOLSTICE OF 2007

OLYMPUS

First thing Hermes says is: ‘No!’

Very loud. Very rude. The poor nymph who was serving the drinks runs the other way.

Apollo had his head turned so he could have a clear sight of the object of his desires, so Hermes grabbed his face with one hand and forced Apollo to look at him. ‘No.’ It was more of a whisper now, almost a prayer.

Twinged by jealousy and disappointment, Apollo addressed the elephant in the room. ‘Are you…’

‘No!’ Why Hermes sounded like a broken record, Apollo had no idea, but the knowledge that his brother possessed no passion for their lovely cousin made Apollo’s—very—stressful day a thousand times better. He beamed and looked at her again, just to be once again interrupted by Hermes, who invaded his line of sight. Before Apollo could protest, his brother was already speaking. ‘I care for her as you do for Artemis.’

Apollo furrowed his brows.

That was… odd.

Hermes wasn’t one to deny himself any sort of beauty, and he got a good eye for precious and forbidden things he could steal. What was more beautiful, precious and forbidden than the daughter their uncle sired in secrecy with a mortal with whom any other god would avoid meddling? 

Apollo stretched his body so he could see beyond his brother. Across the room, stood Persephone—what a poetic name for a girl who bears the choice to save or destroy them all. She was the most glorious vision Apollo had ever had in front of his godly eyes. Confusing as it was, it had little to do with her striking looks—not that Apollo denied in any way the fine traces that designed his cousin’s face, for she had been gracefully constructed by her parents; Uncle Poseidon and her mortal mother made an exceptional work. 

However, there was something even more charming underneath the gold silky skin that covered her nearly unhuman skin, something dangerous behind the porcelain teeth, something delicate than the shade of her indescribably sea-ish eyes. The beauty that puzzled Apollo was something warm and bright, very much like himself. Something kept as a secret, a poetry he hadn't yet read, a melody muffled by louder noises that refused to go quiet so he could delight in it peacefully. 

As the God of Knowledge, the feeling of being in the dark was _unbearable_—for he was also the god of the sun, it was twice as painful.

He had merely met the sea’s Persephone, yet he felt completely drowned by the mystery of her deepnesses. What a wonderful day his sister had asked for his help. Like everyone else, he had been curious about the Forbidden Child, but nothing prepared Apollo for the greenish blue lakes of salt water that would welcome him that day. Then his sister was taken, and Persephone Jackson chose to go on that quest.

He knew she sought for her own friend. But she was there. Now, Artemis was returned to him and all thanks to the non-rule-abiding daughter of the sea, who may be the cause of his death in a few months. By trying to help her quest, Apollo only got more interested.

With Artemis returned, he found himself with nothing else to think about but Percy Jackson. Well, technically the war was happening, but as she was the most important piece of the chessboard, by thinking of her, he thought of the war.

One thing in particular twitched inside of Apollo: did Persephone Jackson know what she was owned?

She just saved his sister. She could ask him anything in exchange. However, nothing so far. What sort of mortal did not demand payment from a god? Apollo would grant her any gift; be it the art of prophecy or an EGOT. Anything.

There she was, laughing at something her father just told her. Apollo sighed dreamily, imagining himself as the reason for her smile.

Once again, Hermes grunted. ‘_No!_’

‘She is bewildering.’ Apollo blinked slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly.

‘She is.’ Hermes, though mourningful, agreed. ‘But she already has too much on her shoulders.’

Playfully, Apollo opened a smile. ‘I can be helpful.’ He sang.

‘She doesn’t need this sort of help.’ Hermes made a face, then softened it when he turned to look at her. ‘Percy wants a quiet life. She never wanted any of it, and yet, because of us, she has so little to live of her own life. It’s not fair.’

Apollo pressed his lips together, the lines of the prophecy dancing on his mind. There were so many ways that could play out, yet he did admit that most of them ended up badly for her.

Apollo studied the expression of his younger brother’s face—so sad it broke Apollo’s hypothetical heart. Sorrow did not go well with Hermes, though lately it was all that existed there. The betrayal of Luke Castellan was a low blow on him, and though the boy still lived, it didn’t change that he was forever lost. Nothing cut deeper than the loss of a child.

Softly, Apollo places his hand on the arm of Hermes, caressing it lightly. There wasn’t much to be said, and there was very little comfort to be offered in these dark times. Only a miracle could save his son, and even the gods were sceptical about miracles.

Then, like one his father’s thunder, it hit him. ‘You think she can do it!’

Hermes' eyes flared for a second. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He shrugged. ‘I know that she can, but I also know how it would be damaging for her to keep trying until she succeeded. I will not insist.’

‘But you asked.’ Apollo didn’t need an answer, and Hermes did not try to give him one. ‘I see it.’

‘See what?’

‘Your affections.’ Apollo closed his eyes, letting the knowledge sink in. ‘You do care for her as I do for Artemis. I can see how pure it is, and the last thing I’d wish is to cause you pain, brother. I shall not pursue her, not without your blessing.’ That was a lament. Just because he intended to keep his word, didn’t mean he liked to say them.

Something roared inside of him. For a second, he looked again at Percy Jackson. A last glimpse of what he would never have—she would be to him like one of those unsolved questions in history that the mortals never stopped to look for answers, even if it was pointless to make such an effort; there was poetry in it. The eternal longing for answers. Had she been born in a different era, she too would be the object of wonder for those who came after her, the muse of artists and the hero of kids, and maybe his own name would collapse with hers, and they’d be tied together, one way or another.

There is something suffocating about her, and gods shouldn’t feel breathless.

His second lasted a little longer. When he makes a move to look away. It’s when his eyes meet with hers. Both turn away immediately. Warmth goes right into Apollo’s cheeks. 

He’s flushed and his eyes flared gold for a second—he hoped no one had seen that. Apollo decided the best thing to do was to stare to the ground until he was swallowed by it.

‘Don’t make promises you cannot keep.’ He heard Hermes exhaling.

‘I can keep promises!’ Apollo retorted.

‘Let me rephrase it then, don’t make promises that’ll hurt you.’ Hermes murmured. ‘If you must, you have my blessing.’

Apollo widened his eyes and stared at his brother in disbelief. ‘Wait, really?’

Closing his eyes, Hermes continued. ‘I don’t know what might happen to us in the future. I mean, you don’t know, so you can imagine how lost I am. I don’t want to make your last moments miserable.’

‘Hm, thanks?’

‘I’ve noticed you have been at home recently.’

‘I live there, in case you don’t remember.’

Hermes took a deep breath. ‘You’ve been there. Daydreaming, singing to the walls, painting…’

‘I do that quite often.’

‘You do.’ Hermes agreed. ‘But there’s always a part of you with someone. Not in the past days. You’ve gathered your essence at home. And I know you.’

‘You’ve been stalking me!?’ Apollo raised a brow, thinking about the exceedingly long time he spent looking for a beach with the exact same shade of green of Percy Jackson’s eyes.

‘No. But our moms talk.’

‘Oh, of course.’

‘What I’m saying is: if that will bring you happiness, you shall have it.’ Hermes declared. ‘Under the condition that you must treat her with the utmost kindness, either Percy comes to want you or not. Her body, her soul, her mind and her heart, they’re far too frail to be handled bluntly, and I would not stand one more scratch on her.’

‘I see…’

‘You can promise me this?’

Apollo smiled thankfully to his brother. ‘Of course I can.’

SCENE 2

AUGUST 18TH, 2010

CAMP HALF-BLOOD

If there was anything more endearing than his girlfriend surrounded by little kids, Apollo was unaware of it. Made his stomach flutter with butterflies and his heart pump on his chest like a hammer—he did not possess a stomach nor a heart, but the metaphor stood.

What a lovely day it was. Couldn’t be any different. He personally made sure Percy had a perfectly sunny day for her birthday, with a pretty sunrise and an even prettier sunset, for Apollo knew she loved those. Beside his own interference, everything settled perfectly in place, creating a picturesque image that contrasted with the dreadful events of the past years. Apollo hoped she could make sweeter memories regarding her birthday, other than the bloodshed she witnessed during the war.

He longed for better memories. For her and for himself, too. Hopefully, together. Apollo can't help the warm flush on his cheeks, nor the smirk that stretches across his face. The baby in his arms—well, she is technically a toddler, but to him his kids were babies forever—laughs and touches his cheeks, accusing her daddy of looking silly. Thankfully, no one else notices. Kayla, Austin and Will, the eldest of his demigod kids, are laughing about something. In fact, it looks like Kayla and Austin are laughing about something that shifts Will’s face from rosy to scarlet. Apollo can imagine what it is. His son is not exactly subtle.  

Apollo let himself be blinded for a second by the smiles on their faces. That was a good memory. It was, perhaps, maybe endearing enough to compete with Percy playing with little kids. As petty as it sounded, Apollo took pride in the fact that his kids did feel comfortable enough around him—most of his peers couldn’t say the same. He twirled the younger ones in the air, created sparkles around them just to see the glitter in their eyes, joked with the older ones and sang with them a song every now and then. He tried not to think about how his cabin numbers shrunk during the war.

Apollo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew better than anyone else the consequences of dwelling on the past. Instead, he reminded himself the kids were in Elysium and nothing could hurt them anymore. They would want Apollo to take care of their siblings, and that was under his power. Now, not from the shadows and under his father’s rules. Thanks to Percy.

From now on, good memories only, he thought, smelling the sweet scents of flowers and sunshine from his children.

He wished Percy could join him. Apollo knew for a fact she was particularly close to Will, but as far as everyone knew, Percy wasn't really close to Apollo. To Hermes? Yes, a lot of talk about that. To Artemis? Of course, it was secret to no one that Percy was the very kind of person her sister enjoyed having around. When it came to Percy and Apollo, it was always ironically in the dark. That didn't bother him… Not as much as it would've, back in the ancient times. He could keep his cool, and if there was one thing he learned about romance, is that what nobody knows, nobody ruins—which was actually a joke about Odysseus being seriously unlucky, but the meaning changed overtime.

His _Ocean Belle_… So close and so far. For now, if having Percy in secrecy was synonymous to having Percy, then let it be it. He could watch her during the day and be with her during the night, where her smiles and laughter and the glitter in her eyes would belong entirely to him. When she would tell him and no one else about her day and confine to him her secrets, making of the curve of his neck a nest where she could lay her head and rest, warmed by the heat of his body as they talked through the night. Their secrecy was something he appreciated, however, to be in her presence and not being near her was torture; all that Apollo wished was to have her and his kids all together in one place, and to have his fingers intertwined with hers in public.

Well, one thing at a time. He wouldn't want Uncle Poseidon—or worse, cousin Triton—getting in their way, much less Apollo's own father. So close to the end of the war, all eyes were set on her and Apollo wasn't deaf to the whispers about his beloved. If what they had was known, all the vultures would come to spoil their happiness. They'd see it as an invitation, a challenge to overturn, a nuisance—not to say obstacle—that could be solved through trickery.    

It happened before. It happened all the time. Happened with his stepmother, when she was a maiden and refused to take a suitor. Apollo's father tricked her in order to have her as his wife. Then the same with Aphrodite, who was forced into marriage to avoid a war amongst gods. Even with the first Persephone, whose fate had been decided spitefully behind her mother's back. Apollo knew his family. He knew no one would dare to cross Poseidon and chase after his youngest, most beloved, and first-ever demigod daughter. Problem was: Poseidon had already been crossed, and by Apollo, the nephew he loved the most and trusted the most. Other suitors wouldn't have to worry as much about his rage, if such rage was already directed into someone else.

Apollo was no fool to think that his uncle would endorse any god’s relationship with Percy. Not so soon after the war, and if Apollo knew a thing or other about his uncle, not ever. Apollo did know Poseidon. They had a relationship as solid as the walls of Troy that together they raised from the rubble of their—unfortunately failed—rebellion. His uncle was not the forgiving type. He would have to be gently introduced to the concept of having a son-in-law before being introduced to the son-in-law.

That's alright, Apollo thought, brushing away the pessimism from his mind, all it takes is a little patience and a few years.

He watched Percy through the corner of his eyes a little longer. She was dutifully followed by Hades’ son, who carried a plate full of cookies in his hands like a lion guarding its prey. Percy said something that got Nico di Angelo seriously troubled while she stormed into laughter. Adorable, Apollo thought, letting the sound of her laughs get into his ears, so he could appreciate the cadence of her voice.

Apollo took another deep breath and rested his chin on the top of his daughter’s head. ‘Dad is silly.’ Said the three-year-old girl, the youngest of his living children. 

Apollo chuckled. ‘Sillier than you think, Amy.’ He said, kissing her cheek.

As the hours flew by and kids got tired, Apollo sneaked the essence of his body, making most of it invisible. He saw as Percy walked away from the crowd, following with Hades' son toward the beach—probably to watch the sunset, and Apollo hoped she’d enjoy the show made just for her. In the meanwhile, he used the opportunity to walk around and make sure everything was safe for the next hours—he didn't want anyone sticking their noses on his business.

Surprisingly, considering the place was crowded with gods and demigods who were fighting each other to death just a year ago, it was all peaceful. Well, except for a reasonably tipsy Persephone in a corner, because she tended to brag in detail about her excessively happy married life, and no one wanted to listen to her talking about Uncle Hades when she was like that. Especially considering it was summer, and she was probably missing him. Thankfully, Hecate was near Persephone, avoiding her from traumatising this generation.

Apollo passed through Rhode and Triton, his sibling-in-law. If he had to pick one to open his heart about his secret relationship with their sister, it would be Rhode. She was the calmer in her family, and Apollo once was the pupil to her late husband, meaning he would spend a lot of time in their household. Few gods had that lovely personality. But not at that moment. The former Sun Bride had a deadly expression on her face, and her brother Triton had a hand on her arm, just in case he needed to restrain her.

He couldn't help but feel sympathy for her obvious irritation. Apollo too hated her brother.

Not Triton. The other one, from her mother's side. Eros. He was a hateful feathery creature that no one deserved to endure—except, perhaps, the other hateful feathery creature that usually followed him around, Zephyrus. Of course, as much as Apollo hated Eros, he doubted anyone despised him more than his older sister, Rhode. In fact, his sister-in-law avoided anyone from her mother's brood, having herself an aversion for the Goddess of Love. Curiously, Aphrodite kept trying to retrieve her daughter's love and forgiveness, even after years and years of estrangement.

The little group, formed by Eros, Aphrodite and poor Rhode and Triton, tried to keep a talk. At least, Aphrodite tried. Every time Eros spoke, Rhode's eyes glazed with fury and Triton had to tighten his hold on her arm.

Well, they won't be interrupting, Apollo cheered.

A few metres away, Poseidon and Zeus… Laughed? Screamed at each other? Apollo wasn't quite sure. It was always a mystery between them, but they were loud. Poor Uncle Hades closed his eyes and inhaled deeply between every other word, moving his head in an attempt to avoid the sounds. Even Apollo thought he might go deaf if he walked too close.

They talked about something they did about the French Revolution. Uncle Hades had a nasty expression, making a remark about how much he hated how people died of stupid causes back then. As if it was the funniest joke they've ever heard, Zeus and Poseidon threw their heads back while Hades rolled his eyes.

Apollo didn't remember the last time he’d seen the Big Three _talking_—without the war threats or the comments about the time living (or not) in Kronos’ stomach. Before they started to talk about the most unsavoury parts of the 18th century and their adventures then, Apollo walked away.

The demigods were dancing and singing to the same ABBA song they've been obsessing with ever since last year. Apollo smiled, thinking of how Percy would hum that song whenever she was distracted. He walked past her bestest friend, Annabeth Chase; smiling like that, leaning on a boy and cracking jokes, she looked like a completely different person from how she behaved when she was working as architect in Olympus—always so uptight and serious. 

Nearing his brother Hermes, Apollo chuckled when he saw his face. Poor Hermes didn't have a thought behind his eyes, he just glanced away while Demeter and Ares kept talking to him furiously, while Dionysus stood right beside them with a serious expression.

‘My Katie is a good girl.’ Demeter boasted. ‘I don't want that Trant boy anywhere near her!’

Hermes sighed. ‘Travis, you mean.’

‘And I don't approve of Clarisse's relationship with your other son, whatever his name is!’ Ares pronounced.

‘Isn’t Clarisse like, nineteen?’ Hermes frowned, sipping his nectar mindlessly.

Ares crossed his arms in front of his arms. ‘So?’

‘Isn't that a little late to worry about who she dates?’

‘Well,’ Ares started, voice a pitch higher, ‘I never had to care about that before that good-for-nothing son of yours stepped in!’

Apollo made his better efforts not to laugh. That was funny when it didn’t include him being beaten out of existence by Uncle Poseidon. Yet, he should feel sympathy for his fellow… His fellow dating-a-Olympian’s-daughter friend? Maybe they should start a club, maybe Uncle Hades would enjoy having someone to talk with beside his brothers, and Apollo wouldn't complain about having a Big Three ally.

‘Ares, I don't think this is the way to approach 21st century parenting, you know?’ Hermes rolled his eyes. ‘The whole “not letting my daughter date"’ went out of fashion after World War II.’

‘I still don't trust that brat of yours, he's up to something!’

Demeter then was quick to add: ‘The other one too!’ She pointed out. ‘He also has a terrible diet. I cannot imagine what his intestines look like with that amount of sugar he eats.’

Like the words had been carried by the wind, Hermes simply nodded and then turned to their younger brother. ‘What about you? Are any of my kids dating your son?’

Dionysus smiled and shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Thankfully not!’ Dionysus raised his Diet Coke to the sky. ‘I believe he's seeing one of my maenads. I just love seeing someone who's not me getting a lecture.’

Hermes sneered, and this time Apollo laughed and made sure Hermes would hear.

‘Shouldn't you be with your kids?’ Mentally, Hermes inquired.

‘I am.’ Apollo answered, picturing in Hermes mind an image of another version of him playing with the kids.

‘If you three would excuse me, I'll go talk to Apollo.’ Naturally as breathing, Hermes dismissed everyone and walked away. ‘Whatever it is, don't do it.’

‘C'mon, where is my free spirited brother who'd help me in the craziest quests?’

‘My limit is whatever the distance between my pretty face and uncle's Trident.’ Hermes grunted. ‘Where is Percy?’

‘Don't worry, she's with Nico di Angelo.’

‘Your son's crush?’

‘Isn't it lovely that her little, uh, shadow is my Will's crush?’

Even if there was a glitter of endearment in his eyes, Hermes pretended to be annoyed. ‘It's almost as if they're hormonal teenagers.’

‘It’s romantic!’ Apollo sighed.

‘If you say so.’ Hermes retorted. ‘What do you want?’

‘Oh, I did not come here with demands.’ Apollo hummed. ‘I just assumed that my little brother would help me give my beautiful maiden a nice birthday night, you know? Just making sure her dad doesn't notice if she goes missing for an hour or two.’ 

‘Are you crazy!?’ Hermes exhaled. ‘Everyone is here, and they'll notice if the hero of Olympus simply vanishes.*’

‘I know you could buy me thirty minutes. Then thirty minutes more. And then a little longer, I promise we'll be back before 10A.M.’

‘You said the same last time.’ Hermes groaned.

‘You know I can't lie. Just one hour.’

‘You can if you believe in your lie. Thirty-five minutes.’

‘Forty-five.’

‘Forty. Last offer.’

‘Deal. You're the best, brother.’

‘That someday will get me fucked up.’

[antiquepearlss]

The day of Varian’s return to Corona to complete the final trial, Hugo contemplates his guilt, and has a less than pleasant interaction with his best friends brother.

Or- I took this post and expanded it. I love scary Eugene.

Heavy footsteps were the only sound in the vast, empty halls of the palace. But, with the glittering gold and shining opulent decor, it felt like the walls themselves were screaming at Hugo. Portraits of kings and queens glaring down at him in disgust, ornate gold trimming sneering at him from their place along the walls, and fancy end tables draped in rich satin cloth jeering him.

However, the noise of the palace hadn’t drowned out the noise in his mind.

Hugo’s mission had almost come to an end, his journey- Varian’s journey, was almost complete. The final trial was in Corona, conveniently located below the palace, because the universe seemed to hate Hugo. 

Because of course, he would have to betray the one he loved most in this world, in his own home.

The thought of betraying Varian already formed a pit in his stomach, a black hole of dread that threatened to swallow him whole if he thought about it too much. And he did. But it always spat him back out whenever he saw Varian’s big blue eyes and dorky smile. 

Varian just had a way of making him feel better, making him forget his troubles, even if for a moment. Even if every time Varian brought him out of that pit of dread, the guilt made him fall even deeper next time.

But not only did betraying Varian feel like a horrible, life-ruining task; but betraying Varian in Corona’s Palace felt like a life-ending task.

Because Varian was something he wasn’t.

Varian was loved. So very loved.

Hugo would probably never forget the way the princess's eyes lit up- both literally and metaphorically- after seeing her baby brother for the first time in over a year. The way she picked him up and spun him around giggling, the two of them on the verge of tears. 

Hugo would probably never forget the way Varian and his father had embraced so tightly and lovingly, how Lance had picked him up into a bone crushing hug, how the two girls had playfully hit him in their own show of affection. How even a group of smelly criminals in a seedy bar had hugged Varian after his return.

But Hugo knew, that he definitely wouldn’t forget the way that Flynn- no- Eugene had hugged Varian. He hugged so lovingly, a hug of two brothers who adored eachother. Only to lock eyes with Hugo, and shove Varian behind him in a protective manner.

He was protecting Varian. He was protecting him from Hugo.

He would never forget because it hurt. He would never forget, because Eugene had every right to do that.

No matter how much the princess and Varian had scolded him, daring to call him a hypocrite, no matter how much Eugene attempted to treat him with positive indifference; Eugene wouldn’t trust him.

And he shouldn’t.

The guilt and self-hatred gnawed at the former(?) thief as he wandered aimlessly down the halls. He didn’t know where he was going, and didn’t want to be anywhere other than here- but he walked anyway. Trying to find somewhere to belong. Hugo snorted at the poeticness of his current situation.

Varian and the others were somewhere, he wasn’t sure. Probably playing dress up with miss perky pants or whatever. He didn’t care. 

Rapunzel was fine, weird, but nice. And she didn’t seem fake. But he didn’t want to get attached. It was all going to end soon.

He was content to just delay the inevitable now.

Hugo rounded a golden corner and- shit. Shit shit shit shi-

“Hey glasses!”

Fuck.

Varian’s older brother came walking towards him, faster than necessary. He could probably- no he could definitely read Hugo’s body language. He could see his feet pointed outwards, body tense, and eyes rapidly darting around his surroundings. He could read him, knowing Hugo was desperately searching for an escape.

“Hey, what’re you doing wandering around? Don’t you have an alchemist to awkwardly trail around like a lost puppy?” He said, attempting to strike small talk. 

Hugo inwardly groaned, there were no exits, lest he attempt to pass Eugene or walk back down the hallway he came from, showing an obvious lack of interest in the man.

But he wanted to play nice, for Varian’s sake. So he resisted the urge to jump out the nearest window.

Hugo shrugged, feigning nonchalance “Just wandering around, getting a feel for the castle. I wanted to give Varian some alone time with the princess, I know he missed her.”

Eugene leaned against the angle of the wall and was now directly facing Hugo. He smiled “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined them. Sunshine loves meeting new people, and as much as I loathe to admit it, Goggles seems to like you too.” 

Hugo knew it didn’t, but he deeply hoped the flush in his cheeks went unnoticed.

Eugene was full of shit. The shit being fake cheeriness and friendliness. He had a friendly smile plastered over his face, but Hugo wasn’t dumb. He could see the strain, and the cold look in his eyes. The way his casual demeanor felt so forced. He didn’t want to be here, to be talking to him, to be breathing the same air as Hugo Rottewange. A cunning thief who only cared about himself. Dropping pianos on the heads of those who put their trust in him.

Literally and metaphorically.

As if Eugene could read his mind- which god he really hoped he couldn’t, or he would be hung by now (for so, so many reasons)- his demeanor relaxed. His posture eased up, the cold look in his eyes warmed and softened, and his smile turned almost genuine. 

Before Hugo could run away, because the one thing he hated more than fake people were genuine people, The captain slung his arm around Hugo’s shoulder. He pulled him close and regarded him with an ounce of affection- almost brotherly.

“Look kiddo, I get it. Seriously, more than anyone in the world, I get it. Growing up an orphan, turning to crime as a way to survive, and then crime becoming your lifestyle, that shapes almost every part of your being. You learn to only care about you, to never trust, to only rely on yourself.” Eugene sighed, and looked away “That’s a hard thing to come out of, especially in an environment like this where you view everyone as a threat- because they usually are!”

Hugo felt, just barely felt, a tiny amount of warmth in his gut. The fact that someone understood and was trying to help him, even if it was Fitzherbert of all people, felt like drinking hot tea during a blizzard. It didn’t get rid of the frostbite, but it warmed you just enough to not focus on it. 

Hugo relaxed a little, and Eugene pulled him closer. “But it’s worth it, trust me. Becoming a better person. Changing for the one you love.” He let Hugo go, but placed shifted, and placed his hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “I’m glad you have Varian, he seems to be rubbing off on you” He winked. 

Hugo awkwardly chuckled, oddly at ease.

But then Eugene’s fingers on his shoulder tightened, enough to almost hurt, and his expression grew dark. His friendly smile twisted into a sneer, and his eyes became cold, calculating, boring into his soul and reading each muscle in Hugo’s face as they tensed and panicked.

Eugene’s voice dropped, laced with pure venom.

“But if you even think of hurting a hair on my baby brother's head, just know this. Every second you spend in Corona is a second I will personally ensure you feel every bit of pain and heartache you caused him.” The hand on his shoulder tightened, nails clawing the skin beneath. “Got it?”

Hugo felt his heart stop.

Eugene knew. He had to. Hugo could see it in his eyes- he knew.

Hugo watched as Eugene’s- as the Captain Of The Guards eyes scanned him, reading him. Hugo could barely breathe, suffocated by the guilt and fear whirling in his head. He barely willed himself to speak, his voice humiliatingly wavering.

“Got- got it.”

The man’s eyes scanned him for a few agonozingly long seconds more, before seeming less than satisfied with the answer. However, his demeanor relaxed and he loosened his grip on the youngers shoulder. Hugo remained tense and rooted to his spot, unable to move due to the shaking in his legs. Unable to move because the threat was right there and would chase him down and he knew he would lose. He stood there, heart racing and shaking with adrenaline as Eugene resumed his forced-cheeriness.

“Great!” He clapped him on the back “Dinner’s at eight! See you there!”

Hugo watched as Eugene turned the corner and left his sight.

And then he ran. 

To where, he didn’t know, but out of there.

[strawberrygirll13]

I care about you

Dazai x Reader

Pt 1

Warnings: Depression, self harm, mentions of suicide attempts, mental illness.

The restaurant was quiet, save for the occasional clinking of plates and murmurs of other diners. Candlelight flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the table. Across from you, Dazai sat back in his chair, his arm lazily draped over the backrest, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You know,” he started, swirling the wine in his glass, “if this steak were my last meal, I think I’d die happy.”

You set your fork down, a sense of unease already creeping in. “Dazai…”

He didn’t seem to notice the warning in your voice, his eyes gleaming with something darker. “But,” he continued, his voice calm, “if I were to go, I’d want it to be something more dramatic. Something… poetic. Maybe a leap into a river. Or from a high-rise at sunset. You know, something that would leave an impression.”

You couldn’t keep the tension from building in your chest. “Dazai, I really don’t like it when you talk like that.”

He paused for a moment, the grin still playing on his lips. “Oh? Why not?” he said, tilting his head, seemingly unfazed. “It’s the truth. I’ve tried a few things, you know.”

Your fingers tightened around your napkin, and you felt a cold chill run through you. “What do you mean ‘tried a few things’?”

Dazai leaned forward, his gaze sharp as he looked directly at you. “Well, let me think... I’ve tried hanging myself, drowning myself—Yokohama Harbor, to be exact. It was freezing, but strangely peaceful. I really thought it would work that time. But no, a fisherman pulled me out before I could go under for good.” He chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Pathetic, huh?”

You felt your heart drop, but he kept going, unperturbed. “I also tried jumping in front of a train once. The timing was all wrong, though. I only got clipped, nothing serious. And then there was the time I tried poisoning myself, but the drink was too weak. Didn’t do the job. But you know, the one that came closest? Cutting my wrists. I really thought that one would do it. I got pretty close, but again, I ended up surviving.”

Each attempt, each method, he listed it so casually, as if they were simple anecdotes, nothing more than stories to amuse himself. The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating, until you couldn’t breathe. You felt a mix of disgust and helplessness, your stomach twisting in knots. This wasn’t just dark humor; this was the product of something deeper, something broken. And it was eating at him.

“Dazai,” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, stop. I don’t want to hear this. This isn’t funny.”

He raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by your reaction. “Why not?” he asked, genuinely curious. “It’s just a little dark humor. Surely you, of all people, aren’t disturbed by some harmless stories?”

“Harmless?” You stood up abruptly, unable to sit through it any longer. “It’s cruel. It’s wrong. I don’t know why you think this is okay, but it’s not. I care about you, Dazai, and hearing you talk like this…” You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “It makes me feel awful. Can you not see that?”

He looked at you for a long moment, his smile never wavering, though his eyes were colder than usual. “Cruel?” he repeated, amusement still in his tone. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not as though anyone would care if I actually died, anyway. Hell, the world would probably be better off without me. It’s not like I have anyone who would mourn me.”

You shook your head, a knot forming in your throat. This wasn’t just about his words anymore; it was about the way he saw himself. The way he thought of his life as something so expendable.

"And you know," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I’ve been thinking about finding a beautiful woman to share my final moments with. Someone who wouldn’t mind a little poetic death. I’ve been looking for someone who’d be willing to… you know, commit double suicide with me. My dear friend, you’d do perfectly." His grin was wider now, predatory, and it made your skin crawl.

You stared at him, unable to process how casually he could say something so horrifying. “Why would you say that to me? Why would you ask me something like that?”

He laughed, but it was an empty, hollow sound. “Why? Because you’re one of the few people I actually respect. I thought you’d find the idea appealing. You’re beautiful, aren’t you? You would make a perfect match for me in the end.”

Your hands shook at your sides, but you didn’t back down. “No, Dazai. No. I don’t find any of this funny. You’ve made me so uncomfortable tonight, and you did it on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to make me feel bad. Well, congratulations, you’ve succeeded.”

He blinked at you, for the first time showing a crack in his indifference, his smirk faltering for a split second as he processed your words. But before he could respond, you turned and grabbed your coat, slipping it over your shoulders.

“I’m leaving,” you said, your voice firm but quiet.

Dazai didn’t say anything. He just watched as you moved toward the door, his gaze unreadable. The air between you had shifted, and you couldn’t quite understand it, but you knew one thing for certain: You couldn’t sit there and let him pull you into his darkness.

With one last glance at him, you stepped out into the cold night air, the weight of the conversation lingering with you, but you didn’t turn back.

The days following that tense dinner were markedly different. You kept your interactions with Dazai strictly professional, your usual casual conversations replaced with curt, pointed words. Whenever a task required communication, you went through others—Kunikida, Atsushi, anyone else who could serve as a buffer between you and him. Dazai, however, wasn’t one to let things go unnoticed, especially when they disrupted his carefully cultivated routines.

You knew he’d noticed the shift—he wasn’t an idiot. But instead of apologizing or addressing it directly, he chose his usual route: mischief.

It started small. A sly remark here, an exaggerated sigh there. When you ignored those, he ramped it up. During one meeting, he’d kept dropping pens onto your side of the table, leaning over to retrieve them with the kind of smug grin that made you want to throttle him. When you didn’t react, his antics escalated.

The breaking point came one quiet afternoon when you returned to your desk only to find his desk… wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

He’d moved it.

Right in front of yours, so close the two desks were now touching, effectively making it one long, cluttered mess of books, papers, and his personal junk. Your side was spotless, as always, but his was overflowing—documents spilling over onto your workspace, a half-eaten bag of snacks perched precariously on the edge, and his coat draped lazily over your chair.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the absurdity before you, willing yourself to stay calm.

“Do you mind?” you finally asked, your voice cold as you folded your arms.

Dazai, leaning back in his chair with a lopsided grin, didn’t miss a beat. “Not at all. Cozy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not cozy,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes. “It’s invasive. Move your desk back.”

“But I like it here,” he replied, spinning his pen between his fingers. “Better lighting. Better company. Well... not bettercompany, but you’re here, so it’ll do.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead, you sat down, pushed his papers to the far edge of your desk, and went back to your work.

This didn’t deter him in the slightest. Over the next hour, he kept finding ways to encroach on your space—tossing paperclips onto your side, humming loudly, even nudging your coffee mug with his own until it was teetering dangerously close to the edge.

Finally, when it seemed like he might actually topple it over, you shot him a glare. “If you spill that, I swear—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, leaning in closer. “Yell at me? Ignore me some more? I think you’ve got the ignoring part down pretty well already.”

You didn’t respond, turning back to your work with tight-lipped determination.

His frustration, though, was becoming harder for him to hide. You could see it in the way he kept drumming his fingers on the desk, in the exaggerated way he sighed every five minutes, in the way his usual lazy demeanor seemed a little too deliberate, like he was trying too hard to act like this wasn’t bothering him.

And then, he started writing notes.

At first, he didn’t even try to be subtle about it. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper, folded it neatly, and slid it onto your side of the desk.

You ignored it.

A second note followed, then a third. You didn’t open any of them, and the more you ignored them, the more frustrated he seemed to become.

By the fourth note, he didn’t even bother folding it anymore. Instead, he scrawled the words in large, dramatic letters across a sheet of paper and held it up directly in your line of sight.

“ARE YOU STILL MAD?”

You didn’t look at him, but he kept the note there until you finally sighed and muttered, “Yes.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting an actual answer. Then, with a grin, he grabbed another sheet of paper and scribbled again. This time, he slid it across the desk to you.

“WHY?”

You stared at the note for a moment before crumpling it up and tossing it back at him. “You know why,” you said, your voice quiet but firm.

For once, he didn’t have a quick retort. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his grin faltering ever so slightly as he watched you go back to your work.

But, true to form, he didn’t stay quiet for long. Moments later, another note landed on your desk.

“CAN I MAKE IT UP TO YOU?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust yourself to, not yet. And so, the silence between you stretched on, heavy and unresolved, while Dazai sat across from you, bored, frustrated, and—if the look in his eyes was any indication—just a little bit lost.

The silence between you two stretched unbearably as Dazai fidgeted with his pen, occasionally glancing at you, though you didn’t spare him a single look. Despite his antics, you were determined to hold your ground. He deserved to stew in this. To feel the weight of your anger and hurt.

Yet, as the minutes ticked by and the tension grew thicker, you found yourself caving. Not entirely, but enough for curiosity to override your stubbornness. With a sigh, you picked up your pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper, sliding it over to him without looking up.

“Did you mean it?”

Dazai, for once, didn’t respond immediately. You heard the faint rustle of the note as he picked it up, followed by a pause. Then, slowly, he scrawled something down and pushed it back toward you.

“Mean what?”

You stared at the words for a moment before writing again.

“That you want me to die with you?”

When you slid the note back, you refused to meet his gaze, your fingers gripping your pen tightly as you waited for his response. The air between you felt suffocating, heavy with the unspoken weight of the question.

It took him longer this time. You heard the soft scratching of his pen as he wrote, then paused, then wrote again. Finally, the note landed back in front of you.

“Yes.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at the single word, simple and honest in a way Dazai rarely allowed himself to be. When you finally looked up at him, his expression was unreadable, his usual playful grin replaced by something quieter, something that almost looked like vulnerability.

“I wasn’t joking,” he said softly, breaking the silence. “Not entirely, at least.”

Your throat felt dry, and you weren’t sure what to say. For all the times Dazai hid behind humor, behind his endless games and tricks, hearing him admit something so dark, so raw, left you momentarily at a loss.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, though the motion felt forced, his usual air of nonchalance cracking at the edges. “Because if I had to go, at least with you… it wouldn’t feel so empty. It’d be poetic, don’t you think? Two kindred spirits, disappearing together.”

“That’s not poetic, Dazai,” you said firmly, anger creeping into your voice. “It’s selfish. It’s—” You stopped yourself, exhaling sharply. “It’s cruel that you would suggest that.”

His lips quirked up in a half-smile, but there was no humor behind it. “I told you, I’m a selfish man. You should know that by now.”

Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t reply. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, the note still clutched tightly in your hand, as the weight of his words settled over you.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dazai,” you began, folding the note neatly and placing it in front of him, “but unfortunately, I do not want to die. And I’d prefer it if you could refrain from doing so either.”

You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor as you grabbed your bag. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

But before you could take a step, his hand shot out, quick and instinctive, his bandaged wrist wrapping firmly around yours. It wasn’t harsh or forceful, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks.

“What the hell?” you blurted, glancing down at his hand, then back at him.

For the first time since the conversation began, he looked genuinely caught off guard. His grip on your wrist wasn’t calculated; it was almost desperate, as though the very thought of you leaving—even temporarily—was unbearable.

“I… You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his tone lighter than his expression betrayed. But the crack in his voice, subtle as it was, didn’t escape you.

Your brow furrowed. “Dazai, I work here. I’m just going to the bathroom. I’m not running off into the sunset. Good god, you have issues.”

His lips curved into a faint smirk, but it lacked his usual humor. “Issues? That’s putting it lightly, don’t you think?” He released your wrist, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he let it drop back to his side. “I guess I just don’t like the idea of you walking away from me… even if it’s just to the restroom.”

“Dazai,” you sighed, softening your tone despite yourself, “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through them before his usual mask slipped back into place. “Promise?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You gave him a flat look. “I’m not promising anything. It’s a bathroom break, not a grand betrayal.”

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the weight of his touch—or the way his voice had faltered, even for just a second. Something about it lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind like an unanswered question you weren’t sure you were ready to ask.

A few hours later ~

The office was quiet now, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the rustling of papers as you gathered your things. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of a single desk lamp. You glanced over at him. His desk—still obnoxiously pressed against yours—was cluttered with papers he hadn’t touched all day. He’d sat there for hours, throwing the occasional quip your way, but you hadn’t said much in return.

It wasn’t just the silence that made the air feel heavy; it was the weight of his words from earlier. He wanted you to die with him. The thought lingered, intrusive and stubborn, no matter how much you tried to shove it aside. You couldn’t understand how he’d asked you something so selfishly, so casually, as if it were just another joke in his endless repertoire.

Shaking your head, you slid your bag over your shoulder and moved toward the door. You didn’t bother to say goodbye.

“Wait,” his voice called out, stopping you mid-step. You turned to find him standing now, hands stuffed into his pockets as he leaned against the edge of the desk.

“What is it, Dazai?” you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Let me walk you home,” he said, straightening up and taking a step closer.

You blinked at him, the question catching you off guard. “Are you going to say some weird shit?”

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, though it lacked the usual cockiness. “You know, probably. I mean, it’s me.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as if he were suddenly unsure of himself. “But… I won’t ask you to, you know, do that with me again. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers in mock sincerity.

You narrowed your eyes, considering him for a moment. “Fine,” you said finally, letting out a small sigh. “But only if you promise.”

“Promise,” he repeated, a flicker of amusement returning to his voice.

As you pushed open the door and stepped into the cool night air, he fell into step beside you. Something about the way he kept just a half step behind, letting you set the pace, felt quieter than usual—almost careful. It wasn’t like him. Then again, nothing about today had been.

The street was quiet as you and Dazai walked down the path, the only sounds being the soft crunch of your footsteps against the pavement and the occasional rustling of leaves in the trees. The streetlamps above flickered on, casting a dim, golden light that illuminated the sidewalk in a soft, almost melancholic glow. The night air was cool, a refreshing change from the stuffy office, and you relished the brief quiet that came with the walk.

You didn't mind walking. You’d never been one to rely on a car, especially when the journey gave you a little peace of mind. Besides, the apartment was only about a 20-minute walk away, and you had plenty of time to clear your head. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

As you walked in silence, your thoughts wandered. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you and Dazai today. His words from earlier still echoed in your mind, but it wasn’t just that. Something about his behavior had felt off—a bit too distant, a bit too… real.

It was strange, but despite everything, you couldn't deny you had feelings for him. Not that you really had a choice, considering how often you saw each other. But you were realistic about it. The idea of him ever feeling the same was almost laughable. He was too much of a mess, too much of a broken puzzle for you to figure out. And even if he did have feelings for you, you weren’t sure it was something you could trust.

The walk continued in silence, and you pulled your coat tighter around you, keeping your thoughts to yourself. But then, without warning, Dazai held out his arm for you.

At first, you were confused. You didn't know what he meant by the gesture. But when he huffed, his voice edged with a hint of impatience, “Come on, I’m not going to bite you,” you could feel a wave of hesitation wash over you.

Before you could respond, he looped his arm through yours, locking it there with a firm but gentle grip. It surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome. For a moment, you just walked, trying to process what had just happened.

As you did, your gaze slipped over to him. The soft glow of the streetlights caught his brown hair, highlighting the faint tousled mess of it. You’d always admired the way it looked, even when he didn’t seem to care much about it. You wondered, though, how much of his body was covered in bandages. His neck and wrist were always covered, but what about the rest of him? Did he hide it under those clothes, or was there more to it?

The thought made a knot form in your stomach, and you quickly shoved it away. You hated the idea of him harming himself. The thought made your chest tighten, and you didn’t want to think about it—not now, not here, not with him.

“What are you thinking about, Y/N?” Dazai’s voice broke the silence, his tone casual, though there was an edge to it.

You looked up at him, startled, but there was a strange softness in his expression that made you pause.

“Nothing,” you muttered, not wanting to admit to the tangled thoughts swirling in your head. “Just... you know, thinking about work.”

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Really?" he teased, but there was something more guarded in his eyes now. "Because you seem distracted."

You went quiet, your eyes shifting away from his, not wanting to meet his gaze anymore. The cool night air suddenly felt too heavy as the silence between you both stretched on.

Dazai noticed immediately, his pace slowing as he watched the subtle tension build. He didn’t push it at first, but after a few moments, he muttered, almost absentmindedly, “I hate how you don’t let me into your head.” His voice had a quiet frustration in it, like a gnawing irritation that wouldn't let go.

You stiffened, the words from earlier still replaying in your mind. You knew he wasn’t going to drop it, not without pushing the issue. You didn’t want to discuss it, but you couldn’t stay silent either. "Well, it’s kinda difficult to let someone in who has basically said in their own way they want me dead." You kept your voice steady, trying not to let the vulnerability slip through.

The words hung in the air, and Dazai didn’t immediately respond. His arm, still locked with yours, shifted slightly as if he were considering his words carefully.

Then, he spoke. "Y/N, my darling, you and I have two very different perspectives on death." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle between you. "To explain it in the simplest terms, despite how morbid it may seem to you... it is a compliment."

His tone was strange, detached, but also oddly earnest. It was as if he truly believed that what he was saying made sense. And for a moment, you wondered if he even understood how much his words stung.

You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, your steps slowing to match his. The city seemed farther away now, the night air colder.

"It doesn’t matter how you intended it, Dazai," you said, your voice firm but not unkind. "You are not well. The way you think… it’s all twisted."

Dazai let out a laugh, sharp and self-deprecating. "Oh, I’m very aware," he said with a smirk, though his eyes betrayed something softer, something less cavalier.

The rest of the walk passed in silence. He didn’t let go of your arm, keeping it interlocked with his, as though he feared letting go would shatter whatever fragile thing existed between you both. The city lights grew sparse as you reached your apartment building, and he walked you right up to your doorstep. Even then, his arm stayed linked with yours, his grip firm but not forceful, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Dazai finally stopped, taking a deep breath. His hesitation was unusual, almost unsettling. "Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice softer than usual.

You sighed, fishing your keys out of your pocket. "I’m not going to say no, am I?"

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "When you say you care about me… do you mean it?"

You froze, caught off guard by the question. He wasn’t playing this time. There was no sly grin, no teasing inflection. His eyes, brown and deep as they were, searched yours with an almost childlike vulnerability.

"For someone as smart as you are, you’re being quite moronic right now," you said, your voice gentler than your words. His expression shifted slightly—confused, maybe even a little hurt. You softened, letting out a breath. "Of course I care about you, Dazai. I care about you a lot."

He blinked, processing your words, before making a quiet "Oh-ohh" sound, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information. It was such a Dazai thing to do that it made you smile despite yourself.

Sliding your key into the lock, you turned it and pushed the door open. But before stepping inside, you hesitated. Something tugged at you, a feeling you couldn’t quite ignore.

"Oh, hell, screw it," you muttered under your breath before turning back around. Gently, you reached up and cupped his face, your fingers brushing against the bandages on his cheek. His eyes widened slightly as you leaned in, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

When you pulled back, his expression was one of pure shock. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. You gave him a small smile, your hands still resting against his cheeks.

"Why don’t you think on that, Osamu Dazai," you said, your tone light but meaningful. Then, pulling away, you stepped inside and closed the door behind you with a quiet click.

For a long moment, Dazai stood there on your doorstep, the night air brushing against his face, his lips still tingling from the kiss. Then, slowly, a small, genuine smile curved across his face—one that no one else would have recognized.

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP1: Kant & Bison's Desire for Agency

I recently wrote a post around Kant being the vehicle for Bison's freedom, but I'm spotting a bigger theme that these two lovebirds share in common. Both feel stripped of their agency, their ability to dictate their lives freely on their own terms and by their own ideals and desires.

For that reason, they're respectively struggling with where they are versus where they want to be, as factors beyond their control currently inhibit that from being attainable.

"I've cleared my name of car theft. My hands are so damn clean now." Kant is keen to put his past behind him, however Captain Chris has him cornered under the threat of re-opening his previous felonies and possible jail time, dangling custody of his brother as a bargaining chip. "If you get this done for me, not only will your criminal record be swept away, I'll wipe it clean." "If you go to jail, who'd take care of your brother?" Leaving Kant with no choice but to begrudgingly concede.

Bison feels similarly trapped by a life he didn't choose, clearly eager at any opportunity to 'clock off'. "I do what I have to do. Now I want to do what I want to. Can't I just live a little?" "If being hitmen makes it so hard to live, shouldn't we just quit?" "I don't want to kill people for a living my whole life... I just want to live my life." He just wants to enjoy a normal life - to have fun, to be frivolous, to embrace being an ordinary 24 year old.

TOGETHER WE BREAK FREE

Their relationship serves as temporary relief or escape from the situations they both find themselves in. Bison finds Kant's company a break from routine and monotony, a welcome distraction in between killing and working at the burger bar (neither of which he chose for himself). Dating Kant is an insight into the joys of life he fears missing out on. 'When I'm with you, I'm not a killer, I'm just a boy'.

By some poetic irony, Kant's mission to instrument Bison's capture would grant him access to the freedom he is seeking - allowing him and his brother to truly start afresh. There will absolutely be more backstory to come as to why Kant wants this so badly, that he’s willing to throw so much in. Dating Bison may begin as a means to an end, but Kant does find himself falling in love - despite his objective.

Once everything is out in the open, I do think they'll aid one another in acquiring the agency they each so desperately desire. No one can better understand how it feels to be trapped than someone who is also fighting against the bars of their own cage.

OVERCOMING YOUR RESTRAINTS

On their first date, Kant shares the following with Bison: “Would you believe me if I told you that I'm afraid of the ocean? Something happened when I was a kid. I almost drowned. Now I'm still afraid of it." One could argue that we don't know if Kant's admission is true, but I don't see any reason for him to lie about this specifically.

This promptly takes me back to this moment from the trailer, which has prominently stuck in my mind. I still get the impression that they are working together here when Kant jumps in. If Bison was on the offensive, I don't think he'd be as stationary or calm. Maybe he's performing under someone's watchful eye, or his gun is aimed at something out of shot, or they're practicing for a specific stunt.

Whatever the context, this scene now has considerably more weight. The fact that Kant jumps in whilst his hands are bound, when he has a fear of drowning is an indication of putting his complete trust in Bison (who is adept at swimming), to rescue him if needs be. The implication here being that Bison may quite literally, mentally and symbolically free Kant from his restraints, helping him to overcome what he’s most afraid of.

BDSM: THE PLEASURE OF CONTROL

Funnily enough, this duo's exploration of BDSM even aligns with their shared desire for agency. From the few snippets we’ve been shown, Bison likes being the one in control. Your partner consents to be at your mercy, affording you the power to enact pleasure and/or pain. And there’s a heady thrill in being handed such control. (It's also worth noting the inherent power play in taking a life, but whether Bison derives any pleasure from this, I'm not 100% sure. Kant also knows Bison is capable of killing, so letting him dominate actually says a tonne). During their one night stand, Bison even quips, "you're not doing this solo, you know," which teases that he's no passive participant. This seems to be Bison's philosophy on life overall (and the root of his dissatisfaction), that he's not one to sit back and watch his life pass him by.

Kant seems happy to indulge Bison in taking the reins. Having his agency taken away during acts of passion, but on his terms is noticeably different to feeling forcibly pushed - because you've chosen how and who you forfeit that agency to. This is partly why I suspect Kant actually gives Bison permission to tie him up in that boat scene (above), for the greater purposes of a mission or task they have agreed to help each other achieve.

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating in real time as the show airs.

[animalistic0]

Just One More Moment (Part 2)

Part 1: Here Part 2.5: Here

Plot: As the hunt for the crown narrows down, one more moment is all that is needed. The Pogues and Rafe end up separated and fighting for their lives once again, except this is all or nothing. Life or Death.

*Season Four spoilers!*

OC Maybank twin + platonic Pogues x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: OuterBanks, Season 4, Death, mentions of murder and murdering, violence, homicidal tendencies, blood, angst, a bit of fluff, guilt, anger, allusions to abuse, mention of kidnapping.

Word Count: 4.8k+

Note: This is getting split into two parts itself before the heavy angst is posted because I keep getting carried away. I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something in JC told her everything was going to change. A voice that screamed louder and louder the closer they got to Agapenta. However, she pushed it down and ignored it. Her family was safe and alive, albeit a little run down but still stronger than ever. There had been times when that little voice was wrong, and she refused to allow herself to fall into the darkness that was slowly rising within her. She had watched JJ dance with death before, hell she had danced with death before. There was just something about his recent death dances that raised warning bells, make her skin crawl, and made her panic. She was going to keep him safe, protect him above all costs, that JC vowed.

JC sat next to JJ in the back of jeep, Kiara sitting on her brother’s lap. She was happen for them. She loved their love and was their number one supporter. Kiara brought a type of peace to JJ that he had never had, a peace that he needed and deserved. Not to mention the love she brought, the love JC knew her brother was worthy of even if he struggled to come to that conclusion himself. JC smiled as she watched her family, these were the individuals that mattered the most. Pogues for life and her family. Wherever they went, it was them that was Poguelandia, it was not a place but them as a whole.

As John B pulled the jeep to a stop in front of a well, JC hoped out of the back stretching her legs. She walked over to JJ as she saw him eyeing something and as she saw the bag she felt her stomach drop. It was Groff’s bag. She could feel the anger and hatred bubbling free from the cage she had stuffed it down into, her eyes darkening as she looked around before her ears registered a voice. Her lips pulled back in a snarl as she marched over to the well, ignoring how the Pogues backed up after they heard JJ say it was Groff. As JC peered down the dry well she felt her hands clench into fists. With no hesitation or remorse she wanted to leave him down there with nothing. Even if she knew he would die, it was almost poetic. He had killed their mother and said she drowned, and then attempted to kill her brother in the water, it only made sense that he would die of dehydration and of heat.

As she felt a hand land on her shoulder she met the eyes of her twin, and she could see the hesitation in him. Taking a breath she intertwined their hands, squeezing his hand as an anchor for the both of them. She nodded her head her eyes softening as she looked at her twin, “Whatever you chose baby brother I got you. I’m not going no where.” JC felt like this was his decision, because he had spent more time with the older male and had quickly bonded with Groff in a short time. While JC wanted to kill him or let him die, she knew it was her brother’s choice. JC was not angry when JJ threw down water to the man, she knew he wouldn’t be able to live if he had proved to be exactly like the man.

Their whole lives the twins fought to prove that they were nothing like Luke and now it seemed they needed to prove they were nothing like Groff either. Two fathers, both shitty, and a constant fight to prove to others and themselves that blood or not they weren’t like their fathers. JC was proud of JJ, because he was better than her and would always be better. However, JJ would tell anyone that JC was the better twin. That she was better in every way, and he knew she wasn’t above becoming a villain to others for her family. There was something about the loyalty she had that he wished he had. Not to mention how she always seemed to have a sixth sense about people and situations. JJ thought she was the best, that JC deserved everything and nothing less. That when he looked at her and she held his hand, he couldn’t give Groff the rope.

He couldn’t give Groff the rope not because the older man hurt him, but because Groff hurt both his girls. He knocked Kiara out and locked her up in the ice bucket. Something JJ wish he had known earlier so he could have beat the shit out of Groff. Then when JJ had seen his twins face after they pulled him from the ocean it broke his heart. He had never seen her as distraught as he had in that moment. How appalling she looked. When JJ and Kiara got the bends, JC had been so calm and put together. His sister had soothed and coddled him like a baby the whole way to the hospital, never once crying or showing distress. He had even been told by John B that when he had gotten hit by the machete and was unconscious that JC never lost her cool then either. In fact JJ had always seen JC as unbreakable and tough, having rarely seen his twin ever break down. She was a rock, his rock and the rock of the Pogues. When John B had presumably died, she had cried but held him as he broke down. When nights with Luke were terrible and the twins had to flee for their own safety JC would shed a few tears but check up on him. His sister was the epitome of strength and JJ didn’t like seeing her so hurt. Groff did that and JJ couldn’t let that slide.

JC watched in awe of her brother as he turned his back to the well after throwing down the jug of water to Groff. Her kind and amazing brother, she was proud of him. Always. However, as she heard Groff throw threats towards them, towards JJ she snapped. “Say another word Groff and I’ll kill you right fucking now.” The murder in her tone was promising and she was glad when the evil man shut up. Turning on her heel she walked over to JJ who already had his hand held out. The other Pogues were staring at her but the silence was broken by Pope. “Glad he’s shut up. Was ready to catch another felony for you Maybank’s.” Laughs filled the desert area as JC stepped forward letting go of her twins hand to pull Pope into a tight hug. “Nah, I would have acted first.” JC pulled away and smiled at Cleo before pulling the girl into her hug with Pope. Hugging Cleo and Pope as tight as she could. Before the rest of the group joined in and it was the best but hottest group hug ever.

“Alright, you crazy killers let’s go get our crown!” A bunch of whoops left the groups mouths at John B’s words, and like obedient children they found themselves back in the jeep driving towards Agapenta. Away from the well, and probably one of the most evil individuals they have ever met, Groff. No remorse or hesitation within any of them as they did so. For one doesn’t hurt a Pogue and get away with it, not their family.

JC couldn’t help the gasp of awe as she saw the city beyond the cliff. It was massive and without the map she didn’t know how they’d find the crown. However, as she looked at her friends she knew they would. After everything they’ve been through and done? It would be unlikely for them to not find the treasure, they had a great track record of finding treasure. Keeping the said treasure was another story though. Her eyes met JJ’s and the twins fist bumped each other as they smiled like maniacs. “Let’s get our crown, Pogues for Life!” Cheers left the friends as they repeated their mantra before John B continued driving.

JC hoped out of the back of the vehicle once John B pulled to a stop and turned it off. Announcing that they would do the rest by foot. The group quickly walked along the bushes before JC jumped at the sound of a gunshot. Her eyes narrowed through the bush as she stood next to Sarah. Rafe Cameron stood with the map and the key to read it, in front of the Lupine Corsairs guns pointed at him. Part of JC wanted to leave Rafe, but another part knew they needed him, that she needed to save him. Not just because of the map he held, it was apart of it but because he had saved her life and kept her safe. A debt and loyalty she owed to him. JC turned and looked at Sarah and knew her friend felt just as conflicted, however at the end of the day that was her brother, her blood.

JC slowly connected their hands, smiling supportive at her friend knowing Sarah needed it. Sarah gave a faint smile back and clutched JC’s hand needing the comfort of the other girl. “They’re gonna kill him.” JC turned her head to stare at Cleo with an are you serious look, only to snap her head and glare at Pope as he spoke; “Do we care?” At the same time JJ and JC spoke; “Yeah, that's a good question, Pope.” and “Yes, of course we care Pope.” The twins glared at each other as if silently battling and communicating with each other.

JC rolled her eyes and looked back at Sarah, moving her hands to gently rub her shoulders trying to further soothe the growing distraught girl. Ignoring Cleo and the fact she stated about them taking the scroll if they did kill Rafe. JC leaned over and whispered softly to Sarah, “It’s up to you. Say the word or give the signal and we’ll help him. I’ll save him.” JC smiled as Sarah faced her and nodded before turning back and staring at Rafe as she bit her lip in thought.

“There are seven of them. They all have rifles.” JC rolled her eyes at John B’s obvious analysis of the situation. Biting her tongue to keep herself from saying anything sarcastic. “I know. That's why we're gonna need to think outside the box.” JC watched as JJ pulled the gun from behind him and checked it for bullets. She left Sarah side and moved over to JJ’s other side, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. “What are you doing?” JC agreed with John B’s question, because she didn’t want to believe her little brother would be that reckless but then again the Maybank’s were quite known for being ridiculously stupidly reckless. Placing her hand on her brother’s shoulder she wasn’t going to let him do it alone, and together the twins spoke simultaneously; “Diversion.” They glanced at each other, knowingly smirking as they thought of the chaos they could cause together.

“Dudes, you can't be serious. This isn't Call of Duty.” JC rolled her eyes as she pulled a knife she had swiped from her boot, holding it up in triumph. “No it’s not, but our lives have never been normal Pope.” JJ nodded along with his twin before cocking the gun and placing it back in its position behind his back. “We got four rounds, seven of them.” JC rolled her eyes as the others got involved and JJ began trying to explain the plan. “Look four rounds, and a knife. I’d say our odds our pretty good!” JC laughed as JJ nodded towards her before they caught Sarah grabbing the gun and aiming towards the Corsairs. JC held her hands out towards Sarah before she realized what her friend was doing. JC bit her lip as she fought a smile, her eyes watching Sarah closely as she silently cheered her on.

“That’s my brother.” As Sarah spoke and shot the gun, expertly hitting the gas tank and blowing the vehicle up, JC couldn’t help but quietly cheer rushing forward and placing both hands on Sarah’s shoulder. “Oh my god! Way to go Sharpshooter!” The excitement was short lived as they all had to run for their lives. The Corsairs shooting at Rafe and they all ran. JC laughed at Pope as he spoke, “Let’s alert them to our location. That’s a great idea.” Catching up to him she gently punched his shoulder, a wide grin on her face as adrenaline and excitement pumped through her. “Live a little Pope. Being shot at or running for our lives is old news.”

JC laughed louder as she heard Pope curse, running to move next to her twin and as JJ fell she immediately stopped. Wrapping her arms around his forearm and pulling him up, silently communicating with him before they both started running again. JC kept a hand on JJ as they ran, and once he secured his gun again he held her hand, squeezing it tight. The twins found moments like this were where they felt most alive and most aware of shit. Both of them knew it was because of how they were raised and the chaos they grew to love in a deranged and dangerous way. However, if they had each other then they’d be okay.

JC didn’t realize how far they fell behind or how JJ was holding his gun until Pope was yelling for them to hurry up. As they crossed the threshold JJ, Pope, and herself threw themselves against the door as they moved the plank to lock it. Being aware to try and doge the bullets being fired at them. Her eyes connecting with Rafe’s and she wanted to glare at him, to scream at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do either. Especially with how disheveled and anxious he looked.

Just as quick as they had stopped they were off running once again, pausing as they ran into some farm area with a bunch of sheep. Pope, Kiara, and John B immediately working to barricade the door. JC looked around, her eyes immediately trying to find and exit or even perhaps any weapons they could utilize. JJ grabbed her hand pulling her as he ran deeper into the shelter of a maze. JC following without hesitation. She slowed to a stop as JJ beckoned the others before he held his side and began groaning. She held his side as he told the others to keep going, her eyes wide with worry for her little brother. Before she met the eyes of Cleo, and she knew her best friend was gonna do something. “Give me the gun!”

JJ immediately questioned it, but JC knew why. She could tell Cleo was protecting them, was fighting for them. Was giving the twins a break and forcing themselves to take a break from always risking themselves. Except JC didn’t like it, she didn’t like the idea of anything happening to her friends and she could tell JJ didn’t either. JC felt like she was dissociating she could hear JJ arguing about not wanting to give it up, could hear Cleo telling the others to go, could hear Cleo telling JJ he was injured and then like clarity Pope pulled JJ and her close. His words reaching through the fog like a lighthouse. “We got it. We’ll hold them off. Let me protect you both for once.”

JC felt her lip wobbled as she stared at her best friends. She didn’t want to lose them, didn’t want to leave them but this wasn’t the time to argue. Quickly she pulled Cleo into a bone crushing hug, ordering her to be careful or so help her. Before she pulled Pope into a desperate and tight hug, telling him the same thing before she let JJ pull her away. Pope’s words ringing in her ears, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Together the twins took one last glance at Pope, the look holding everything they wanted to tell each other before they went separate ways.

JC paused as she caught up with the others, her eyes narrowing as she saw Rafe holding a knife to John B. Her own hand itching towards the knife she had shoved back in her boot, sometime ago. She shared a glance with JJ and then Sarah, holding her hands up as she took a step forward. Her voice soothing and calm as she spoke, “Rafe, it’s okay.” She watched as he glanced at her before Sarah spoke and then the knife was held to her throat. Immediately JC was next to Sarah like a protective dog, her eyebrows raised as she watched him, waiting and almost daring him to make a move. Only for him to keep speaking and turn back to John B. JC tilted her head as she studied Rafe, and she could tell he was on edge, from what she didn’t know because almost dying wasn’t new to any of them. But as Sarah spoke saying she saved his life and Rafe faced her again, JC understood. Her face softening as he spoke, “You did it so you could steal it from me. There was something in it for you. All right? Not to actually help me. I know that.”

JC took a breath and stepped forward, feeling all eyes on her and Rafe facing her with the knife. “We don’t want to steal it Rafe, was there something in it for us absolutely. However, when Sarah saved you her main thought was her brother. We agreed days ago when we left home that we’d work together, an even cut for everyone. For you.” JC offered him a weak but kind smile, as John B and Sarah spoke at the same time. “Rafe, we don’t have time.” and “We can read that. You can’t.” JC cringed as Rafe turned back to Sarah, and spoke angrily. “Why would I help you? Huh? I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any of you. Do you understand? Dad trusted you. You remember what happened to him?! Do you remember?!”

JC watched helplessly, her eyes finding JJ as Rafe raised his voice. She knew, they both knew, where their minds had gone to for a second. JC bit her lip as she turned back to watch Rafe her eyes staying on the knife as she kept herself close to Sarah. “Dad died saving my life. And you’re so eager to blame me for everything, you won’t even listen to what happened. Singh’s men had me at gunpoint. I was gonna die. Dad took those bullets for me. And if he was still around, he’d want us to work together. I know you know that.” JC felt tears well in her eyes as she flashed back to that day, the deep terror she held that they were all gonna die. That she was going to lose her family. Then Ward an unlikely hero who saved them. JC looked back and forth between Rafe and Sarah like a tennis match, watching as tears filled both their eyes and she had hope that maybe one day they could have a good relationship. A true brother sister relationship, like they both deserved.

“No, you’re just going to screw me like everyone else in my life. I know you will.” Rafe’s teary and broken sounding words broke Juniper’s heart. He looked so hurt and betrayed she wanted to pull him into a hug and never let him go. This was the Rafe she had met, had grown to known during their kidnapping. A soft, vulnerable, hurt individual who just wanted someone who was loyal and loved him. It was a constant battle because of his past actions, and then this switched he’d flip and actually be a person. She hoped this was his redemption, this was his will to change and be better, that he could build something new with Sarah and even the Pogues.

“No, no, because I’m all you’ve got. And you’re the only family I have left.” JC moved herself over to JJ and held his hand. Her eyes staring up at him as John B spoke defending Sarah, “She’s telling the truth.” JC watched with bated breath as Rafe nodded before repeating how he’d get his cut before holding out the map. She smiled as Sarah hugged him, as she hugged her own brother both of them smiling at each other before the faint sound of angry voices reached them. “Hey, this is great and all, but we seriously gotta go.” JC stepped away from JJ as they both peered down the hallway. The twins sharing a look as Kiara told them to go.

“Go with them, June. I’ll be fine.” JC shook her head as she stared at JJ. She didn’t want to leave him that was the last thing she wanted to do. But as he pushed her to follow them she relented, pulling him into a tight hug as she kissed his cheek. “Stay safe Bug, please. I’ll see you shortly.” One last hug, and JC turned and ran after Rafe, Sarah, and John B. Leaving behind another friend and her twin. She hated that they were all separated now, but she trusted in them, in that they would see each other again.

JC stopped herself short of running into the back of Rafe. Both of them staring at each other for a moment before trailing after John B and Sarah. Rafe held his hand out, helping JC up the steeper steps they were climbing up and it made her heart flutter every time. Every time John B turned and helped Sarah, Rafe would turn and help her. She didn’t know if he was competing or if he noticed that John B helped Sarah up steeper areas and in returned helped her up steeper areas. JC let out an exaggerated breath as they reached the top. Rafe stoping next to JB and JC next to Sarah. The two girls glancing at each other and smiling. Before Sarah spun confused and lost, “What now?” JC shrugged as she looked around before she glanced at the two males and watched as Rafe lifted his hand gently hitting the map against John B’s chest. “I can’t read this shit. Go for it.” JC smiled as she watched him, before it grew wider as he took the lens off from around his neck and held it out. “Here. You need this. Go.”

JC walked over to Rafe, she wasn’t needed to figure out the map. She knew JB and Sarah would get it done. Hesitantly JC laid her hand on Rafe’s shoulder, a warm smile on her lips as he turned to face her, and as she spoke it was soft and filled with gratitude. “You did good Rafe. Thank you.” She watched as he looked at her hand before trailing down her arm, and then he met her eyes. A rare and soft smiling forming on his lips as he looked at her. Sarah and John B discussing the map in the distance. “I didn’t. I didn’t mean it. I trust you, JC.” Furrowing her brows she looked up at the taller male, confused on why he trusted her above all people. Almost like he could see the questions in her mind he gave a small laugh, grabbing her hand from his shoulder and holding it in both of his. “I hated and despised you with everything, but then Singh happened and you were the only normal and only one I could trust. Then shit with my dad, and you were still the only normal in my life. You aren’t afraid to call my bullshit, to say what you think, to protect those you care for JC. Everything, I’ve told you and confined in you has stayed with you. I trust you.”

JC bit her lip as she stared up at Rafe, wishing for a moment that this wasn’t a treasure hunt, that their lives weren’t in peril once again. Because selfishly she wanted just a moment more in this bubble, with Rafe’s sweet words, his finger rubbing circles on her hand, his eyes soft and caring as they stared into her soul and beyond. Letting her lip go, she took a breath before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. Pulling back she brought her other hand over and squeezed his hands. “I’ll admit I hated you Rafe, and a part of me still hates your actions. However, I would never have survived Singh if not for you and I’m forever grateful and thankful for that. I can’t explain it, but that bonded us together Rafe. I trust you, but I need you to be kinder to my friends, my family.” JC giggled as Rafe nodded his head quickly before promising he would, that he would work on it, that he would be better.

And then their bubble was interrupted. JC looked over as John B was calling for them, her eyes widening as she moved over to where he stood with the map in the air. “What the fuck?” It was the best thing she could think to say, as a shadow of a shape appeared on the map. “What the hell is that?” JC shrugged as she turned around her eyes widening as she saw the same outline on the map right behind them, except it was real and a stone statue. “See what I’m seeing?” JC knew JB had also connected it and as Rafe turned around and saw the statue they both spoke simultaneously and the same words “Holy Shit.”

They did it! They found the crown. Of course they would, JC had no doubt because they always found the treasure. She just couldn’t stop the negative thoughts creeping in because something would go wrong, it always did. “The crown has gotta be up there. Come on, let’s go.” JC nodded as she heard Rafe walk a few steps away, her eyes on the statue as she wished the others were here. They all deserved to be here and basking in this glory. It drained from her as Rafe spoke again, trying to get their attention. JC turned around, her mouth opening in shock and disbelief of their luck as Rafe spoke making dread flow through her; “Sandstorm.” JC kicked a rock, anger cursing through her veins as she threw up her hands, “Fuck you universe! Fuck you.” Taking a breath she lowered her goggles and wrapped her scarf around her mouth and nose, protecting herself from the oncoming sand. Just like that, they were off running once again. A race against time, something they were all familiar with.

“Come on. Hurry. We’ve gotta try to get up there before the storm hits.” JC rolled her eyes, once again annoyed with her best friend’s ability to point out the obvious. “No shit Sherlock. I thought we were gonna wait for the storm.” As John B glanced back at her, she mumbled a low apology. Tensions were high and she didn’t need to take it out on her friends, but something was eating away at her. As if a warning was sounding off and something really bad was coming. JC let out a startled gasp as her brother’s voice sounded from behind her; “John B. JC. Hey! Do you see what’s coming?”

JC turned and pulled him into a hug, ignoring everything because she needed him. He was safe, and alive and right there in front of her. Pulling away they instinctively intertwined their hands, the twins rarely liked physical affection or contact but with each other it was one of their main love languages. As JJ asked if they had any idea on where to look for the crown, JC smiled and lifted his chin so he was staring up at the statue. “Right in front of us baby brother.”

Her smile faded as John B said they needed to climb and JJ immediately looked like he was preparing himself. No, she wasn’t going to let him climb up the statue not with his injury. Not when she was there. Before anyone could say or do anything else a strong gust of wind hit and sand was filling the air like fog. The sandstorm had reached them. JC didn’t like the odds of this, didn’t like how it was impossible to see much less breathe even with her scarf protecting her. She felt her stomach drop as Rafe spoke, “Hey, I’m gonna go scope it out, all right? I’ll meet you all up there!” Then just like that he was gone, and she couldn’t see him anymore. Her hand squeezed tighter on JJ, scared she’d lose him too.

Then once again, the group was splitting up. JC knew they couldn’t leave Rafe, not because they couldn’t trust him but because he would need help. Bending down she grabbed her knife from her boot, grabbing John B’s hand and pressing it into his palm. Her hands wrapping around his. “Protect Sarah, and protect yourself. Stay safe, and we’ll see you with the crown.” She watched as they ran off, before she turned and followed after JJ and Kiara. Praying nothing would happen to any of them.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Monsters

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 56

You and Leon are sent on your first mission, and must embrace a hard truth; it isn't just bioweapons that you'll be fighting.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon!)

Chapter Index

TW for military operations, death, guilt and one could make a case for war crimes (or at the very least killing soldiers who are not actively in combat).

Take care of yourselves lads, don't read if you think it'd bother you!

It should be snowing. That would be poetic, wouldn’t it? It would complete the violent nursery rhyme in your head, the one about soldiers and monsters and bloody justice. That was always how those ended up, wasn’t it? Darker than they should be. Maybe there was something to that, if this was what the world was turning out to be; draped in pitch and blood-soaked clothes. 

It certainly looked that way from the deck of this ship - the cold biting deep into your bones. A debriefing, a plane ride, and now, here you were. Being smuggled close to Russian waters on a Norwegian fishing ship wasn’t how you imagined this mission starting, but you were agents now. It wouldn’t be the last time you found a back door into a country, heading towards a destination you couldn’t see in the night. Even the stars were blocked out by clouds, leaving no light but those on the ship.

Funny how even going in blind, you felt like your vision was clear for the first time. 

That came with its own drawbacks, of course. You knew your target, you knew your goal . . . and you knew that there would be a cost to this all. Blood for blood. Whose blood would it be? Yours?

Dina’s? Valeria’s? Leon’s? 

Leon. 

What would happen if he died tonight? What would that do to you? You couldn’t stop the scenario from playing in your head, over and over and over again. Your mind conjured up images of him with bullet holes and knife wounds, torn or blown apart . . .

You would do anything to prevent that. Give anything. 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Because if you didn’t accomplish this task - if you didn’t prove to Simmons that you were someone who could do this . . . 

“Aren’t you cold?” 

You had to close your eyes as you heard the voice. The one voice you’d both craved and dreaded these last few days. 

Of course he’d come looking for you. He always would. Another problem to add to the collection, however sweet it was. 

“I’m fine,” you said flatly, because admitting anything else would just make the truth more inescapable. 

Truth that Leon knew, without needing to be told. 

“You’re not.” 

There was pain in his voice. So much pain it was almost enough to drown you. To make your lungs burn because you couldn’t breathe. You didn’t dare to look back at the man you loved. He, of course, made that all the more difficult by taking strides to your side. 

“You’re not fine.” 

You could feel his gaze on you, his warmth so close against the cold. So close. 

Too close- 

“You have a fucking handprint on your neck,” he went on when you said nothing. “You’re not fine.” 

How could you tell him what happened? That the man who did this to you was the one who’d given you the intel you were acting on now? It would only worry Leon more. You just couldn’t decide if your silence was worse in this moment. 

“What happened?”

“What do you want me to say, Leon?” you asked in your still-rasping tone, shaking your head. Hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your voice strained with more than just the constriction your neck had suffered. 

Stupid to hope for such a thing, when you all but felt him wince at the sound of it. 

“I want us to talk,” he answered. “I want us to talk about things, like we promised we would.”

“We’re on our way to an Umbrella facility-” you finally turned to him, fog escaping your lips as you spoke. “We have bigger things to worry about than our feelings.” 

You’d offended him, you could see it in his eyes. You were picking at a wound that you yourself had carved into him these last few days. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice wasn’t soft, like it usually was with you. He was frustrated. Angry. And he had a right to be. Even so, he didn’t reach for you. Didn’t push in on your space. “I know exactly where we’re going. Same as you. And I’m worried, alright?” He sounded defeated, then. More than you had ever imagined he might. “I’m worried about you, and not just because of where we’re headed.” 

Worried that you were never coming back to him? Or that you had little regard for your own safety right now? That you might do something foolish if it meant the success of this mission? 

They were all valid worries - if he could afford to have them. 

Leon cared too much. For you, for everyone. That was one of the reasons you’d grown to love him. You longed - ached - to have him in your arms, to hold onto something and let the world fade away. Even to just hold his hand. To remind yourself that he was alive and so were you. 

And you wouldn’t allow yourself even that much, because in a few hours it could be ripped away. 

“Don’t focus on me,” you shook your head, trying not to be affected by the sight of Leon now, his face falling as he realized he was losing. “Focus on the mission.” You stepped closer, your gaze harsh and unmoving from his own. “You want to talk? You stay alive. You make it through this.” Because you couldn’t even think about the alternative. 

Even if you knew you were foolish for it. Even if you were doing the equivalent of closing your eyes as you saw headlights coming your way. 

As if ignoring what was to come would make the pain easier to manage. 

“That means you have to make it, too,” Leon said after a moment, his gaze just as unwavering as your own. His hand almost reached for yours, but it looked like he held himself back. Instead, his jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “I’ll only ever give you this one order from here on out, and this is it: you have to stay alive.” 

How strange it was to hear those words coming from his lips now. 

As if you were the one who needed that order. 

He was the one who would throw himself into the fire every single time. Leon S. Kennedy was the man who would die if it meant saving only one person, you knew it in your bones. 

And you? 

For whatever reason, whether punishment or some divine joke you weren’t privy to . . . you just couldn’t seem to die. 

“I’m not dying,” you told Leon, feeling like something sharp was clawing its way out of your throat. “Not until Reed and every last one of them is in the ground.” 

And there it was. Even in the night, even with only the shitty deck lights to see by, it was clear as day to you. You’d seen it from him in the hallway at the CIA compound, and you’d seen it when you blew a hole through your friend’s head. 

Fear. 

Of you? Or for you? 

Didn’t matter, because it was gone in a moment. “We’ll get him.” You hadn’t heard him angry many times before. Not like this. “I promise you. We’ll get him.” 

You would. You knew in your heart that this ended with Reed in the ground.

It was just a question of what it would take to make that a reality. 

“Hey-” Williams’ voice sounded across the deck, battling against the churning of the sea. She appeared from beneath the deck, strapped in the same tactical gear that you and Leon both wore, all dark shapes and lethal promise. A plate carrier strapped to her chest, a rifle, side arm, helmet, and a pack you knew was full of charges. And, of course, a knife, hooked to her belt. “We’re close.” 

No more time for regrets, or fears. The path ahead was all that mattered. A path that led straight into the darkness you’d just been staring into, for you and Leon both. And as you passed Leon, a thought occurred to you. One that stopped you, made you turn to face the man you loved. The man who loved you. 

One more hurt to deliver to him. Another bruising lesson. 

“There will be people there, you know,” you said, your voice hollow. Flat, because you needed him to understand. “We’ll be fighting people.” 

Killing them. 

Leon had faced monsters. He’d brought second deaths to the undead, and he’d ended things that never should have existed in the first place. He’d never killed a person before. Not a living, breathing, unmarred person, and not out of mercy to keep them human in their final moments. 

You could see, now, as you looked back at him, that he had thought of that exact fact too. That he’d worried over this. 

That you were forcing him to confront it now. 

“I know,” he said, and you couldn’t place the emotion that colored the words. You wondered if even Leon knew what he felt. 

All you knew was that, for a moment, however brief, you saw that bruised cadet you’d glimpsed from across the tables. You’d been compelled to help him that day, even if you were the cause of his pain. You were compelled to do the same now. You just hoped it would mean something. 

So, you gave him one last piece of advice - the same one you were clinging to, that drove you on despite it all: “They’re monsters too.” 

You weren’t sure he believed you. 

You weren’t sure you believed yourself.

And you weren’t sure it mattered.

⧫⧫⧫

You all took a smaller boat to shore; one with a quiet engine and just enough space. The five of you had loaded on and split off from the ship that brought you to the edge of Russian waters, to be rendezvoused with once the mission was complete. Leon tried to steady himself on the long journey, trying to trust Hellman as the agent guided them in the dark. Trying not to think about being swallowed up by the icy waters around them. Instead, he turned his attention to the task before them.

It was simple, in theory: apprehend Reed if he was there, neutralize resistance and retrieve any useful information. 

Once the island came into view, though, once he spotted the distant searchlights of the Umbrella compound, Leon could only think about your warning. About how it would be people he was facing. 

It didn’t snow, but by the time you were boots on the ground, it had started to rain. It felt like it turned to ice as it hit Leon’s body, even through the cold weather gear he wore. Freezing and biting and perfect to cover their approach. A stroke of luck. 

As if any of this was lucky.

The boat was left far enough away from the facility, Leon hoped; hauled ashore and hidden as well as it could be amidst the rocks. Helmets with night-vision goggles that could be swung down over their eyes allowed them to see in the pitch black of night, showing the bleak terrain that they crossed as they moved forward. 

“All Shadows, on me.” 

Shadows. Fitting callsigns for the group moving like wraiths across the darkened plain. Who stayed low as the perimeter fence came into view. Any doubt of whether there were soldiers housed inside was erased when Leon spotted the Umbrella logo emblazoned in red and white at the gate. 

Hellman watched for a while through binoculars, then gave orders over the roar of the rain. Guard towers first, then perimeter guard, then they would move in. 

Leon had often wondered how the men who’d destroyed your base, the men who’d offered safety and alliance only to betray you, could live with themselves. Now, he wondered how he would manage it, when he put that first soldier between the sights of his rifle. AK-74M, Russian made, so any investigation of ballistics would stave blame off the States. Mid-range, equipped with a suppressor that would only be made more effective by the rain pummeling the earth. The weapon was twin to the one Valeria held at the ready beside him, her sights on the guard beside the one Leon focused on. Two more of the same guns were in the field, hidden from his vision.

He knew that you were just on the other side of the base, you and Dina. You were hidden in the shadows, just like Leon was, with a soldier in your sights. A person. 

“You have your targets?” Hellman. His voice came through the earpiece that Leon wore - that they all wore. The agent was on overwatch, keeping an eye from a distance, covering them all with a rifle, should things go poorly. He asked his question as if it was normal. As if this wasn’t going to be sudden death for four people. 

The man through the scope was a soldier, that much was obvious. He held a gun, his body encased in gear. His face was uncovered, clear in the light of the guard tower he stood in. One that he leaned over the railing of, yawning in exhaustion. His fellow guard nudged him with a smile. This wasn’t the man in the gas mask you’d told him about, though he wore the red and white patch of Umbrella. 

They’re monsters. But Leon couldn’t see a monster, at that moment. He saw many things that conflicted with each other. 

A man simply doing his job.

A bastard who signed up to work for Umbrella. 

A soldier. A son. A human being. 

A target. 

A threat. Because if the others shot and Leon didn’t-

If this man could raise the alarm-

Would this man plead for his life, if he knew that Leon was about to end it? 

“Repeat: all Shadows, do you have the targets?”

“Affirmative,” Leon whispered his response into the comm with a voice that felt alien to him. He heard your own voice soon after, Dina and Valeria too. All ready. His finger was on the trigger, and the tension of it was like a plea. A last chance to stay his hand and hold his fire. 

He was going to kill someone, because they stood in his way. He was going to end a life-

“Take them.” 

A dampened crack of gunfire. The rifle kicked back against his shoulder, something he registered before he even realized he’d obeyed the order. The man through the scope made like he meant to move, and instead his head was knocked back. 

Oh god-

With a spray of red in the air, the body was down, his fellow soldier collapsing beside him. Valeria had made her shot, too. 

They’d both killed someone. 

Oh god-

He’d killed someone. 

He’d done it with such ease. 

Only the sound of the rain filled the cold air as Leon felt the horror sink into his bones. As he realized well and truly what he’d done. 

Still, there was no time to feel the bile rising in his throat. No time to register the first real and whole life he’d taken, because in a few moments Hellman was calling out another group of targets. The perimeter guard. More bullets. More bodies. 

Had it been this easy for the man who’d nearly killed you? When he and his men gunned down your friends? 

What did that make Leon, as he gunned down another man? Then another. And another. What did that make all of you, as at last the perimeter was breached, and Hellman joined the rest of you with his gun at the ready? So many days, Leon had spent at your side, with his friends, crawling under barbed wire while cracking jokes. Training at the range, cheering when someone hit all their shots. Slipping into the blind spots of cameras to steal kisses and touches from you. Finding moments to be human whilst training for something that had seemed distant. 

Now, it was here, and as Hellman cut a part of the wire fence to allow you all to slip inside, Leon felt like the world had been turned violently inside out. Because it wasn’t his friends that passed over the bodies of the people they killed without a second glance. It couldn’t be his love that wove between the cameras and destroyed them with pops of gunfire, heading towards what looked like the barracks. 

Leon had thought Krauser cruel all those months ago, during assessments. When he’d woken Leon and everyone else in his squad with tear gas. 

Now, he realized he was about to do something worse than cruel. 

There was movement inside, but only from one body. Someone was on fire watch. Dina reported that she could count a dozen or so other bodies, all asleep in their beds. 

Hellman tried the door once, then looked at you. 

You pulled a slender set of lockpicking pins from a pouch on your belt, the very same ones you’d practiced with for so many weeks in the infirmary. Meanwhile, the rest of them took up positions and avoided the windows. Leon felt the absence of relief when the lock clicked, and you lowered your arms. 

You nodded to Hellman, your mouth pressed into a thin line, and your hand stilled on the door knob. 

Your name slipped from Leon’s lips, and for just a moment you stopped. For a moment, there in the rain, you halted. 

A hand clamped over Leon’s shoulder. It was an order without words. An order for him to shut his mouth and let this happen. Hellman’s voice was steady against the rain. “Sergeant - now.” They had to do this. Leon knew that.  If these soldiers escaped the barracks, they could alert others you were here. They would fall, whether now or later, sleeping or waking. That was the mission, however wrong it was. 

And it was wrong. 

That didn’t stop you from opening the door, or Hellman gunning down the soldier on fire watch, then turning his gun on the rest. Unarmed and unawares, they never stood a chance. 

Defenseless. Unsuspecting. 

They shouted. Screamed. Some of them took cover. Leon was caught looking the wrong way in on a memory, only this time there was no tear gas. No lesson to be learned. A few of the soldiers tried to rush Hellman, or scrambled to escape.

It didn’t matter if they were Umbrella, or if they would make trouble if they were left alive. It didn’t make a goddamn difference, because this was wrong. 

They were monsters.

Leon was a monster. 

It had to be done. 

It had to be done. 

It had to be done. 

That was what he kept telling himself. What he hoped would help him justify this. These were mercenaries. They knew what they were signing up for. The evidence of that was written all around; in the Umbrella labeled gear they recovered, in the assault rifles the guards carried. In the armored vehicles in the motor pool. In the tank that sat alone in the rain. 

This was a military installation. The enemy’s base. A base that, in the dark of that storm, fell all too quickly. Easy to do, when the enemy was unprepared. When they didn’t see the bullet coming. 

Monsters.

That was the thought that settled in Leon’s gut as the last of the cameras was destroyed, and the final guard outside was given a bullet. 

It had been too easy. 

No alarm had been raised, no real opposition had found them. 

There was one building left. One structure left to clear. Hellman led the way, the rest of you filing in just the way you’d been taught. Sweeping the interior-

“What the fuck-”

Leon heard the voice as soon as he stepped in the door. Saw them step out from around the corner of a cargo container. Black gear, red and white symbol on their chest-

Go with your gut.

They raised their gun. It was aimed at you. 

Don’t think.

Hellman beat Leon to the shot, his own sidearm out and aimed in a flash. There was a gunshot, then a choking sound. A sputtering as the Umbrella soldier clutched at her neck. Shock. Anger. Horror. So much crossing that stranger’s face as they realized they were going to die. 

Leon could only blink as he realized that it could have been you. All because he hesitated. If Krauser were there-

There was shouting. Two voices. Two more guards. 

“We got hostiles!”

Leon didn’t hesitate, then. Couldn’t afford to as the gunfight broke out. The first real one he’d ever been in. 

Well, almost. 

He’d jumped in front of Ada to shield her from gunfire, once. Now, though, it wasn’t a shield that he felt like. Instead, as he moved around the cargo containers, he was a bullet. A blade. He flanked one of the shooters as Valeria took care of the other. Their only opponents were put down in a matter of seconds, left to lie in puddles of red on the concrete floor. 

Monsters killing monsters. 

Leon’s hands shook around his rifle. He could barely hear Hellman’s orders or his comrade’s voices as he looked down at the soldier he killed, numb. 

“Search for Reed. See if you can get a positive ID.” 

“I didn’t see him.” 

Empty eyes stared up at nothing. 

“Thought he was supposed to be here-”

Blood pooled under the body, slipping between the separate panels of concrete.

“We weren’t sure. Just knew this was a training facility-”

“A big one for not that many people-”

Blood that slipped between and disappeared, instead of running along the seams . . .

“There’s no officer’s barracks. Cameras but no security hub . . .”

Leon’s eyes caught on the lines, tracing along the gaps in the concrete. Seeing the scrapes and tire marks gouged into the floor. Like things had been dragged and driven on, but then . . . 

“Sir. Something’s here.” 

The rest of the group turned towards Leon as he spoke. With everyone’s goggles up, it was the first time since they arrived on Kolguyev that Leon could really see the faces of his friends. Your face. Dina and Valeria looked shaken but determined. They’d been soldiers before they were his friends, after all. You, though . . . Leon struggled to find you beneath the soldier that seemed to have taken control. 

“Where?” Hellman stepped forward, the older agent’s eyes discerning as he took in the scene before them. Once Leon pointed it out, there was little debate. “Umbrella loves their secrets. Look for a lever, a switch . . . anything, but do not touch it if you find it!” Hellman ordered, and the team set to work. Leon crouched down, searching the body at his feet with shock-shaken hands. He took the extra ammunition he found, but nothing else. Not the ID card that he didn’t have the heart to read. Maybe that made him a worse person, not wanting to put a name to the face of the person he’d killed. 

That didn’t matter right now. He had a task. Something to look for. 

Something to open up the floor. To reveal whatever lay below. 

Raccoon City had housed the birthplace of nightmares, a sickness just below the surface. What would they find here, if Leon was right? If there was some way beneath the earth hidden here? 

If this was a storage warehouse, then what was it they might store away from prying eyes? 

This had been easy. 

There were too few soldiers. 

Too little resistance. 

Something was wrong, and one look at you confirmed you felt the same. 

Your eyes met, vicious instinct traded in for wariness in your expression. 

“Something’s-” 

The sound of an alarm made Leon nearly jump free of his skin, his gun up and his eyes wide. Immediately, he swung the barrel towards the nearest door, his body moving in anticipation of further gunfire. 

Instead, he nearly lost his balance as the ground lurched beneath his feet. 

“Move!” Hellman ordered, but Leon was already running. Already hauling himself off the now-splitting sections of the concrete. The body of the soldier Leon had gunned down began to slip as the panel - a little over twenty feet long and half as wide - slipped down and then slid to the side. 

“I made myself clear, you weren’t to activate anything!” Hellmans’ voice was urgent now, the alarm and the rain outside battling to overpower his concerned tone. 

A ramp began to make itself clear beneath the opening segment of the floor, leading down.

“Wasn’t us, sir,” Valeria shook her head, her eyes trained down the barrel of her rifle, wide and ready. 

It hadn’t been you or Leon, either. Which meant-

“All Shadows, with me. Prepare to engage.” Hellman was quick to move, bringing the group around towards the side overlooking the deeper section of the ramp. Leon felt like some other force moved him there, kneeling at the edge of the now-opening abyss. They would be covered. They would have the high ground. Whoever would be headed their way, they would have a brief advantage over. 

Assuming it was a who and not a what. 

But as the screeching of metal stopped, as the alarm finally ceased, Leon could feel in his bones that there would be no such luck. Luck had abandoned him long ago. 

All he could do now was wait, trying to remember to breathe. To hold his weapon steady. To have his finger on the trigger. 

There was the sound of something moving down there. Leon could hear footsteps, heavy and drawing closer. 

Closer. 

Closer. 

He glanced to you, your presence at his side cold but reassuring. He hoped you remembered the promise you two made to each other on the deck of that ship, as a new sound hit his ears. 

A low, wet snarl, one that turned into a screeching roar. 

Stay alive. 

That was all Leon had time to wish for as a blur of green charged out. Claws like the blades of machetes ripped into the body lying still on the ramp beneath them. Crimson splattered as the scent of copper hit the air.

Hellman’s order to fire didn’t mean anything. 

The bullets of five assault rifles pierced the armor of the creature beneath them - and armor it certainly was. Chunks of that chitinous plate chipped off as Leon and the rest of you fired, until red sprayed into the air. Until the monster - that even Leon had seen only blurry images of before - screamed in agony. 

It didn’t mean anything, though, as from beneath, a second pair of claws came springing towards them, and the air was knocked clean from Leon’s lungs. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon!)

Chapter Index

Tag List: @greywardensaywhat @torchbearerkyle

A/N: Oh boy home stretch here we go!

SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING FOR TWO MONTHS (unless you're an icon and you're reading Disavowed too, in which case sorry for disappearing for one month).

The holidays were very busy for me and then I got home and everything was on fire. Luckily not my own place of living, feeling incredibly grateful for that! In any case, the Ao3 curse does seem to be alive and well and so does artistic burnout, but goddamn it we're gonna finish this story cause I WANNA WRITE RE4.

Wherever you are in the world, thank you for reading and for being patient, and please keep yourself as safe, happy and healthy as you can! I'll see you guys in the next chapter!

[creatingnikki]

as a hopeless romantic and with the heart of a poet you may think that it's inevitable to get over it — this heartbreak, this pain. if someone mattered to you this much, if everything with them meant so much, then how can you go on living without them? but there's nothing commendable about yearning for a love years later that could never manifest into something healthy, long term, and mutual in your life. unrequited love? one sided love? the one that got away? an almost lover? yeah at someone you gotta have to stop romanticizing that. you don't want material for shayari. what you want is to eventually move on and meet someone else and have a fulfilling and meaningful life because that's what is commendable. that's what is beautiful and that's what is poetic. a life well lived. a life well loved. not being hung up on one person or the idea of that person. the way our brains are wired is that you cannot really keep drowning in the memory of someone for over a year. if you decide to move on and let go at some point and go out there and meet other people, you will find someone who will make your heart smile again and whose jokes you will find funny and who will make you want to risk getting hurt again. it's honestly inevitable. so don't let them lie to you. don't let them make you believe that you have to live, if you are a romantic, if you have truly loved, as someone who never moves on. that doesn't make your love for that person any grander. it only makes your life less meaningful and more miserable. sadness can become a habit especially when it's sadness in love, or rather sadness in the lack of love. you can fall in love with that kind of sadness. you can glorify it. you can get so attached to it that you'd rather keep it than attempt at happiness in love again. don't be that person. love and let go and love yet again. the poetry is in that.

[fungifanart]

A Truly Wicked Weave

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Vil Schoenheit

CW: Mild angst, self-image issues

Word Count: 1.3k

Notes: Wrote this for a request from the @twst-charity which is still very much active! Feel free to donate if you can!

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Vil has had several...opinions regarding the Prefect ever since meeting him, specifically about how he presents himself.

That baggy, wrinkled clothing, that tie that's never tied correctly, that consistently deadpan expression, and, last but not least, that bun.

That damn hair bun.

Now, of course, Vil is no stranger to wearing one's hair up and is aware of the benefits of doing so, but he's also no fool. He can see the slight wave of the ends that stick out under the bun, the gentle shine of his hair under the light of the sun.

Goodness, just one glimpse of what could be and suddenly he's waxing poetic. Who is he, Rook?

Regardless, Vil just KNOWS that the Prefect is hiding something extraordinary within that tacky bun and he'll be damned if he isn't there to see it.

He just needs the right opportunity.

And lo and behold, said opportunity lands perfectly in his lap like a gift from an angel. An angel with black wings, a creepy mask and questionable treatment of his students, but an angel nonetheless.

After all, what better place is there to let one's hair down than in their own living quarters?

Vil can feel his anticipation rising exponentially despite his exhaustion as they enter Ramshackle dorm, where he and the others will be staying as they prepare for SDC.

And just like that, Vil finds himself killing two birds with one stone later that night as he walks into the kitchen, explaining the effect of his signature spell to the fools who triggered it before laying eyes on a head of long, majestic, luxurious hair crouched next to the offenders.

Vil would never let it show on his face, but he can feel his heart skip a beat upon witnessing the Prefect’s hair in its full splendor and his mind is already conjuring countless ideas of how he can style it without a bun in sight.

And it's when they're walking back to their rooms together that Vil attempts to make said ideas a reality.

"Don't you think you're being too hard on them, Vil?" the Prefect asks in concern for his friends.

"Pay them no mind, Prefect. They broke the rules and are facing the consequences." Vil replies dismissively before changing the subject, "Putting that aside, I must say that I find your hair quite impressive. May I touch it?"

"Huh? U-uh, thanks?? And sure, I guess???" the other man responds, caught off-guard.

"You're very welcome. It's not every day that I admit such things, you know." Vil says, admiring the Prefect’s hair some more before reaching out to get a feel for it, "Ah, and it's quite soft, as well! It's truly a travesty that you keep it tied up in a bun so often. If you took the time to style it, I'm sure you'd be turning heads all over campus!"

"Y-yeah, I'm sure..." he says, noticeably tense and uncomfortable from the sudden compliments.

"If you want, I could even style it for you!" Vil offers while already testing out a braid on him, "Think of it as some small repayment for hosting us here."

"W-well, if you're offering, then I guess I wouldn't--" the Prefect tries to respond, but is drowned out by Vil's musings.

"We could always start with the standard ponytail or perhaps a Shaftlandian braid...although, a Fleurite braid might be easier to start with...it might look better if we were to cut it a little--" at that last statement, the Prefect whips his head around, wrenching his hair out of Vil's hands and taking his wrist in his own, almost bruisingly tight, grasp.

"Vil Schoenheit, you will do no such thing." the Prefect warns in a dead-serious tone of voice with eyes that bore right through him.

A beat of pin-drop silence passes as Vil stands there, utterly flabbergasted by this shift in demeanor.

The moment ends with the Prefect pushing Vil's hand back towards him, "I've changed my mind. You're not going anywhere NEAR my hair while you guys are here." he orders before promptly turning and walking away, leaving no room for argument.

And that was that.

Any attempts by Vil to change the Prefect’s mind after that night are swiftly shot down and no amount of cajoling from the others has any effect either. This is the first time any of them have seen him act so bullheaded about something.

Vil's disappointment is immeasurable, but his status as a guest in the Prefect’s dorm means his hands are tied.

So he'll let it go. For now.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the next month is filled to the brim with "excitement" to keep his mind off of the Prefect’s hair.

Indeed, the subject does feel rather irrelevant in the face of his own insecurities compounding into an overblot, being ambushed and kidnapped and then having to stave off a world-ending event.

...until one considers that the bun was present throughout all of it.

It was most definitely taunting him at this point.

He doesn't even know why it's still bothering him after so long, but if he never has to see the Prefect in a bun again, it'll be too soon.

However, after all of his pain and suffering, the Great Seven finally grant Vil a blessing in the form of the Prefect and his companion needing a place to stay whilst Ramshackle is being repaired. An opportunity which he wastes no time capitalizing on.

"Come now, Prefect," Vil says in a low voice as he approaches the other man with a hairbrush in one hand and a dry shampoo can in the other, "Let's not forget whose dorm we're currently in~"

"Urgh...fine." the Prefect finally concedes, "However, my one condition is that you keep those things FAR away from my hair." he says while motioning to the scissors sitting on Vil's vanity.

"Hmph. Very well." Vil relents, albeit with some palpable disappointment.

Regardless, Vil finally wrangles the Prefect into the chair and begins the process of styling, allowing the room to fall into a comfortable silence.

After a few minutes of brushing and spraying to prepare for the actual styling, a thought occurs to Vil that had been nagging in the back of his head.

"Prefect, I feel I must ask. Why are you so averse to having your hair cut?" Vil asks bluntly.

The Prefect ponders this question for a few seconds before responding with a sigh, "...My mother. When my hair is long like this, it looks exactly like hers, so it helps me feel more connected to her while we're literal worlds apart." he finishes while gently placing his hand on his reflection in the mirror.

Vil's expression softens upon hearing this, despite not caring to know his own mother, he still knows how important a maternal bond can be to someone and how it's not something to be taken lightly.

“I see.” Vil responds after a second of deliberation, “My apologies for being so forceful on the matter. However, wouldn't it hurt your mother just as much to see you shutting others out as it would to see you lessen that connection?”

“Th-That's…I…” the Prefect stutters, clearly not having seen it that way.

“True to my word, I will not cut your hair,” Vil begins while weaving the other man's hair into a dutch braid, “but surely it would make her happy to see you experimenting with other hairstyles?”

“I-” the Prefect stutters once more before looking at his reflection and letting out another sigh, “...If you still want to style my hair in the future…I'll think about it. But please let me have this for just a little while longer?”

Finally satisfied, Vil finishes the braid with a soft smile, “I do believe I will.”

[vladdyissues]

Would Vlad and Danny be people of beaches, lakes or frozen rivers? I feel that it is clear that the beach is a very hot place, the lakes are usually large...And the frozen rivers I feel like you would be very Vlad-like along with a cup of coffee

What do you say?

Lakes are fine and rivers are lovely, but there's something almost spiritual about oceans (and my own personal love of them) that makes me want to say that both Vlad and Danny are ocean people. The open sky, the great expanse that can make a person feel so small and insignificant; the salt, the sand, the stars, billions and billions of them. The mixed themes of drowning depths and soaring space. How they mirror one another, the sky and the ocean. Blue to blue.

Oceans are powerful. They are the end of the journey; all things, rivers, streams, creeks, flow to them. They were here before the land. They are not locked in earth; they cannot be dammed or drained. They burn and seethe; they birth fire and cradle more mysteries than we can know. They they soothe and terrify; they carve down mountains and feed the world. They are life—and death. And I'm getting way too poetic. The ocean is a fantastic metaphor for many things, is what I'm trying to say.

And beaches don't always imply tropical weather, anon. Some of the most beautiful beaches in the world are in cold locations.

Here's Reynisfjara, Iceland:

And Diamond Beach, Iceland:

The Blue Lagoon, a geothermal spa, also in Iceland:

Glass Beach, Ussuri Bay, Russia:

The Pacific Northwest, USA:

Nallikari Beach, Finland

I can't think of a more invigorating image than Vlad and Danny, standing on a shore of black volcanic sand and bundled in warm coats, their hair tossed by the cold, salty wind, watching the sun rise over a frosty ocean while enjoying mugs of steaming coffee.

[elliespuns]

Okay, so I keep seeing posts where people say that the ending of TLOU Part 2 was stupid and nonsensical and that Ellie lost her kindness when she became this heartless. But I actually think that there is a lot more to this when you read between the lines and try to see it through all the emotions the game offers you.

I keep seeing people complaining about Ellie being heartless all of a sudden (saying that she used to be a sweetheart in the 1st game) but they tend to forget the most important thing of all: that Ellie going after Abby wasn't about her becoming a hostile killing machine. Ellie was still a nice and kind person, even after all this.

You could see throughout the gameplay that she regretted killing even those people who had something to do with Joel's murder. I'm not trying to say that killing them was right, but all I'm saying is that she didn't want to kill any of them villingly. She wasn't killing because she would have been enjoying it. She was killing because she thought she owed it to Joel. You have to sink deep inside Ellie's mindset to undertand this with your heart.

It was actually pretty sad to witness Ellie like this. I felt so sorry for her the whole time because she was hopeless and didn't know how to deal with so much pain that the only thing she thought was right was to kill everyone who hurt the only person she cared about the most. When Abby killed Joel, she didn't just take away his presence from Ellie; she also robbed her of the opportunity to forgive him in her own time. So in her mind, when he was murdered, he died without her forgiveness, and she couldn't forgive herself for putting him through this feeling. She kept seeing his dying face in her mind wherever she went, and all she could think about was that when he was lying there, he felt alone and unforgiven. But he wasn't alone and unforgiven. She forgave him the second she knew he was in danger. But in her mind, Joel didn't know that. In her mind, he thought she still 'hated' him.

And just a few moments before she almost drowned Abby, Ellie remembered Joel and how he was sitting on the porch, strumming his guitar. And at that moment, she realized that in order to let Joel know she already forgave him and that he is not alone, she must forgive herself too, and to be able to do that, she must let Abby go.

Part 2 is not stupid. It's actually pretty poetic. The most heartbreaking thing I've ever had a chance to feel, but so beautiful in portraying deep feelings of love.

[cackled0g]

An interesting aspect of the Gerudo that I don't see explored a lot is the way that their society, despite having one (1) man is still patriarchal in nature. For a race of almost exclusively women, the Gerudo are like pretty obsessed with men. They have a genetic line of rulers passing from mother to daughter for generations...unless some other random Gerudo has a son. Gerudo Fortress is off limits to all men, but in excluding men it places an awful lot of focus on them. Gerudo are raised to grow up and seek out a male partner [1][2], Gerudo are raised to recognize their incompleteness without a man, Gerudo are raised in a culture that venerates the concept of men so much that to be born male in their culture is to automatically be deemed superior to all other Gerudo.

Do you know that thing where someone hates something so badly that it kind of becomes their whole personality? The sort of person who puts "anti h//t//l h@zb1n" in their bio because to them one of the most important things to know about them isn't their interests or hobbies but instead the thing they hate most fervently? That's the Gerudo. The Gerudo as a culture can be summed up as 'men dni (except for our one super special once in a lifetime guy)'. To be a Gerudo woman is to grow up hating and fearing men, who are outsiders and encroachers, but also to dedicate years of your life preparing for a husband. To be Gerudo is to be a powerful woman until you have a more powerful man at your back.

To me, this is vital to any reading of Ganondorf. Ganondorf is entitled. He feels entitled to rule Hyrule, he feels entitled to the Triforce, he feels entitled to the lives of everyone in Hyrule, and yes, you can make an argument that he does what he does for his people, he steals and lies and murders because the Gerudo are being crushed under the boot of the monarchy, but at the end of the day Ganondorf treats his people as poorly as he does the other Hylian races. The only named Gerudo in OOT who isn't literally one of his mothers, Nabooru, fucking loathes him, and does so because she finds what he is doing to be deeply dishonorable. "I'm completely different from Ganondorf. With his followers, he stole from women and children, and he even killed people!" [3] Given that Nabooru is highly respected [4] by the Gerudo, I find it hard to believe that she's literally the only Gerudo with reservations about the new king.

What does Ganondorf meaningfully do for the Gerudo? In the adult timeline of OOT, the Gerudo aren't living it up in Castle Town or controlling the agriculture in Hyrule--they're back at home being brainwashed with black magic [5] [6] [7] into being obedient foot soldiers by Ganondorf's mom(s). In TP Ganondorf is more motivated by petty revenge than by any love for his people, and although he may wax poetic about the cruelty of Hyrule in subjugating his nation in WW, he certainly didn't seem to be that bothered about the living conditions of the Gerudo back before they all got drowned. His whole wind monologue [8][9*] in WW is either meant to be understood as a lie, an attempt to manipulate Link, or is a rewriting of his motivations. In OOT Ganondorf seems purely motivated by a thirst for Power with a capital P, and I think that being raised in a culture that literally worships you as a god [10] might tend to have that affect on you, yeah. Ganondorf is like a distilled version of male entitlement, he's 100 proof fantasy misogyny. Ganondorf is king because kings are men and men are kings because men are superior. Ganondorf is special because he is male. Ganondorf is not the most powerful sorcerer of the Gerudo (pre-Triforce of Power, at least), he is not the most fit to lead (good leaders don't need to brainwash their followers), and he certainly isn't the best at combat, as his main attacks are throwing fireballs and going hog mode. It is his masculinity which makes him fit to lead and nothing else, and it is ultimately his culture's reverence of that masculinity that leads him down the path of evil.

On a Doylist level, this is because our real society is misogynist. The Gerudo are obsessed with men because OOT was made by men for boys. The Gerudo are all women because they're an orientalist stereotype--the Gerudo are the ultimate harem, an entire race that consists of one man and his many wives. Ultimately, no Watsonian reading of the text (playing of the text?) can overcome that. You can't separate the Gerudo as a race from real life racism and misogyny and imperialism.

On a Watsonian level, it compels me though. Feel free to check me on this--I am always willing to talk about Ganondorf and the Gerudo. Note that most of my text sources come from dialogue in OOT, and I am primarily talking about OOT-era Gerudo/Ganondorf.

[9*]- You can find the plaintext of this monologue on this site, the video linked in a fan made dub by user @mintchocolatechimp. (Sorry for the tag, I didn't want to post your work without credit. Nice video btw.)