#these guys are indulging and thus insatiable for each other

[tennessoui]

Anakin as a goal-obsessed RW or LW because the only reason anyone knows he can pass is because he did it once by accident in practice.

anakin, infuriated after the twins’ game, cornering obi-wan in the community locker room: what are you doing as their coach!! why is leia passing to solo when she is at the goal!!

obi-wan, shoving him back: I am making them team players!!! I know that’s something you wouldn’t understand!

anakin: excuse yo—wait what do you mean I wouldn’t understand. have you been reading up on me? have you been watching me play?

obi-wan, who could recite anakin’s Wikipedia page at this point: like I would waste my time with hockey !!!!!

[ayatomic]

FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT !

what kind of doms are they? (genshin impact.)

ft: albedo, arataki itto, diluc, kamisato ayato, tartaglia, thoma, zhongli.

w: sub/dom dynamics, praise and degradation, cunnilingus, unrealistic c*rvix kissing, overstimulation, in public, dirty talk, c*ckwarming, brat taming, impact play, teasing, edging, temp play implied, dacryphilia, dumbification, breeding, multiple rounds, ruined org*sms, control themes, some rigging, mention of a safe word.

minors do not interact. | masterlist.

THE SOFT DOMS.

✿ THOMA is the softest darling. thoma doesn't have a mean bone in his body: he's a pleasure dom more than anything. thoma is the type of guy who gets off on hearing your pretty whines and can cum in his pants just from lapping the sweet juices up from your drooling cunt. he gets lost in making his darling feel euphoric, so much so that he's accidentally overstimulated you many times before.

no matter how you're being fucked, the chief retainer will bestow endless praises upon you, showering you with honey-soaked words as he gazes down at your vulnerable form, his striking emerald irises molding into hearts. he tells you how good you are for him, how well you take his cock, and how damn gorgeous you are underneath him. each syllable drives you insane, your cunt clamping around thoma like a vice.

"goodness, you're gonna make me lose it, darling. could spend hours buried in this pretty fucking pussy. you take me so well, don't ya? so perfect, baby, doin' such a good job f'me. . ."

✿ ITTO wants to please you, but his oni desires can occassionally take over. he'll pounding his monstrous length into your weeping cunt, doing his best to pay attention to all of the spots that made you cream. however in the mean time, he loses all sense of self control, finding himself totally intoxicated by the way your angelic pussy sucked him in.

whilst it doesn't stem from him being a hard dom or wanting to be mean to you, you can tell that he begins chasing his own orgasm above yours as the snapping of his hips against your own harshens severely.

yet you struggle to complain, for the way that itto's thick cock taps your cervix, combined with his rough thumb tracing messy shapes around your sensitive clit, sends you over the edge repeatedly. he subconsciously taps into his primal urges, thus ensues his overwhelming desire to breed your sweet cunt until he was satisfied. with itto, nobody ever had just one orgasm. he borders on insatiable, spurred on by your babbling as he pounds into your sloppy pussy and fills you with yet another load.

THE IN BETWEEN

✿ ALBEDO is a mixed bag. occasionally, he can be one of the harshest doms, drawing endless orgasms from you as the alchemist bullied his way into your silly little pussy. each movement was calculated and precise, each touch possessed the perfect amount of pressure to send you reeling. yet on the other hand, there are times where albedo will do nothing but worship your body, gently grazing his fingers over your most sensitive areas and placing tender kisses to every inch of your skin that he could reach.

he's not necessarily one to offer praise nor degradation. though he'd be more than willing to indulge his partner if they wished to receive one or the other, albedo will often find himself describing every single lewd act as he carries it out. he tells you how your gummy walls flutter around his lithe fingers, how he can feel your sensitive clit pulsing against your tongue, and narrated the scene as he slipped his cock inside of you. his certain class of dirty talk gets you absolutely soaked, as though you could finish from his filthy words alone.

✿ AJAX isn't a mean dom per se, but he often indulges in teasing you. if he's in the mood to rile you up and leave you high and dry, the harbinger will not hesitate to do such. he'll grope at your flesh (even if you're both in public) before whispering the nastiest of things in the shell of your ear, detailing all of the ways that he desired to use your sweet body and bend it to his will.

yet, there are many incidents in which ajax can't handle himself. an amalgamation of your expressions as he teases you, the way that you nibble at your bottom lip, and the efficacy of each phrase that he whispered all get him just as riled up as he does you. often he cannot resist taking you in the closest secluded area, be it in a darkened alleyway somewhere in liyue harbor, the bathroom of a fancy resturant, his luxurious office over at the northland bank, or safely in the confines of your own home. hell, ajax would even let you cockwarm him in the middle of a teahouse if you let him. he simply adores how needy you can get for him - an energy that he, too, can match.

THE HARD DOMS

✿ DILUC is an expert brat tamer. he doesn't like his partner acting out,  and will take necessary precautions to keep them in line. for example, if you tease him whilst he works the bar in the tavern, he won't hesitate to take you to the back room and spank your ass red raw amongst the barrels of expensive wine. his personal favorite punishments were a dead tie between bullying his thick cock into you out on the second floor balcony of the angel's share, forcing you to remain silent as his gloved fingers slip past your lips whilst he teaches you a lesson, or to restrain you all for himself, harnessing the power of his vision to edge your slutty cunt to tears.

mondstadt's dark knight hero loved it when you begged him to cum, tears leaving crystalline remnants on your lashes as you put on your best puppy dog expression. he typically asks you if you think you deserve it, giving you only a moment to answer before he's slapping your wet cunt and growling degradation in your ear, reminding you that "good girls finish last."

✿ AYATO is, first and foremost, a bully. he gets what he wants, and will do anything within his power to get it. the yashiro commissioner demanded obedience; he had no time for brattiness, and would quite literally fuck you into submission if that's what was required. when ayato fucks, his primary goal is to make you forget your own name. you won't be walking properly for a few days, but that's okay because he can provide for your every need.

virtually nothing is off the table with this man. if his cock isn't enough to mold you into being his obedient darling, then he's perfectly content with slapping and spanking anywhere that he can reach. he has a huge thing for impact play, enjoying the sight as your skin heats up under his touch, reveling in the faint whines of pain that you elicit.

additionally, ayato has unbelievable stamina. his balls are heavy, and he wants nothing more than to drain them inside your cosy little cunt. his strength is comparably immense, with all of his training having resulted in the man's ability to lift and shift your body into any position that he can think up. sex with him is a marathon, and when ayato is done with you, the only word that you can murmur is his name.

✿ ZHONGLI is a man of specific tastes. he knows what he likes, and seeks it out. there are rules when it comes to your sex life, for example only he could make you cum, and even then you had to ask for permission. under no circumstances were you to touch yourself, and when he fucks you there is an understanding that you relinquish every last shred of control. the man used to be a god, and you were to worship him as such.

in all honesty, zhongli understood that he was pedantic when it came to your rules. the slightest of things would be considered a breach, for the sole fact that he was enamored with punishing you. something about how pathetic you were really got him going, taking every hit, every insult, and every last piece of pain that he gave you. he particularly enjoyed watching your pained expression as he ruined your nth orgasm of the night, smirking to himself as you writhed and rutted against his hand. it didn't matter if you cried about how he promised that this time he would finally let you cum, for he instead wanted to see how much of this punishment you could endure before uttering your established safe word.

© ayatomic, 12:07. do not repost, translate, or claim as your own. reblogs appreciated!

[bleached-d-soul]

Bitter Chocolate: Thief of Heart

Commission for my good friend @the-wayward-arc

Emerald entered the room, her world still a blur. As she flopped on her bed, the former thief quickly exchanged a couple of messages with her teammates. Cinder was out restocking their supplies. Mercury was off doing some dumb shit as always. And Neo was busy doing whatever she always did.

Which left her alone for the rest of the day here.

She took an opportunity to get as much out of this as possible.

"Aaah!"

Emerald cried into her pillow, as the sensation of orgasm washed over her and her juices squirted all over her sheets. How many times has she brought herself to climax by now? Five? Seven? Whatever the number, it was not nearly enough.

The momentary absence of thought brought by orgasm was gone and now her head was again filled with the visions of him.

When Cinder told her to spy on their future rivals, Emerald didn't think much of that. Like any other team, they came here to win and earn some prestige for their academy. The cash prize also was great. And it's not like anyone would give them much grief over it. Studying your competition was a given when the whole Remnant would be watching.

And just like any job, Emerald did hers with the best of her ability. Mercury was studying the fighting styles of various individuals. Rough data, as was fit for his mindset. He would point out strengths, weaknesses and the way their rivals telegraphed thier movements. But Emerald? She studied something far more crucial. The minds and hearts of their competition.

From Beacon, their biggest challenge would come from teams RWBY and JNPR. The former had a solid lineup. Ruby Rose who specialized in long-range attacks and could get a decent distance with his Semblance. Her sister, a straight-up brawler, with the power to turn damage into even more brute force and fire. The Schnee heiress whose Semblance allowed her to manipulate the fighting circumstances just as effectively. And, of course, the sneaky Belladonna who was fast and slippery enough to give them some trouble.

It would take some effort and extra preparation, but they could be hanlded provided Cinder adjusted their plans according to the matches.

The other team - JNPR - would be less of a problem if taken out early. Many of students from Haven were looking out for the team. Not because of any accomplishments or rumors. But rather, simply because it was the team the Invincible Girl of Mistral was on. Half of the students were looking to make the team pay for stealing their Champion. Emerald and her team were in the other half.

The ones wanting to crush the Invincible Girl and her precious Beacon brats.

And how easy the redhead made it for Emerald.

Seriously, she might as well have worn a shirt that said, "I am crushing hard on my leader". Honestly, it was kind of pathetic. Unlike Cinder, who knew how embraced power and prestige, Nikos hid away from it. And unlike her leader, Emerald noted, Nikos had absolutely zero idea on how to get what she desired in something besides the brutal fighting tournaments.

Jaune Arc, the oblivious blonde that stole the redhead's heart, was the chink in the Invincible Girl's armor. A dumb, awkward and honestly naive chink that Emerald was not above exploiting. She needed some dirt on him and then, boom, the whole team would go down like a house of cards. But what kind of dirt could she dig up on him? It had to be something serious enough to keep him scared. But small enough to avoid any trouble with the authorities.

In the end, it all came down to the same thing that caused the downfall of any man she ever knew,

Their pride.

The boy had no reputation as a fighter or a student. So that left her with the bright idea of sneaking into the showers. Getting pics of his tiny little wiener and dangling it in front of him until he agreed to stomp all over the Nikos heart. Easy, peasy, lemon sq- Shit.

And shit it was, Emerald thought, as she stared. And stared and kept staring as both her lower and upper mouths drooled over the sight of the boy in the shower. The long and thick rod of white meat almost reaching the boy's - the man's - knees was too big to be called anything less than a fucking bitchbreaker. Her plan went poof and Emerald rushed to her room. Before she even knew, she was fingering herself to the pictures she took.

They were no good as blackmail material. Oh Gods, if Cinder found out about her failure-

Forget about Cinder, the voice of her libido hissed. How do we get ourselves a piece of that fuckmeat?

Now was not the time. She wouldn't abandon all her plans to chase after a piece of that cock.

How about a whole thing then? her lust bargained. With a soft and hungry chuckle, it added, We could easily make Cinder come around too. Just tie her up and withhold that bitchbreaker until the bitch breaks.

That was actually a good idea. Not taunting her leader but the idea of stealing Jaune away from the girl. Nikos was strong as a fighter. But as a girl? She was nothing. Yes, she was shy and quiet. Always bottling it all up and keeping it in. She would have to watch her beloved blonde get taken away and slip up. And thus the Invincible Girl would fall. And Emerald would secure herself a nice and hung boytoy for the rest of the festival.

She licked her lips and then pushed a finger inside her mouth. As she closed her eyes, Emerald allowed herself to dream. Of a wild and rough fucking. Of sucking and choking on something much thicker and harder than her finger. Of the poor little Nikos sitting by and crying as she watched the love of her life give all the passion and attention to someone like Emerald.

And with that thought, Emerald drifted away into the sweet lustful night.

BC

When Jaune came to Beacon, he had clear plans on what he wanted to do. He wanted to learn how to fight. How to become a real hero like his ancestors. Maybe get a girlfriend while he was at it, too. The first part of his dream was coming along smoothly. He was getting better at handling his weapon, at least. And, for just a brief moment, he dared hope the part of finding a girlfriend would also be a success.

"Nghh, w-wait! Pull out, please pull out, Jaune!"

Only to run into a wall on that one.

Jaune swallowed a groan and proceeded to do just that. He knew a whole army of guys who would willingly give up their arms, legs and left testicle to be in his position. One on one with someone as hot and cool as Pyrrha, her legs spread wide and open for him. And like a boy in a candy shop, he went in to dig in and indulge in his gluttonous lust.

And just like that night, three weeks ago, they didn't go further than a tip.

Seriously, he saw Pyrrha tank Nora's bombshots. How was the Invincible Girl unable to handle some softcore sex? Jaune shook his head, refusing to let his sexual frustration get better of him. Even if they kept it secret for now, Pyrrha was a wonderful girlfriend. Kind and loving. What kind of jackass would give it up just because they couldn't have sex right now?

"Sorry, Jaune," she rested her head on his shoulder. "I thought I had it this time."

"No problem , Pyr," he smiled gently and gave her a kiss on the lips. Chaste, as everything with them for now. "Just like fighting, it is just a matter of time and effort. We'll get there soon."

Pyrrha snorted, a small cute quirk of hers that she showed only to him.

"You are right. Before we know, we will make each other stronger. I will make you into a big strong huntsman," she traced her hands against his erect shaft. "And you will make me into an insatiable size queen."

Jaune blushed slightly. Even when she tried talking dirty, Pyrrha was too adorable. A small - ugly and venomous part of him - rolled its eyes at that. Cute and adorable was good for her Mistralian fanbase but it wanted more. It wanted dirty and rough fucking. No handholding bullshit or whispering diabetes-inducing nothings. That lustful and angry part of him hungered for the pussy that he could reshape after his cock. The ass that would take it all and cry for more. The mouth that could gobble his cock up and drown in his semen. He wanted-

"Sorry, Pyrrha," he said, brushing her hand away and speaking just a tiny bit colder than he intended. "I think I need to take a quick shower."

The girl blushed, fully aware what he meant. Yes, she was a good girlfriend. And she knew how much discomfort she caused her lover with her... insufficiency for now. She smiled and told him to come back soon. She might not have been able to pleasure him properly but she took small comfort in keeping the bed warm for him and cuddling with his progressively stronger body.

As the door closer behind, Pyrrha laid down and rubbed her sore pussy gently. She would get it all soon. She was sure of it.

Jaune entered the showers, barely able to restrain himself. He was lucky enough to have found this place when hiding from Cardin. A small abandoned part of Beacon that used to function as showering rooms in its earlier days. Luckily enough, still operational. And lonely enough for him to rub it all out. If you thought attending the school with hot girls in tight clothes was a godsend, you clearly were not Jaune Arc.

The water cascading down his flesh washed away the unrest and frustration. As he closed his eyes, he let his mind drift off. The weeks of having the hottest girlfriend yet being unable to be intimate with her drove Jaune back to the pornsites that he had thought he would no longer need. In the worlds of digital porn, he found the way to relieve his pent-up lust.

In, particular, he hungered for the girls with thick thighs, wide hips and bubble butts. Did he sound like a complete pervert? Yes, so what? In all those videos, watching the girls just take foot-long cocks down their wanting tight asses drove him over the edge. Alas, Pyrrha was slow to take to the traditional missionary three weeks into their relationship. How was she ever going to agree to or endure anal?

With a guttural grunt, he released his load, the thick white cream hitting the cold wall. This was good. Better, at least. He was content to stand under the shower for just a while longer though. Just enough to relax enough so that when he came back to their room, he could fall alseep as soon as possible.

"Oh."

The single sound sent shivers down his spine.

"Sorry, I didn't know someone else was here."

Jaune looked at the girl and instinctively turned away. She was not hideous or unpleasant to look at. The opposite, in fact. The exotic dark skin. The delicious white hips. And the thick thighs that begged to be worshipped. Fuck, why did someone like her have to come here?

"Hey, don't be shy," the girl chuckled and brushed her light green hair. "Nothing that I have never seen before."

She gave him an appreciative look.

"Although, yours is much bigger than the ones I saw."

He refused to speak. As the mystery girl began showering herself, Jaune went through the steps of his quick escape plan. Stream away the soaps. Run out. Never look back. Sounded easy. In fact, it was easy. But sometimes, some things that were easy and good for you were not what you wanted. Apples and other fruits were sweet and good for you.

And yet, sometimes you just wanted the chocolate. Sweet and dark, melting in your mouth. And it seemed, as his eyes refused to leave the girl's juicy glistening ass, the girl had enough chocolate for him to last a lifetime.

"Hey, blondie, can you help me wash my back, please? It's kind of hard to reach by myself."

Jaune knew what was the right thing to do. Say he was in a hurry and leave. Go back to Pyrrha and cuddle with her. But what was right and what one wanted, sadly, rarely if ever were one and the same. And Jaune, who had spent the last few weeks on edge had chpsen to do what he wanted. Plus, it was just some quick back-washing. It's not like he was cheating on Pyrrha.

"Thanks, I knew you'd help me out, Jaune."

Maybe some other day, Jaune would notice that he never gave his name to the girl. Some other day, some other scenario, he would notice that the girl's back, much like the rest of her was perfectly clean. He would notice many things were it some other day. The way her voice melted against his ears like sweet poison. The way her hand was clearly rubbing her pussy. The way she pressed herself against him. Hard.

But today, this very day, Jaune was far too busy as his hands slowly went from her back to her ass. As if he was lost in some trance, he never thought twice on that. As his hands squeezed the soft and gentle dark meat, he felt his mind going blank. Being lost to something dormant and ancient inside. The pure unadultered instinct. And Jaune, far from being the strong and commanding man he would be one day, gave in.

Turning the girl around, he paid no mind to her yelp of surprise. Or the way she smirked and her eyes burned. All he cared about was having her close and his. His fingers dug into her soft welcoming flesh. His lips crashed against hers, burning hot and wanting. Right now, Jaune was not an awkward teen who wanted to be a hero. He was a man, driven by the oldest of drives of the mankind.

Lust.

As their tongue battled for dominance, their hands wandered and explored the bodies of each other. And as Jaune was soon lost in pure lust, Emerald smirked. It was easier than she thought. She would enjoy the pride of luring the boy into her soft and beaitful trap for as long as she remained conscious enough to do so. Which was getting harder and harder as the boy quickly proved himself skilled at fanning the flames of her lust.

His strong arms showed no mercy to her ass or breasts as the blonde practically mauled them. He was lucky she was into rough play. She hated vanilla sex. Too soft. Too restrained. The real sex was the kind where you lost yourself to the animal inside you. Where such things as manners and thought were not welcome and everyone involved obeyed only their own instincts.

And Jaune was proving himself a natural at this!

She was just about to get down on her knees and inhale as much as the monster he had between his legs when suddenly he pulled away. The expression on his face was the mixture of emotions. Disbelief. Fear. Shock. Anger at himself. She turned to reach for him, only to be met with a soft apology, "I-I am sorry. This is my fauly... I- We shouldn't be doing this."

And just like that, he left. Emerald, not one to enjoy being in the dark, used her Semblance and followed him. Concealing herself from him, she eavesdropped on him calling Nikos and talking to her. From the way the two spoke, it was clear their relationship was more than a crushing girl and an oblivious boy. And it seemed the blonde wanted to make it official.

Making up for his action with me, huh? How cute.

Perhaps he thought if he made it official, she would back off. Disappear and let him and his girlfriend have a happy sweet vanilla love. And perhaps, it would work. Not because she was a secret romantic or anything of such nonsense. She simply knew when to take risks and when to fold it. And, normally, she would rather not fight someone like Nikos over a stupid boy.

But Jaune was not some stupid boy. He was a well-hung and obedient boy. And if it meant getting fucked with that monster all night long, the thief of team CRMN was more than eager to take that bet. It would take some time. It would take some effort and some planning. But she was smart. The kind of smarts you earned on the streets and carried with yourself through life.

Jaune didn't look the kind who fooled around with girls for no reason. He was no player. And when she saw him, he was busy jacking himself off to notice her watch him. Which meant that there was some trouble in paradise between the two. Clearly, not because of his size though. As gears kept turning in her head. the picture became cleaner and cleaner until there was simply no other explanation to it all.

Pyrrha Nikos, the Invincible Girl of Mistral, was a fucking pillow princess. It was quite funny, Emerald would admit. The greatest Champion of her generation and she couldn't take a dicking. The sick and twisted thought made its way into her mind. Fed by Emerald's hidden frustration and craving for power of her own, the thought grew bigger and stronger until it was a fully-formed plan.

She would not simply use Jaune to get at Pyrrha. She would make sure to break the girl and take her for herself. And obedient little Champion sounded so great. Great enough to sow the seeds of ambition and hunger within the girl's heart. Perhaps, the original plan of making Cinder kneel before her would also come to fruition given time. But for now, she had preparations to make.

And a lot of cuts to make.

BC

"I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!" Nora smiled and sung. "Renny, i kneeeeew it!"

"Yes, Nora," Ren smiled softly. "I think everybody knows it now too."

Pyrrha blushed bright red but refused to hide her face. The smile refused to go away from her lips even if she knew she looked silly with it so wide and bright. But it was real and she refused to stop smiling no matter what. Jaune must have known she was embarrassed about not pleasuring him properly. And to show her that he loved her despite that, he told her he wanted to make things official.

It was so sweet!

"Way to go, Jaune!" Yang whistled. Her smile turned foxy and she whispered dramatically, "So when are you going to get all hot and bothered with each other, hmm? Come on, don't leave me hanging!"

Now, the smile cracked a little. A painful reminder of the reason why she wanted to keep things unofficial until she could take Jaune's cock. Before she could come up with witty and good response, Jaune came to her rescue.

"Actually, we thought about waiting until after graduation," Jaune smiled. "You know, gotta keep focus on studies and training."

"Yeah," Yang grinned. "You definitely need to focus on those, Vomit Boy."

"Hey!"

As their table returned to the kind and casual exchange of words and jokes, Pyrrha couldn't help but feel content. This was everything she wanted in her life. Friends that looked at her like at any other person. A cute boyfriend that always had her back. And, of course, the peaceful and light student life.

"Ugh, talk about having no shame."

"Gotta agree with you on this one, Weiss," Yang whistled. "Even I am not that bold."

As she caught more and more whispers, Pyrrha turned towards the source of all the confusion. Walking down the mess hall, accompanied by the hordes of lewd and hungry eyes and dirty looks, Emerald wore something that must have been a violation of the dress code. It was not the casual clothes or something particularly wild. It was a Haven Academy school uniform. White shirt. Dark jacket and skirt.

The latter two being three or four sizes too small.

Her jacket couldn't even remotely hide the tight shirt the girl choose to wrap mid-way, exposing her flat stomach. Even less could be said about her skirt, since there was so little of it she might have worn nothing at all. Hell, coming in here with just panties on would at least be ridiculous and cause confusion. But wearing the skirt so short it exposed the girl's thick ass and dark lacy panties? She was definitely showing off.

She saw the boys eat her up with their eyes. Only to get smacked or slapped by their girlfriends. Afraid of the same, she looked back up at her partner. And then sighed in relief.

"Wow, Jaune, what a gentleman you are," Yang snorted as her partner refused to look back from his breakfast. "Keep this one away from the stripper over there, Pyr. Or she might eat him up."

Pyrrha felt the anger flare inside of her. Only to instantly calm down, Jaune was not like the other boys. She knew that now. Whereas the other girls had to keep their lovers on a tight leash, Jaune had her full and absolute trust. Without another word, she brought herself clother and kissed him on the cheek. So embarrassing to do this in public. But she would bare with it because she loved Jaune so much.

So much that she missed her partner's erect cock begging to be released.

BC

"Care to tell my why you dressed like a slut?"

Cinder's icy tone bothered Emerald little. Few things bothered her at all these days. Her mind was too busy with keeping to the plan.

"Just following your instructions, Cinder." At the confused stare, the thief proceeded with the well-rehearsed lie. "Some teams are more secretive than others. They have places where they train in secret outside the school hours. Most of them, though, are getting anxious and frustrated. And horny too. I just decided to make myself look easy enough to lure them to my trap."

"Heh," Mercury chuckled and nudged Neo. "She said 'trap'."

Emerald wondered if the asshole's dad removed his brain along with his legs. That would explain a lot.

"Hmm, not a tactic I would use," Cinder thought. Then smiled. "But if that means increasing our chances at victory, then you are free to do as you wish. Though try to seduce those fools outside the school hours. I had to have a very unpleasant talk with Goodwitch on keeping my team in line and upholding the school prestige. I swear to Gods, that woman needs to get properly laid."

As Cinder began to rant on how she would run a school, Emerald couldn't help but grin at the thought of Jaune fucking Goodwitch. The woman was a real hot piece of ass for her age. And the thought of her future boytoy breaking the other girls down for her was just so hot. All those white bitches would be left to drool and fingerfuck themselves while she rode Jaune like there was no tomorrow. Those bitches, of course, included Cinder, the loyalty to which Emerald was quickly losing.

As she was soon left alone, she started her now normal routine of watching the hardcore porn. Particularly, that of white guys like Jaune finding the pleasure fucking thick ebony beauties like her. And damn, did she enjoy staining her sheets with her juices. Once she was done with the videos though, she decided to make one herself. Tha scrolls were no good, because there was always a chance of that video leaking and getting her in some hot water.

The black market burners though? Those were gold.

Positioning herself in front of the camera, Emerald made sure to go extra hard at it. Her fingers were just a start. Then went the toys. The some tasteful lingerie and finally, the costumes. And throughout it all, she imagined all the possible scenarios in which she would be taken and in which she would take. As her body went through the motions of showing off for the video, Emerald's mind drifted away into the daydreaming world.

BC

"Class, pay attention," Goodbitch stood proud and haughty, despite being dressed like a complete and utter whore. Her chastity belt shone as she turned towards the class,"You will be quizzed on today's lesson next week. So you better now slack off."

The students nodded and watched as Jaune and Emerald made out on her desk. Rough and bestial, those were the only words that came to mind as they watched the resident dork and the exchange student. Many men watched in jealousy, fully aware they would never compare to Jaune. The pale pillow princesses like Weiss and Ruby were left biting their lips and fingering themselves, all too painfully aware they would never be able to handle someone like Jaune.

Only the black queens like Emerald were worthy of getting that cock. And her fellow ebony huntresses would all hunt for a piece of that action.

"As you know, women like me don't deserve something as big and thick as Master Arc's cock," Glynda winced at that, feeling the burning hatred of the fellow white bitches at her. "Which is why we must practice the proper conduct as cuckqueans. Slave Nikos, demonstrate!"

Emerald grinned. And so did Jaune as the girl he once loved crawled onto the stage before the class. A collar and a locked belt her sole pieces of clothing, the girl wasted no time or words and got onto her knees. Emerald stepped aside and allowed the girl to show where she and others belonged.

Using her tits to wipe Jaune's precum. Lubing his cock up with her saliva. Never a proper blowjob, just some licking and drooling. And as she got both of them prepared, she received the only payment a cuckquean like her deserved. A harsh slap across her cheek and across her ass by Emerald and Jaune respectively.

"Now, Slave Nikos forgot that she should have thanked them immediately," Goodbitch admonished. And Emerald knew it was all to gain some extra points with her. Whatever, she would allow the older woman humiliate herself further. "Which is why she will now be allowed to try and cum only every five months instead of the two."

Pyrrha didn't protest. Didn't even seem against it. She had long since accepted her fate.

BC

"Faster, Nikos! Faster!" Emerald yelled as she cheered the girl on. "You do wanna cum, right?"

She did. She wanted it so much. She was screaming and begging for more time. Just five more minutes. Just five fucking more minutes and she would cum! She would cum and fry her brain just a little bit more. Get lost in the haze of the lust and idiocy as she allowed her brain go dead on her. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, she failed and the ringing of the alarm spelled her doom.

"Of, you poor little thing," Emerald grinned down at her. Without mercy, she kicked away the dildos and ripped the vibrators off her cunt. "And I even gave you another five minutes to cum. Such a waste."

She didn't. She never did. But Pyrrha knew better than argue with her. The last time she did, Emerald whipped any revolt out of her and then made her sit and watch as she indulged in everything that was once hers.

"Back into the belt, bitch. Unless we are feeling disobedient."

Emerald watched the girl whimper and pull of her belt. A true wonder of sex toy world. Strong enough to withstand huntresses. And equipped with some nice features like vibration and shocker. Not that Emerald ever allowed the girl to enjoy the former to the full. She would occasionally turn it on at the lowest setting and leave the girl like that for a week or longer.

She wouldn't turn it off until Nikos threw herself at her feet, begging to be allowed to cum.

"Jaune and I are going out to meet with Arslan and Ciel," Emerald informed. "Be sure to have our dinner ready."

And as it always went, Pyrrha would do everything perfectly. Even now, as she went from a respected and famed huntress a pathetic house slave who owned nothing to her name, she had her pride. Even as she willingly signed away everything to Jaune and Emerald, effectively becoming their property, Pyrrha did her best to satisfy her masters. Because, she believed, if she worked hard enough, one day...

One day Jaune would fuck her again.

Even as it was the tenth year he refused to give her any pleasure.

BC

"Mistress Emerald, please me! Breed me next, please!"

""No! No, no, no! Me! I am begging you, me next, please!"

"I was the first! I deserve it above you! Mistress, please, you know I have always been loyal!"

Emerald sipped her wine as she passed a row of bound girls. From Ruby to Cinder, all the girls she knew back from Beacon were here. Tied up in the Schnee Mansion, with the official owner whimpering and whining for Jaune not to leave her. One by one, she got them all under her heel. And now here she was, the former street rat in a mansion with the other girls her slaves.

And Jaune as her Husband and Master.

"Well?" Jaune asked as he hugged her from behind. "Which one gets it next, Em?"

She smiled.

"Me."

The girls cried out in despair.

Most beautiful melody to her ears.

BC

So many fantasies flooded her head, Emerald worked through each and one of them. But no matter the scenario, it all ended the same. Her at the very top of the totem pole. With other ebony huntresses sharing a very prestigious position among Jaune's harem. And the white girls doing whatever they could to earn their favor. It was a very pleasant dream. Perhaps, she would put extra effort and make it into a reality.

As she stopped the camera, she decided. She would work hard on reaching that future.

And it all began with this video.

Three hours worth of her home porn. Three hours of Emerald playing with herself. Three hours of describing all the way she would pleasure him.

Without any doubt or regret, she sent the video to the boy.

And then went back to dreaming some more.

BC

"Oh look at you, Jaune," Pyrrha cooed. "You are so hard!"

It has been three hours since Jaune got that video. The video in which the girl he met in the showers was completely naked. In which she fucked herself with dildos as big as his cock without any tears or pain. The video in which she begged to be fucked by him.

"Do you like my tits around your cock, Jaune?" Pyrrha asked softly. "They are just for you to use and fuck as much as you like. Oooh, I bet you are almost close to cumming! Don't hold back! Give it to me!"

And now all he could think of was plowing that cheeky bitch until she was nice and broken. He would fuck her pussy until no other man could ever fill her like he did. He would violate her ass until she cried and begged him to make her his. He would claim each and every one of her holes and-

"Aaaah!"

Pyrrha cried out in surprise as Jaune released his load. The thick strands of heavy white cream hit her face and her chest. But the genius girl didn't despair or even feel angry. She felt happy! So happy she barely contained a squeal. She did it! She made her boyfriend cum. Sure, with her tits only and it took her a good hour to do so but it was the results that mattered!

She was slowly getting better!

Jaune looked down at the girl, too much in love with her to tell her the truth. How he was driven to orgasm not by her lovely dirty talk or expressions. But the thoughts of fucking the ebony Emerald until she was pregnant with his child. He had no heart to tell her that he could cum just the same by jerking himself off with that video the exchange student sent him.

He didn't have the heart to do anything but lie to her.

"That was incredible, Pyrrha," he patted her head. She leaned into it. "I love you."

"Awww, I love you too!"

He watched Pyrrha go to their dorm's showers. He laid down on his bed and wondered where the hell his life was going. He loved Pyrrha. She was a great friend. Amazing girlfriend too. So why did the sex matter that much? He wasn't one of those assholes who got into relationship just to have sex, right? He wasn't. So why couldn't he be happy with what he had?

His scroll screen flared up.

A new message.

Perhaps he was too confused right now. Too busy and anxious to think the situation through. But whatever the circumstances, as soon as he read the message, he put his clothes on and left the room. As if in a haze, he found himself on the rooftop. The same place where Pyrrha trained him. Where he confessed about his admittance here. Where she confessed his love for him.

Where Emerald was sitting and waiting for him to come.

"Wow, you are fast."

"What do you want?"

The girl seemed taken aback by his cold and rude tone. But she quickly brushed it away and smiled.

"I like this angry face of yours," she said gently as she came dangerously close to him. His eyes fell towards her cleavage. She had no bra. "You should wear it more often. Gets me all wet and hot."

He couldn't push her away. No matter how much his common sense and loyalty screamed at him.

"I asked," he cleared his throat. "What do you want from me?"

"What do I want? Jaune, I think you got it wrong here," she pressed her breasts against him. His hands reached for her barely-covered ass. "It is what you want that brought you here."

She smelled of chocolate. Bitter and sweet. She smelled of dirt and sin, the heavy and addictive smell that invaded his every thought. She smelled of the broken promise and betrayal. The venomous yet sweet lie that risked it all.

"I... I don't think we should do this," he said. He was lying. But as long as he stuck to the lie, he would believe it one day too. "I don't love you. Hell, I don't even know who you are-"

"I am Emerald."

"Not my point," she chuckled. He ignored it. "The point is, I love my girlfriend. I love Pyrrha and I am not going to cheat on her, got it?"

She was smiling. Why was she smiling? Scream at him. Laugh at him. Do something so that he could forget about her and focus on his love for Pyrrha. Something that would take away the choice from him and leave him content.

"Is it cheating though?" Emerald smiled as she removed her jacket. He could have stopped her. Should've done exactly that right then. He couldn't. He didn't want to. "Tell me, Jaune, do you want Pyrrha to be happy?"

Like there was any doubt.

"I do."

"Then have sex with me."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Oh, but it does," she took off her shoes and let them drop. Her knee-high socks fit her legs tightly. Showing off the fat of the thights in all the right places. "Do you honestly believe your relationship can last as it is? That you can just keep lying about how good her tits feel when you want to fuck her ass and cunt till she is filled with your cum? Trust me, Jaune, such noble intentions will only lead to your ruin."

She stepped closer. He stepped back.

She started unbuttoning her shirt.

"Just like there are Alphas and Betas among men, there are Alphas and Betas among us girls. Those who rule. Those who are ruled."

Jaune scoffed.

"Pyrrha could kick half the school's ass with her eyes closed."

"True, but it is not the strength that determines an Alpha. Otherwise, guys like Cardin would be running the world," she smirked. "No. What makes an Alpha is the drive. The desire. And your girlfriend, sadly, lacks it. She is too passive. She allowed her fans and agents control her entire life. And the only thing she could think of doing about it was running away. Like a coward."

Jaune glared at the girl. He refused to listen to someone talk like that about Pyrrha.

"Oh, please, don't be mad at me, I am simply trying to help."

"And how me cheating on Pyrrha will help our relationship?"

"You will be free to wait for het to bloom into a perfect woman for you," Emerald reasoned. "You may not admit it now but you are growing impatient. Frustrated with her failure. It won't be long until jerking off in the shower or getting some mediocre titfuck from her will satisfy you. And do you know what happens then, Jaune?"

She was next to him, her exposed breasts pressed against him softly.

"You will cheat on her anyway. Only unlike me, that woman will brag and lord it over her and you. You will break the poor little Pyrrha's heart. And worst of all, you won't even care about it. You will become just a player who fucks girls and leaves them because you feel like it. A complete and utter asshole."

The vision was so clear now. Jaune hated what he saw in the future. A broken promise and bond. Destroyed relationship.

Loss of trust and faith in each other.

"If you agree to my offer, I will do it all for you, Jaune," Emerald smiled as she planted a kiss on his lips. "This sweet chocolate body will be yours to enjoy. Any hole. Any position, Any sexual fantasy of yours, I will give you everything. And neither Pyrrha nor your teammates and friends will ever know."

"... They won't?"

Emerald smiled.

"Not unless you want to."

Jaune frowned.

"Why me?"

Jaune was suspicious.

"Because you have a huge cock and I want to get fucked by it."

Emerald was blunt.

"So what do you say, Jaune? Deal?"

He was quiet. The good kind of quiet. Emerald smiled as she practically heard his resolve breaking apart in the night air. She was good. She learnt it on the streets. Negotiate not from the position of power. But from the position of a friend. Make them believe you are there to help. Show how much they can benefit from following your lead. And once they see things your way, it will be easy to guide them down a darker and dirtier path.

"... Deal," Jaune whispered. "But I will choose when and where it happens."

Cute, Emerald thought, he thought he had control.

"Very well," she gave a dramatic bow. "So? Wanna get a taste right now?"

He wanted to. She could see it.

"I should get back to Pyrrha."

"Go then," she waved a hand. "Be sure to kiss her for me."

As just like that, the next step of her plan was accomplished.

She couldn't wait to go even further.

BC

"Hey, Jaune, Pyrrha here," the soft voice of his partner, recorded in the message, spoke shyly. "A-Anyway, just calling to see where you went. Text me back as soon as you can."

Emerald moaned in his ear as he kept thrusting in and out of the girl. For the first time since he started the relationship with Pyrrha, he had the chance to go all out. No whimpering or crying. No biting lips or begging to stop. He was free. Free to indulge in the lust he held back all this time.

"Keep going, Jaune!" Emerald hissed, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Keep fucking me while your girlfriend is looking for you! Oh yeah, just like that, fuck me up!"

He groaned and grunted. He obeyed and fucked her. Without restraint, enjoying the feeling of her fat ass in his hands. He squeezed her cheeks and spread them further. His fingers dug into her asshole and spread it as well. The girl yelped and Jaune shut her up with a kiss. She fought against it briefly before melting into the hot embrace. No thoughts. No doubts. Just instincts.

He could feel his cock twitch and spasm.

"On your knees."

She hopped off and kneeled. Hands behind her hand, mouth spread wide open, Emerald was the picture of a perfect slut.

He never saw anything as gorgeous.

With a loud grunt, he came. A stream of white semen shot into her mouth. The girl didn't gag or choke. She took it all with a smile. As the last bit of his load splashed against her face, Emerald smiled at him. Opening her mouth, she gave him a show of her tongue sloshing around in the bath of semen. Winking at him, she swallowed it all down in one go.

"Does Pyrrha love your cum?"

"She says she does," Jaune said honestly. "But she never really swallows it properly."

Emerald smiled.

Ths plan was coming along greatly.

BC

"Jaune, look!" Pyrrha smiled at her boyfriend, showing off her new swimsuit. "My mom sent me this adorable little thing! Do you wanna go to the swimming pool this weekend?"

"You dirty fucking slut!"

"Oh yeah... I am a dirty fucking bitch," Emerald smiled as Jaune gave her ass another slap. "You need to punish me or I will never learn better."

He was happy to give her a rough spanking. And wasn't it just unfortunate that Pyrrha fell asleep. Nora and Ren would stay there and make sure nobody took advantage of the sleeping girl. Emerald snorted at the thought. Not that anyone would find the plain white one-piece suit she wore anywhere near sexy enough. Not some random guy. And not Jaune when he saw her.

Emerald was proud of how easily she got him to follow her. With trashy slutty leopard pattern two-piece suit that barely covered her nipples and pussy, she could practically feel Jaune fuck her with his eyes.

"S-Someone might come and find us here," she whispered.

"Do you actually care about being seen?"

She smiled. He knew her so well already.

"You know that I don't."

With her Semblance, even if someone managed to get in this private room, they would never see them. Not that Jaune cared as he plowed her ass. It felt painful. Burning and addictive, the rough assfucking he gave her more than made up for him ignoring her during classes and in the hall. She could Nikos smirk at that slightly. Pfff, the stupid bitch was so confident her boyfriend was above being influenced by her looks.

So much that she missed the way he always smelled like her.

The bitter chocolate and the lie.

As he finished inside her, Emerald swooned. She liked feeling his cum inside her. It only added to the feeling of superiority she was slowly getting addicted to. The feeling she experienced every time she saw Nikos living a happy little vanilla fantasy of hers.

Eventually, Jaune went back to his friends. And Emerald saved another video of her getting fucked by Jaune.

BC

"The Vytal Tournament is starting right after the dance, Emerald. Have you got all the information on our competition?"

"Yup, filed and organized. Just like you like it."

"Excellent. You are not very talkative today, are you?"

Emerald bit back the moan and doubled her focus. Stupid Jaune. Fucking God. She loved him.

As Cinder read through the files, she was completely unaware that she was talking to mere illusion of Emerald. While the real deal was getting fucked atop the girl's bed. As the raven-haired leader went on and on how the other teams would fall and Haven would stand supreme, Jaune chuckled. It was an ugly twisted sound that got Emerald's cunt tighter and hotter.

"This Arc boy doesn't seem like much. Why pay so much attention to him in your files?"

As the fake Emerald gave the well-rehearsed answer, the real one struggled with keeping up her Semblance as Jaune doubled the strength snd the speed with which he was fucking her. Whenever Cinder turned away. her mirage would waver and distort. She opened her mouth, ready to cry out only for Jaune shove his fingers inside.

She tasted her own pussy and ass.

She was getting drunk on the taste.

"Anyway, you should focus on your training," Cinder smiled and left. "Make sure to stay in shape."

The door closed.

Emerald came with a cry.

Jaune didn't stop.

Her plan worked well. Too well, one might say. She knew how conditioning worked. And she was betting on it. With Pyrrha and his friends, Jaune would be a perfect little knight. With her, he could be the beast she knew he was hiding. And damn did it work.

"No time to relax, bitch," Jaune slapped his still erect cock across her face. "Time to continue your training."

If this kept up... It would not be her who stayed in power. As she sucked the boy off, a new thought entered her fragile lustful mind. As he played with her breasts and ass, the thought grew, As he fucked her cunt and ass, the thought grew stronger and more persistent.

As he came inside her, her mind was made up.

BC

"Woooohooooo, let's get drunk, everyone!"

"There is no alcohol! And get down from the table, Yang!"

The Vytal Festival was the tradition to celebrate the unity of four Kingdoms. But for the students here today, it was the perfect opportunity to break away from the routine of their studies and get one last breath of fresh and free air before they would start fighting in one of the most important fights of their lives. The prestige of their schools. Their reputation as future protectors of the humanity. And their personal pride as warriors. It all would rest on the way they performed.

But that was the talk for tomorrow. The worries for the day that had yet to come.

Tonight, they were here to celebrate like the young people they were.

Some drank. Some danced. Some simply had the time of theit life. And one young Champion couldn't be happier with the way her life turned out. A year ago, the tought of being somewhere where she could just be herself seemed like a dream. And now that dream was a reality. Her dream come true. Friends. Boyfriend. And a happy life.

"You were amazing, Jaune."

"Thanks, Pyrrha, you two."

She giggled like a little girl when Jaune gave her a kiss. And to think that she thought their relationship was in trouble. Silly her. Worrying over nothing. She was so lucky to have found Jaune. And tonight, she planned to show him he was right to stay with her. She would make sure he could never forget their night together. Once the dance was over, she would bring him to a special hotel room she found and paid for and then- Oooh, the things that they would do together!

Better move 'cause we've arrived

Lookin' sexy, lookin' fly

The sudden shift from the soft and slow dancing music took the whole room by the surprise, The surprise that was quickly followed up and overwhelmed by the arrival of the the girl Pyrrha has been seeing an awful lot of lately. Dressed in tight white dress that showed off her wide hips and fat ass, the girl walked with the confidence of the lioness. She cared little for whistles or stares. For envious and angry looks thrown her way. All she cared was getting to wherever she heading.

Pyrrha didn't realize until it was too late that she was coming for them.

Jaune stepped forward, his gaze hard.

"Something I may help you with, Emerald?"

He sounded so cool, Pyrrha thought. Oblivious to the way Emerald licked her lips.

"Just stand back and watch the show, stud."

Pyrrha practically frothed at her mouth as the girl kissed her boyfriend on the lips. She wanted to do something. Say something. But instead she found herself held in place by something truly ominous. She didn't dare make a scene. And so she was forced to watch.

The crowd formed around them, the alcohol and hormones running high. The beatiful black girl shaking her hips and ass in the center of it made them cheer and cry in approval. As if they were caught in some trance, the couple of cut her and the rest of the group away and pushed Jaune inside onto the single chair. Emerald looked her in the eyes and smirked.

Shaking her hips, the girl made a show of using the movement to ride her dress up until her juicy black ass was exposed for everyone to see. Ruby and Weiss covered their eyes. Yang ran off to get the teacher. Ren and Nora were comforting her. But those were the only people who appeared to be bothered by it. Instead, all the rest were practically infected with the lust.

As they watched the girl swing her ass round and round before throwing it up and down, the boys and girls around her started making out. Like the patient zero of some mysterious plague, Emerald's shaking ass and swinging hips spread lust and madness through the crowd. From then on, the foreplay was over and the girl began twerking for real.

Emerald didn't waste any time moving slow or making any more show of what she wanted. She wanted to shake her fat black ass, and that was exactly what she was going to do. Her cheeks began to clap against one another in a hypnotic rhythm, as her hips swung from side to side heavily. It was now apparent that she was not wearing any bra since the entire room could see her full tits wobble she leaned down further.

Like a little cum-hungry bimbo, Emerald straightened up suddenly as she ran her hands along the taunting countours of her body. A show for all to see, but only one man to truly enjoy. She was showing off what it would feel like to be so near her. To touch her. to handler her body so intimately.

Her booty conitnued to clap, ass cheeks rippling against each other. Soon, her bright green thong was lost within the mounds of her ass as trhe girl continued gyrating it like it had a life of its own. As the rap music banged on through the entire dance hall, all eyes were glued to the sight of Emerald twerking her fat ass right in front of him, smacking her cheeks from side to side to the rhythm of the music.

Growing cocky, she started grinding her ass on his crotch. The vibrations sent by the two fine pieces of meat smacking against him soon got the desired result. Emerald grinned, enjoying the feeling of a hot hard cock between her cheeks.

Reaching behind, Emerald made sure to give her ass a good smack. The smack that sent ripples visible through her thin dress. The smack loud enough to shake the numb and silent redhead out of stupor. Pyrrha saw red, her very being aflame. She hated this feeling. She hated the pleasant flame in her loins even more.

"GET OFF MY BOYFRIEND, YOU BITCH!"

The crowd fell silent and the music came to an abrupt stop as Pyrrha Nikos - the model student pushed the girl off and away before pulling the blonde out of the chair. She didn't blame Jaune. Her poor boyfriend must have been scared and confused so much he couldn't move. She glared at Emerald, forgetting all about appearances and hissed, "You better hope we don't fight in the matches, Sustrai."

And with that, Pyrrha dragged Jaune away. Away from crowd of horny assholes. Away from a thieving bitch. There was still time. Still enough time to make the evening theirs. Pyrrha smiled as Jaune gave her a kiss. She was looking forward to having him all to herself.

BC

"I can't believe that bitch did all of this."

"There, there, Pyr, it's alright," Jaune said soothingly. His hand brushing her hair, he did his best to make her feel better. "Honestly though, that came out of nowhere. I hope she gets her just punishment. Maybe Goodwitch will make even smack her around with her crop."

Pyrrha giggled, "Knowing the way she is, she might actually enjoy it."

"And then twerk in front of Goodwitch?"

"I would be fine with it."

As long as the girl stayed away from her knight, Pyrrha didn't care if Emerald started a freaking brothel.

"Hey, Jaune?"

"Yes, Pyrrha?"

"I... I, uh... Oh, fuck it," she latched onto his lips. A soft and warm feeling filling her very being. "I want us to go all the way tonight. I want to claim you as mine. And hope you will do the same for me."

He smiled and returned her kiss.

"Let's do this."

Under the moonlight, the two undressed each other. As their hands worked on removing the layers of clothing, their mouths were busy exploring each other. Pyrrha knew she smelled of roses and apples. Jaune's smell surprised her. He always smelled like cotton candy and fresh morning air. But as she bit gently into his neck, she caught the smell of something else entirely.

The smell of dark and bitter chocolate.

"Pyrrha, is everything alright?"

The girl shook her head. What was she thinking about anyway? Of course, he smelled like Emerald. The nasty little whore tainted him with her smell. No problem, she thought. She would simply have sex with him until he smelled of her and only her.

"Everything is perfect, Jaune."

She pushed the boy onto the back and took the position, ready to mount his amazing cock.

"Time for you to have sex with a real woman!"

Jaune grunted underneath her as her trained cunt swallowed him whole. A far cry from the ways things used to be. A hopeful song of their future love. She rode him with all her might, gyrating her ass on the top of him. Feeling every single inch of his cock fill her up. He was so huge and hard but she would bare it all for him. As she felt him thust up and into her pussy, Pyrrha couldn't help but smile all the more.

It was finally perfect.

As the things should have been.

"I bet Emerald would never be able to take your cock, Jaune."

"She could never compare."

"You are mine, Jaune! I am so happy!

The air was filled with love and passion.

With the sounds of grunts and moans.

With the smell of bitter chocolate and sweet little lies.

BC

"Jaune, fuck me from behind!" Pyrrha cried out feverishly. "I want you take me like a filthy little bitch I am!"

Emerald rolled her eyes and stuck the automatic dildo inside the stupid little cunt. The redhead swooned and moaned and panted like a bitch in heat. Though the way she acted, Emerald doubted if it was an insult to the girl or actual mongrels. The dildo the girl lost her virginity to wasn't even half the size of Jaune's cock but Nikos was far too stupid and arrogant to figure that out.

Welp, whatever worked for her.

"You are a real bitch."

"Which is why you love me."

Emerald smirked as there was no protest from Jaune. Out in the public, he would always be the same awkward wide-eyed naive idiot. But here? With her and her alone, he was someone else. A man she molded into the ultimate specimen of her tastes. Cunning enough to follow her plays. Strong enough to handle her and her sex drive. Vicious enough to make her submit to him.

And completely and hopelessly addicted to her dark fuckmeat.

Emerald gave Pyrrha another look. The girl was under heavy illusion this time. A technique of sorts Emerald developed for some deeper hypnosis. And as long as Emerald desired it, Nikos would only see, hear, smell and feel what she wanted. She was lucky Emerald was in a good mood. Like a dumb monkey, the girl was humping a fucking pillow fully confident she was getting a dicking from her beloved blonde. All the while the real deal was playing around with her ass like his favorite toy.

"Heh, okay then. Guess I should pay you back for the shit you pulled at the dance," Jaune said unzipping his pants. His thick foot-long cock fell out of its confines in all its girthy glory. "Don't expect me to go easy on you, Emerald."

Holy shit... He's even bigger than usual...! She thought her heart race a bit. The beating of her heart was nothing compared to the throbbing of her hungry cunt as she stared at the underside of his monster cock. They had fucked so much over the past few weeks but his cock looked as big, as thick and as threatening as if it would after years of neglect. Silently, Emerald promised herself that she would do her best to drain those balls and claim that cock as hers.

"Aaaah!" Nikos cried out, to Emerald's annoyance. "I am cumming, Jaune! I am cumming!"

She watched the champion of Mistral shake her hips as her pussy started squirting all over the floor. Emerald turned her nose away in digust. With a quick application of her Semblance, she pulled out a ball-gag and stuck it in the girl's mouth. As far as Nikos knew, Jaune found it in one of the drawers and used it add some spice. Nikos, like a dumb cunt she was, eagerly accepted it all.

"Now that the pest is dealt with, are you ready for a real woman to serve you?"

Jaune didn't move or say anything. Everything the girl needed was in his eyes. The command. The order. Impress him. Earn her right to be his. She gave Nikos one last look. The pathetic girl was whimpering and getting fucked by a dildo. She looked so pitiful.

Emerald loved it.

And she would make sure Jaune kept her by his side so that she could watch even more of such pathetic side of the Invincible Girl.

Falling to her knees, the girl cralwed up to him. Her dress was long discarded and now she was free to sway her hips for his pleasure. Quickly adjusting herself before him, with her palms straight on the ground and her pussy rubbing against the floor, Emerald placed her head spread her mouth wide open with lust-filled eyes. A game, she could remember, where she had to get him hard with nothing more than a glance.

As she found his previously flaccid cock press against her cheek, Emerald scored her first victory tonight. She silently asked for permission. With ass wagging and her eyes wanting, she was whimpering like a little slut. He rolled his eyes but gave his permission. Without further play, Emerald latched onto his bulging head. Sucking the tip of his cock into her gullet, she savored the bitter and salty taste of sweat and pre-cum.

Jaune groaned softly feeling the ebony beauty's hot wet mouth swallow up the head of his cock. She was sucking him off, slurping and smacking as if she was enjoying the sweetest candy her tongue ever tasted. Eager to please and desperate to be of use, he could feel her hunger for more grow. Not that he would grant it until he wanted to. Something changed in him. Changed for the better. And whatever it was, he now wished to see how far Emerald could go before giving her anything at all.

Closing her eyes, Emerald doubled her efforts on giving her man the best blowjob she could give. Having lived on the streets, she saw her fair share of whores give the men a sloppy blowjob. The hours she had spent watching all sorts of porn would also show their results now. Done with the generic stuff, she went for her some hardcore stuff.

With a cheeky glint in her eyes, the girl squeezed her lips tight around his thick head. Having it trapped with no means for escape, Emerald started bobbing her head up and down the thick girthy shaft. A small faint gasp from the blonde was all the encouragement she needed to continue on. Pushing her throat to the limits, she was slowly working it across the length of his cock. Slurping all throughout it, she felt on shame in letting the dirty cocktail of her saliva and his precum mix and drool down her mouth.

It didn't take long for her to adjust to the feeling in her throat. Even less to quicken the pace and give her man what he definitely desired. Under Jaune's grunts, her head was now bobbing up and down the full length of his monster cock. Her lips, still as tight as before, were sucking him without mercy. Emerald felt the pride swell inside her chest as Jaune started patting her like a good little bitch she was.

"Mmm~" She slurped loudly. Shamelessly as she enjoyed pushing her face into his crotch. The feeling of his full length taking all the place inside her throat was more intoxicating than any drink she ever had. "Mmm!"

She could feel it! As she quickened her pace, her heart started beating in tune. She could feel him get closer and closer to orgasm. She didn't dare stop. Didn't even think of slowing down. She wanted his cum. She wanted it! She needed it! She craved it like nothing ever before. Emerald slurped and sucked loudly and tirelessly, her tongue hungrily dragging its way all over his cock in a desperate attempt to get as much taste of him manmeat.

It tastes so good ... More... Please, Gods, above, let me taste more ...I...I want to suck him my whole life...

Fuck Cinder and her plans. Fuck Pyrrha and his friends. Fuck whatever else life would throw at her. As long as she could service Jaune for the rest of his life, she would be perfectl content with whatever came after them.

As Nikos continued to moan and rolled her tongue around, Emerald couldn't help but enjoy the feeling more. Nikos seemed to be giving a blowjob to the phantom cock. And while she was sucking and smacking on thin air, Emerald was getting all the cockmeat and cream a bitch like her needed. The melody of sucking and moaning and grunting filled the room. She looked up at Jaune, drinking in his pleased expression. Her work. This was all her work and she couldn't have anything better than his cruel smile.

"Time for your reward, Emerald. Make sure not to waste a single drop!" Jaune hissed and she braced herself. Roughly grabbing her hair, Jaune pushed his whole length inside her throat. He eyes and throat bulged out, her cunt going out of control from all the pressure. And just as Jaune released sick loads of his potent semen down her throat, the thief came all over the floor like a complete degenerate. "Someone has to clean it all up."

Emerald smirked and changed the illusion for Nikos again. She removed her ballgag and stared at the puddle of Emerald's pussy juices, "Oh, look at the wine you spilled, Jaune," the girl giggled and crawled over to the spot with a sweet little smile. "Just let me clean this up for you."

Emerald and Jaune watched Pyrrha lap up the girl's pussy juices and comment on how much she liked this wine. Emerald thought it was hilarious, briefly wondering if she would enjoy her piss as well. Jaune found it hot, evident from his quickly returning erection. Emerald growled, feeling that even when Nikos was nothing but a dumb bitch she was somehow stealing the attention away from her.

Well, that was about to change.

Making Nikos go sit in the corner and masturbate, Emerald walked over the bed. Getting on all fours, she turned away from Jaune and shook her thick fat ass in front him. She didn't care what she looked like. How little respect or pride was in her humiliating submissive posture. All that she cared about was getting that thick cock inside her.

"Haaah... Jaune? Please, Jaune?" She whimpered, letting go of any restraints. She felt his hand rubbing up against her exposed cunt. They had fucked so many times before. But she always had some semblance of control. But not anymore. And never from now. With him, she would always be at the mercy of his temper and will. She was almost ready to cum from such thoughts. "Please, I wanna make you feel good! Let me service you with my needy tight holes!

A smack across her ass made her cry out in surprise. A second one - from climaxing all over again. He continued to rain down smacks across her sensitive chocolate ass until it was more burning bright red.

The girl whimpered and panted, not quite used to this rough treatment but no less welcoming of it. As long as it came from him, she would happily bear all of it.

"Spread your ass, Emerald," Jaune hissed into her ear. She nodded and eagerly did just that, exposing her tight hole for him to see. "I must say, you taught me a lot about myself. How much I enjoy being in control. How easy it is to like something even when you know it is wrong. Tell me, Emerald, did you imagine things would be like that between us when you approached me?"

Never in her life.

"N-No, Jaune," she whimpered, embarrassed to tell him what she thought. What she expected. He already knew why she was spying on them. But she never told him what she expected from their relationship. "I thought I would be able to keep you as my personal boytoy. Fuck you when I want. How I want. Make you into my own source of stress relief."

"And now?"

"I-I know better than that," Cinder was wrong about so many things. But she did get one thing right about Emerald. She was not cut out to be the top dog. "I know that you will handle a harem better. Y- I would be happy if you let me work as your second-in-command. I would be so happy to teach the other black girls I know how great you are."

Arslan from team ABRN, The uptight cunt Ciel from Atlas. She would be so happy to get them and more as her slut sisters for Jaune.

"And white girls?" Jaune asked as he squeezed her ass tight. "What about girls like Pyrrha?"

"T-They could never satisfy you, Jaune," Emerald spoke from the heart. Seriously, who could fuck that monster cock of his like her and other ebony beauties? Not the jailbait Ruby. Or that heiress bitch Schnee. Perhaps the fat-assed Vakyrie could do something but the rest? None of them had the hips, asses or tits to compare to girls like Emerald. "So please, let me help you see just how much better the girls like me are compared to some vanilla shit these girls would give you."

He was silent.

"P-Pleas-AaaaH!" she felt his strong hands grab at her waist. His thick tip resting against her tight little asshole. She grinned at him, "So, you finally gonna give in and give me some good time, right? Go right ahead, I know you want to, Jaune. Fuck me up! Fuck my ass until I can no longer be satisfied by anyone else!"

Eyeing up her delicious black ass, Jaune chuckled. No need for him to be told twice, he rubbed Misty's pussy and ass with two thick fingers. Slowly, he pushed them inside and got all her wet and ready. Not thatr it required much time or effort from him at this point. Emerald was really strong. But she was also sneaky and would likely try and manipualte him if he left her enough of willpower to do so. Her mind was definitely not as good or solid right now as it was when they met. The girl was on the verge of breaking apart into a bunch of instincts.

It was only natural that he pushed her towards it.

"Don't cry for mercy later than, you slut," He muttered, his cocktip invading her puckered asshole without much argument. Emerald hasn't been a virgin even when she met Jaune. But those were small one-time nights and with how big and thick Jaune was... Well, she might as well have been a complete and total virgin.

Emerald slapped the bed, letting out a low loud moan. As if she was being ripped apart in the most pleasant of ways, she bit into the sheets and cried, "FuuuUUUcucking shiiiiiiit! Yes, yes, yes, YEEEEEEEES! You are ripping my ass apart! Please, don't stahp!"

She could feel her Aura fizzle and crack from the pain. Oh, once it was out, how much more painful and pleasurable it would get. The mere thought was enough to drive her even wilder. Jaune grinned as he continued to spread her ass open inch by inch. To his growing surprise, Emerald was taking it all with the same kind of love as before. Even when he was not nearly as big or ferocious as he was right now.

"Fuck, your cock is fucking best, Jaune!" she cried out deliriously. "Oh, Gods, I can feel your cock in my guts! You are so deep in my ass I can feel it in my guts!" Emerald was positively babbling now. Her words a barely coherent mess of expletives and curses. Her mind a wild hive of every single dirty thing a girl knew. His cock went deep and hard, pressing down on her innards to the point she was cumming from a simple act of breathing. That's how powerful he was. How much power he held over her. "Please, make me cuuuuuuuum!"

Jaune thrusted inside her one more time, the pressure from her ass and guts so strong and overwhelming it reached even further inside. Right towards her womb. And as Jaune continued to fuck her ass with his full length, Emerald felt like he was pounding her pussy at the same time. Her world was falling apart. Her loyalties and goals crushed into dust, all she cared for was getting Jaune to fuck her even harder. Even faster.

With a wet sticky sound, Jaune pulled out. Leaving her so hollow she couldn't bear a single moment of it. What was wrong? Was it something she did? She would make up for it if only he let her.

"You are a good bitch, Emerald."

Her heart swooned at the praise.

"Now I want you to do something for me. Do it and I will cum inside your pussy and make you my top bitch."

Anything. She ready to do anything.

"Just tell me what you want."

Jaune grinned.

"Help me tie Pyrrha up."

Emerald was quiet, taken aback by the odd request. But as she met Jaune's eyes, she realized instantly what he wanted. And just like the opportunistic sadist she was, Emerald jumped at the chance to get the girl she wanted to hurt for so long.

BC

Pyrrha was at the top of her world. Hours and hours of sex with Jaune were the kind of heaven she never imagined possible or wanted. But now that she had tasted the forbidden fruit of his body, she would never tire of the taste. His strong arms and gentle touch were all the Pyrrha needed to be happy. The whole world might have pushed her to be perfect, but as long as Jaune stayed by her side, she would happily fight through everything.

"Jeez, Pyrrha, go easy on that toy," the familiar - an unpleasantly so - voice spoke candidly. "Talk about going wild."

"Emerald," Pyrrha hissed as she covered herself with the sheet. How did she get in without her noticing? Little matter. "Leave before I make you. You know I can do that."

"Can you now though?" Emerald smiled. The kind of smile that you wore when you knew of yours victory. When you were sure of it. "Tied up like that?"

What was she talking about? Pyrrha had no time for this. Jaune was sound asleep and she refused to let him be woken up by the likes of Emerald. She moved to get up. her feet never touched the ground though. In panic, she looked at Emerald. The green-haired girl gasped in false shock, "Sorry, Nikos, I forgot something. Here, let me help you."

With the sweet smile and hungry eyes, Emerald pulled off some kind of seal from Pyrrha's wrist. The same place where she touched her during the dance. The effects of the seal being removed didn't wait for long. As if she was woken up from a dream, the world around her changed. She was no longer in warm and soft bed. Instead he was on the cold floor, her arms tied behind her back. Her legs spread apart and duck-taped. The hotel room was the same but the feeling about it was all wrong.

And then there was the smell.

The smell of bitter chocolate.

"Emerald, you bitch, what have you done?" Pyrrha raged. "Where is Jaune? If you hurt him, I swear to Gods, I will-"

"Why not let him speak for himself?"

It was only now that Pyrrha noticed that Jaune was in the same room. But something was off about him. There was no more of that bubbly puppy feeling about him. Instead he looked like a wolf. And he was hungry.

"Hey Pyrrha. Glad to have you back with us."

"Jaune..." she whispered, not at all liking how casual the blonde was with being naked. Or Emerald rubbing herself against his leg. "What is going on?"

"A confession," Jaune smiled softly as she walked up to her. His cock, erect and imposing, stood even bigger than she remembered. "The last night was Emerald's illusion. She made you think you were fucking me the entire time. In reality, while you were busy with this plastic toy," he picked up the dildo that absolutely reeked of her juices. "I was busy fucking Emerald into submission."

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no... This couldn't be true. It must have been some nightmare. A cruel prank her imagination was playing on her. She would have shut her ears but her arms were bound. And so she listened on as Jaune spoke further.

"I have been having sex with Emerald ever since we became official. I tried to ignore her. Tried to focus on what happiness we had outside the bed, but I wasn't able to do it foreve, Pyrrha. Then Emerald came along and offered to be my stress relief until you learned how to handle my cock. Until you became strong enough for me to actually fuck."

Pyrrha was openly crying at this point. It was all wrong. All of this was so messed up.

"But that day never came. Even know, if I tried to have sex with you, I doubt you would be able to handle my full length for even a few minutes before passing out," Pyrrha sobbed as she felt how worthless she was. It hurt even more as Jaune sounded absolutely disappointed in her. "Despite all of this, I still love you more than anyone else in the whole world. I want to be with you, Pyrrha. One day, I wish to marry you too."

He was cheating on her. Making a fool out of her all this time. So why was she feeling so happy about his words? Why did she feel the damn hope he would keep his word?

Why did she feel so hot?

"I was tired of living a lie. Lying to you. To our friends. To myself," Jaune brought Emerald up from her knees. "Now is the time to be honest with myself."

He gave her a kiss. The kind of kiss even her wildest fantasies didn't see. There was nothing princely or romantic about it. It was wild and savage, full of nothing but sheer mating desire. Pyrrha could have had it for herself. Would have if only she were a better woman. But she was not and now she was watching a better woman - Emerald - take her beloved away.

Why did she feel so hot?

"He loves ebony girls like me, Nikos. With our wide hips, thick thighs and juicy asses, we are the only ones who can actually handle studs like Jaune," turning the girl around, Jaune lifted her off the ground. Emerald looked positively giddy as Jaune impaled the girl on his cock. The guttural bestial cry the thief let out sent shiver down Pyrrha's spine. Why did she feel so damn hot? As Jaune began to fuck her pussy, she looked her straight in the eye, "This is what real sex is like, Nikos! This is the kind of raw fucking you should have given him! Maybe then he would never leave you for me!"

Would she ever be able to handle it?

Pyrrha doubted it.

Emerald was screaming, crying in gibberish. Fuck her up. Impregnate her. Make her cunt his personal cum tank. The flood of obscene phrases filled the room and Pyrrha watched in awe as Emerald was actually enjoying having her pussy stuffed full of all that cockmeat. Her loins burned with want. Her mouth ran dry with need. She wanted it. She couldn't have it.

All she could do was watch.

"Oh yes! Oh, fuck! Gods above, fucking hell!" Emerald cursed as she looke down at Pyrrha. "Get used to the view, Nikos! I am not letting you have anything but his scraps!"

Jaune placed her down. On all fours, staring Pyrrha straight in the face, Emerald looked like she was some otherwordly being. Panting and grunting, Jaune's enormous cock plowing her from behind, the girl cupped Pyrrha's face and smiled at her. A cruel twisted smile.

"He still loves you. You still have his heart," she hissed. It was clear she hated to say that. "But his mind and body? They are all mine now. Nghh!"

Jaune gave her a harsh slap across her ass. So hard her Aura flared up.

"You can run, Nikos. Leave the two of us alone. Leave him for me to conquer his heart. I am sure you will find yourself a nice pencil-dick who will be happy with your being easy to please," Emerald spoke sweetly, even as venom dripped off of every word. "Or you can stay with us. Fight me for him. Try and get on my level. But I promise you, if you do that, I will not let you go easily."

Pyrrha whimpered. She was stronger than Emerald so why was she shaking so much?

And feeling so hot from the thought of losing to her?

"Aaaah!" Emerald cried out as Jaune pumped one final load inside her. Getting on her feet, Emerald proudly showed off the thick semen oozing out of her fucked-up cunt. "See this? This is what I earned. And this," she pointed at Pyrrha's throbbing swollen cunt. "is what you earned. So what shall it be, Pyrrha? Will you stand and fight for Jaune? Or would you rather give him up here and now?"

"N-Never!"

She refused to give up.

"Whatever you've got, bring it on!" Pyrrha glared. "I will make myself worthy of Jaune's cock. And then you will never get fucked by him again."

Emerald chuckled. Jaune did as well. Pyrrha's heart sank, her bravado now having a hole in it.

"Very well, Pyrrha. That's one of the reasons I love you so much," Jaune gave her a soft kiss. She leaned into it, grasping on the feeling like a life jacket. "But until you are actually able to handle me, you are going to be our cuckquean."

C-Cuckquean? What was that?

"W-What will I be?"

"Cuckquean," Emerald spelled out as if Pyrrha was an idiot. "A beta bitch. A denial slut. A no-touch no-fuck servant that I get to order around. Here, let me demonstrate t you!"

With a sick grin, Emerald pulled on Pyrrha's nipples. Giving her no time to recover from the shock, Emerald gave her a couple of slaps across her face before finally pushing her onto her back. With a laugh, the thief stepped on Pyrrha's swollen red cunt and pressed.

"Stop! Please, it hurts!"

"Exactly," Emerald smiled. "And physical pain is only a part of it. You will serve us, Nikos. Whatever I say, you will do. If I tell you walk through Beacon naked, you will do that. If I tell you to eat only whatever I give you, you will do that. No matter how humiliating and degrading it is, you will do what I say. And you will keep doing it until Jaune promotes you from a Cuckquean Cunt to his Bitch. Unless you want to back off now and stop bothering us."

The picture was grim, Pyrrha trembled. Having Emerald given so much power was terrfiying.

But she was Pyrrha Nikos. And she didn't give up.

"I will do it," she hung her head in shame. "And when Jaune and I are married, I will keep you as a dog, Emerald."

Emerald chuckled.

"Sure thing, Nikos. Give it your best shot." she pressed herself against Jaune. Wiping some of his semen from her pussy, Emerald smeared it all over Pyrrha's face. "Until then, enjoy the show. And your snack too."

Tied up and unable to move, Pyrrha was forced to watch the love of her life fuck the thief she considered a nuisance at best. And like an obedient cuck, Pyrrha ept the small bit of cum in her mouth. Enjoying whatever pleasure the small portion of it gave her.

Jaune held the two of them close as Emerald sucked him off. Pyrrha watched closely as the girl swallowed down his whole length. Jaune threw the two of them onto the bed, first her then Emerald on the top of hers. Pyrrha whimpered and sobbed as she felt Jaune fuck Emerald in her ass and pussy, She felt the pain doubly since she could tell just how intense it was. How much she wanted it to be her who was getting fucked.

Come the morning, Pyrrha paid for the room and walked beside the two. They went back to the dorm and Emerald gave Pyrrha another humiliating gift. Her own thong, drenched in Jaune's cum. The sight of it made her happy though and Pyrrha humbly accepted the gift. That night was the last night she could pleasure herself. And so she did.

With Emerald's thong held between her teeth, the leftover semen in her mouth, Pyrrrha was masturbating. Drowning in her lustful fantasies, the girl imagined where her life would go now. She imagined so many different scenarios. So many ways she would find her way back into Jaune's heart and embrace.

But no matter how much she thought of the future, it all remained the same. She would always be the pathetic whimpering cuckquean who begged and pissed herself for her betters' amusement. And Emerald would always be the harsh and cruel Mistress that Pyrrha depended on to get any semblance of pleasure.

"Aaaaaaaaah!"

She came, shamelessly staining her cold sheets. Where was Jaune, she wondered briefly. Her scroll screen flared up. A picture of Emerald gorging herself on Jaune's cock. Her loins burned again. The fantasy changed in her head. Now she was kneeling beside the two. Panting and begging for a drop of Jaune's cum. She was not given any. Not directly at leasy. Like a good little doggy, she lapped up whatever fell on the carpet.

"Aaaaaaaaah!"

Pyrrha came again.

The fantasy shifted. They were getting married but Pyrrha was still locked in a chastity belt after all these years. And once they came to their room, she would be allowed to hump the pillow while Jaune and Emerald enjoyed their night.

"Aaaaaaaaah!"

Pyrrha came again.

The fantasy shifted once more. She was Pyrrha Arc. A wife, a mother and a slave. Her daughter never knew she was her real mother. In her eyes, Pyrrha Nikos was just the maid of daddy and mommy, Jaune and Emerald. Her being impregnated by Jaune was her anniversary gift. She wondered if she could beg herself another one this year. Maybe if she acted like a really good dog, Emerald would give it to her.

"Aaaaaaaaah!"

Pyrrha came again.

And again and again and again. Thousands of fantasies. All with the same outcome.

But one that, with each orgasm, Pyrrha was slowly coming to accept as her fate.

[adamgeorgiou]

Arthur, My Cousin and Me

I don’t know how to detangle Arthur from myself enough to write dispassionately or accurately. Instead, what follows is something like half him, half me. It’s more journal entry than elegy. To a general audience, that might make this less interesting than it otherwise could be, but it’s what I’ve got. Remember this if and when you get to the end. 

Anyway…

I feel like I knew Arthur. Then I heard what others had to say and saw what others had to feel. Following his death, I still feel like I know him. In certain ways better than most or all. But there’s a part of me that’s often strained to believe that I was in more of his inner circle than I actually was, and his death exposed the truth of my position.

It’s a practical observation, not a dramatic one. I’m not saying he had a dominating and hidden alter ego or that he pitied me. It’s simpler: his death revealed my confidence in our bond as an illusion innocuously leftover from being kids together, from back when we actually spent serious time together. I want him back now like I’ve continuously wanted back what we lost long ago, but now it’s double-permanent and legible. Before it was remediable and blissfully hidden — embarrassing in hindsight, like most nostalgia. 

But he also had that same nostalgia and held onto it, too, which makes me feel better. That mutual thread to our shared past was strong for both of us. It gave us a lot to lean on, but we leaned on it a little too heavily. Without that crutch, our adult lives were mostly opaque to one another, but also we were getting close again, involving each other again. Building anew. The left hook following the right. It’s a shame we weren’t closer than we were, when he died. It’s a shame our getting closer was cut short. 

I guess it makes sense, generally: as adults, we’re all doing niche things, and niches are small and excluding, so everything else trends towards becomes small talk. (And that’s fine and right, because focus is necessary for growth. Just try and stay loyal, which Arthur did and my cousins do.)

Maybe it wasn’t so much that I was uniquely outside of Arthur’s confidence, but more that we had both (or all) grown a bit into our own isolation. In any case, I mourn the loss and its new finality.

So that’s him and I as adults, apart. Who was he, though? What can I tell you?

Well, I’ll briefly start with me, for context. Who I am is still him, the result of his influence, for sure. Of growing with, then adjacent to him, then apart, then converging again (more on the converging, later). If you distilled me down and got rid of all the litter and trivia, the rare and potent stuff remaining would be similar to what I knew of Arthur. We had the same essence, as I saw it. So I can show you that reflection, and you can tell me if it’s accurate (See: first paragraph’s disclaimer). (Also, note my calling out our similarity is carefully placed right before I go on to flatter him best I can — tactics, baby — but don’t read my ego into this. What follows is all my cousin.)

Arthur and confidence. Old saying: the pro fails more often than the amateur tries.

The subtleties of his personality were sophisticated and complicated. He could spar at an exceptional level from an early age. But he started out lazy and overthrowing a lot of his punches, gassing out quickly. 

As a kid, he was autistically independent, preoccupied and hyper focused, but without any of the social hangups. He could talk to anyone and impressed everyone. He was adored, and rightfully so, but he also marched to the beat of his own nunchucks, exclusively. You couldn’t bullshit him, and you couldn’t placate him unless he was genuinely fascinated with what you offered. This is how kids should be, insatiably curious and wild. It was my favorite era of his, and where we spent the most time together. I was such an asshole to him, and he still always hung out with me. And we followed each other into a lot of similar interests.

Then he got his first hit of testosterone, and followed a phase where he literally held a fist up in every photo taken of him. Ha. Puberty’s a bitch. That didn’t last long. Reality checked and he stabilized. The important thing is that he knew he wasn’t going to watch, he was going to play. I loved him here, jealously and from a further distance. I couldn’t hang.

Then maturity: The firm handshake, the direct eye contact, the bright teeth, the smiling cheeks. Approachable, but not daffy. If anything his charisma was a prank and shrewd tactic; a car salesman during the first act, a playful subversion before the intellect and wit made their debut; or, worse for you, they didn’t. You’d start talking to Arthur and think you were walking in on a frat-boy breakfast table, then he’d go on to tell you why your problem was really because of what Robert Moses did back in ‘56, or he’d ask if you thought the The States were in a similar stage of decadence as Rome before its fall.

To him, your reason was more important than your choice, which is an axiom of all good conversation, one that most people are afraid to admit because doing so requires the ability to tread water. It’s easier to talk about the weather or watch sports. But Arthur wasn’t afraid of going deeper, and he had the tact to know when it was the right thing to do.

He was a man of appetite. A true traveling gourmand. He could scoff at you from within a seersucker, but he never compared oysters. If a menu offered Seattle’s or Rhode Island’s, he’d reply, “keep ‘em coming” and demand littlenecks or (and) crawfish to follow. He was less interested in varieties of wine, more in varieties of tomato and whether you had a good coarse salt.

He was spoiled rotten — as we all were, and mostly by the same sources — but he lacked pretension, except for that deliberately wielded for ironic effect. Underneath all his developed and developing taste was a lot of comical stoicism — laughing at gross injustice and absurdity, but also doing something about it, literally. His principles were conjured up from experience with the trappings of pleasure, with readings of history, with a variety of surprisingly worldly stories. I always wondered where and how he got it all. The guy had seen things, but not that many things. How was he always so versed? I don’t know, but if you’ve ever watched him eat a box of clementines straight up, wide-eyed in a wrinkled rugby shirt, then you would also know he was more pensive than pleasure seeking.

Entertainment was a defense, one he was growing out of as he realized it interfered with his goals and their requirements. A defense against what? I don’t know for sure, but I suspect the typical. On one hand, a lack of patience and a petulant refusal to be bored. On the other, the existential and solipsistic. A defense against the subconscious shame and pain of cynicism. Was love real? Was wealth worth anything? Was the world bogus? Was anyone authentic? Ethical? Himself? Others?

Look, I’m not saying he was overwhelmed with this gooey crap. He was a thinker, not a navel gazer. I don’t know if he even said any of this stuff out loud, but anyone with a brain is going to ask some questions about the life they’re living and the society they’re in, and most of us don’t like the first obvious answers we come up with. Then we do something about not liking those answers. We put fingers in our ears some of the time, we do what’s easy some of the time, and we do what’s difficult some of the time. And also, anyone with any talent is going to find themselves bored among the average, and falling short of their own standards. These were Arthur’s struggles, I think. At least, they’re kind of my struggles, and Arthur seemed to harmonize with me when we’d commiserate. Or maybe we were both pompous assholes, wannabe aristocrats from the suburbs. Or maybe that was just me. Ha.

To some, it might seem appropriate to haunt him here in this postscript, as if to justify his death as the terminal approach of a depression into cessation. Let me be clear: this was totally not the case, from my vantage. Instead, the above attitudes are more like the required cost-of-entry to a great show. If the unexamined life isn’t worth living, it does not mean the examined one is easy to live. The alternative is Judge Judy and a monogrammed armchair. Not for Arthur. Caulfield eventually quits his bitching, but he has to eat a lot of shit first. Siddhartha finally leaves the brothel, but he had to walk in that door in order to walk out of it later. Hard times are the prerequisite to epiphany. Painful and confusing; but hopeful, not despairing. 

And you could tell Arthur was among this company because the personas he employed became increasingly sophisticated, useful, attractive, and comfortable. From the brawling, pack-leading, indulgent, jokester/show-off into the relaxed, independent, luxurious, conversationalist who wasn’t as afraid to let his guard down, who was increasingly responsible. He was cultivated. He had a tamed self-consciousness (as we all aspire). It was impressive to watch him pull his own strings, to compare that with your own attempts and be humbled.

And thus, as I see it, the irony, hard to swallow, is that Arthur was finding answers to life’s hard questions in fistfuls. Love was possible. Work was worth it. Viktor Frankl was right. And he was learning patience and conviction, already better at their practice than most (e.g. me). As Dan put it, he was just taking off. He jumped and then a hand reached up from the almost escaped gravity and cut him by the heel.

A complete, but simple tragedy.

Complete, because the good guy lost. 

Simple, because Arthur’s life was not some melodramatic airport novel. His death was a lightning strike, a deus ex machina in reverse. A two sentence accident, not an assassination. Not much more to be read from it. Mortality is hard, right? (See: Genesis).

And for all my elaboration, I don’t even think Arthur was all that noxiously introspective or exceptionally self destructive either. The guy knew how to love and be loved. How to let his hair down, appropriately. How to shift gears and drive forward. How to resist temptation. How to find and be good company. How to stare at a fish tank. How to sit and read. How to eat fruit in the sun. He was typically bright, with a lot of flair and personality. I know he was grateful.

Or I’m wrong. Maybe I’m inventing a story to make sense of something more concealed or of pure chaos. I don’t know. I don’t think so.

In any case, it’s a tragedy. And regardless of what is true, I’m still glad I got to hear his story and be part of some of it. He was and remains a good influence to me, a fellow bright eyed boy attempting to sustain himself in the body of a straight-backed man. He’ll live on for a long, long time. And I keep talking to him.

That’s some of what I knew of him. And given this is my catharsis, forgive me further, but more about me:

Sadness, gratitude, and disappointment. 

I’m sad. Still? Yes. Always? Probably not. The inevitability of death hits a certain emotional bedrock after enough love is lost. I’m probably not there yet, still more distance to fall, but things are tapering off, in the aggregate. Maybe I’m just cold. 

Sadness is the least interesting. I am separated from someone I love, and that sucks. We all have people we’ve loved, and we are all damned to lose them. But yes, I get those black bile clutches to the chest as I’m reminded that Arthur (et al.) is gone. And I wanna hold your hand, if you’re feeling it too.

It’s a curse that requires gratitude. Time keeps on slipping, and the portion of time that one spends with good people is shorter still. I’m thankful for Arthur’s good company. From childhood to peerdom. This is what I’ll try and focus on. It’s the mantra I’ll repeat. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Then there’s the sulking disappointment. My head slowly shaking, my eyes unfocused contemplating the loss of the unpredictable conversations, the refreshingly interesting trivia, the uniqueness, the independence, the honed never impersonated taste, the great breadth of knowledge, the artful ball busting, the avoidance of cliches, the shared recommendations, the belly laughs. Obnoxious mutual indulgence — food and talk — during Thanksgiving at Stacy’s table, the shared past at Everit Ave, the just started planning. The feeling of a just missed answer to the question of how to get it back, continuously nagging.

More on that: I’m dealing with a huge mess of unanswerable questions and impotence. There’s so much broken by his leaving, least of all in me, and I can’t fix any of it. No way to organize it. I can’t even help others fix it. Acknowledging the impossibility of the situation seems better than ignoring it, so I will (…acknowledge that death breaks the world and makes inconsistent a lot taken as granted). Arthur’s death is an oily surreal void in the middle of the road. A portal to nowhere. And sure, life will go on. We will preserve. Time heals all wounds. That’s all true. But any schmuck can offer a platitude. I want to be responsible for what he’s left behind, in precise detail. I want to pick up the slack, fill in the blank. But what was his remains his, locked up behind whatever door his soul is now shut. It’s maddening.

I went so far as to tell Olivia that I was her brother, too, and that I would be there for her. Idiot. I love her, she knows I love her, I know she loves me. Yada, yada. I need no pity for my vomiting on the rug. My point is: I can’t be Arthur. I can’t even be close to Arthur. Adam — while still pretty good — isn’t a substitute for Arthur. I apologized for being so naive and sloppy, but the moment taught me what I was trying to say above: that I am ignorant of so much of Arthur’s life, and in ways that can’t be remedied by interviewing his friends or reading his book or wearing his shoes, sort of speak. A lot of it isn’t just unknown, it’s unknowable.

This requires more thought. Surely something can be done. Entropy can’t be rewound, but duct tape can keep a plane in the air. So here’s something I’m going to try: I’m going to be more vulnerable. I’m going to expose myself the way a brother or a son might, and see what happens. It won’t transform me into a replacement, and I’ll probably make a clown of myself. But it’s worth a shot. To build different connections, instead of replicas. I can already see that the cousins have been hammered stronger by this. Now it’s time to be deliberate, and keep that train going, if possible. And yea, I’ll do the practical stuff. You can’t call Barb, enough. And I’ll call Liv, too, but with finesse, without overdoing it. And the rest of our family, as well, because we all lost something. For some a spleen; for others, more vital organs.

Moving on.

It’s further maddening to have Arthur’s death aligned and intertwined with so much of my pleasure. I’m a week into marriage. I’m ecstatic and overwhelmed by the potential of my future. I’m also newly terrified of losing a child not yet even conceived. That’s a fun one. Probably a lot more neurosis to come. But, yea… it’s a violent set of waves to endure and ride. It’s exhilarating and crushing, and guiltily I’ll admit, more of the former. I’m pronoid.

The guilt compounds as I realize that I’m only comparing the conflict between my pleasure and pain, when the actual accounting includes my pleasure, my pain, and all the pain of all the others he left behind, those we both loved. What about Alexandra? Barb? Liv? Dan? A dominating, trailing factor; ego-hidden and selfishly deprioritized. What would Jesus do? Not have a wedding during shiva, although I appreciate all the encouragement and insistence from the also mourning invitees.

Back to Arthur and I having grown apart and then, more recently, back together:

There exists a line separating most relationships. On one side of the line you have people who have a reasonably complete model of you in their head. (See: Theory of Mind.) On the other side of the line are people who have a functional model; they know what they need to know to get the job done, but they don’t know, perhaps have never seen, the whole thing. For ex., a spouse vs a colleague (most of the time). 

The line is called intimacy, and relationships on both sides of the line can be valuable, but the intimate ones have more potential in both directions, fat tails; the intimate ones can yield fortunes and bankruptcies. Acquaintances are tepid.  

I described it above, how Arthur’s and my relationship moved from the intimate to the distant. I’ll skip further detailing that transition, and just get to the thing that hurts now: we were getting markedly closer, again. I could see the trajectory of our friendship and would bet on our returning to intimacy and confidence.

If the isolation of vocation and growth drives most bourgeois adults apart and into impersonal silos, then eventual mastery and plateau allows room for a focus on humanity, again. And humanity is universal and objective. People can stand on it, together, and get to know each other (again). That’s where I felt Arthur and I were.

I felt like Arthur and I had taken two separate tracks at a fork 15 years ago, and just recently those two roads started to merge back into the same path. We had stories to tell each other, of our time in the wild. It was the basis for a new bond, perhaps stronger than the old one.

Unsolicited phone calls. Talks of marriage, health, wealth. Suggestions of books and podcasts that were actually followed through with, instead of disappearing into the void like most cocktail party prescriptions. We’d follow back. Not rushing each other past awkward silence. Being patiently invested in one another. Showing up. Talking about vulnerable topics, like fears and aspirations for careers, and relationships, and family. And then, right during the peak of this rekindling, this jubilee, he died. And I doubt that I was the only one whose newfound growth and compatibility were cut short. You’re not alone.

So I hurt for the spent love, yes, like that of most grief. But I hurt more for the lost potential. I had so many fresh dreams that included him. It’s disappointing and sad.

To be clear, I’m disappointed in what’s lost, not disappointment in him. I blame him for nothing, even if maybe I should or others do. But any of his mistakes could have easily been mine, and so I sympathize. I’m not angry. Ambition implies risk. Vice is vice is inevitable. Growth means growth from something. Different contexts, need not apply.

Anyway, what else? The thing I linger on now is a weird faith. I have little faith or rather I have difficulty finding faith. I scrutinize faith until it’s demoralized. And yet, the discontinuity introduced by Arthur’s absence gives me faith, illogically but compellingly. I don’t strive for it, it’s simply there, point blank. I can’t explain it, but I can describe it.

Arthur is gone forever, and Arthur is part of my future. Both irrevocably true, yet incompatible. What to do about it? Apparently, not much. My mind absolutely and happily refuses to budge. The feeling that Arthur is part of my future supersedes the knowledge that he’s not. Knowing he’s gone does nothing to my belief that my future includes him. So it continues to. Sue me, I can’t help it.

See you in the funnies, Arthur. (More trivia: I never called him Artie or Art or Archo. He was always Arthur to me.)

Lastly, some good, more recent memories (skipping some that have already been shared):

The last thing I spoke to Arthur about was extensive advice, over the phone, on how to structure a prenup. “Don’t put anything about kids in there, because the courts won’t accept that you understood what you were agreeing to, prior to actually having the kids.” Smart. “Everyone should get one! The courts encourage it! Helps ungunk the works.” Ha. Kelly and I never got a prenup, but the candid advice on such a touchy subject makes me laugh.

Eating a whole pig at a communal table, biergarten style, at Saxon and Parole, in New York. Arthur talking the whole table’s ear off about everything, and then after discussing eating brains, we asked the chef to bring the pig’s over, and he did. Afterwards, walking to our trains, jolly, drunk.

Visiting Arthur in Scotland. Going out to some Uni warehouse party, and me getting lost with some bird. I didn’t have a working European phone, and so when I got home at dawn, seeing him and his big bravado looking like a worried mother goose made me laugh and proud, like a big brother again. Him cooking the two of us mussels and linguine with three whole heads of garlic. Delicious. Steak in Edinburgh, and him showing me the castles like he was himself a duke, personal friends of Hume and Smith.

I wished we went on more walks together.

Us planning on going to Joe Beef, in Montreal, with Alexandra and Kelly.

Him calling me to tell me Anthony Bourdain had died, and subsequently talking about it. “If he can’t make it, who can?” There’s that cynicism again. But it was a candid moment. And we ended that talk, more or less, believing we could make it, even if Bourdain couldn’t.

Discussing whether we were fated to end up like our parents. 

Him shooting the .38 up in Gilboa.

Legos, spanky, ice box bedroom, V8-turbo toilet, the pool, the trampoline, the screen porch and its green furniture, endless chicken rolls followed by cold pizza, karate in the basement (no shoes on the mats), rolling on the carpet (i.e. roll mosh), forts, the Barbie game on the gateway computer in Izzy’s room, Snood, army men in the mud ripping up sod by the square foot unit, jealousy listening to Timberlake camp stories, the suburban with 100 blankets in the third row and Don McLean on the radio, toxic farts, the Pokemon store, the Pokemon cards I’d steal from him after going to the Pokemon store, a million cups of Lipton at Barb’s table, Rage Against the Machine in Dan’s car, lanyards, fishing in the Hewlett Bay, Harry Potter, him never sleeping over my house and getting rides home at 2am after attempting to (me pissed), hiding in that lone pine tree in the front yard, making window art out glitter glue, salamanders, watching him attempt to ride a bike in the driveway.

A menial history, but ours. Anyway…

Arthur, you were great. It’s not for me to say that you’re now resting in peace, because I think you were pretty zen while you were alive, in your own pastel-colored kimono kind of way. So instead, I hope you’re as satisfied there as you were interested here. I’ll see you soon, and until then, I’ll try and hold the line for you. Love ya’.

[mwolf0epsilon]

BATIM - Helping Hand

Summary: All stories have a beginning and an end. Henry’s ended with kindness, Joey’s began with cruelty.

---

     Back when he’d been trying to reintegrate into civilian life after going to war, Henry had no conceivable way of explaining his experiences in an eloquent fashion. It was very difficult to put into words the sort of visceral feelings that made his chest tighten with a mixture of white hot panic and instinctual terror. There were no feasible words to express the sensation of looking another human being in the eyes and knowing that they were just as reluctant to be there, and that one of them had to die for the other to live. War was a topic that muted him to a somewhat permanent degree. Too hard for him to talk about. But the studio? The horrifying atrocities Joey had committed in his absence? The lengths he'd gone to get what he wanted? That was the one horrific happenstance in which he could find his voice and curse out a supposed friend for their heinous crimes, especially when he found himself back on that familiar doorstep that led him into that repeating nightmare... The mockery of a long-dead dream. Yes, Henry Stein, the man of few words, would end up spewing out as many acidic profane words that he could conjure up on the spot. So foul they were that they would have had a sailor as shocked and disgusted as a blushing nun. Not that anyone could judge him for it. A man of routine could only bend so much to the insatiable will of another, before he slowly found himself pushed over the precipice of madness. It was by pure miracle he hadn't lost his senses long ago. Because, thankfully, Henry made due with what little leniency and creativity he had to keep himself entertained. Every few loops he changed things up just a little bit.

     The “Long Runs” as he called them, were a respite of sorts Henry had concocted long ago as a means to give himself a break from the main storyline Joey so vehemently forced him through, with little to no choice in the matter. They were, in a sense, somewhat of a sacred thing. His sanctuary, as Sammy would put it, and one that he'd long since forced his puppeteer not to disturb. If Joey didn't want his marionette to flop onto the ground in defiance of restarting the same old stale song and dance all over again, he'd have to allow him some time to relax and get back on his game. Otherwise Henry would simply sit down and refuse to even go near the Ink Machine, much less begin this charade. Without the hellish thing as his driving point, it’s not like Joey could find any reason to push him forward anyway.  Not without the Ink Demon being let out to take on its role of the relentless hunter. So, having learned this, Joey seemed to begrudgingly allow him to explore the studio to his heart’s content without pushing him to do anything that would immediately set him towards that final stage. That repetitive speech that made less and less sense the more Henry experienced it.

     On these breaks Henry took his time and did what he’d done back when he was a kid: He people watched. An odd hobby, but one that taught him something quite valuable about creating characters. Traits and qualities. Everyone had a way of being that was entirely unique to them. Be it the way they walked, if they spoke just with their mouth or with their hands, or how they chose to project themselves out in the world. Dress and speech patterns, certain ritualistic habits, likes and dislikes...All things tended to be readable on a person if you just stopped, watched and listened for long enought. Which is why, on every one of these breaks, Henry took the time to figure out everyone’s gimmicks. Soon after, he’d started his little gestures of kindness...

     It all started with the swollen searcher with the nice hat. Jack Fain, the once lyricist that had aided in getting the right words to Sammy’s jolly little tunes. Henry had been absentmindedly exploring the sewer tunnels near the music department when he’d noticed the searcher in a rather bad way. Overstuffed with the thick ink that Twisted Alice so coveted from his brethren. So large and nauseatingly lumpy that he couldn’t even move out of his current spot. He supposed that was his inevitable fate unless crushed with a crate, which made him feel a little less upset about dropping such a heavy object onto the poor thing. Then, much to his surprise, Sammy Lawrence himself sauntered down from one of the adjacent tunnels to find the pitiful creature blocking his path. And even more surprising, he actually seemed sad about it's sorry state.   “Oh you silly sheep… This is the 4th time this week that I’ve found you so heavy with your precious wool…” How Sammy could count the weeks, Henry wasn’t sure, since he knew for a fact the music director often forgot his own name. Come to think of it, Sammy forgot a lot of things, reminding Henry of a fellow in his platoon that was afflicted with early onset dementia. He’d been discharged due to becoming a liability, and seeing him fight the disarray of his own mind had been a honestly terrifying spectacle. Henry had felt a great pity for him, which is about the same way he felt for Sammy now. The poor guy could have been great had he not ended up in Joey Drew’s grasp and then tossed into this nightmare realm. “Not to worry...Your shepherd is here now, although you’ll have to forgive me. I have no shears.”

He’d watched in morbid fascination as Sammy dug four-fingered hands into the swollen searcher’s mass, pulling out chunks of it in a way that made Henry’s stomach twist in discomfort. If Jack felt any pain, he didn’t show it.  If anything with each clump of ink removed, he seemed almost relieved. Finally, once returned to his regular proportions, the searcher let out a much softer humming sound. One that was much nicer to the ear than the wet hiss he reserved for Henry whenever he got too close to the skittish creature.   “You’re welcome my little sheep. The others will be most pleased with the wool you’ve so generously provided…” The pile of thick ink was truly massive, and the old artist could only wonder what Sammy hoped to do with it. “Please refrain from consuming more. Excessive indulgence is a sin you know...”

From the way Sammy had addressed Jack upon arrival, this seemed to be a recurring issue. One the self-appointed prophet seemed to exclusively come down into the sewers to solve himself. It piqued Henry’s interest in such a way that he’d begun to wonder… If he helped with that, would this in any way benefit him? Couldn't do him wrong to have some thick ink at hand... And then he wondered: Would helping them benefit Jack and Sammy in any way? Only one way to find out!

     He'd left it for the next time he decided to take a break. First going through a few more loops to give himself time to figure out just how to help the prophet and the swollen searcher that lived down in the sewers. He couldn't exactly allow Sammy to sacrifice him. It would only end with the delusional ex-music director dying faster. So what could he, a humble artist, possibly do for someone who was so lost to devotion? And then there was the question of what could he do for Jack. The only thing he seemed interested in, was being left alone and keeping a hold of that dang valve. Henry hadn't personally known the man, so this was a difficult task. Luckily he found an answer in the form of an audio log Buddy had collected well before the older man had set foot in the studio. As it turned out, Jack Fain was a fan of coffee. That at least was something to look into, as he made his way all around the studio. He'd mostly only found rations of bacon soup, but surely there had been a coffee machine in the break room, right?  And if he could keep his seeing tool, maybe he could keep anything else he kept on his person until the end of another run? He'd tried it once with Wally's keys and he was pretty sure he'd kept them on the next loop, only to lose them again later (the man should have invested in a better key ring, that one was a slippery bugger!). But could it work for heftier items? That too was a theory he tested, and Joey surely must have found it quite odd when he'd begun his end of the loop speech, only to stop as he stared in confusion at the bag of coffee Henry had brought along with him.   "...I have questions..." He deadpanned as he stared at the bag of coffee with slight distrust. A bag of coffee beans. Nothing could be less threatening.   "Funny, I thought that was my job?" Henry grinned. "Asking questions, and never getting any answers?"   "Funny indeed… Whatever you're up to, don't think it'll do any good." Joey frowned. "Your path is set, and nothing can change that. Even if I’ve been rather patient with your excursions."   "We'll see." That only gave Henry more motivation to try. If just to spite Joey. Another guilty pleasure of his that he indulged in from time to time. He too needed a bit of fresh unpredictable entertainment after all…

     To not lug around a bag of coffee everywhere he went (which wasn’t very practical), Henry had decided to take another break on his next run to begin experimenting with this little idea that had been borne out of curiosity. It was easy to set a goal for it: If offering something of comfort to someone that had minimal impact in Joey’s puppeteering did anything of value not only to himself but for the person in question that he sought to offer some kindness to, then what could potentially happen if he tried the same trick with some of the "main cast"? It was, in all honesty, a rather clinical way of thinking and planning things out. He was essentially detaching himself from this reality to test those around him, having superior knowledge of what was truly going on (albeit in a limited and at times fleeting fashion) thus a sort of intellectual advantage over their situations. He was being a less harmful manipulator. Setting up events like Joey. The morality of it all came crashing down just as he’d gotten a coffee machine to work.   “Keep it together Henry.” he shook himself out of that nasty train of thought as fast as he could. “You’re not doing anything malicious...You’re just...Making coffee.”

He could maybe use a cup or two himself. If just to settle his nerves. How ironic that a stimulant could calm anyone.

  "Yeah, just a simple cup of coffee. No harm, no foul…" Except to his hand when the damn coffee maker scalded him for no particular reason. If anything, he hoped this was the best damn coffee that the swollen searcher had ever tasted in his whole life as an ink slug. There was just one tiny problem with this plan: Henry didn't have any cups. Nor any mugs. Not even those tiny little plastic cups that came with these sorts of machines. The studio was apparently in a "bring your own mug" policy just to skirt around buying a refill of those.   "Joey you damn cheapskate…" he had to improvise. Thankfully he wasn't short on containers or an appetite for bacon soup. He just hoped the taps in the bathroom would still have access to clean water...

     To Joey it must be quite a sight, watching an old man make his way down into the sewers balancing three cans of soup containing piping hot coffee in them. The stairs weren't exactly up to code and the ink coating them was slippery, so this whole journey to sate his damn curiosity might leave the old artist with second degree burns and potentially a ruined back.  Thankfully he managed his way down into the depths with no real issues, and noted the shadow of the prophet following his every move. Good, he hoped an offering would appease him. Play on the same field as Sammy in a sense, just to see what he might do. Granted treating Jack nicely might grant him the cultist's mercy if he treated him like a friend still. At the sight of him, the thing that had once been Jack Fain began to flee as usual.   "Hey, wait… I have something for you!" He watched the creature skirt around a corner, hat barely staying on. He stood there, unwilling to run, and simply held the cans of hot coffee with a slightly disappointed look on his face. And then…

...Snhiff shniff shhhhniff…

The wettest sniffing sound Henry had ever heard assaulted his ears, as the swollen searcher peeked back around the corner at him. Its mouth shut but the hollow sockets where it's eyes should be appearing to be wide as it tracked what must be an alluring aroma to it. It appeared searchers still retained a sense of smell, which begged the question of how Jack could stand to live down here.   "Smells nice doesn't it? I uh…" he waved one of the cans carefully so as not to spill its contents. "Got a coffee maker upstairs working again."   "Ksshhhff…Eeee..." he couldn't understand what it said, but Henry was pretty sure Jack was trying to say "coffee". He recognized what it was, and most importantly it looked like he desperately wanted it.   "Yes. It's coffee. Do you want it?" He outstretched his arm, trying to entice the swollen searcher with his peace offering. It looked at the can, the sloshing dark liquid inside it, then stared at Henry. It seemed to be trying to decide if it was worth risking its "hide" to get what it so desperately craved. Finally after an agonizing minute, it went for it.

     Henry nearly toppled over as the swollen ink abomination lunged for the can. He damn near spilled the other two on himself as well. Luckily he'd regained his footing and managed to keep everything nicely contained in the repurposed cans. The searcher on the other hand was less the skittish thing that ran circles around him, and more like an overexcited puppy. The slurping desperate chugging noises as it inhaled the coffee were a little gross, but that was easily overlooked by just how happy it looked.   "That good uh?"

The gurgling purr that followed got a chuckle out of him, and he couldn't help give Jack a gentle pay on the hat. He couldn't have imagined just how happy the poor fellow would get. And he wasn't the only one. That worn out Bendy mask peering from the corner gave Henry a good idea of just how impactful such a small gesture had been.   "I have an extra can if you'd also like some…" He'd brought one in the hopes that Sammy might appreciate some as well, but he wasn't sure if he liked the stuff. In the little time they'd worked together at the studio, the music director had been more of a smoker than a coffee enthusiast. Shame he wouldn't be able to get such an item for him… To Henry's surprise, rather than keep his distance and wait for his dramatical reveal, Sammy actually responded to him.   "My stomach does not react kindly to most substances besides the Lord's plentiful gift..." His words were devoid of emotion. Awfully cold but also contemplative. "I'm sure my darling sheep would be more than happy to consume my share…" The happy gurgling more than confirmed this, and Henry wasted no time to give him the extra can. Jack took it gleefully and began to drink it eagerly.   "A picky eater…" Henry felt slightly disturbed at the idea that Sammy was drinking any of the ink just laying around. "I can respect that."   "I assure you, it is not by choice." The mask cocked to the side, studying him. "Although I must admit the stomach aches have helped ensure my physique stays at the peak of perfection to ensure my tasks are well done."

Henry frowned and stared down at his own stomach. He was a little on the pudgy side nowadays, and honestly chugging cans of bacon soup probably didn't help. But he wouldn't call Sammy's proportions the peak of perfection.   "Doesn't sound too fun, getting sick unless you drink… the Lord's gift." Best not step on any toes, if Sammy still had any that is. Play it casual.   "I do not believe you've come down here to critique my practices as a devout follower of the Ink Demon." The Bendy mask turned to watch Jack devour the can of coffee. Henry felt like he must have been smiling fondly. "You have… Come down here to present us with offerings. Kind ones."   "Yes." He replied calmly, remaining just as calm when the mask turned back to him. Sammy's body language spoke for him more than his words did. He was doubtful.   "Why?" A good question.   "I had nothing better to do." He responded truthfully, albeit only partially. "And you could both use the kindness I'm sure."

They could, they honestly could. After having their minds, bodies and souls taken from them, their identities torn asunder, both Sammy and Jack could only benefit from being treated with the one thing Joey had stripped from them. Humanity. That run, for such a tiny little gesture as offering Jack some coffee, Sammy let him go without a fight. Joey's speech was much more heated than usual, but nothing really seemed to change on the next loop. At least he didn't think so until he found a can of hot coffee waiting for him in Sammy's sanctuary, as well as a bowl of extra thick ink with the valve propped in the middle of it.

-

     His second gesture couldn't have been more easy. While Sammy still tried to sacrifice him, his speech was more subdoed. Almost playful in a way that said "I know what you did and I'm grateful, even if my actions don't show it". Joey's grip on him was too strong to escape with just one kind action, but not enough that Sammy even in his state of forgetfulness could get the mental image of Henry treating Jack to some coffee out of his inky brain. The alterations to his pattern gave Henry plenty of time to figure out just what to do for his encounter with Twisted Alice. Playing slightly into Sammy's delusions had allowed him to get close, so focusing on her obsession might coax what little of Susie was left. Because he'd gotten wise and asked what it was like to become a toon to the only other person qualified to give him a proper response. Sure Buddy couldn't talk, but his reignited personality had given Henry insight on what it was to become a cartoon character. There was a power struggle at first. The original human personality and the Toon's personality clashing in an effort to remain in or take full control. A chaotic and confusing process until one came out victorious. At first Boris had won… then Buddy had slowly begun resurfacing the more loops Henry went through. Now they had a mutual agreement. They needed each other to survive, and the same turned out to be true for Alice and Susie. Alice being the more dominant and jaded of the personalities, having long since fallen from grace after witnessing the sheer cruelty and lack of hope this abominable studio had to offer. Susie ended up being the weaker of the two, guarded by her dragon like a princess in a twisted castle. She sometimes spoke up, clearly disturbed by what their shared hands had done in the past, but Alice had too much of a grip on her to ever let her go. If Henry could properly appease the angel, he might be able to get to Susie as well. Give them… What? A glimmer of hope? Better than let them stew away in their rotten despair.   "You're staying. I'm going." He pleaded with Buddy after taking the gifts left behind by Sammy and Jack. "Don't give me that look, I've told you what she does when she gets her hands on you…" A soft whine as the toon wolf pleaded for him to reconsider.   "I know you worry, but I need to reach out to them. Even if it doesn't change much, they deserve some consideration." He pauses to think back on the tapes Susie had left, and then her final speech before he was forced to confront the brute Boris inevitably became. "After Joey used them it's the least I could do." Buddy (and no doubt Boris) growled in frustration before eloquently writing just what he thought of Joey. Henry crinkled his nose at the rather uncharacteristic choice of words, but the very last sentence made him smile somberly: “You don't have to fix Joey's mistakes.”   "I wish it was that simple. I really do." It wasn't like he had a choice, not when Joey thought he could evade the responsibility himself and pin it on someone else.

     Alice was fairly easy to butter up to. He'd entered her lair and sat through her little song like the patient man he was, and then when she finished up with her usual screeching finale he did something she didn't quite expect. He applauded. She was so caught off guard that she just stood there, even as the lights turned back on. Flabbergasted at the sudden adulation.   "What a finish, truly miss Angel, you're quite a gal." He'd continued to clap, bowl of thick ink balancing precariously on top of his head. "I'd offer flowers, but sadly all I have on me is ink…"   "...Why, what a flatterer…" She sounded uncertain, a hint of Susie just barely at the surface. She must have been quite shocked as well. No one had ever reacted to Twisted Alice's presence with such a welcoming embrace. She was a creature to be feared after all.   "Flatterer? Me? My goodness miss Angel, don't tell me you don't get the occasional fan…" he removed the bowl from his head and made sure the thick black blob was quite visible to her. An enticing offering provided by Jack Fain. It's not like he needed the excess ink.   "Sadly not. If only most visitors were as well mannered as you..." She crossed her arms, Alice's suspicions breaking through. "But that's to expect from the real creator, isn't it Henry?"   "Glad to see some recognition, but honestly I can't be credited for any of this. Not when it's been… Altered to such a degree." Henry looked around with a saddened expression. "Joey really managed to taint everything he touched..."   "Only if you let him." The Angel's hiss was a terrifying thing. "But it was so easy to let him in, wasn't it...? He had a way with words…" Susie was such a meek girl. A scared chick in a world conducted by the big bad wolf. And Alice? Alice was a fox that offered her protection. But Henry could be just as cunning provided he was given the chance. Always for a good reason, rather than satisfying his selfish desires. So very unlike his childhood friend.   "Words were his weapon of choice, until that wasn't enough." Henry offered her the bowl, watching as she inspected it. Tested it's stability. She seemed pleased.   "Why are you here, Henry? Why come back to this miserable place?" Alice's gaze was piercing, but not as malicious as it often was. "And I'm sure it's not due to nostalgia, or an excuse to flatter your way up to the heavens."   "I think I knew once." He replied in truth, because you didn't lie to an angel. "But now? Now I'm not so sure… I think Joey liked that naivety on my part. It certainly worked to his advantage."   "That it did, little errand boy. You're just as trapped as the rest of us…" She dismissed him. "You may pass freely… But don't think I'll show you mercy twice. You are, after all, still a thief."   "What's a man to do but try to protect a poor pup?" He couldn't help tease as he made his way to the door. He was free to explore her lair and go on about his "day" without her tasks or her looming presence. That was good enough a reward for him, even if it didn't promise Buddy's freedom from the cruel fate that awaited him.   "Such a shame that pup wasn't meant to be." Alice responded. "A shame indeed. He was such a nice boy..."

     This particular encounter gave him a lot to think. The people he'd once assumed to be monsters weren't inherently malicious. That much he'd figured from Sammy's behaviour after he'd played nice. But while most chose to cower and cry, or lose themselves to desperation and lies, Alice was simply resigned to the hand she'd been dealt. Because, honestly, she was in a terrible position to begin with. Even if Susie clearly wanted better, for the both of them. In the end, the angel was only trying to protect her vessel even if Joey set her on a most cruel path. She was tired of grasping on to shallow hopes of ever getting out. Rather be the hunter than the prey. That run, his old friend seemed even more frustrated with him.   "Stop humanizing them. There's nothing you can do for them." Joey had grit out through his teeth, trying to keep a smile that was as insincere as his speeches.   "You're wrong. There is something I can do." He'd responded, unbothered by the anger in his captor's words.   "And what's that?"   "Treat them with decency, which is something you never did."

-

     The Projectionist was a challenge. From what he could tell, Norman Polk had essentially gone feral from years of agony and isolation. Most of the Lost Ones even considered him a dumb and very violent animal. Alice thought of him as useful. Susie felt a terrible pity for him. And Buddy? Buddy both feared and felt anguish when confronted with the Projectionist's presence. Henry had known him for a short while, so he could understand the sentiment. Norman had been a good albeit quirky man.   "He looked after us…" Susie spoke over the intercom. "He was so kind. It hurts to see him like this… A monster."

While Alice didn't let up on her list of tasks, and did indeed always take the cartoon wolf as scripted, she'd started letting Susie come forth to speak to Henry. She had a lot to say.   "If I knew how, I'd help him." He watched the Projectionist walk through the flooded maze of projectors and hearts. Each step heavy, and the clicking of the projectors somewhat deafening. Occasionally it let out a soft crackly noise from its speaker.   "You'd die." Alice interjected.   "How so?"   "Why do you think it takes hearts, Henry?" The twisted angel asked. Come to think of it, he'd never considered the why of its actions. "It's because its own was stolen long ago."   "Joey stole his heart?"   "No my dear errand boy." Alice chuckled bitterly, before Susie took hold. "Sammy did…"

     Joey was getting awfully frustrated with him, so Henry gave in and followed the plot to a t on the next three runs. He needed to think anyway.  Think of how to address the problem. Because, really, how would he convince Sammy to halt his ritual to look for something he might not even recall ever having stolen? And then there was the matter of giving it back to the Projectionist without getting brutally killed. He decided to just wing it on his next break. Starting with visiting Jack with more coffee, if just to get Sammy to talk. It worked, but the prophet seemed hesitant to talk about the resident of level 14.   "That beast is a dangerous one… Nothing but my lord can stop it's rampage."   "That beast is looking for something someone took from him." Henry explained. "Or so I've been told."   "And how am I to fix this exactly, little sheep?" The deranged cultist crossed his arms. "Surely you mustn't think of me as a miracle worker?"   "Help me find it. I've been told you might know where to look."

Truth be told Sammy had no idea what he was on about, but he was adamant to repay him for once again bringing some semblance of joy into his favourite "sheep's" life. Luckily there wasn't any need to run around in futility, searching for something that might be long gone. The prophet's memory issues resulted in Sammy placing items he considered of value in the same place. A box hidden under the floorboards beneath the cot he'd set up in his sanctuary. Unluckily, a heart was not among the objects he'd stored. At least it seemed so since it wasn't anywhere to be found in the box of trinkets.   "Damn it…" he sighed sadly. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.   "I am sorry to disappoint." The Bendy mask betrayed no real emotions, so Henry wasn't too sure if the apology was genuine. He sounded a little miffed about having his personal space invaded, but didn't act upon it. "What is it you seek, exactly?"

Looking through the box, Henry gave a nonchalant shrug. He picked up a golden locket that was coated in dry ink, turning it slowly in his hand as he tried to figure out how to surpass this bump in the road. Sammy quickly reached out and took it from him, clearly upset that he'd touch his personal belongings.   "Don't touch that." The cultist hissed.   "Sorry…" he watched him put the locket back into the box, next to what appeared to be a series of unlabeled tapes. There was also a chain with a ring on it, and a few other trinkets that seemed to hold some sentimental value. "I know you can't remember much… but… Did you ever take a heart? A literal heart?"   "A… Heart..."   "Yes. I know it sounds strange but--"   "Not at all. They're plentiful down below." Sammy shrugged "Delicious too… More so than the ink or the soup. I cannot explain how."

And Henry would rather not have him explain, because his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it. He’d killed people before as a soldier, seen horrific things, but the thought of someone describing eating a human-ish heart made him sick.   "Then, yes a heart. Maybe not an ink one." He added, trying to keep the conversation on track.  The ex-music director paused, tapping a finger to the chin of the mask, before staring down at his own chest. Much to Henry's horror, he plunged his fist into his own torso and pulled out…Well it must have been a heart at some point.  Now it looked like an amalgamation of stitched flesh and all sorts of wires and weird clicking mechanisms. A perfect fit for the quasi-mechanical monster skulking around level 14.   "Would this be the heart in question?"   "W-what were you keeping it literally on your person for?!" He couldn't help spit out, much to the annoyance of the deranged ink man.   "Where would YOU keep a heart?" He huffed "It was safer here… And it felt important."

No kidding. And important it was, to the point where Sammy didn’t want to give it back. How was Henry going to convince him to do so?  Well…   “The person it belongs to needs it back.” He pleaded. “Can’t you please hand it over so I can give it to him?”   “I cannot trust that you’d find the rightful owner.” Sammy stated. “Sheep need guidance, not to guide. And you, little sheep, are risking falling prey to the wolves.”   "I can assure you I know the owner, and so do you." At least he had, once. "The Projectionist needs it back Sammy. Please, be reasonable."   "I am being reasonable. I'm protecting this from that horrific beast!" He held the heart closer to himself, very likely glaring beneath his mask.   "It doesn't need protecting from him! It needs to go back to him!" Henry argued back. The old cartoonist was getting fed up.   "No!"

That was… not the right answer. At least not when Henry was so close to a breakthrough. Or so he thought. He regretted what he had to do to get that heart in the end. Killing an unarmed man felt like cowardice, even if it was for a good cause.

     Level 14 was always such a dreary place. Even with a newfound goal, an old veteran like Henry still felt uneasy going through such a maze. After being forced to kill Sammy that run, he wanted good results. If just to justify his actions as being for the greater good. They… weren't.  The Projectionist charged as usual upon seeing him, and Henry had to fight his instincts to flee. Instead he held out his gift, closed his eyes, and prayed. No pain came, but the scream… That gutteral and mechanical crackling of sheer agony. Like hot iron had struck flesh. The Projectionist was screaming, it's chest ripping itself open to reclaim the missing piece. And then, when the wires shot out and took back the heart, the screaming only intensified. Boris took hold of the body he shared with Buddy. The cartoon wolf howling in despair to match the screams while curling into a tight shaking ball in the elevator. The Projectionist fell on its knees as it continued to scream. Henry's mind was fraying just listening to it. Watching the pitiful beast claw at its mending chest and screech until its speaker could handle no more.  A loud pop filled the air, and suddenly there was no sound. But the clawing continued The convulsing carried on. It was screaming without a voice and it was all Henry's fault. Coward that he was, he ran to the elevator and slammed a hand against the buttons. His eyes too blurry from regretful tears to see where he'd end up. Alice and Susie remained quiet. Their silence was damning. Condemning his actions and allowing his conscience to fall heavy with guilt.

     That time, once he set foot in the quaint New York apartment, Henry shakily sat down at Joey's table and stared into nothingness. A tired hollow man that couldn't bring himself to look at the grinning devil that was positively gloating with joy.   "I told you so." A choked sob and bitter tears followed. Henry hated how careful Joey's hands were as he wiped away his tears, and as he murmured sweet words into his ear. That burning cobalt gaze aglow with the flames of victory. Fuck him. Fuck Joey Drew. This old war veteran would not give in so easily. He just had to try harder.

-

     There was no point in following the plot. He felt like he had to fix the mishaps of his last run before he even tried to offer his services to either Tom or Allison. This much was clear once he stepped foot in the sewers, because instead of being happy to see him or even feeling timid, Jack outright attacked him on sight. Gurgling and hissing in rage at him having hurt Sammy in his last run.   "I know… I'm sorry…" he kept the irate swollen searcher at bay if only just barely, hoping to appease him with his sincerest regrets. "Can you take me to Sammy? I… I want to make it up to him. What I did was wrong."

More than wrong. It was damaging. Because instead of the usual inky figure clad in overalls, boots and a Bendy mask, Henry was met with a shivering searcher with said mask.   "Oh Sammy… I'm so sorry." He was at risk of getting his throat ripped out, but he still couldn't help kneeling down to make himself look less threatening to the frightened creature. The searcher didn't try to retaliate, instead it clutched its chest and groaned pitifully.   "I know what I did was wrong. But so was keeping Norman's heart." Not that Sammy wasn't aware of this. He'd claimed it to be important, and he'd wanted to protect it, but he'd also been reluctant to give it back. People's selfishness had already done so much damage to this studio, it was only cruelly ironic that in trying to do the right thing Henry too had been quite selfish. "Is there any way I can make this less painful for you?"

Gesturing vaguely at the searcher's current state explained enough. The creature that had at one point been a prophet that had in turn been Sammy Lawrence, seemed to hum in thought before nodding slowly. It dragged itself towards the upstairs, motioning for Henry to follow. He did so, with Jack right on his tail if only to keep a suspicious eye on him. Back in the music department Sammy proceeded towards his Sanctuary, which Henry quickly got to work on unlocking for himself. He couldn't exactly do the little wall trick Sammy did to get around. Once the projector turned on and he plucked or hit every correct note, Henry strolled towards the opening shutter. Sammy greeted him with his box of trinkets.   "Is there something in there you need?" He adjusted his glasses as he asked, trying to get a better look at the contents. The searcher nodded eagerly and pointed at a vinyl record, way at the bottom of the pile. "Oh… you want me to play that for you?"

More eager nodding and a wet sounding slap on the ground. Well it wasn't much but considering Sammy refused to touch it for fear of covering it in ink, Henry thought perhaps he hadn't heard any music in far too long. Besides the "hymns" he played for his Lord.   "Willow Weep for Me? I don't think I've heard this one." With careful hands he took the vinyl from the box and began to look for a record player. The dinged up gramophone in the corner was almost beckoning him to play it. Once he'd turned it on, the melody was quite soothing. His two searcher companions seemed to think the same. Jack seemed to finally relax and practically curled up near the record player, while Sammy seemed to bob slightly to the tune. Henry simply closed his eyes and listened to the music, only opening them back up when broken words began to sing along. Sammy's form was repairing itself. Slowly, but steadily. Going from slouching and being half submerged in a puddle to looking like he was kneeling on regenerating legs.

"Willo- we'p for…" the prophet coughed "...me."

     Not too long after Sammy's recovery, Henry left the music department. He had a lot of preparations to make if he wanted to do any more actual good rather than having a repeat of the last run. Hopefully Sammy would be in higher spirits once they met back up in the harbour. As loathsome as it was to fight him, it was better to see him so full of energy than cowering in a puddle. He already knew what he could do for the duo of survivors, but he had to make a few stops along the way. Starting with giving Buddy the notebook he carried on his person, and Boris his favourite bone. It was a delight seeing the toon wolf's eyes light up as he flipped through several pages of doodles, while he happily gnawed on that suspiciously human sized bone. Then he went to Alice and requested an actual "date" with the angel. Not in the romantic sense mind you, he loved his beautiful Linda like the goddess she was. He merely wanted to sit down, have a can of coffee, and talk. Let Susie feel normal for a little while after both she and the angel witnessed what happened to the Projectionist. Afterwards, he checked up on said ink creature and noted that it wasn't roaming like usual. Instead the Projectionist was sitting on a crate, staring at the wall where one of several Bendy cartoons was playing. It even chose to ignore Henry when he approached, one hand clutching its chest in slight pain. Still adjusting to what had been restored. On his way out, Henry swore he heard a soft "thank you" under all the crackling and static of its speaker.

     The Lost Ones greeted him with their sorrowful gaze as usual and he replied not with fear or revulsion as he once did, but with a kind smile and promises that one day he'd find a way to make it better. It wasn't immediate freedom like they desired, but it was something more tangible. Something more human. The path to fighting Buddy in his brutish form was as harrowing as ever, but Henry's mind was set. He left cans of soup out for the Butcher Gang, oiled the joints of the octopus ride Bertrum Piedmont's disembodied head resided in, talked to the animatronic despite having no proof that it actually moved, and even greeted the Ink Demon from within the Little Miracle Station where it always fought the Projectionist. Henry could practically feel Joey's outrage at his nonchalant actions. His carefree actions despite the hopelessness of his situation. Of their situation. Then when he met with Tom and Allison, he promptly disarmed himself and offered them his tools,before accepting captivity without a word. Once questioned, he gave them the honest truth. Hard to believe, but Allison was not as suspicious as her canine companion. It wasn't difficult to give her the proof she needed to know he was being genuine. Pity to see her so crushed that there really was no escape in their foreseeable future. Not just yet. But still a possibility. After all, the others were remembering with each gesture of kindness he offered them.   "Joey wants us to feel less than human." He told the not-quite-angel. "It's how he keeps us in the linearity of his failed ending. He can't accept that he can't win."   "But neither can we. Otherwise we'd already be free?" Allison sighed, Tom offering her a gentle pay with his good arm as they left the Harbour.   "Maybe, but giving up hope is the last thing I'd ever do. Then I'd just be letting him win." Henry calmly replied,ready to plummet very soon as he began walking over the precarious boards. "Joey is a man who dreams big. What he never did was have any faith in said dreams… Instead he forced others to do it for him. I'm tired of being his scapegoat, and maybe we won't get out today or tomorrow, but there's only so much he can throw at me until he gives in."   "So we outlive his dreams?" Allison asked.   "No. We just outlive Joey instead." With that said, Henry walked forward and felt as light as a feather as he fell into the depths. There was one last person to show some decency to. Even the demon deserved a gesture of kindness.

-

     Joey Drew was furious. For all that he'd spoke of belief and dreams in his many speeches he knew that Henry Stein, that stubborn fool, was right. There was only so much he could throw into the plot before he grew tired. His body was already giving in to time itself, and he'd never quite perfected his methods enough that he could make himself a reliable new form. Not without risking becoming one of the abominations… Buddy Lewek's Boris had been a fluke. A lucky match. The rest? The rest were adamant to not be what he'd set them to be reborn as. Even Susie had failed to emulate the character she so loved. And Henry? Oh his blood boiled… Why couldn't Henry give in?! Joey was so close,so close to getting his perfect Bendy. If the traitor would just let the Ink Demon consume him!

     A knock on the door caused him to rip up his storyboard with the ink pen he'd been using. Cursing himself, Joey crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash can besides his desk. Already it was overflowing with similarly crumpled papers covered in ink stains. Looking at the clock, a few more profanities spewed from his mouth as he turned his wheelchair around. Who, for the love of God, was knocking on his door at 3AM?! Wheeling himself over, Joey practically ripped the door open.   "What?!" He didn't care if he was rude. His mood was completely sour and he hated being interrupted. To his shock and confusion, he was met with a face he thought he'd never get to see again. Nathan Arch smiled down at him with that unnerving toothy smile of his.   "Hello to you too, Mr. Drew." Joey blinked up at his old friend and rival. He hadn't heard from Arch since… Since he'd bought the studio and the Bendy IP… What could he possibly want now, when he'd already taken so much?   "Mr. Arch." He regained his composure. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"   "Oh, just dropping by to discuss something… Something very interesting." The man used his leg to gently push Joey out of his way, arms crossed behind his back as he invited himself in and began looking around. Joey glared behind his back and closed the door.   "At 3AM? Even for you, a punctual man, this is a bit much." He stated as he uneasily observed Nathan as he looked through his storyboards. "Couldn't it have waited until a more reasonable hour?"   "Since when were we reasonable men, Joey? Especially when you've been so… Cruel to me." The other turned to stare at him, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "The machine… Joey. You took the machine."   "Of course I did. It's mine." And no one else's. Not that fool Thomas Connor's, nor GENT's. The Ink Machine was his and his alone. "Yours is the studio and even my work. But the machine will never not be mine."   "Oh, that's where you're wrong. You see,the GENT contract you signed stated that it belongs to the studio… Thus, it belongs to me." Nathan stalked over, arms coming to rest on Joey's shoulder. "It's as simple as that."   "Not quite. As it is, it can't be moved…"   "Ah yes. Your little… Project." Nathan chuckled. "Show me. Show me the homunculus…"

     There was no saying no to Mr. Arch, and no actual way he’d be able to physically force him out, so Joey complied to his request. Wheeling back into his office where the machine resided, Nathan followed and watched with glee as Joey called upon the Ink Demon itself. It stood there, in all its despicably gruesome glory, staring at both men without visible eyes. It shrunk away from Joey, just as it always had.   "It's magnificent…" the awe in Nathan's voice was disturbing.   "It's a freak of nature." Joey hissed. "Imperfect and incomplete."   "In who's eyes, dear friend? Here stands defiance to God's will. Life created by the creation." The Ink Demon shivered, holding it's head in its mismatched hands. Trying to block out their words. "Why throw it away so eagerly just because it didn't correctly follow the template?"   "Because it's not enough! It needs to be perfect! It needs to be all we've ever dreamed of!"   "We? Oh Joey darling… did you really think creating a living toon would ever bring back your beloved Henry? Did you think he'd ever want you? When he had such a lovely girl that could give him what you never could?" Nathan laughed cruelly. "Henry Stein left you, because you were a selfish boar. And then you were so hung up on trying to win him back with extravagance that you couldn't stop and see what you already had! God above Joey, you were so desperate you hired a mere child that reminded you of Henry, only to torture him the same way you tortured your employees…"

The Ink Demon looked to them again, flinching when Nathan stalked forward and grabbed it by the chin.   "This, Joey, is not a failure! It's the doorway to immortality. A vessel of timelessness. A godly power that you rejected vehemently." Nathan's eyes were becoming crazed, that dangerous spark devolving into an inescapable madness and anger. "For what end exactly? To give it away to some shmuck that could never truly appreciate it?! Well… that won't do. That won't do at all!"

And without warning Nathan Arch did something Joey couldn't believe he'd ever dare. He plunged a fist into the Ink Demon itself, and tore out it's heart.   "NO!"   "If you won't accept this gift, then I shall!"

There was nothing to be done. The ink demon shrieked and soon the machine began its work. Ink flowed out of the nozzle, mixing with the distorting melting figure of the demon and pulling both it, and both men inside. As the world around them passed by, Joey could only watch as the ink began to claim both his form and the form of the one who dared intrude in his project. They both fell with a wet splat, a large puddle, before taking two very distinct newly reborn and remade forms. One a towering grinning demon with disturbingly human teeth. The other a little devil in a suit. The studio was without a narrator. This was the end.

[seansaboutacity]

#2 collaboration - Eileen

It’s a great pleasure for me to collaborate with Eileen Gbagbo. Eileen’s been a wonderful friend that I’ve got to know since first year, and ever since she’s inspired me to be creative and write poetry, whilst maintaining a close interest in social justice issues.

I asked Eileen to collaborate with me and write a poem about the theme of ‘desire’.

So without further ado, here is Eileen’s poem followed by discussion:

East London nights 

Last night the Thames flooded  And the underground broke  The sky looked like an iPhone on power saving mode  My room, an influencer’s Friday night.  We drank sangria and sung fuck Boris  Two times and louder for the people at the back -  Ha, we were going to hell. 

Buttons flung off in iambs Our tongues danced in trochees  And thus began our descent.  One thousand and one nights of seven sensual sins  Feeding on insatiable desire,  uncontrollable explosion,  excessive pursuit of the erogenous  with sloth like strokes  your personal became my prerogative  shea butter breasts for your indulgence  we came to the flames like Icarus –  pray for us, that was devilish.

Comments

My first impression of the poem is a hedonistic, pleasure-seeking vibe. How do you relate this with your ideas of desire?

Desire is such a primal thing and it manifests itself in lust, jealousy etc. So when I was thinking about this poem, it reminded me of Dante’s seven steps to hell and so just took it to the extreme. 

Straight off the bat, you use the imagery of the Thames. It’s a funny coincidence that I also mention the Thames in my poem - before I even saw yours. What did you intend by using the Thames as imagery?

Haha yeah, when I read yours, I got so excited by the Thames imagery! There are many iconic things about London to tourists, but for the locals, we’ve got the Thames - which is great. It’s a source of regional pride even though its quite possibly one of the most unstable rivers in the UK. And so, using the Thames was to root down the sense of place but also set the feel of the poem as quite messy.

I feel like I’m in the scene when I read your poem - the rowdiness, drunkenness, chaos. What do you think poetry can do to capture the experience of being somewhere? Are there limits to this?

This is quite an interesting question. Because my favourite poems through history have been used as a form of resistance, and they have endured and are still relevant today because of the intricate ability to abstract individuality and create consonance between the subject(s) and reader of the poems. For example, Pablo Neruda in his later political poetry does this so well. But there are also limits. Language does have boundaries unfortunately and so it can never be truly universal.

I love the juxtaposition between swearing and drawing on ‘high culture’ like Icarus - it’s rude, in your face but flows. It’s like your breaking down distinctions between high and low culture - anyone’s welcome in poetry. What do you think about that?

There’s something seductive about ‘high culture’ which I think is quite interesting. It’s almost like in Hollywood movies when everyone’s attracted to the British guy that speaks like the queen and uses unnecessary posh lexicon. But it’s funny that London actually invites you to both simultaneously. Take LSE for example, you have some of the world’s most brilliant minds interacting with each other, dissecting complex theories, but on a Wednesday night, we go to Zoo. And so, poetry that doesn’t encompass all of that is quite reductive.

My poem on the theme of ‘desire’:

waterloo bridge, after sunset

I think I'm going to fly why else do my legs feel like wings better yet birds unfurling flapping in the gusts of wind in the afternoon we played with the plain ignorance of friends under the table the same legs had whispered secrets told stories folded flipped over like chopsticks dividing dishes into bites of food

look at the Thames at dusk the water looks oily and slick like the collar of your leather jacket but you are more slick my oil that greases wheels no abandons them like stabilisers on a child's bicycle

do you know how I’ve longed for this for longer nights my days spent chasing faraway sights or snatches of air now my wind you could take me away roll me into tumbleweed but one cleansed of dust swept up from the past

so take me away dark waters you fill me as we cross into Waterloo the sun replaced by the twilight blue

let strange things come out to play at night

Comments

First of all, I love your poem! I love the use of both natural and quite industrial imagery. What did you intend with this?

Thank you! I like to use both natural and industrial imagery because I think London is made up of both - you can see big skyscrapers right next to residential areas or green space, which makes London so unique as a mix of influences.

I think ultimately London’s messy that way - London’s really a big town which swallowed up surrounding areas in an unplanned way, so different parts of London still retain their original character.

Your poem on desire is so different from mine, what was your interpretation of the theme, and what inspired this reaction? And also, the imagery of Waterloo bridge… I don't think I've ever seen it that calm before, but you also transported me into that world. Why did you use perhaps a not so popular image of Waterloo bridge?

I think desire is a very personal experience for me. But I wanted to explore the contradiction of having such intimate and sensitive feelings shared with someone else, and it removes the distance and detachment we sometimes feel from others.

Waterloo bridge served firstly as a physical reminder that the narrator in the poem is crossing boundaries, and for him it’s an exhilarating experience. I think I’m trying to reclaim some personal identity from how anonymising living in London can feel. Waterloo bridge is crossed by hundreds if not thousands of commuters everyday who stay strangers to us living their own lives. Being able to narrate a personal story means resisting that anonymity, and how it can whitewash our experiences into something dull and functional. But there’s also some vulnerability, because the anonymity can feel overwhelming and drowning.

I didn’t notice the calmness actually - that wasn’t intended. But thinking about it that way, I think I wanted the poem to be centred on the narrator’s experiences - so perhaps the exterior calmness contrasted with how wild his inner emotions were.

General comments

Sean asking questions for Eileen:

We first met each other, I think, in our political theory class. There’s an idea generally in social sciences that we can’t be subjective, but Plato and other theorists regularly use metaphoric analogies like Plato’s cave. What do you think about the distinction between objective and subjective?

I think trying to achieve objectivity is so hard and not worth it. The human experience is too varied to try and form some order to truth or justice etc. This really goes back to the production of knowledge which is hierarchical and colonial and so even with something that we claim to be universally true like ‘Shakespeare is the greatest English writer of all time’, is actually enforced by the powerful. So personally, I think we must do more to celebrate the individual rather than seeking this optimal collective objectiveness. Because by doing so, we don’t run the risk of erasing histories and identities in favour of one which is no more universal than the other. I guess that’s why I like poetry as a medium because it gives you the freedom to do both in such an intricate way.

I’ve also written a piece for Black History Month for the Beaver - which you did an amazing job editing. I wrote about the intersection between race and sexuality, using the film Moonlight to help illuminate my ideas. What are your thoughts on the intersection between gender, race and sexuality?

I absolutely loved your piece! It was one of the best reviews and commentary on the film I've read. I think I should ask you this question, because nothing I could say would be as nuanced as what you wrote.

I had a discussion with friends about ‘when do become a man/woman’. I had initially thought that it was a combination of physical and societal factors, ie you go through puberty and you are now considered a woman, or you have certain mannerisms which are gendered as feminine. But actually, that's still quite binary and not universal at all. So, I’m still learning more about these intersections.

Sometimes I’ve found it hard to connect my cultural interests with my political interests - I could watch a really interesting movie which comments on society like Moonlight, but find it hard to make a difference in the real world afterwards. What do you think about doing social activism in cultural interests?

Me too! Social activism is quite fulfilling personally. Especially if it is an issue that is close to home, but you find yourself in the privileged position to offer help. And this can take various forms including protesting, writing think pieces, mentoring, to name a few. But I think we need to tread carefully and evaluate the sentiments behind our convictions to go ahead with social activism in cultural interests. Or else, we run the risk of becoming compassion fatigued, in which we are outraged by an issue because its close to home or we can empathise, and then we pursue activism only to pat ourselves on the back or to make us feel better. I think that is quite dangerous and unsustainable really. 

You write poetry yourself, and you showed me through your work that you can be creative, but also passionate and political about what you write. What’s the next step for you with poetry or creative writing?

Thank you! Your poetry is incredible too. For me, I want to perform more. But in terms of writing, I am experimenting with poetry from the Ghana & the Volta region. So using more Ewe and incorporating more historical knowledge into poetry. I’m really excited!

Eileen’s questions for Sean:

When we first spoke about this project, you mentioned ‘sense of place’. What do you love about London and why did you want to capture that?

My first answer is a cynical one. I love London because I don’t know anything else. I’ve grown up in London from a really small age and I’ve studied at uni here for two years. Now I’m leaving London to study abroad, even though I know I’m coming back, I feel emotional and feel like this is the end of a chapter for me.

My friends have really helped to make my experience in London. The crucial thing is that they chose to be my friends, and so stay there with me through thick and thin. I’ve been through difficult times at uni, navigating and generally trying to ‘adult’. But it’s been so comforting to know that my friends are there - and I could never express sufficiently enough how grateful I am for that.

Maybe this poetry project is a nice leaving gift for London, and for my friends. It’s really my way of saying goodbye. I hope you enjoy!

In the creative field, there is a lot of talk about representation. What are your thoughts on this, and where do you think poetry can fit in?

I think representation is so important. I think there has to be representation everywhere - on screen, but also decision-makers and people at the top. I think there has to be a whole cultural shift where we have everyone’s stories being told and represented, so audiences can see themselves and feel included in the things they see.

With that said, I think there’s a limit. I think discussion about representation can make us ignore wider structural change that we should see in society. If we limit discussion of social change to cultural issues, then we could construct an us v them dynamic, which is counter-intuitive to the cause of social diversity if we imagine our differences as rooted in fixed or essential characteristics. When I think about social problems, I try to find a common-denominator solution - what would make everyone happy? And I think the case for representation is that it would help to lift up under-represented social groups onto an equitable level with traditionally over-represented groups. I recognise this approach might seem reductive and smooth over historic social divisions which continue to disadvantage minority groups. But we should agree on one thing - diversity is the future, so the challenge and the opportunity now is to figure out how to harness it, so that everyone feels like they belong in society.

Poetry’s seeing a revival. I’m excited about getting more involved in it. I think friends like you and who I’ve collaborated with have really helped to boost my confidence and make me think seriously about doing poetry more in the future. I don’t think my story’s been told before, and that’s really sad if people from similar ethnic or cultural backgrounds as me are funnelled into careers their parents want them to do without really exploring alternative creative stuff. So I’m happy to just show up and speak up. And things happen if they will. It reminds me of a quote from my favourite book called ‘The Alchemist’ by Paulo Coelho - if you want something, the world conspires to help you get it.

I would love to hear more about your thoughts on the intersection between race, gender and sexuality?

That’s a really big question!

I think conversations about it relate with intersectionality. It’s so important to keep highlighting intersectionality, how inter-connected disadvantages or social groups can be.

But I think there’s a chance to restore agency to individuals who share minority status in multiple categories. I think sometimes social categories can be reductive, like figuring out how oppressed you are becomes this social arithmetic.

But we should remind ourselves that these terms are nominal anyway - they’re socially constructed, to sound like a broken record. So while we should be aware of different ways we can socially relate with others, we shouldn’t feel held back by these terms either from stopping us from doing what we want to do in life. The danger is that if we define ourselves solely by these labels, we put ourselves in boxes and fix ourselves, allowing these labels to become a self-fulfilling prophecy if we perform to their expectations.

I think we should feel empowered by our social identities. We should balance two needs fulfilled by them - to feel solidarity with people with similar grievances, but to build the emotional resilience to be ourselves and resist conforming with others.

But specifically about sexuality? I think I’ve been interested in sexuality because it crosses the public/private dichotomy, the interior/exterior dichotomy which many of our social institutions are built on. Sexuality is subversive, radical and it can be transformative - it has the potential to be a creative and productive force in society if we relaxed our attitudes towards it.

For me, sexuality is like a Mobius strip. You walk along it long enough and you eventually talk about other issues, like politics, family or the economy. Sex is constructive of many discourses of power. And power runs through everything.

I’m so excited about your writing journey! Where did it begin and where are you hoping to take it to next?

Thank you!

It began really when I was a small child in primary school. I was really shy growing up and I would read a lot of books. As a child, I even wanted to grow up and become an author. I didn’t write poems but I wrote short stories and even a novel which wasn’t any good but was nice trying to write.

I don’t know where I’ll go with my writing! The most challenging but most exciting part of writing is that I pull a lot of it from my life experiences. I feel like the more I test myself with life experiences and learn who I am from them, the more I have to say in my writing. And that annoys me because I get bored of writing and feel like I run out of things to say, but it excites me because it tells me to get out in the world more and explore.

Put it this way - life is a journey, and writing is just a way of putting my experiences on the road on paper. I’ve got a long way to go, but it definitely feels like I’m getting there.