#who are they keeping up appearances for if the entire entanglement is kept secret from everyone they know? well thats [GUNSHOT]

[goldrushzukka]

something something something azuki where they hate each other but accidentally start to love each other but god they cant *do* anything abt it bc they *hate* each other so they just sit there as one of them leaves to get an uber home but just takes a second too long to stare wondering where it all went wrong and masking it all with even more hate sex. they make me insane too btw <3

bestie this is just the aidays companion fic

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

behind the curtain

Summary: Sequel to never been (stage) kissed. After shooting wraps, you and Ruby part ways. Eight months later, you see each other again at the premiere screening, and decide to “sneak away” during the after-party. How will you two navigate the paparazzi after they catch you in a compromising position?

Pairing: ruby cruz x actress!reader

Contains: mature language, adult humor, kissing, angst, fluff, hair playing, secret relationship trope, brief mention of an ED, publicity tweets and comments, invasive tabloids, the price of fame

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is a sequel to my previous RPF, so the RPF Guidelines still stand. This fic contains a very brief mentioning towards an ED, and should not be triggering (at least I don’t think so). I am not insinuating anything by this mention, it is simply meant to shed light on how invasive and presumptuous Hollywood can be. That being said, I had the most fun EVER writing this! Enjoy! :)

———

Ever since the first “kissing lesson,” you and Ruby had spent every on-set lunch break in her trailer. Nothing ever progressed beyond kissing, but with the way Ruby’s hands entangled themselves in your hair, and how she shivered every time your hand grazed her thigh, kissing was really all you needed.

Your mid-day rendezvous were kept a secret from the rest of the world. None of the cast or crew knew exactly what was happening when the door to Ruby’s trailer closed, but it was clear that something was working. Since the trailer lunches began, your on-set chemistry became palpable. It even got to the point where the director would shout words of praise after “cut!”

Eventually, like with all movies, filming began to wrap up. The last day on set, you and Ruby spent all of your down time wrapped in each other's arms, tears falling at the thought of parting. Everyone on set sympathized with the both of you, except for the makeup artist who kept having to touch up your alien makeup after every fallen tear.

You and Ruby promised to keep in touch, and you did for a little while. But daily FaceTimes eventually became weekly phone calls, which turned into sporadic texts, until silence settled between you, save for occasional likes on social media posts. You missed her terribly, and while your pride and fear of rejection kept you from reaching back out, you couldn’t help but wonder if she was missing you too.

About eight months after shooting wrapped for “Aliens of Atlantis,” you were going over sides for an upcoming audition when you got a call from your agent. Upon answering, she announced that “Aliens of Atlantis” post-production had wrapped, and the film had a scheduled premiere where the cast would be making an appearance.

A blissful daze settled across your face at this news. Your agent kept on talking about the when, the where, and the dress code of the upcoming premiere, but you were only half-listening. Her words mushed together, flying in one ear and out the other as the only thing that mattered to you consumed your mind.

You were going to see Ruby again.

On the morning of the premiere, you woke up with a knot in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if the cause was nerves or excitement, but you chalked it up to probably being a little of both. You tried everything to settle your stomach, from aspirin to deep breaths to simply distracting yourself with other tasks. Despite your attempts, when your driver arrived later in the day to take you to the premiere, the knot was still there and prominent as ever.

By the time you had arrived and were about to get out of the car, the knot had seemingly spread throughout your entire body, making you feel like an absolute disaster. You took out your phone and checked your reflection in the front-facing camera, just to remind yourself that you weren’t. In fact, you looked good. You were wearing a metallic blue floor-length gown as a not-so subtle nod to your alien character from the movie. Pale blue eyeshadow decorated your eyelids, and you left your hair down in loose face-framing curls. You knew the press would go crazy as soon as they saw you, and that thought alone gave you enough of a confidence boost to calm down a bit.

When the car pulled up to the red carpet, you took a deep breath and stepped out, immediately being bombarded with cameras flashing in your face. You blinked, overwhelmed at the bright lights, and quickly attempted to paste on a smile and act like this wasn’t your first red carpet event.

You stumbled down the red carpet and looked around for Ruby, but the constant camera flashes and bright lights made it difficult to see much. Every now and then you would stop to strike a pose and flash a pretty smile in some random direction, or answer one of the million questions being thrown at you.

“Who are you wearing?”

A fucking blue dress. “Valdrin Sahiti!”

“How do you feel about your first red carpet event?”

Overwhelmed. “So excited!”

“What are you most looking forward to tonight?”

Seeing Ruby again. “Everyone finally getting to see all the hard work from the cast and crew!”

After what felt like an eternity of paparazzi and bullshit answers to trivial questions, the end of the red carpet was finally approaching. You felt yourself let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It wasn’t easy, but you managed to make it down your first red carpet without making a complete fool of yourself.

Eventually, the cameras seemed to dissipate, focusing on the next pretty young thing that had just arrived. You blinked, trying to restore your vision infringed upon by the blinding lights. Once you could see in front of you again, you looked up, and a gulp forced itself down your throat at what might have been the prettiest sight you’d ever seen.

There, standing at the end of the red carpet, was Ruby Cruz, radiant amidst the flashing lights.

Her gown was long and form-fitting, sporting bright streaks of color and a slit up one of her legs. Dark brown curls hovered above her shoulders and cascaded down the back of her neck, while glittery red eyeshadow made her blue eyes pop. She looked so natural, posing and smiling for the cameras, that you couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of her.

Upon seeing you, Ruby’s eyes brightened, and a goofy grin spread across her face. She walked towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist and instantly making the cameras go wild. Your cheeks flushed into a bright pink tint. You missed her touch, and having her arm wrapped around you like that almost felt like deja vu.

While the both of you posed for the flashing cameras, Ruby leaned down to your ear and whispered one single sentence, the answer to a question you didn’t need to ask.

“I missed you.”

Unsurprisingly, the movie premiere turned out to be a massive success. The audience was extremely receptive to the storyline, cheering and gasping at all the right moments. Critics even approached you after the screening to rave about your performance and promise a glowing review.

The after-party was held at a nearby banquet hall, decorated to look like the underwater city of Atlantis. Filk music blasted through speakers while an open bar served space-themed cocktails.

You were busy making your rounds, establishing connections with other attendees while sipping a ‘cosmonaut’ from the open bar. While posing for a photo with a fan, you couldn’t help but realize you hadn’t seen Ruby in a bit. You craned your neck to look for her, but she was nowhere to be found. You shrugged it off, thinking it’s just a big venue and you’d probably run into her at some point during the night.

After several photos, impromptu interviews, and business cards you had nowhere to put, you were exhausted. You tried to make yourself as invisible as possible, leaning against a curtain by the back wall and downing the last sip of your cocktail.

While scanning the room, you noticed some of your castmates appeared slightly tipsy. You felt bad for them, knowing their press interviews would come off as less than professional, but there was a small part of you that wished you had more to drink throughout the night. The party was fun, sure, but took a lot out of you, and alcohol was sure to make it more tolerable.

Suddenly, while you were immersed in watching a crew member profusely apologize to an intern she had drunkenly stumbled into, you felt a disembodied hand appear out of nowhere and wrap around your arm. The hand pulled you behind the curtain you were leaning against, causing you to gasp and drop your empty cup.

You whipped around to see who grabbed you, preparing to throw a punch or scream for help if you had to. Instead, your eyes softened and you lowered your fist upon seeing Ruby, standing there staring at you with a devilish smirk.

“Hi pretty girl.” She cooed, taking a step towards you.

“Ruby…” you half-whispered in shock, eyes traveling up and down her body. “What are you doing?”

“I missed you,” she rested her hands on your hips and bit her lip, letting an ounce of vulnerability shine through her otherwise confident exterior. “I missed this. I feel like we barely got to see each other all night.”

“Me too,” you responded, internally melting at the feeling of her warm hands on your torso.

You wrapped your arms around her neck and leaned close to her before a sense of paranoia made you backtrack. “Ruby, it’s a big party, what if someone sees us?”

Ruby simply shrugged, completely unbothered. “Like you said, it’s a big party. Our castmates are drunk, the press is too focused on capturing their embarrassing moments.”

Her words seemed to reassure you, and you pulled her close to you again, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. “I’m glad you pulled me away.”

Ruby crashed her lips against yours, forcing a soft moan to escape your throat. She pulled back, looking deep into your eyes and holding your face in her hands.

“Careful now. We don’t want anyone hearing us.”

You nodded, non-verbally promising to keep quiet before Ruby brought her lips to yours again. Both of you sighed into the kiss, eight months of absence making itself prominent with passion. She tasted like sweet nostalgia with a hint of coconut rum, probably leftover from a drink she had earlier.

Ruby pressed herself against you, and you grabbed at the back of her neck, desperate to be as close to her as possible. She kept her hands planted at your waist, thumbing over the metallic fabric of your gown. Each time her fingertips pressed into your sides sent electrifying shocks through your body, making your knees stutter and causing you to lean more into Ruby for balance.

You brought your hands up to play with one of her curls, prompting a gentle sigh to travel from her mouth into yours. A smirk appeared on your lips, realizing your beloved brunette enjoyed having her hair played with.

Just when you were about to fully take advantage of this newfound information, a sudden crash engulfed your ears, followed by a blinding light and a collective gasp. You and Ruby pulled away from each other, turning your heads to check out the commotion.

One of the interns had drunkenly stumbled into the curtain and pulled it down with him as he fell, leaving you and Ruby entangled in each other and completely exposed to the rest of the party.

All hell broke loose. Interviewers screamed questions from across the room while paparazzi cameras flashed in your face. Those without cameras pulled out their phones and filmed the both of you, desperate for their fifteen minutes of fame.

Anxiety overtook your body as you felt a lump rise to your throat and your heart sink to your feet. You turned to look at Ruby, eyes full of fear, but she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking straight at the flashing cameras, with an expression that made your blood run cold.

You had never seen her bright blue eyes filled with so much anger.

The pit in your stomach grew as you scrolled through the tabloid headlines and Twitter articles featuring your and Ruby’s “stunt” from the other night. This was bad. So bad, that both of your agents had gotten together to hire a public relations manager just for the situation.

Two days after the movie premiere, an emergency meeting was called. Five of you were called to the manager’s office, with both of your agents sitting on either side of him, and you and Ruby placed across from the three of them.

The manager, named Rick, held out his hand and you gave him his phone back, sick of scrolling through the headlines anyway. As far as you could tell, Rick didn’t seem like a bad guy, but it was clear Ruby didn’t feel the same. She hadn’t said a word throughout the entire meeting, instead keeping her arms crossed in front of her chest and pointing a cold glare towards the man in front of her.

She didn’t trust him, and everyone in the room knew it.

Rick gave the both of you a sheepish grin. “As you both can probably see, you’re kind of the flavor of the week right now.”

Ruby’s agent nodded in agreement. “I have a friend in New York, and she heard a rumor about an SNL sketch being written about the whole thing.”

Your agent sighed, clearly having heard the rumor herself. Ruby simply scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Is it really that big of a deal?” You piped up.

All eyes turned to look at you, making you shrink in your seat. “I mean, can’t we just wait for it to blow over? All we did was kiss at an after party.”

“It’s not like we were fucking, Rick.” Ruby growled through her teeth, causing a blush to appear on your cheeks.

Rick cleared his throat, uncomfortable with Ruby’s candidness. “Well it’s not really that simple…”

“No one knows what you are.” Your agent interrupted. “All the public knows is you were caught going at it like teenagers in a basement, and now the media is going to be on top of everything you do until they figure it out.”

Ruby’s agent nodded. “Before this, we wanted you both to appear single to the public. You’re both very attractive girls. People want you, and we want them to think they can have you.”

“But that’s not really an option now.” Rick pointed out. “Fortunately, both of you have pretty reputable status in Hollywood. People see two of their favorite actresses together, feedback is bound to be mostly positive.”

He opened up a notepad in front of him and started scribbling down something you couldn’t quite make out.

“I’m thinking, we take this relationship and go completely public. Social media posts, dates open to the paparazzi, everything. That way, the media won’t have to do any guess work and this whole thing will blow over sooner.”

Suddenly, Ruby stood up from her seat and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Ruby!” Her agent called after her.

She turned to flash an apologetic smile towards all the shocked faces staring back at her. “I’m sorry. She’s not usually like this. I’ll talk to her.”

She ran out of the room after Ruby, leaving Rick and your agent to go over the details of the plan. Their voices faded into the background as millions of thoughts swam through your mind. You had a bad feeling about this ‘public relationship’ idea.

How were you supposed to go public with your relationship, when you weren’t even sure if there was a relationship to go public with?

You adjusted your oversized hat and sunglasses while staring up at the cafe sign that read “Grind n’ Dine,” shuddering at the slightly suggestive name.

One week after the meeting with Rick, he worked with your agents to schedule a public date for you and Ruby, tipping off the press to make sure there was media coverage. Grind n’ Dine, a local business, had apparently paid Rick a large sum of money to schedule your date here in the hopes that the publicity would be good for business.

Taking a deep breath, you walked in through the restaurant doors and looked around. Several members of the press were already present, wearing cameras around their necks and sipping coffee at various tables. You breathed out a sigh of relief that they didn’t recognize you yet, thankful for your agent who suggested arriving in disguise.

In the very back of the restaurant, tucked into a booth, you spotted Ruby hiding behind a menu. She had her body and hair buried under a large black hoodie, and masked her face with sunglasses similar to yours. You made your way over to her, trying to act natural, and making sure to avoid press members as much as possible in case they recognize you before you’re ready.

You slid into the seat across from her and cleared your throat to alert her of your presence. She put down her menu and laid it flat, before tilting her sunglasses down to meet your eyes.

Her blue eyes, once lively and bright, were now bloodshot and emotionless. Dark circles hung like bags underneath them, as if she hadn’t slept in days. You felt a sharp pang in your chest. Ruby had never looked at you this way before, and you wished more than anything that she would stop.

“Ready for this?” She asked, her voice monotone and lifeless.

You gulped, nodding defeatedly. “As I’ll ever be.”

Ruby removed her sunglasses and pulled down her hood, shaking out her wild brunette locks. You followed suit, taking off your hat and slipping your sunglasses into your purse.

Almost immediately, members of the press recognized the both of you, and practically trampled the poor servers and other diners to get to your booth. Cameras were suddenly shoved in your face, followed by microphones and what felt like hundreds of pointless and rather invading questions.

“Is this a date? How would you define your relationship?”

“If you had to describe your sex life using only three words, what would they be?”

“Ruby! Do you think every liberal democrat should take home a migrant to show their support for the proposed open border policy?”

The two of you mumbled terse responses to some of the questions, and completely ignored others. After several minutes of verbal torture, a perky blonde waitress fought her way through the press and stopped at the end of your table. She sported a wide politician's smile not directed at the two of you, instead flashed to the surrounding cameras in search of fifteen minutes of fame.

“Hi guys,” she started, her voice unnaturally high pitched. “My name is Bethany, what can I get started for you today?”

“I’ll have a quinoa salad and cranberry juice, please.” You answered, handing Bethany your menu.

The press murmured imperceptible comments regarding your order, some even scribbling notes on napkins. “Quinoa… salad…”

“Just a coffee’s fine.” Ruby mumbled, order being followed by press comments as well.

As soon as Bethany walked away, the paparazzi shoved the cameras back in your face and bombarded you and Ruby with questions once more.

“Did you order cranberry juice because you like cranberry juice or because you have a UTI? How did you get this UTI?”

“I noticed you were the only one who ordered food. Could it be because you’re eating for two?”

“Speaking of, why didn’t you order food, Ruby? Are you battling some kind of eating disorder? Would you like to comment on it?”

“Enough!” Ruby exclaimed, perhaps louder than she should have.

Immediately, the press was silent, with only the sound of sporadic camera clicks being heard. Ruby turned to look at you, tears starting to well in her tired eyes.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this…” she whispered, getting up and running out of the restaurant.

“Ruby! Wait, please!” You stood up and ran after her, leaving the paparazzi in the dust behind you.

You found Ruby leaning against a building across the cafe. She had her head resting against the cool brick, and her face pointed to the sky while she blinked back tears threatening to fall.

A lump formed in your throat as you started to approach her. You couldn’t stand to see her like this. She looked so… miserable.

“Ruby…” you muttered softly, reaching out your hand.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the concrete, refusing to look you in the eye. “I just wasn’t hungry! It’s barely ten in the fucking morning!”

You sighed. “Ruby, we both know that’s not what this is about. What’s going on?”

She sniffed, and focused her gaze on something behind you. “Can we… go somewhere else?”

Turning to see what Ruby was looking at, you noticed a teenage girl filming the two of you on her phone. You rolled your eyes, completely exasperated at this point.

“Let’s go.” You muttered, grabbing her hand to pull her away.

It didn’t take long to find a nearby alleyway, deserted except for an empty dumpster. You dragged Ruby into the back, letting go of her hand once the coast was clear.

“Talk.”

The pale brunette pushed her bangs out of her face, blinking a couple times while gathering her thoughts.

“I just… this is why my Instagram is private. This is why I’ve never explicitly labeled my sexuality. This is why I rarely talk about my personal life! I don’t want the media invading my space! I don’t want random strangers knowing intimate details about my life! It’s fucking freaky!”

You nodded, understanding her perspective, especially as you’d been recently dealing with the wrath of the paparazzi as well. She continued.

“I mean fuck! I can’t even order a damn coffee without some tabloid claiming I have a fucking eating disorder!”

Her breathing seemed to be evening out the more she spoke. She let out a shuddering breath and crossed her arms, staring at the gravel beneath her feet.

“I just… I just wanted to kiss you at an after-party. I missed you. And now everyone’s forcing us to be in this relationship and make it public but…”

“But no one asked us if we were even together,” you finished.

She nodded. “Exactly! We never even had a conversation just between us. Everyone just assumed.”

You pulled the brunette girl into your arms, wrapping them around her torso. She buried her face in the crook of your neck as you stroked her soft locks.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “If I had known that’s how you felt…”

“No.” She interrupted. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t do anything, I… listen…”

She pulled away, and you felt a pit form in your stomach. You waited for her to tell you that she didn’t want to see you again, that it was too hard, that it meant nothing.

You held your breath as she took your face in her hands, her blue eyes piercing into yours.

“I like you.”

“You… huh?” Shock painted your features as Ruby said the last thing you were expecting to hear.

“I like you.” She repeated, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned. “I meant it when I said I missed you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire eight months we didn’t talk. I should have reached out more, I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess I was scared? I don’t know…”

She was babbling, and you didn’t think she could get any cuter. You took her hands off your face and held them in yours, flashing her an encouraging smile.

“I like you too,” you replied giddily. “More than you know.”

Ruby chuckled, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. She stared down at the gravel again, chewing on her lip before speaking.

“I like you… I really do, but if we’re gonna start this… something, I’d want to take it slow and be completely private. No socials, no media, at least for now. Would… that be something you’re okay with?”

You squeezed her hands, flashing her a goofy grin. “I would… love that, actually.”

As you stared at your former celebrity crush, turned co-star, turned friend, turned… something, a wave of courage suddenly washed over you. Letting go of her hands, you seized her face and brought your lips to hers, tentatively, testing the waters. She gasped, but soon kissed back, sighing as she wrapped her arms around your neck and leaned into your body.

You moved your hand towards the back of her neck, then slowly inched upwards until your fingers were entangled in her hair. An almost inaudible moan escaped her lips and vibrated against yours as you played with her soft tresses. You smirked into the kiss, remembering exactly how much she liked having her hair played with before getting caught at the after-party.

Finally, after what could have been an eternity, you pulled away from each other. The two of you gasped for breath, both smiling like giddy children at the other.

“So… what now?” You asked breathlessly.

Ruby hummed to herself, seemingly in thought. “We could… go on a real date? Just you and me? No paparazzi. There’s this great little hole-in-the-wall place I like to go to when I don’t want to get recognized.”

You tilted your head, shooting her a lopsided smile. “That sounds perfect, actually.”

Before leaving the alleyway, Ruby put her sunglasses back on and pulled her hood over her head again, while you dug your sunglasses out of your purse and readjusted your hat. The two of you were disguised, hidden from the world, but happy to be able to pursue each other away from public opinion.

Ruby reached out her hand, her blue eyes somehow still managing to shine behind her sunglasses. “Ready for this?”

You smiled back at her, taking her hand and intertwining her fingers with yours. “As I’ll ever be.”

[daxieoclock]

Deja Vu Q&A

As an accompaniment to the last Deja Vu chapter of 2022, I’ve compiled a list of questions about the fic - and my process - from my friends, allies, compatriots, comrades and accomplices, and I will here be answering them. I hope you all enjoy.

Thanks to @lilyhoshikawa​ @superrabbittank​ @triskaidekaphilist​ and @mcpuliot​ for their assistance in compiling these.

Ralu: Since this is a really long story that has already celebrated some birthdays, and you have a lot of scenes/ideas already planned a long time since they appeared - I know you made some changes around the beginning, when the story started to form into what it is now (like the differences between Anachronism and our Ren), but what about things that have happened only recently, or are presumingly going to happen in the future? How much has the DV remained on track, and are there parts where it changed its route?

so as you mentioned, i included a lot of the early drafts of DV plans in the story as "here's what Anachronism fucked up in his iteration," tongue in cheek meta joke. For example, Ren not revealing about the parcels until October, partially because getting close with Haru and saving her father would necessarily have him tip his hand.

I'll also say Haru's father specifically and the entire idea of "the Thieves don't kill" is something I've very much changed my opinion on since I came up with DV. You can see that a bit in how Ren's own opinion changes, as the POV character and protag and half soapbox that he is in this story. He starts out telling Ohya that the Thieves want to act on "more than just vindication," and himself deciding that none of the Thieves wanted to be murderers. Yusuke and Makoto are both given full prerogative to kill their targets, and choose not to - in Yusuke's case, it was as close to a coin flip as Ann's decision in Kamoshida's Palace. Then things shift when we get to the Okumura arc.

Ren here offers Haru an opportunity to cause a mental shutdown in secret in order to preserve her reputation, and avoid having her abuse publicized. She chooses not to at the time out of moral obligation to the Thieves, with an implied "out of fear of becoming like the person who killed Futaba's mother." Then her decision to spare her father becomes not a default mercy, but something she does because it helps the other Thieves, because killing him would complicate things further. And because she gains nothing but satisfaction with his death. Then in the Empress at Dusk parcel letter, Anach!Haru states further that she is thankful to Anachronism for saving her father, because he ensured that her autonomy re:him was kept intact.

These themes come to a head during DV Redux's Kamoshida throne room scene, Haru's hot pot BBQ and the unposted Butterfly Effect "That Wears The Crown," between which the situation is spelled out clearly. Haru didn't kill her father because, like Kamoshida, there was more to gain with his confession. Death serves the purposes of satisfaction and silence, of keeping an abuser from ever talking about the abuse and providing direct and immediate catharsis.

Haru shuns Akechi (in a metatext standpoint, this is me also shunning Akechi stans who refuse to acknowledge their faults or treat abuse victims INCLUDING Akechi with much degree of compassion) not for attempting to kill someone who definitely deserves death, but for taking the choice away from her and for indirectly weaponizing her abuse against those she loves. If Haru's father died, as he did in canon, the results would be the revocation of Haru's autonomy over his fate, and it would throw the Thieves into disarray, in which they would fixate on Haru's abuser as a lynchpin of failure.

And in the hot pot, Ann doubles down on Ren's offer, making clear the similarities between her own situation and Haru's, and retroactively implies that if Kamoshida hadn't abused Ryuji and Shiho, she would have immolated him in a heartbeat. In a horrible ironic way, by entangling himself in the trauma of people she loves, he saved his own life. But since no other Thief has anything to gain or lose by Sugimura's death, Ann gives explicit permission for Haru to kill him if she chooses.

Rabbit: When did Haru realize she was a girl? How did she handle that realization?

I'm gonna wax poetic and silly and say Shakespeare. When she was in middle school drama club studying how old timey performances would often have actors crossdressing, and probably there was some sort of exercise where everyone switched their costumes and played each other's parts for fun, and it was this big goofy thing and for the first time, Haru is presented with the prospect that wearing a dress isn't something shameful or abhorrent, and that sort of clicks something for her.

And she probably asks to play a girl in the next performance. One thing leads to another, with a lot of fighting her father in between, and she gets her transition started by the Summer before high school, so she can enter Shujin as herself and not under her deadname.

Rabbit: In Ren's head, what's the first thing he's gonna do when this is all over? Has he even thought in terms of All This being over at some point?

He really hasn't. A lot of the epilogue is gonna be Ren trying to figur his life out now that he's lived past The Apocalypse At The End Of The Year that's been hanging over his head. I think there's still a part of himself that expects him to fail, that contextualizes "Ren" as "someone who fails," and is almost disappointed when he doesn't.

Rabbit: What are Ren and Haru and Ryuji going to name their dog?

CERBERUS. I've thought about this djfbgjb

Rabbit: What does Haru's ideal date look like? Ann's? Makoto's?

Haru: cooking together Ann: being out and about for a couple hours, windowshopping and sightseeing, and then having a relaxed romantic dinner Makoto: PJ movie night

Rabbit: Do Mishima and Haru have any kind of friendship?

FUCK, HOLY SHIT YOUR MIND. THEY REALLY SHOULD. Another part of the epilogue is gonna be Mishima (with her new name!!!) slowly getting incepted into the "extended Thieves" alongside Sumire, Sojiro and Shiho; and I already know that she and Futaba are going to get along like a peapod, but I think like. Mishima would be kinda smitten with Haru? Like "I'm infinitely jealous of you and I'm gonna be So Normal about it (lie)." And Haru throws a girl's night with her and Ann and Futaba and Kasumi and Mishima, and Mishima happy-cries so much.

Rabbit: Besides the characters who are trans, is there anyone else you considered blasting with the Gender Beam but decided not to?

Ryuji. I’ve definitely decided to do so, just haven't gotten around to it yet >:3c

[Jane addendum: If I may expand on the last answer, I think it’s also worth mentioning that vane initially planned for Akechi to be transmasc in DV, before we went the transfem angle, so that kinda counts]

Rabbit: In the pegoryuharu happily ever after, who takes whose last names, if any?

I'm not gonna canonize this yet cause I still want to figure out a balance between grounded and Best Case Dream Outcome for, ya know, moving forward logistics-wise with a polyamorous relationship. But if I decided tomorrow? Ren, Ryuji and Haru Sakura-Sakamoto. Because neither Amamiya nor Okumura deserve any place in a happy house.

Tura (by way of Rabbit): If every Persona game is about a concept (3 “death,” 4 “truth”, 5 “freedom”) does Deja Vu have a new word! Or does it have an alternate take on Freedom not covered in the base game!

OOOOOH good question. i think. hm hm.

"Rebirth."

but also, there's a bit of the idea of like. playing off freedom? it's the "Freedom (fear and hope)". cause everyone's psyched about the tiger escaping its cage yes yes yes the tiger is free. cause fuck yeah. and i bet the tiger's pretty psyched too. but there's also something to be said about like...longing for the cage. the way freedom can be overwhelming and difficult and frightening. it's vital, but it's also...big. and when you're born in a cage, it can be difficult to contextualize yourself outside of it. but also. you ARE outside of it. and the cage is broken now. you're never going back. to borrow dave’s favorite metaphor? the shell is cracked. you cannot put the chick back into the egg. it can only grow now.

Jane: Indulgence alley. What is ur favorite story addition or idea that Jane (me) has made

YES. OKAY. SO. FUCK.

g-d this is the hardest djfbgjb okay. okay uh. fuck djfgbjh. can i cheat and say "everything?" djfgbjdb cause. g-d. how do i even fucking PICK.

futaba's confidant arc?

the way she challenged me to sharpen empress at dusk into some of my strongest writing?

sumitaba?

the fact that just having her around to keep me acountable has pushed me to strive and make my writing better?

"A Little Faith?" "Get Some Therapy??" "Scorpions???" 

just djfbgjdbfg g-d. g-d. it's harder at this point to find a part of DV after the Kaneshiro arc that jane hasn't influenced, directly or indirectly.

but. Akechi. Freya motherfucking Akechi.

Yaldabaoth's false champion, the two-faced closeted transfem second detective prince groomed into assassination by an abuser they assumed they had power and control over, the unstable and scarred girl boy in the black mask, the unblinded justice, the false wild card who broke the rules of cognition by splintering their own true self in half,

who laughs involuntarily and barely sleeps and punishes herself to stay sharp because her own harm is the only one she can control, who hides a bloodstained pocket knife behind her detective badge, ren's pity project and rival and friend and most dangerous enemy and most trusted ally, Kasumi's oldest and most beloved friend, the thief who breaks the quo, the triple agent who finds the weak links that could make the thieves break and revels in that knowledge and then surrenders it and defends those weaknesses.

Akechi, who is fueled by love and scared of being loved. Everything Ren wants to be and nothing that he is. They would be a better leader than him, and that's why they never will be.

and i am. so fucking happy i didn't stick with the first draft dv akechi djfgbjhb like. dissatisfied transmasc, blind in one eye because he's destined to be disabled in tragically ironic ways for...choosing to be alive, eternally bickering to No Fucking End with ren and never getting better, being constantly proven wrong by overly moralizing dumbasses, repeatedly getting thrown under the metaphorical steam roller because The Plot Must Go On. goro with the silver tongue, all that wit and not a blade to be found. not sharp. not real.

i do not miss dv goro djfbgjhdb i just feel embarrassed ever thinking that was a better idea than canon

Rabbit: in the hypothetical pegoryuharu future, who proposes 👀 (assuming they get married)

Ren on accident. 1000%.

very like he's just thinking it through because "do i want to marry my partners" immediate yes. but "how do we get poly married" presents a more difficult question, so he sort of gets fixated on that and then is like "hey haru, ryuji, just to make sure, you wanna get married?"

and ryuji's like "YOU MEAN LIKE NOW???"

and haru's like "wait till spring"

and ryuji's like "SPRING IS IN THREE MONTHS ARE WE DOING IT THIS SPRING???"

and morgana laughs his little kitty head off.

like for one they definitely talk it through like logistically how would they do it, could they do some lavender marriage arrangement with ren and ryuji getting hitched while haru marries makoto and ann marries shiho, but then at some point haru's like "we're celebrities. let's just make a political push." (and I also just have not made a decision on what that logistical arrangement ends up being djgbfh)

Rabbit: what character or story element has gone through the most revisions or reworks? 

Akechi fhfhghg like by a long shot. Jane and Jae’s notes have been so so so incredible and influential. Like they’re a completely different character now and I absolutely adore what they’ve become. Makoto and Futaba and Mishima have changed a lot from my first draft idea, but definitely I think one of the biggest decisions I’ve made that doesn’t have to do with Akechi (even though it was still because of Jane) was. Refusing to allow the narrative to vindicate Ren’s bullshit.

Bc Ren is the protag and the POV character, I have this intuitive desire for his perspective to be unmarred, and end up feeling automatically kinda defensive when people (including my own better judgement) criticize him. Which shoots myself in the foot a lot because Ren IS extremely flawed. He’s a traumatized kid who is still figuring out how to be a human person and healing in a messy indirect way. And plans I had for the narrative to indulge his messiah complex or know better than any other character? Couldn’t last. And I’m so glad for Jane and Jae to keep me (and Ren) accountable.

Rabbit: what is each thief's favorite thing to eat. and in the case of haru, what's her favorite thing to cook?

YEAH so i actually djfbgjb iiii had converation with jane about this a while ago, you just reminded me so i delved into our chat archives to pull it out

Jane: I am a longtime advocate for Akechi actually being a big sweets fan and that not being just an act, but I also think they like black coffee to contrast the sweets. I also like the idea of Ann and Akechi taking each other to various favorite sweets places of theirs

I think Taba likes spicy foods, altho her usual favorite curry staple food probably isn’t spicy cuz her mom made it for her as a kid. We also know taba canonically has a very refined coffee palette and is a coffee snob

Kasumi definitely likes hearty foods for lots of gymnastics energy, I think she likes sweets as well but can’t keep up with Akechi and Ann dhdjfnf and I think she’s probably a big fan of pasta dishes, since they can be really filling and good after a big gymnastics event

Vane: I think for Ryuji it’s sabi’s ramen. Of course fgfgfg. Especially when Ren makes it, cause he’s a big ol sap.

Ren’s favorite probably changes day to day, depending on his mood, but he’s a big fan of food with happy memories associated. Like sojiro’s curry, sabi’s ramen, hot pot. Stuff like that.

Morgana loves tuna. We know this and we love him. Fhfhgh he is a cat and he loves him some fishies. Especially sushi tuna.

Ummm Yusuke I think enjoys the simple, few ingredient meals that he had as a child, something quiet and plain and cheap but made with love. Masumi probably makes them for him a lot, since they’re both struggling artists fhfhgh

Makoto loves street and fair food. Not a specific dish but she'd be in heaven in a farmer's market.

Haru….big hms on that. I know she loves to collect recipes and cook with people, food is something important to her. I thiiink she enjoys breakfast foods the most, cause those were always the ones made with the most love when she was young, since her father’s job started in the afternoon and he was always too tired to cook dinner. So breakfast time became sorta sacred, even though her father stopped showing up for it. And I think her favorite meal out of all the breakfast meals is a scramble. It’s sort of like cooking jazz to her, she just finds whatever vegetables she has left over from previous dinners and improvises a tasty mix, adds some protein maybe and lots of salt and spices and scrambles it all into some eggs. And it never tastes the same way twice.

Ralu: Do you think Haru has a favorite type of weather?

she loves the sun right after it rains. rainy days can be fun but a little too melancholic for her tastes

Jane: What is haru’s favorite movie

GOOD QUESTION hmmmmmm.... paranorman i think

Jane: In a word, what is haru’s feelings towards / relationship with each of the other thieves?

Ren: Dear Mona: Soft Ryuji: Gentle Ann: Bright Yusuke: Handy Makoto: Easy Futaba: Brave Kasumi: Rising Akechi: Sharp

Ralu: Does Haru like poetry? And if so, has she any preferred poems/poets/styles or eras?

yes and she would know how to answer that question but i don't djfgbjh haru probably has a list of her favorite poems and poets, but i couldn't tell you what they are. content wise she only cares about poems with something to say.

but she really loves when people can put words to complex / intense feelings

Rabbit: Ren and the babes on an ice cream date, what's Haru ordering? :Oc

if it's anywhere near artisanal, then lavender and/or honey. otherwise something with strawberry

Rabbit: Are there any bits of DV that ended up needing to be scrapped that you wish you'd been able to make work? I've had to "kill my darlings" so to speak a few times, have you had anything like that?

Yeah plenty!

I think I mentioned to a few people recently, in the newest chapter there’s a whole big double date scene I had to scrap for time / space, and then there’s like. Every single time I have a scene planned out in my head and go to write it, there’s some aspect or line or angle I need to cut.

I think what comes to mind for the like “biggest darling” I’ve had to kill, is Iwai’s confidant. Cause I keep having ideas of how to integrate it, to bring him and kaoru further into the story, but then I keep needing to cut those scenes and ideas out.

The most recent concept was Kaoru realizing Ren and Ryuji were phantom thieves and faking a kidnapping to get Ren alone and then criticizing his lack of contingency plans for something like this. Basically “if I wanted to hurt you, I could have. And there are people out there smarter than me who want your head. Start being safer, Thief.”

Rabbit: mistletoe! who sets it up, who gets got, how do they feel about it? 

I think. Sumire indulges in brief mischief and then sets it up for kasumi and Futaba, then goes about corralling them under said doorway. Only to find like. Shiho and Makoto making out under said mistletoe, before they both scurry off sheepishly, shiho snickering the whole time. At which point kasumi teasingly chastises Sumire and makes her promise to take down the mistletoe but then as soon as her back is turned, kasumi cups Futaba’s face and kisses her unbroken for like twenty seconds.

Also unrelated to the mistletoe but I think one thing that could be fun is like. Partway through some sort of holiday get together, shiho like. Wobbles out of a room and keeps like bumping her wheelchair into things, and her face and neck are covered in the comical amount of lipstick kiss marks. And Ryuji teases her about getting her holiday gift from ann early and Shiho’s like “uhhhhhhhh” and then haru silently walks by the both of them while reapplying her lipstick and sends a little sweet-devil smile at the pair

[holykillercake]

Heavenly Demons

paring: Doflamingo x Reader

word count: 1.7k

summary: How far down would you go to rise with the person who makes your heart beat stronger?

highlight:  ¨Haste is the enemy of perfection, Doffy. We shall have all the time in the world.¨

warnings: implied smut, Doffy himself is already a warning, right?

notes: Hey guys! So, I have read a lot of stories where the main character contrasts with Doffy, but I wanted to write one where the reader kinda shares his ideologies. I really hope you like it!! <3

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath as the salty fresh air cooled your body down. The waves crashed violently, and thunderings cut across the skies, shouting to all eight seas to prepare themselves. You were coming for the throne. You were coming for the golden seat above the great serpent soaked in blood. 

Large hands caressed your belly, fingers flirting with the soft skin of your breasts. You felt Doflamingo's naked and burning skin brush against your back, salty splashes of seawater blending with the salt of your sweat bodies. 

¨Do you remember what you told me that day?¨ his voice was low and deep, masking the ferocity of a roaring predator.

¨Every word.¨ 

¨Can you repeat it?¨ you smirked, words already engraved on the tip of your sharp tongue.

He gazed at the ocean with thirst, recollecting all the sacrifices he made, all the breaths he took and raised a glass for all the blood he was yet to shed.  

¨One day, you will rule them all. You will stand above their fallen bodies and step on them as they lick the floor you walk on.¨ His grip tightened on your waist, nails slightly craving into your skin. 

¨I´m ready.¨

¨You have always been, Doffy.¨

¨Y/N.¨ he called you after a moment of silence.

¨Hm?¨ You hummed in response. 

The man behind you struggled, brain fighting the words from coming out of his mouth. He pulled you away from the window, lifting you up while your legs wrapped around his hips. The ship rocked aggressively, rolls of maps and unlit candles rolling across the tapestry.

Doflamingo pressed you against the wall, tongue gliding furiously with yours. You felt his body growing stiff again, moans masked as grunts being muffled by your intoxicating kiss. 

Whines came out with each heavy breath, your chest rising and falling when he finally parted the kiss, a single strand of saliva connecting both sinful lips. 

You took that moment to look him in the eyes. This time, instead of the glasses adorning his beautiful features, the flashes of lightning from the storm illuminated what he was constantly trying to hide.

The eyes of a monster. A monster for whom you would kill, for whom you would slaughter. The eyes of the man for whom you descended from the Holy Land and got your hands dirty to help him rise above the so-called Gods.

You remembered your words as a child. 

¨Those are not the true Gods.¨ he spoke in your ear. 

Shivers ran down your spine, and your core twisted when you felt the tip of his manhood touch your sensitive and sore skin. 

¨We are the true Gods.¨ a deafening thunder echoed through the structures of the Numancia Flamingo the moment he slipped inside you, covering your cries of lust and pleasure.

                                                               <~>

It was difficult to keep up with the man you followed. After all, he was tall and had incredibly long legs. At no time did he help you when you tripped over a piece of garbage and fell or when your legs gave up on exhaustion.  On the contrary, he just kept walking.

¨May I ask for your name?¨ 

That's what came out of your mouth. You knew that shouting and imposing things would not work, not here. This was the territory of humans, and you would have to deal with it if you wanted to get to the boy.

¨May I ask...¨ he mocked you. 

Your small hands, balled into fists, clenched while you snorted with hatred.

¨Calm down, brat. It´s over there.¨ 

Standing on the toes of your expensive shoes, you saw a well-known figure among sheds and piles of metal, with blond hair and dark glasses.

¨DOFFY!¨ 

¨Y/N!?¨ he sounded surprised to see you in such a filthy place. 

Your steps hurried to get to him, ignoring the other people on the scene who looked at you with suspicion.

The ruffles of the skirt were now dirty from the trip, and your hair, always so neat, flew loose with the breeze and even got entangled.

¨What are you doing here?¨

¨Just making sure you got home safe.¨

¨Nyeh, nyeh, who is this, Doffy?¨ a disgusting old man with snot running down his nose asked.

¨She is the girl I told you about. She helped me escape.¨

¨Do not come closer!¨ you exclaimed to the man when he turned to you. The gooey thing swaying with every movement.

Doffy invited you into what he called home and offered you a shabby wooden stool so you could rest from the trip.

Even so young to understand the meaning of love, your heart ached when you saw the precarious situation in which he found himself. No, he was much greater than that.

Your families were neighbors in the Holy Land, so you constantly spent your free afternoons in the company of the Donquixote brothers. It fascinated you how different they were, like two opposite poles of a globe.

At some point, you noticed Rosinante's absence and assumed he had died like their parents. He too was not like you. He would never last.

¨What will you do? You can not accept this, Doffy.¨ you walked over to the boy in front of a window, eyes locked on the piles of scrap metal. 

¨I know, Y/N. I am just thinking.¨ He hesitated to ask for your help, even though he knew how much more clever you could be.

The others just watched the interaction between the two children, the boy chosen by the heavens and the girl who spoke to him as an equal.

¨Claim what is yours, Doffy.¨

¨I tried.¨ his fingertips turned white from squeezing the window sill ¨I served my father´s head in a tray for them to feast, but-¨

¨That is not what I meant.¨ He searched your eyes for the first time, knowing that you were planning something. ¨You are a rightful king, the real deity, not them. Those are not the true Gods, Doffy. We are the true Gods.¨

The slimy man got up from the pest-infested couch, squinting at you. The brilliant idea he hadn't had before coming out of your mouth like a prophecy.

¨Dressrosa, the World Nobles, from the depts of the ocean to the six moons... one day, you will rule them all. You will stand above their fallen bodies and step on them as they lick the floor you walk on.¨ 

Electricity ran through your bodies, and tears of excitement filled your eyes.

¨Nyeh, your name is Y/N, right? ¨ the miry man asked, keeping a respectful distance from you. His voice annoyed you just as much. ¨It looks like you have a plan, behehehe. Tell us more about it.¨

You looked at him with contempt and mistrust.

¨It´s ok, Y/N. They are my family now.¨

That day you shared the plan that would shape the course of the Donquixote Pirates' operations, and everyone listened in silence, bewildered by the strategic mind of such a young child.

¨I will be your eyes and ears up there.¨

¨I´ll be quick, Y/N. I promise.¨ You shook your head.

¨Haste is the enemy of perfection, Doffy. We shall have all the time in the world.¨

That same night you returned to wealth and abundance, but your heart remained between the scraps and the boy, the Heavenly Yaksha.

For the next two decades, you focused on studies, following like a mantra the striking appearances of the Donquixote Pirates in the newspapers.

The World Nobles feared Doflamingo for his knowledge regarding matters that should be kept secret. Secrets you provided, tearing down the wall of the puny Gods, brick per brick.

Over time, your periodic visits to the world below the Red Line have become more intimate, going from an affectionate gesture to a dinner for two and the satiation of carnal desires. 

But maybe there was love. Among the sins and horrors committed, there was a lull after a nightmare. When your fingers ran through his blond hair, and he took off his glasses before pulling you to his chest.

When you laughed at childhood memories or projected a future together. 

Maybe it was love. But how could two beasts like you know for sure?

Perhaps it was not necessary to know the real meaning. When the sun came up again, you would be there together, ready to conquer, rule, and destroy.

When traitors raised their weapons and the weak perished, they would see the true face of God. Majestic and merciless.

When the weak rulers gave in to pressure, you would take the dirty hands of hopeless people and raise them up. And they would kiss the ground where you walked, freely and willingly.

¨Do you like our new home?¨ he asked, bringing you inside the feathery pink coat. 

You stood in front of the window, watching the country over which you would make prosperity reign.

¨It´s amazing, Doffy.¨ 

¨Are you staying for good now?¨

A smile grew on your lips ¨I am, Doffy. I´m staying for good.¨

His laughter filled the room. He took your hand and guided you to the armchair, where you sat on his lap, already opening the zipper of your dress.

¨Twenty years, Y/N...¨ he put a lock of hair behind your ear ¨I have waited for twenty years, and now that we accomplished this, I am not letting you go again.¨ 

You leaned slowly and torturously, flirting with his mouth, teasing him. You wanted to feel each moment, each touch, and each spasm making your body squirm with pleasure.

¨We have all the time in the world...¨ you whispered, placing a kiss on his lips ¨I want to make this very slow and very pleasurable.¨ 

This time when the sun comes up, you would not have to leave.

He laughed again, wrapping his hand in your hair and pulling enough to make a moan escape your mouth. 

¨I can´t promise slow...¨ his voice was low in your ear, weakening your entire body ¨but I will give you pleasure.¨

The trail of kisses on your neck made your guts twist, and your hips move against him, seeking relief. 

¨I´m gonna take you right here and right now...¨ he pulled your hair a little harder ¨and I´m gonna make you my Queen.¨  

Hey @vemuabhi! Here I go again hahaha

[interstellarflare]

Bend and Break || Homelander

-PART SIX-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst.

Summary: People can only bend their morales so far before they break. Homelander is the world’s greatest superhero, and you, a tech analyst, somehow become entangled in his world when he learns that you provide intel to The Boys. He makes it his personal mission to find out exactly what you know, but he never expected such resistance from someone as damaged as you. But broken things can be mended, sometimes in the most unexpected ways possible.

Author’s Note: As a bit of a disclaimer, I have only seen snippets of The Boys. I haven’t actually watched all of it, so forgive me if there are some details that are wrong, as well as the many spelling errors that will undoubtedly be in this series. There is a tag list open for those who wish to be added. I apologise for the long chapters. Gif by @xmichaelmyers​

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE| |PART FOUR| |PART FIVE|

After activating the pager hacking device after you had entered the building, you and Homelander went your seperate ways for the night.

You watched as Madelyn Stillwell hung off of his arm, smiling and pretending that she was actually interested in tonight’s events as Homelander indulged politicians and government officials in small talk. You however, stood in a secluded corner of the room, waiting for your device to break through Vought’s firewalls whilst idly sipping a glass of champagne. You didn’t know how long he had been there, but Black Noir stood by your side, his arms folded over his armoured chest as his suit blended perfectly with the shadows to your right.

You were growing more anxious as time went by. You expected to hear a small beeping noise when your device had finished its task, but the growing fear that the device wouldn’t work caused your palms to become increasingly sweaty. You loosed a shaky breath, taking a small sip of the champagne in your grasp. You found small comfort in the fact that Noir was by your side, grateful that at least someone else knew what you were up to.

From your position in the corner, you could hear various topics of conversation. However, the majority of them were about you. ‘Who was that woman with him?’ You heard someone question, that someone turning out to be the wife of the Secretary of Defence. ‘Who is she? I don’t think I’ve seen her around before’. ‘Her dress is beautiful, no wonder Homelander chose to escort her inside’. ‘He was probably being nice, she doesn’t really belong here’. You felt Noir step out of the shadows and move to your side, his arm brushing against yours as he stood defensive and tall. As soon as he appeared, the conversations about you stopped, everyone averting their gaze to anywhere else in the room but towards you and the Supe. No doubt he would have heard all of the negative chatter his stern stance giving off a pissed off vibe loud and clear.

“Is it normal for you to intimidate people who piss you off?” You asked teasingly, a smirk growing on your lips as you finished the last of the champagne. Noir nodded wordlessly, his helmeted gaze not leaving the gathered congregation before him. You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly as you anxiously peered down at the clutch in your other hand. Still nothing. You huffed through your nose, your anxiety being replaced with frustration. What if all of this was for nothing? What of at the end of the night, the device didn’t go off. What then?

Slow music began to play, a choir of violinists, cellos and various other instruments beginning a long classical piece which you knew would likely last the entire night. “Excuse me, can I have a word?” A toxically sweet voice spoke softly, causing you to turn your gaze and meet the emerald eyes of the blood red reporter from earlier. She smiled a viper’s grin, her eyes turning a shade darker as she towered over over your smaller frame. You blinked in surprise and confusion, unsure as to why this woman was even speaking to you. As if sensing your confusion, her grin widened “I only want to interview you in regards to your entrance with The Homelander himself, it was quite spectacular I have to say”. You laughed breathlessly, unsure of what to do or say. So you shrugged your shoulders “Oh, uh, thank you? To be honest it wasn’t really that-”

“Tell me, is there a secret relationship going on between the two of you behind closed doors?” She pried, her question catching you off guard. You choked, shaking your head in disbelief “I’m sorry? I don’t think I understand” You spoke lowly, standing as tall as your heels would allow. The reporter smirked evilly, knowing that she had gotten under your skin. She stepped closer toward you intimidatingly close with her hands propped on her hips. “Well one would assume that something was going was going on between you two with the way he escorted you inside” She spoke lazily, staring down at you with a bored expression “everyone has been talking about it, you know”.

Your eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare, one that even made the Supe at your side flinch with how much hatred and ice radiated from your form. “He was just being chivalrous-” “Oh, I’m sure he was...” The reporter interrupted sarcastically, picking at her red painted nails through her hooded eyelashes “then again, why else would he associate with someone as dull and uninteresting as you? I mean, look at you. You don’t fit in here, you’re hiding in a corner for gods sake...”

Dull and uninteresting...is that how people saw you?

You tried to maintain your composure, you tried not to take the bitch’s words to heart. But why did they hurt so much?

Dull and uninteresting, boring and plain. You averted your gaze from the reporter’s and casted your eyes across the room. Where your eyes met his. And you knew. You knew Homelander had been listening, given by the stern and unreadable expression on his face. Damn his superhuman hearing, damn him to hell. You could feel him staring after you as you weaved your way through the dancing crowd. You could feel him staring after you as you climbed the main marble staircase, disappearing down the hall and onto a stone balcony. You leaned against the balcony, breathing deeply to try and prevent the tears in your eyes falling.

Why were you hurt so much by this? What did it matter what people thought about you? Why did it matter what he thought about you?

Why? Why did it matter?

It was peaceful out on the balcony, the noise of the Gala inside was nothing but distant rumbles. The music still clear as day. A gentle but cool breeze caressed your skin, brushing strands of your hair out of its well-kept do. Footsteps echoed on the balcony. They were heavy, but taken in a stride that was light and cautious. You didn’t have to turn around to know who was standing behind you.

“Do you think I’m dull and uninteresting?” You asked him, keeping your gaze ahead and on the night cityscape before you. You heard Homelander sigh, but he made no attempt top move toward you. When no answer came, your chest tightened painfully. Of course, he thought you were dull. Of course, he thought you were uninteresting. He was The Homelander. And you...you were just a nobody.

“It’s John...” You heard him sigh out lowly, his tone of voice showing no sign of teasing or malice. With your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you spun to face The Worlds Greatest Superhero with an expression of pure bewilderment. “What?”.

Homelander chuckled, a genuine sound resonating from deep within him as he stepped toward you, his cape billowing slightly in the wind. “Yesterday...” He began, standing beside you and leaning his hands against the stone railing “you asked if I had another name Homelander, otherwise you were going to call me prick or arsehole. My name is John”. You laughed lowly, nodding your head as you leaned back against the railing with an amused smile. So he did have a name. “It suits you” You responded, looking over at him with a soft smile. John nodded, giving you the same smile in return. “And you know what, any woman that can speak to me with such sarcasm, wit, and foul language, and live to tell the tale, is definitely interesting in my eyes”.

Your laughter echoed out from the balcony and across the city. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It wasn’t like the small sarcastic chuckles, or the amused scoffs you would always give him. This was genuine, this was pure. And he loved every second of it. But why? Why did he enjoy your laugh? Why did he long to see you smile, why did he long to always see you as happy as you were now? You turned to face him again, the frown on your face now non-existent as you grinned. “You know, this is why I don’t leave my apartment” You joked lightly, causing the Supe beside you to scoff. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear anything other than an oversized shirt and sweatpants” He teased, shying away slightly as you lightly slapped his shoulder. He laughed as you pouted, folding your arms over your chest as your eyebrows furrowed.

The music from downstairs floated up on a graceful wind, a slow waltzing piece that would have no doubt been played at a dozen luxurious events prior to this one. John stood up from his position by the balcony, moving to stand in front of you with a soft smile. “Dance with me” he spoke suddenly, holding his gloved hand towards you with a smirk tugging at his lips. Your expression became more confused as you looked up at him with an expression that couldn’t have been more confused if you tried. “What? You want to dance with me?”.

“Why not? It’s a Gala, we might as well” John tried to reason, rolling his eyes as you laughed loudly once again. Placing your clutch carefully on the balcony, you shook your head slowly as you placed your hand into his own. He immediately pulled you close, wrapping one arm securely around your waist, and intertwining his other with yours. The two of you began to sway slowly, your cheeks flushing a bright red at the amount of limited space between you. Your heart was beating so loud, that you were sure the man before you could hear your heart beating wildly in your chest without his superhuman hearing. The thought alone caused your stomach to flutter. Pushing down your nerves, you forced yourself to look up, and almost fell apart. John was staring down at you with an expression you couldn’t read. No one had ever looked at you like that before, with such emotion, with such raw-

Pain...there was so much pain.

For a split second, you couldn’t breath. The air was taken from your lungs as John flinched, his grip on your form tightening as his eyes widened in pure horror. Blood splattered the front of his uniform, tiny horrifying droplets coating his skin. A strange warmth suddenly spread over your chest, a deep rumbling cough caused the pain to increase. Blood dribbled from your mouth, your blood. You collapsed forward, the world suddenly spinning in dizzying stars. The ringing in your ears became louder and louder, drowning out the terror-filled shouts from downstairs, and John’s frantic cries. You could make out your name on his lips, his arms wrapping around your form as he lowered you to the ground. You were scared, terrified. What happened? 

You suddenly felt tired, your eyes becoming heavier with every second that passed. It was cold, so very cold. Everything suddenly became numb, consumed by the agony and pain that everything slowly began to fade. You never saw the figure emerge from the doorway, you never heard what John said to that blurry image of a man.

But the last thing you saw was his furious expression. His blue eyes glowing a bright red in rage, hatred, and pure madness.

Tag List: @lauraaan182 @tardis-23 @freshmakertaco @shilsvampsinger @cynthianokamaria  @delicatetimetravelarcade @coloursunlimited @clean-soap @themarch-oftheblackqueen @soft-hargreeves @kennedywxlsh​ @itskatrinahere​

[cinnamontoastandtears]

fulfilling another request !! for @sammysfurmama (who i can’t tag for whatever reason)

more mcharrison, bc… this is what the people want !!

so, enjoy: a post-concert adventure as experienced by john lennon

John collapsed in the armchair, exhausted from their set that night, hair dripping from the shower. He’d gone last of course, he always went last, (he took the longest) and the others sat in the small living area between the two rooms they’d been given at the hotel.

Ringo was flipping through a book that had been lying on the table, and Paul and George were in similar positions, reading magazines with their feet up on an ottoman.

“Did you get-”

“Yes,” Ringo answered before John could even finish asking his question, “We ordered your chicken, it should be here in…” he checked his watch, “half an hour.”

“Oh. Brilliant!”

The other three hummed in agreement and John stared as they went back to their reading material. Eventually, he gave in to the boredom and swept a newspaper off the table to fiddle with before the food got there.

The headline sported their names, which maybe should have made him puff up with pride, but instead was quite boring. He flipped to the article anyway, just to see what drivel had been printed this time.

John Lennon, leader of the Beatles, shocks fans by agreeing to give a male fan a kiss on the cheek!

Well that was ridiculous. If the girls were allowed to get kisses there was nothing wrong with giving a guy a kiss as well, right? And besides, it wasn’t a kiss on the lips. That would be a very different story. (He’d probably agree to that as well, but-)

John was startled out of his thoughts by an uncharacteristic movement from the other side of his paper. He lowered it to see what had happened, but nothing looked to be out of order. George and Paul still sat with their magazines, feet still up in front of them. Ringo had a slightly amused smile on his face, and John wondered what had caused that.

Thinking it must have just been a flicker in the corner of his eye, John fixed his gaze back on his paper, but then he saw something he wasn’t sure he was supposed to see, and the small entertainment of the article couldn’t hold his attention.

Paul’s left toes just, only just, brushed George’s right foot. They leaned over once, as if to tease, then right back to their former position. John was confused. Though it was probably an accident, a twitch or something, nothing to lose his mind over.

He was halfway back to the illogical article once more, but then it happened again. Except this time, George had been the one to initiate the toe-tapping. But something kept John from believing this to be entirely on purpose, so he decided to watch his band mates instead.

Their faces appeared steady, maybe there was a glimmer of something, but not much. It was really their feet John had to keep an eye on anyway.

And- ah. There it was once more. Only- they didn’t stop. The whole sides of both their feet were pressed close to each other, rubbing, almost… sensually. John’s eyes flicked to their faces, decidedly not looking at each other or their feet, but tiny smirks pulling at the corners of their lips. George raised his eyebrows, as if he’d been challenged, and pushed Paul’s foot more, curling his toes and running them down the side of Paul’s foot. The angle was awkward due to the fact that they were both wearing socks, but judging by how Paul’s lips parted to reveal his teeth, George’s goal had been achieved.

George was grinning too, and having been able to go as far as he had, still not looking at their feet, traced his socked-toe up Paul’s foot, lifting his whole ankle from the table and putting it over Paul’s.

John gaped. What the fuck were they doing? He needed some sort of support in this.

He ruffled the paper, almost forgotten in his hand, then looked over at Ringo. The drummer looked up from his book and made questioning eyes at John, who had disrupted his momentary peace.

John lowered the paper a bit more and made a face, then glanced quickly over at Paul and George who- oh god. They’d begun to use their other feet as well, rubbing the feet they’d crossed together and curling their toes around each other and- John looked back at Ringo.

Instead of the shock and frankly, outrage that should have been there, all John found on Ringo’s face was pleasant amusement and a—a knowing glance. So John was the only one who’d been left out of this big secret.

One more glance at George and Paul’s faces, tugging up so much it must have hurt, desperately trying not to look at each other, John had had it. He threw the paper down.

“This is ridiculous! What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Immediately, his other three band mates burst into peals of laughter, the kind that hurt your abdomen and made tears spring to your eyes.

“What?” John was still not sure what was going on.

“Oh…” George sighed, breaking from his fit first, “That was a good one, Rings.”

“Ah, you know me. ‘M the funny one!”

“Really good, Rich,” Paul commented, wiping the corners of his eyes.

“Will someone please explain what’s the fuck is happening!” John yelled. He was getting quite fed up.

“It’s simple, really,” Paul said.

“Do tell.”

“Well…” the bassist glanced at George, who just nodded, seeming to be content with a previous decision made.

“Geo and I are… we’re a- a thing.”

“What’s that supposed to- oh.” Suddenly, a lot more things were starting to make sense to John.

“Ringo here caught us…” George paused and made a squeak of embarrassment before continuing, “He told us we should try and freak you out by doing something… well, you saw. I think it worked pretty well.”

“I’ll say,” John said, but the anger and shock was gone from his demeanor.

Collectively, they shared another laugh, then Paul slung his arm around George’s shoulders and brought him close. The younger man leaned into the touch, abandoning his magazine in favor of reading the same one as Paul. Their feet were still entangled, but John didn’t care much at that point.

No longer was he shocked, but… slightly jealous. He glanced over at Ringo again, and the older man gave him a wink. John ruffled the stupid article about kissing in front of his face again to hide his blush.

[belpheroo]

Title: Fear & Loving in Devildom, Part 2 Pairing: Belphegor x female!MC Rating: M for discussions of mature themes Summary: Belphie is guilt-ridden, but also horny. Funny how often those two things coincide when you catch feels for the girl you killed. Notes: Yet another follow up to my Belphegor fics- A “maybe”, On the Way to a “Yes” and Fear & Loving in Devildom, Part 1

Belphegor had slept through the lunch break, arms folded over his desk as he breathed in deeply and even. He’d been sleeping very well lately. He always slept well, but there was something particular satisfying of late. In fact, his entire mood had been improved, even Beel remarking on how he was spending less time tormenting Levi and “stirring up shit” between Lucifer and Satan.

Half awake, he turned his cheek into his arm and heft a contented sigh before letting his mind go soft and blank.

A heavy weight abruptly draped over him, a chin digging into his back.

“Hey. You think you could knock me up? Being different species I was thinkin’ no, but then I realized I don’t actually know.”

God help him.

Belphegor didn’t respond, trying to fake being asleep now as his moment of peace slowly drifted away. Her weight disappeared and he watched her through half closed lids as she puffed out her stomach and rubbed a hand over it.

“We can name it Damien!”

“Please don’t insinuate our love child would be the anti-christ.” He said, voice muffled.

She laughed, puffing out the breath she was holding. She crouched down by his desk, forcing him to make room as she rested her own arms over the surface and meeting his eyes.

“Have I worn you out?” She asked smugly.

“No, but it would appear you are ‘reforming’ me.”

“I heard. Beel was saying you’ve been in a spectacularly good mood. Can’t imagine who is responsible for that miracle.”

She winked. Belphegor said nothing and opted to just watch her smile and be frustratingly beautiful.

“So whatcha think? Should we like, do the tried and true pull-out method from here on or invest in some condoms?”

“No complaints to pull out. I would like to see you on your knees like this, your face covered in my—“

At that moment, the door opened as a rabble of RAD students came pouring in. Lucifer among them. The eldest eyes had immediately settled on them upon his entering.

“— affection.” Belphegor finished.

She practically beamed as she snickered. He hid his face in his arms to avoid having to greet Lucifer as he made his way over to them. She stood up straight, fluffing out her skirt as she grinned up at him.

“Are you feeling well now? I was informed you took a sick day this week.” Lucifer said, his deep voice smooth and soft with genuine concern. Belphegor fisted his own sleeve beneath his hand.

“Oh— yeah. I’m fine now. Just had a bit of a cold. Probably not even a cold! Probably allergies.”

More like she’d been so sore from the perfectly thorough fucking he had given her, she could barely move her legs. Belphegor’s smile was hidden from sight.

“You should wear a face mask when you’re outside.” Lucifer said, half reprimanding.

“I will! No worries, I will take care of myself.”

Belphegor hated how sweetly she spoke to Lucifer, bouncy and light. It was the same way she talked to everyone but still, he hated it. Despite that, he would never try and crush that spark in her. She was a social butterfly and that charm was part of why he loved her. She had a light in her that drew in everyone like moths to the flame… he could hardly blame them for wanting to bask in this little sun here in Devildom.

Lucifer must have nodded, because their conversation stopped and he heard his footsteps fading away. She crouched down again, voice a whisper.

“What were you saying there? Something about covering me in your affections?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She smiled, wicked and amused before finally the teacher arrived and she had to go back to her own seat.

—

Belphegor didn’t care much to keep their growing relationship a secret from his brothers, but deferred to her wishes. She wanted to keep the “peace” for now, until she had time to properly show they were a couple. Belphegor was certain Beel had suspicions, if not just downright knew about them. Others who had likely tuned in were Asmo and Satan, one simply because of his intelligence and observation skills, the other because he probably could sense the change in the air by pheromones or some wacky Lust based shit.

No one had displayed too much objection to their spending time together except for Mammon, but that was to be expected. Mammon loved her. He loved her the way Belphegor loved Lilith. Devoted, but familial. This fact had kept Belphegor from glaring too many daggers Mammon’s way when she went off to hang out with him and play model at Majolish… or the fact that every other Devilgram selfie she posted seemed to include Mammon.

Jealousy still coldly laced its way through Belphegor’s blood sometimes, but despite himself, he knew she loved Mammon too. He was her first man, her best friend. There were things he could never replaced that Mammon gave her… but he reminded himself, there were things he gave her that Mammon definitely did not. The sound of her voice and the touch of her body, welcome and inhibited was all Belphegor’s. It was childish perhaps, to think of all the things Belphegor had wrung from those lips, all the things he had sparked in her heart that Mammon did not… but it calmed the beast in his chest.

After class, he had expected to find her waiting, but instead found the person he least wanted to speak to.

Lucifer gestured to him, waving his index and middle finger to beckon. Belphegor’s eyes narrowed, but he crossed the hallway at his leisure and came to stand nearby.

“What do you want?”

Lucifer normally would have prickled up at the disrespect, but Belphegor was surprised to find there was not even a trace of indignation in his older brother’s expression.

“I need to speak with you. Come with me.”

Any of the other brother’s would have felt anxiety at this no doubt, except maybe for Satan. Belphegor merely frowned.

“Do you remember what happened the last time you asked me somewhere to talk?”

Lucifer sighed, “Would you like to bring Beel with you?”

That… was not what he expected. A reprimand, a threat or a repetition of his demand? All possibilities. This? Not so much.

“I don’t need a sitter.”

“Then come along.”

Belphegor knew better than to try and force out a “please”.

—

It didn’t take long for Belphegor to recognize where they were going. Diavolo’s office. Thankfully, the room was devoid of Diavolo or his little servant, Barbatos.

“Why here?”

“Privacy.” Lucifer answered, leaning against the edge of Diavolo’s desk. It seemed even he wouldn’t presume to sit in Diavolo’s chair.

Belphegor noted Lucifer gesture for him to sit in one of the plush chairs before the desk, but Belphegor, despite himself, elected to stand.

“This is all wonderfully morbid, but if you could get to the point…”

“I have tolerated your cheek until present because… of the situation. But I would ask that you mind your tongue for the remainder and let me speak. I have questions. I ask you answer them simply and truthfully.”

Belphegor said nothing, fixing Lucifer with a piercing stare. When the silence had stretched out enough to Lucifer’s liking, he spoke again.

“What do you plan to do when she leaves Devildom and returns home?”

“Who-“

“Simply and truthfully.”

Lucifer’s voice was tinged with barely veiled anger. If Belphegor kept pushing him, he’d pop… and on a normal day, that would be a good time in his eyes, but for now Belphegor crossed his arms.

“I will visit her.”

“Frequently?”

“As frequently as possible.”

Lucifer nodded, “And where do you intend to find the energy reserves to propel the glyphs for such frequent trips? You’ll expend your own fast enough.”

“… the others will want to visit her too. We can share the burden.”

“Is that what you want? Visiting her with everyone?”

Belphegor frowned deeper. Sharing the burden would also mean sharing her and her time.

“I’ll make it work.”

“I suppose there is no point in asking if you have already been… intimate with her?”

“Not that it is any of your business, but yeah, Lucifer. I have. I made a pact with her.”

“And now you’re sleeping with her.” Lucifer said, less a question and more a simple disapproving statement.

“We fuck on occasion too.”

“How crass.” Lucifer said, distaste evident in how he wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow, “So she is simply a means to sate your desires? An object of pleasure?”

“… why are you asking these questions? What is your game?”

“I am protecting her.”

Belphegor laughed, curt and mirthless.

Lucifer continued on unfazed, “You have made a selfish and fatal error. What do you think will come of this? You will break her heart and I will not allow it.”

“I have no intention of hurting her you presumptuous—“

“Your intentions are worthless. She will return to the human realm at the end of the term and there is nothing you or I or anyone can do to stop it! And this entanglement will only serve to prolong her suffering when that day comes! Have you thought nothing about this? What it would mean?”

Belphegor felt his throat seize around his words, keeping them strangled in his throat as he stared at Lucifer, eyes narrowed with growing rage… not all of it for Lucifer.

“… you’re a demon, Belphie.”

He hated hearing that nickname come from Lucifer’s lips, especially when he said it so gently.

“She’s a human. She belongs up there, not here with us.”

“Why did you even bring her in the first place?” Belphegor spoke, his voice raspy and low as he struggled to get out the words, “Why allow Diavolo to do it? I told you… it was a bad idea.”

“Do not pretend you were trying to prevent this. Not when we both know it was hatred that spurred your displeasure at that time… and now? You’re the very reason it has this… complication.”

Belphegor swallowed, tasting acid and feeling something still starting right at the height of his throat, spreading prickles over the roof of his mouth. He… he hadn’t thought about her leaving. He truly hadn’t. It had always felt like something he would have time for later, even as he lamented his “lack of time”. A part of him just… just assumed she would stay.

“What do you want from me? You want me to… what? Break her heart now? Lie to her? Tell her I don’t love her?”

Lucifer stiffened at the word, trying to keep his eyes from giving away his surprise as he met Belphegor’s own. Belphegor was certain he was a pitiful visage and Lucifer seeing it only added an edge to it that made him seem even more a pouting child.

“You love her?”

Belphegor bristled, anger making him quick to speak how he truly felt without a thought, “With every breath I breathe.”

It was Lucifer’s turn to look stunned. The rush died down as quickly as it sprung up, leaving Belphegor slow to speak once again.

“I... tried to keep my distance, but she wore me down… I… I didn’t intend…”

Too much. Belphegor closed that gate up as soon as he opened it, turning his face away from Lucifer’s scrutiny. He wished he could go back to those days, when he was young and full of light and trust and his older brother was someone he could talk to… someone he could confide in.

He’d forgotten himself, but it was only a momentary lapse. Lucifer must have sensed this, because his own demeanor relaxed and his arms fell from where they were crossed over his chest to his sides.

“This… is not a situation I think anyone was prepared for.” Lucifer said at length and Belphegor took it for the olive branch, masked as a non-answer, it was intended to be.

“I would have been remise in my duties as your brother if I did not speak up.”

Belphegor winced, “You picked a hell of a time to start giving a shit about that.”

“I have always ‘given a shit’, Belphegor.”

Ah, he was “Belphegor” again. “Always. You spent so much time with your head up your ass you just can’t see it.”

There was something… fond? In the way Lucifer said that? He even chuckled faintly.

“You’d know all about that.”

Lucifer snorted, “About being a rebellious child? Yes. In fact I do. Mankind wrote a lovely book about it, I suggest giving it a read.”

Belphegor laughed, surprising himself. When did Lucifer get a sense of humor? It did some to ease the tension, but still Belphegor was fairly certain he’d like to be anywhere but here.

“…I suppose I would just ask you be thoughtful to the situation. Understand that this relationship, should you both continue to pursue it, will have obstacles. Many obstacles. I say this to prepare you. And I suggest, if you have not already, you speak of it with her. It is all well and good to enjoy your time together, but at some point… be sure she understands what it means too. And if she is willing to traverse those obstacles with you.”

Lucifer averted his eyes in his usual fashion, looking up and away rather than down. Never down.

“It’s not just her getting hurt I worry about.”

“Ugh, gross.” Belphegor said, rolling his eyes for effect. Lucifer did not look remotely amused.

“I have said what I wanted to say. Though one last bit of advise…don’t be within arm reach when Mammon finds out.”

He flashed a wicked smile. Belphegor scoffed at it before he quickly left the room.

—

Belphegor’s D.D.D. had vibrated a couple times in the office and now looking through it he saw her usual messages, oversaturated with emoji.

03:15

☆*:.。.o(≧▽≦)o.。.:*☆

03:15

class is over!!!

03:16

come join me and Levi, we gonna play games!! (=`ω´=)

03:37

Belphie! didya fall asleep?!

03:43

jus text me when u wake up bb (´ ε ` )♡

04:05

Are you still with Levi?

04:10

yep! u wanna come play????

04:11

I’ll come by. I was talking with Lucifer after class.

04:11

〣( ºΔº )〣

04:12

Don’t worry, it was fine. I’ll be there soon, so wait for me.

04:13

(￣^￣)ゞ

04:14

(￣▽￣)ﾉ(ºωº )

04:14

is dat u pettin me?!

04:15

Yes, what else would it be?

04:15

(っ˘ω˘ς )

Belphegor found her where she said she would be, perched on the edge of a beanbag chair while playing a racing game against Levi. Given Levi’s attentiveness, she must have been doing well.

“Eh?! Another blue shell?!”

“Goddamn Baby Peach!!” She hissed in reply, clearly neither of them in possession of the dreaded item.

“Back up! Back up!!!”

“I’m trying!!” Levi said in a panic, both attempting to drop far back enough in the race lineup to avoid getting hit. It was too little too late, with the shell colliding into Levi’s character and then she was unable to get back up passed third place. The ending theme played and both of them threw themselves back with a groan.

“Remind me to never let you two drive me anywhere…” Belphegor said, finally getting their attention. Levi frowned, but she? She positively lit up, beaming at him with open delight.

“I gotta go, take me outta this round, Levi.”

“What? Already? I wanted to play a grand prix with you…”

“We can tonight! I’ll come back to play more after dinner, but I got some things I need to do for class and Belphie is helping me out.”

Levi didn’t look entirely convinced, but the promise of more game time coupled with how sweetly she was batting her eyelashes at him was a critical hit.

“Don’t be madddd, please?”

“..o-okay. Later then. Belphie, you should come play too.”

“Yay! We will!” She said, answering for Belphegor. She leaned in and gave Levi a peck on the cheek, sending the otaku directly to cloud nine. Belphegor tried to hide the tight grimace he made at the sight.

When she lifted up her hand for Belphegor to help her up, he was a bit rougher than usual, as if pulling her away from his brother.

“Later.” Belphegor managed and then ushered her out into the hall.

“Quit pushing, ya jerk.” She mumbled, pulling her arm free. Apprehension took the place of her cheerful demeanor, twisting her mouth into a frown.

“What did Lucifer say?” She whispered, looking around to make sure no other brothers were hanging around this part of the house.

“About what you’d expect. He knows about us.”

She clapped her hands over her face, half laughing and half groaning.

“Glad you find the possibility of me getting straight up murdered so funny.” Belphegor said with a chuckle.

“It’s not that! Just… god, I can’t even imagine his face. He must have been so uncomfortable… kinda wish I had been there.”

You love her?

With every breath I breathe.

Belphegor was pretty certain he was glad she wasn’t, the memory of his own words made his face feel hot. He hoped silently that it didn’t show.

“It was dumb. Just telling me to ‘be careful’ and usual Lucifer bullshit.”

“Ohh? Be careful of me? The lusty human exchange student?”

“Bit late for him to be warning me about that.”

She swatted him in the shoulder and Belphegor caught her hand, making a quick look around the hall himself before he pressed her up against a wall and kissed the smirk off her lips. For as sleepy as he was, there was nothing tired in his kiss. Like a spark on matches, one strike and he could feel her body light up.

She giggled incessantly into his mouth, the feeling like pop rocks of mirth and joy within his very soul. No matter how hard he kissed her or how he pressed his tongue against her own, still she was ever sparkling and noisy.

When he drew back she gave him one last tiny lick to his bottom lip, an enticement, but Belphegor restrained himself for now.

“…he also mentioned the end of the year is coming up.”

And just like that, her spark began to fade, settling unto the back burner as her expression softened to one of almost veiled disappointment. He knew it was the carefreeness she was disappointed to lose, but even she had to be serious sometimes.

“So?”

“…So?” Belphie repeated, eyebrow raising slightly.

“Yeah, so what?” She said, “I’ve already decided. I’m not going back.”

Now it was Belphegor’s turn to look snuffed out, drawing back and looking at her with a frown. He said her name gently and then, “…Diavolo isn’t going to give you a choice.”

“That’s such bullshit,” she seethed, voice rising, “…I’ll visit then. I’ll visit all the time.”

“How? You aren’t a witch.”

“Solomon maybe. Something. Maybe Mammon will tell me where his witches are!”

“You’re not making a deal with witches when you have pacts with us.” Belphegor said with an edge of warning, protectiveness coming out of him in an almost oppressive wave. There was just a hint of sulfur on the air.

“So… so then you’ll come visit! ...right?”

The way she said it, so uncertain, hesitant and unassuming… as if she genuinely believed there was a possibility the answer would be ‘no’ but was trying in vain to hide it.

“Of course I will.”

“Yeah… yeah, of course. Yeah.”

“Stop that…” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her cheek and then her forehead.

“What? Stop what?”

“Acting like you didn’t think I would!”

“I’m not acting…” she defended herself with a grumble and Belphegor felt his stomach sink.

“I love you, you belong to me. I would never let you out of my sight for long.” Belphegor said, voice harsh and low so no one but her could hear. Whenever he said those words they were never gentle, but earnest and firm, as if he were still trying to convince her… and he could hardly be blamed with how shocked she seemed each time he said it.

It had nothing to do with Belphegor, this was something in her own thoughts and heart that made her worry such affections couldn’t possible be directed at her. Belphegor snaked his arms around her, pulling her in close enough that he could press his forehead to hers, his hands laced together and resting against her lower back.

After a moment and a soft sigh, she lifted her arms up around his neck and pressed back hard enough that Belphegor muttered a half-hearted “ow” as she dug her own forehead into his.

It felt so safe, so warm and secure in his arms… his entire body had relaxed beneath her own touch and together they enjoyed the brief reprieve from the stress and far away worry of her departure.

Belphegor’s eyes were getting heavy, lids falling and fluttering as he fought back the urge to fall forward into her and just let himself dose, wrapped up in her scent.

“… we’ll figure it out when we get to that point.” She said at length. Belphegor mumbled an agreement and did finally move to sink his forehead against the crook of her neck, huffing a heavy contented sigh. The wall behind her kept them upright, but she batted at his back after a moment.

“You’re smashing me.”

“You never complained before.”

“Different kind of smashing!”

Belphegor chuckled darkly, but even she knew there was no chance of him finding the energy for such activities anytime soon. His avatar was claiming its needed afternoon nap and the aura was enough to make even her feel a sudden need to sleep.

“Attic nap time?”

“Mmhm, yes.” Belphegor said, more than happy to retreat to their private world away from the rest of the House of Lamentation. It was strange how a prison had now become a refuge, a sanctuary where nothing mattered… just him… and her.

She yelped in shock when he bent down and scooped her up with ease. She locked her arms tighter around his shoulders and her legs around his waist as his hands gripped under her thighs.

She giggled, releasing some of her hold with her legs so she could give them a few girlish kicks.

“Don’t make me drop you… I’m not as strong as Beel.”

Belphegor wouldn’t, of course. His strength far surpassed a human and carrying her felt like carrying nearly nothing at all… except for just the slight edge of heaviness in his own limbs from tiredness. Regardless, his words got her to tighten her legs around his waist again, a sensation he greatly enjoyed.

“Take me to bed or lose me forever.” She said, quiet and giggling by his ear.

Belphegor snorted, but he knew the follow up line from the human film well enough now.

“Show me the way home.”

[astrologista]

Kristoph Gavin Character Analysis I

Part 1 of... fucking infinity, I hate this bitch so much lmao.

Well, it's Halloween time and I just thought, why not. So let's answer this question.

What makes Kristoph Gavin a scary character/villain? A soft spoken gentleman with a deadly secret... the Devil, who lives in his hand, that crazy evil scar thing, his creepy music theme... damn, he’s a scary dude. But scariest of all? His psychology, as we all know. (This is mostly gonna be headcanons. but ya know what, I have a license (hands you a piece of paper that says ‘i can do what i want’))

Kristoph seems like a person who is very aloof, particularly when it comes to personal relationships. At first he kind of just seems like the typical anime glasses guy whose main emotion is like whooa he does the glare thing with his glasses sometimes. But... what is he really about?

You know, let me digress for a moment, what's really interesting to me about the AA characters is how much depth they have in their writing. Case in point, Adrian Andrews. There's a character who you assume is just going to be the typical "anime glasses girl" who is a career woman who don't need no man, and is very aloof, cool, and as she says, not concerned with irrelevant topics or things. Later you learn about the true depths to her personality. The fact that she is codependent, that she needs other people telling her what to do in order to survive. Just because she masks these emotions doesn't mean they don't exist. I felt that really gave a lot of depth to her character and added another dimension that stories in this genre don't often address as boldly or fully (especially when it comes to a female character). So the quality of the writing is always really top notch with only a few exceptions. Take this as context...

Now getting back to Kristoph Gavin. Typical anime glasses dude, right? But no, though. One of the reasons why he's so interesting to me is how his emotional understanding of personal relationships really works. Or seems to, anyway. Based on the endgame testimony and his crimes, Kristoph Gavin is extremely dangerous because, should you get involved with him in any way, he will never, ever let go of you, ever. Once you are entangled with him he wants you to stay entangled, not unlike an overbearing parent who refuses to let you go. It's partly that he thinks he knows what's best for you (that is, to stay completely loyal to him). And also partly... because he is pretty dependent on what other people think of him. So he needs to keep them around him closely.

Kristoph's biggest fear was his lying being exposed for what it was. That Phoenix was really the honest, straightforward attorney, and not him. Kristoph would do anything to perpetuate his own false reality. He kept it going for seven years. His absolute worst fear of all was losing his reputation. Being seen for what he truly was in front of others. He could never accept that. That fear drove all of his murders. Fundamentally, he sees himself as benevolent... when nothing could be further from the truth of how he was hurting everyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path.

Kristoph has a need to perpetuate this false identity of himself above all else. A very adjacent second goal to that is to keep all of his personal associates very close and under his control in order to keep the first goal intact.

Reject him and he will stalk you until you are dead. By his hand, or otherwise. Slight him, and he will get you at the first opportunity, case in point, Zak Gramarye. (He only had to get a quick glance at the guy and his fate was sealed. Turnabout Trump is a chilling case.) Replace him, and he will tear your life and livelihood up into little itty bitty pieces. He will then continue to stalk you aggressively for seven years while pretending he is your best friend. Case in point, Phoenix Wright.

Create false evidence for him and you become a loose end. So does your daughter. Like I said, just don't get involved with him. If he feels threatened, Kristoph Gavin will not hesitate to end you. It's definitely an obsession. I mean the first word that comes to people's minds when it comes to Kristoph usually isn't "obsessed", because he gives off the aura of being calm and uninterested. But he is, he's obsessed. You have to be obsessed to do what he did. This shit consumed his every waking hour, and that's what he won't admit. That he was so sick, he completely lost the plot. Phoenix was already living in his head rent free the day he ordered the forgery. And even though Phoenix wasn't physically present at the Misham trial and was only watching everything by video camera, you can bet Kristoph was seeing Phoenix. Hallucinating him, images of him. Probably multiple images of him. That's how obsessive. Imagine letting something or someone control you to that extent. Imagine thinking that you're so important, that Phoenix taking Zak Gramarye's case at all was meant to be a slight against you personally. (It's funny because Phoenix mentions not even knowing Kristoph at all until after the disbarment. So Kristoph's own logic in thinking that Phoenix was just out to shame him absolutely doesn't track. Ob-sessed, dude.)  

It's actually pretty astonishing that someone like Apollo made it out alive. On a side note, I really think Kristoph enjoyed having someone to mentor. He sought someone like Apollo out. Someone naive and new to the field for him to indoctrinate. And maybe I have a post about that later, cuz that's a whole 'nother barrel of monkeys right there. (It kind of involves Apollo’s naivete (also, daddy issues, hello.) being a huge reason why he would gravitate towards having a mentor known for having a “caring” personality. And I think Apollo genuinely liked that about him, which makes the end result so much more awful for Apollo to deal with because to him, that was real.)

But now think of Klavier, right. Being forced to grow up with that. To live with that your entire life. To have a familial relationship that is that smothering, that suffocating, that strangling. That controlling, to criticize every single thing that you do or say right down to the way you say it. And remember... He's never letting you go. I would go on a world tour as a rock star, too. Anything to be anywhere he isn't. This is horror movie tier stuff. (now im imagining a horror movie trailer for aa4 focusing on gavins stuff... eep!)

And Kristoph Gavin markets himself as someone who simply doesn't care. He's the coolest defense in the west and he doesn't care for what you may think about it. Except... he does care. It totally consumes him. Your perception, your opinion, is everything to him. He has shitty self esteem, deep down, because he knows Phoenix is better than him. And tries to mask it with narcissism as the two duke it out. Appearances are everything, evidence is everything. What people think is true is the only thing that matters, truth doesn't. And it makes sense that his closest contacts and associates are the targets for his constant narcissistic abuse and gaslighting. Their opinions matter even more than the common crowd - of course, Kristoph hates them. Which makes it even worse for him when the jury decides unanimously that Vera is innocent (and by implication, he is therefore guilty). The jury verdict was kind of like the ultimate confirmation that guess what, the evidence doesn't matter. The common and boorish masses have passed judgement, no matter how "mindless, emotional and irrational" they are, even they can see behind his crappy little facade. Even a blind woman like Lamiroir can see that insecurity; even a common person can understand it just by looking at the facts. That's what absolutely wrecks him... that his “poker face” couldn’t hold a candle to Phoenix’s. And he loses the “hand” again (because of his “hand”... get it??).

The identity that he needs to maintain is part of how he sees himself in his mind. As Phoenix's protector, not as his stalker. As Klavier's benevolent big brother, not as his abuser. As Apollo's teacher and mentor, not as someone guiding him into ruin. He lives in a false reality.

Try to bring this up in any way, shape, or form and he will write it off. You're just imagining things...

Because at some level, Mr. Black Psyche Locks himself doesn't even realize. (I feel like that might just be basically canonical fact, based on Pearl’s explanation of how black psyche locks are supposed to work.) That’s pretty freaking terrifying.

At the end of the day this is a big part of the reason I think his character is just so interesting. In a very messed up way, Kristoph is one degree away from being such a good person. He could've been obsessively protective of Klavier - the way a big brother is supposed to be - instead of abusive, could've actually been very caring of Phoenix instead of manipulative. Terrible people can have good traits, just as good people can have awful traits. His attention to detail and understanding of psychology (like getting Vera those gifts she would like so much) could've been used for genuine good. He could've been someone who cares deeply about other people because he does care deeply about other people. But only in terms of their relation to himself, what do they think of him, how are they useful to him.

Maybe this is why I kind of like his character. Intelligent, semi-neurotic protective characters are just my ish. But, no, he has to have a narcissistic bent that skews everything into complete abuse. That’s what makes him awful... that he’s devoid of a moral compass or true compassion for other human beings.

So in closing, fuck off, Kristoph Gavin.

Postscript, he's also such a good foil for Phoenix for this reason. Kristoph does everything for himself. Phoenix does everything for Trucy, because he's a dad and he understands the weight of what it means to really care for someone. Kristoph couldn’t understand motives like that. And Phoenix can't help it if he's an order of magnitude smarter and more mature than Kristoph is. He was just born like that. Classy as fuck. You know what, Kristoph Gavin is like the dollar store version of Phoenix Wright as an attorney. Has many of the same functions but actually doesn't have a leg to stand on and will fail you when you need it. And is revealed to just be a cheap knockoff of the real thing.

[aaluminiumas]

Old Junk

        They didn’t meet often.

        In all honesty, Heisenberg himself didn’t know what he was waiting from those meetings: Julia couldn’t teach him any specific techniques, nor was she able to give him a piece of advice that may come in handy in the future, but somehow her decrepit hut on the outskirts of the village turned into a temporary shelter, a haven where he could conceal himself from Miranda’s omniscient eye and Dimitrescu’s stupid jeers.

        Julia barely spoke; in fact, she preferred to express herself by gestures and smiles as if she were mute. Unlike the secretive Donna, who'd rather stay aside and never mingle with the crowd, this particular woman never failed to be understood – touches and glances helped her reach her goal. Conversations were not her forte, but she didn’t need them anyway: something within her lukewarm brown eyes mildly directed the discussion, and Karl felt at ease. Albeit he rarely warned her about his visits, she seemed to be always waiting for him – and, spotting the familiar bulky figure clad in an old coat, she tended to stare at his swarthy face. Sometimes she brushed her hand across his hand and tenderly dragged him into the room. She beamed, literally. Why did he keep coming anyway?..    

        Heisenberg couldn’t remember where and how exactly they encountered: Julia had appeared in his life long before the factory, and, evidently, owing to her modest taciturnity, this manufacture was finally outlined and constructed. Fed up with Moreau’s mourn wailing, Alcina’s commanding tone, and Angie’s shrills, he set off to the shabby shackle on the riverbank and got down to his drafts. Julia never diverted his attention – she kept knitting, humming an ancient lullaby under her breath while Karl was trying to recall whether he’d heard the melody before. Someone had sung it in the past, but he failed to recollect who exactly did it.  Or maybe it was an illusion, and he’d caught the lyrics just because of the brief visits. Every once in a while he sneaked a look at her askance, from beneath the dark glasses:  gaunt and tiny, she practically dispersed in the ugly fuscous-colored sofa that creaked and squeaked so loudly that drove him crazy in a matter of seconds. Karl had offered to throw this monster away and get a new one, but Julia, laughing quietly, shook her head. She always loved old junk. Old junk like him.  

         Actually, Heisenberg wasn’t prone to nostalgia at all, as his reminiscences had always fallen apart in fragments; however, Julia's visage was printed to the back of his brain. If anything, she became the only person who wasn’t afraid of him. Her surprisingly smooth hands cautiously slid across his scars on the back and the chest, scrutinizing them and lingering on the blemishes that once had been the most painful wounds. She even dared touch his face and carefully took off his glasses. Did she think he wanted to show off and tried to evade her stare?..

        Putting the glasses aside, Julia tenderly took his visage in her hands.

        “I can’t quite grasp the color of your eyes,” she explained with a smile, “they are constantly changing.”

         Her fingertips soared over his nose bridge and flew over to the mark on the cheek, then lingered on the thick lips and softly ambled towards his chin and neck. The odor of car exhaust and cigar smoke didn’t scare her away; she still wanted to stay by his side. Till this very day, he racked his brain about her behavior: did she ever care about her life knowing she was crossing the line?..

        And then – Miranda, of course. A presumptuous witch with a local goddess’s manners. Called on him, invited him to visit her – and for the first time, he was there alone, without that sarcastic super-sized bitch.

        “What?” Heisenberg frivolously leaned over his hammer and lit his cigar. “Problems?”

        “Yes, Heisenberg,” replied Miranda revealing her holier-than-thou attitude, her pale eyes glued to him. “Problems indeed. And one of them is you.”

        The engineer saluted her jocularly.

         “At your disposal! As a matter of fact, I was sure that was the crux of your, ahem, system.” 

         “Don’t be a clown,” she snapped, “You perfectly understand what I am talking about. And you must get rid of her.”

         “What’s the point?” the glasses glimpsed from beneath the hat, his face imperturbable and slightly disinterested. “Lycans are going to take care of it anyway.”

         “Did you hear my order, Heisenberg?” Miranda repeated, completely ignoring his answer. 

         “I did,” he extinguished his cigar. “I’m on it.” 

         Arrogant bitch. He grabbed his hammer and left.

        “Just don’t hurt me too much,” Julia pleaded quietly, “I’m afraid of pain.”

        He couldn’t wrap his head around it. What was it like, to be afraid of pain? His entire like was somehow entangled with it, but he barely remembered those bits; he could count the highlights by the fingers on his one hand. First off, The Cadou, obviously; and the cold caused by the medical instruments – somewhere in the bowels. Then that goddamn steam machine that exploded in his hands. Thanks to it, his hands are now covered in scars. Details that flew off under pressure, a broken cyborg – something had almost blinded him, but luckily, all went well: the

only repercussion that remained was that his eyes were sore when the light was too bright.

         He killed her that night. Well, he didn’t like that – unlike the atrocious, brutal Dimitrescu, Karl didn’t see any point in regular, commonplace slaughter. Of course, he had little patience with intruders and those who got in his way, but the majority of the villagers rarely ventured to stick their noses outside, let alone confronting any of the lords. But Mirada obviously, hated this non-committal relationship of his: her “children” belonged solely to her. They must guard her and her interests. Advocate her. No one had the right to compete with her or to rebel against her. And Heisenberg, who had managed to avoid her omniscient eye, did fall into the category of the mutineers, even though he initially denied the mere idea of revolution. She loathed his independence and free will, she detested his attempt to break away from the others, and she showed her teeth, thus involuntarily revealing her intentions.

         Heisenberg gave his workshop an apathetic look, then glanced at his contorted reflection. Grinning to his doppelganger in the old sooty mirror, the engineer fished a cigar out of his pocket, fumbled with it, and lit the tip. The gloves and the coat were saturated with odors of oil and tobacco – that must be the reason why both the witches, Miranda and Dimitrescu, sniffed at his sight. Prigs. Useless creatures ready to slit anyone’s throat for power, butchering those who dared impinge upon what never truly belonged to them. He did not belong to them; but Miranda, that crazy bitch concerned about her own safety, held a different view and amplified her positions. Julia’s death – or Dimitrescu’s so-called daughters', – did not mean anything to her. In the former case, she found a quiet insurgent in those short meetings: they undermined her authority and monopoly over her ‘son’. As for the latter… she simply didn’t give a shit. Winters’ intrusion may have ruined her entire game, but his resolute resistance and Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra’s murder just proved his abilities and evinced his fighting qualities. He was a rival to be cautious about. Alcina’s feelings were never a thing to her.

         Go to hell, he thought. Instead of dealing with the problems on her own, Miranda keeps them on a tight leash impelling to clean things up after her. The villagers believed in her piety while their reputations got distorted and finally sullied. In the end, they were demonized to the extent that only the Duke dared speak to them. Well, there’s nothing to complain about, though: his cigars significantly dropped in price.

        Heisenberg leaned back in his chair and smirked under his breath. We’ll see what’s next. Not all his drafts had disappeared – the abysmal factory preserved a variety of secrets that would eventually help him overthrow this viper. Just you wait – and the decision will come by itself. Every minute counts: Ethan Winters has already got disposed of Donna and Moreau.

[worldofpureimagination19]

Secrets (Harry Hook x Reader)

Request: Hi, can you please do a Harry Hook one shot where he and the reader are cuddling and being cute and all. Then Gil walks in and has a fanboy attack because he ships them.

Requested by: @oneandonlyizabelle

Word Count: 1535

Author’s note: I really hope you enjoy this. I may have went a little overboard.

“Again,” Harry smirked, as he brandished his sword.

You huffed and got back into your starting position. Your (h/c) that was once in a neat bun was now messy and hanging in your face. You loved and hated training day all at the same time. You loved the smell of the ocean and being outside for hours on end. You hated the pain that you would feel later while laying in bed.

The only other thing that made all of this training worth it was the pirate in front of you. Getting to watch his muscles ripple with every swing of his sword. His piercing blue eyes staring into your (e/c) ones. The smirk that made your stomach flip when he thought he had the upper hand on you in a sparring match. His laughter was what currently brought your attention back to the fight at hand.

“If you take a picture it’ll last longer, love,” Harry’s Scottish accent purred, as he swung at you again.

You rolled your eyes, as Harry’s smirk grew. Swords clashed as you two picked up the pace. Swinging and dodging each other’s blows as if it were second nature. Harry trash talking the entire time while you just smirked or laughed at him. Harry was in the middle of making a comment when you decided to make your move. As Harry spun and swung his sword at you, you smirked and expertly maneuvered out of the way, throwing Harry off. Taking advantage of his moment of weakness, you spun and quickly pressed the tip of your sword to his throat.

“You should watch your mouth sailor,” you smirked. “Maybe next time you won’t be so easily beat.”

Harry smirked, but his eyes softened when he looked at you. A genuine smile sliding onto his face. Your smirk slowly morphing to match his gentle smile. About a month ago, you guys had decided to take your friendship to the next level and test out the waters of an actual relationship. You and Harry had been on patrols when Harry stopped you in the alleyway and pulled you into a gentle and sweet kiss. Your heart had stopped and time had stood still.

From that moment on you guys became inseparable. Harry considered you his girl and you considered him your man. You two had to keep your relationship a secret though. Uma didn’t allow dating in her crew. She considered it a distraction from her larger mission of bringing the people of Auradon to their knees.

“Listen up crew!” Uma yelled, pulling you from your thoughts.

You finally lowered the sword that was still pointed at Harry’s neck.

“Enough training,” Uma commanded. “For those of you not patrolling, get some rest. The others, go get our money.”

A chorus of ayes came from the crew as people went their separate ways. You stood there for a moment and stretched your limbs, already feeling your muscles begin to get sore. You had only joined Uma’s crew six months ago and your muscles still weren’t use to all of this sword fighting.

“Are you patrolling tonight lass?” Harry asked, placing his sword in the holder on his hip.

“No,” you sighed. “I am going to relax tonight. I already feel so sore.”

Harry walked closer to you with a concerned look in his eye. He was so close you could feel his breath on your face.

“Why don’t you use my bathroom,” he whispered. “And when I get back from patrol, I can help you relax those beautiful muscles of yours.”

You felt his hook trail up your side as his pinky wrapped around your own pinky finger. You two never risked holding hands outright incase Uma saw you. You bit your lip and nodded your head, looking up into his beautiful blue eyes. He smiled softly at you before releasing your pinky and backing away.

“I’ll see you later then,” he smirked, before walking over to Gil to start his patrol.

You sighed as a bright smile appeared on your face. You made your way to Harry’s quarters and quickly jumped into Harry’s nice warm shower.

Harry’s POV

I walked quickly through the streets of the Isle, wanting nothing more to get back to (Y/N) who was probably laid out on my bed in one of my shirts. Gil was taking his sweet time and was driving me crazy. He continued to blabber about everything under the sun.

“Hey! You know what I was thinking,” Gil said for what felt like the hundredth time.

“What now?” I mumbled.

“You and (Y/N) would make the cutest couple,” Gil said with a smile.

My eyes grew double in size at the mention of my name, (Y/N)’s name, and the word couple all in the same sentence.

“What did ya say?” I sneered.

“You and (Y/N) would…” Gil began to say before I cut him off by shoving him into the wall of a nearby building.

“Ya say anyhin’ like that again, and I’ll hook ya,” I snarled at him. “There is no datin’ on Uma’s crew. Ya understand me?”

Gil nodded his head, and I let go of his jacket.

“Now let’s get this over with. I’m tired.”

Your POV

You laid on Harry’s bed; your hair still slightly damp from your shower. You kept stretching out your arms and legs, hoping to get rid of some of the soreness. Sighing, you looked out the window and looked at the cloudy skies of the Isle. You always wished you could look up and see stars one night.

The bang of a wooden door made you jump, looking to see Harry quickly make his way into the room. He slammed the door with a stern look on his face. He was clearly annoyed about something. As soon as he turned his head to look at you though, the stern look melted off and turned into a soft smile. His brow unfurrowing and his eyes gleaming a little more.

Without a word, Harry came over to the bed and flopped down on top of you. He buried his head into your stomach, as his arms secured themselves around you. Your hand instinctively went to his messy brown hair and began brushing through it.

“Gil’s annoyin’,” Harry’s muffled voice met your ears.

You smiled and chuckled lightly while you continued to massage Harry’s scalp.

“What did the little puppy do this time?”

“He just won’t get off the idea that you and I should be together,” he sighed.

“You don’t think we should be together?” you joked. “Cause I think it sounds like a pretty good idea.”

With a groan, Harry sat up so he was hovering over you. His blue eyes stared into your eyes, as his hand came up to lightly caress your check. You leaned into his touch with a content smile on your face. These were the moments you cherished the most, the quiet and soft moments with Harry. No one around to bother the two of you.

“I think it’s Gil’s best idea yet,” Harry smiled down at you.

Harry leaned down and your lips met in a sweet and light kiss. When you had first started dating Harry, you thought all his kisses would be rough and wild, much like he was. But you unlocked this softer side of him that only you got to see. Feather light, passionate kisses filled your life and filled your stomach with butterflies. Every kiss felt like the first time.

Harry pulled back a little bit, but your noses and foreheads were still touching. He rubbed his nose against yours, just enjoying getting to be this close to you. Opening his eyes and pulling away a little bit, he gave you a look that you were pretty sure was made of just pure love.

“Did I ever tell ye,” Harry whispered. “That yer the most beautiful lass in this world.”

A small blush dusted your cheeks, and Harry’s smile grew wider. The crinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent. His hand ran threw your hair and you sighed with content.

“You’re too good for me Harry Hook,” you smiled.

Harry started to say something when his door flew open. Too shocked to move, you both stayed entangled with each other. Gil came strolling in like he owned the place, and you nearly died of a heart attack.

“Hey Harry!” Gil said happily. “I forgot to tell you that…”

He stopped mid sentence when his eyes fell on the scene before him. His eyes grew large and then a large smile filled his face. He looked like he had just seen the best thing in the world.

“Oh my god!” Gil nearly screamed. “I knew it!”

The next second Gil was running out of the room continuously yelling he knew it.

“Shit,” Harry growled, as he sprung off of you.

You watched Harry charge out of the room after Gil. You laid in Harry’s bed in shock, praying Harry got to Gil before Uma heard him. A small nervous laugh bubbled out of your chest before you covered your face, hoping the pillow smothered you before Uma had the chance to kill the both of you.

[unlockthelore]

Restless Nightly Pursuits

Idly restless through the night, sleep is impossible to find when answers are roaming the palace halls. From the series Affections Touching Across Time on Ao3, and part of the Talking To The Moon fic. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog. For more of this fic, follow the talking to the moon tag.

How could I have not known?

The question was at the forefront of Sesshomaru’s mind as he stormed through the halls, attempting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the study. He could feel Rin’s presence at his back. Hear wood rattling in its frame as the door slid open and her scent — gods, her scent. She always smelt of blossoms and woodlands, ink and paper, the ocean and all its arcane wonders, but beneath it was what he’d been ignorant of.

A child.

Children, if his mother were to be believed.

Girls.

Twins.

And his wife knew, but she deemed him unfit of such knowledge. For how long?

His skin crawled, claws brushing against the palm of his hand as his fingers curled into fists beneath the drape of his sleeves. Gentle words and tender touches to guide her from her studies to the comforts of the bath he’d drawn for her were mottled in the disgusting bitterness soured on his tongue. Poison burned beneath his claws, and the fissures gathered on his heart widened as pain throbbed with every beat. His fur rippled wildly on his shoulder as he drew in a deep breath, forcing the molten touch of his poison away from his claws in order to slide open one of the doors.

Outside.

Fresh air.

He needed to find release before something untoward came forth. Traitorously, his feet led him further from the open flatlands near the forefront of the castle. Terraced land, dipping into a grassy hillside where at the base rested a thicket of trees meandering around a rocky cliffside — The expanse of the ocean was open to behold past the veritable wall of nature, and it was where Sesshomaru intended as he took to the skies.

Distance.

He needed distance from all which lingered behind him, but he couldn’t go far. His wife, the mother of his children, lingered on the grounds, and he would be loath to abandon her.

Abandon Rin?

As quickly as he took to the skies, he landed on the  thick and sprawling grassland. Bade himself not to think of the water glistening upon curved blades of grass speaking of the earlier rainfall. How his wife would have buried her toes in the soil and called for him to do the same.

If she is with child, would she not grow ill if —

Sesshomaru clenched his jaw to stifle the surging growl and marched down the hillside, unperturbed by the incline. If he closed his mind for a moment and pretended the trees surrounding him as he stepped into the thickets were that of the forests he used to roam, then perhaps it would ease him. Thoughts of the castle, of the woman who was waiting for him or perhaps searching for him, set aside.

How could he yearn for her as much as he wanted to be upset with her?

Does she not trust me?

Bright-eyed Rin with her wit and smiles, always at his side, assuring him with soft touches and imploring glances. She coaxed him to calm more than once, showedfaith in him to protect her, and later on, entrusted him with her body and soul . Sesshomaru’s eyes shuttered as he turned his head away from the notion of distrust. His wife was loyal to a fault. Even if her very life were in imminent danger, she would put her faith in him just as she had done time and time again.

So why now?

He tried to breathe in, but the air was thick and humid, refusing to slip down his throat, instead clogging and suffocating. What was this feeling? He hated it. Hated this urge to lash out — to question her on why — to see beyond the smiles that constantly blinded him with their beaming radiance .

Will that change once they’re born, or will I—

Sesshomaru drew in a large breath to steady himself. What would she say then? Did she regret this? What they had done, what they had created together? A burning pain cracked at the fissures in his heart, and he turned his head away, forcing the rippling of his fur to cease.

No. She hadn’t said it, he hadn’t felt discontent in her heart, but she’d been hiding this.

Hiding from him.

Regardless of what anyone may claim, Sesshomaru was not born for the sake of an heir.

And his mother knew. He wanted to scoff. Of course she knew. She always knew what others didn’t and kept the information to herself until it suited her needs to reveal it. But this revelation explained much: whyshe was adamant in helping him with affairs, bidding Rin to rest, or insisting that they spend time together. During all that time, he hadn’t noticed a thing.

I expected to find myself weary of being tethered to this helpless and needy being, eventually finding him to be a burden, and kill him when it suited my needs.

Why?

The tip of his boot caught on a root while the other skidded in the grass, jerking him forward. Silver-white hair veiled half-lidded eyes as he stared listlessly at his own shadow. It wasn’t a secret. He knew inuyōkai weren’t always accommodating or wanting of their offspring. His mother’s affections were peculiar, to say the least, while his father’s were occasional. Did Rin find fault in that? The scandalized way in which she gasped, the indignation in her voice — was it out of concern, or did she doubt what he would desire?

Children. Did she think he would abandon them as his father abandoned him?

No matter how desperately he tried to wrap his mind around it and force her away from thought, she would always return, and he would find himself staring into the memory of her eyes, her smile gone and replaced by a sullen thoughtful expression. Brown irises darkened, pupils dilated and dreadfully saddened —

Sesshomaru.

He twitched upright and jerked his entangled foot forward, ripping forth the sunken roots and flinging dirt into the air. His energy crackled. Teeth elongating, then shortening painfully,he tried to keep himself from transforming as he briskly strode  through the forest until the sky opened up before him and the cliffside was centimeters from the tips of his boots. From the precipice, he could view the foamy darkened depths crashing against the shore, then receding. His breaths were short; shoulders rising, then falling slowly; red tinging the corners of his quivering, swimming vision. Looking up to the sky, the moon was dreadfully familiar.

Mikazuki.

A crescent moon, just like the one he’d been born with.

What would it be like for them? His daughters. Would they have the same moon as his birth, or would they be without it? Perhaps they would have ears as his half-brother did, or take on their mother’s appearance...

He wouldn’t have known.

Ruefully, his lips pulled back into a sneer, blinking slowly to chase away  the stinging heat gathering at the back of his eyes. He wasn’t sure for how long he stood there or when the clouds began to roll across the sky, dimming moonlight washing over him. Left in semi-somnolent darkness, Sesshomaru inhaled , then closed his eyes as the sound of wet grass squelching underfoot accompanied a quiet voice.

“You heard.”

He knew this conversation would come, but he hardly wanted it to ensue.

No, I did.

Knowing would set these bitter feelings aside, yet  he couldn’t bring himself to turn and face her. Out of not wanting to show her this side of him or to feel compelled to forget and draw her into his arms.

Answers.

What he needed were answers.

“Did you intend for it not to reach?” Sesshomaru asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Rin was quiet for a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was filled with an assurance and stability he envied. “I had to be certain of what I wished to do,” she said.

Sesshomaru bristled at that. What she wished to do. His mother had made it clear that they created life, yet she kept him ignorant. Complacent. And for what? His jaw clenched painfully, fang pressed to the skin of his lip.

“Then it was needed to deceive, Rin?” He asked, barely able to keep the contempt from his voice. “To keep me ignorant of their existence.”

Do you not trust me, Rin?

“What are you saying?”

Sesshomaru blinked, and despite all of his composure, all of his struggling to not look at her, he glanced over his shoulder. Rin was staring at him, her brown eyes narrowed . True, he’d seen her withering glares, brows furrowed as she began to unleash fury upon someone foolish enough to insult her. But it was never directed toward him. Not until today. Rin glared at him scathingly — disbelief, hurt, and anger deadened in chilled, honey brown eyes.

“This isn’t something I can simply be prepared for, it isn’t an eventuality I expected. I never considered being a mother. We never spoke of having children — “

Sesshomaru scoffed, turning on his heel to face her, feeling the venom on his tongue as he spat. “You never asked.”

Rin recoiled, her face crumpling for a second, then she rose , her shoulders tensed and hands balled into fists. “Because I know you…” She trailed off, the words tense, and bit into him for  as they left her lips, he saw the sheen in her eyes. “You despise hanyō.”

And there it was. The fact that he’d overlooked this entire time. His wife, his beloved wife who would be the mother of his children was human. Half their child’s blood would be hers, and the other would be his own. A voice, whispering from the distant past, told him it would be disgusting. The proud bloodline of his father’s would be sullied by yet another hanyō, and this time, it would be of his own making.

He wasn’t sure what expression he showed, but Rin’s face fell and her eyes widened, shimmering with unshed tears. Sesshomaru tried to force the air to course through his lungs.

“I had no desire to follow the path of a normal girl,” Rin hissed, stamping her foot in the soil. “No man nor woman I cared for long enough to lay with and consider a family until you began to travel with me again.”

Sesshomaru jerked his head away. He didn’t want to hear that. He’d come to terms with the idea that Rin had loved others. It was within her rights. He made her a promise, but gave her the room to search her heart. To explore what it is she wanted from the world that had denied her the right to live . If he’d come back to the village where they parted ways and found her married with child —

“I’m frightened, Sesshomaru.”

Those words wrenched him from his thoughts, and he tugged his head up. Senses heightened as he became acutely aware of the world around them. There were no threats he could cut to ribbons with his claws or melt to nothing with poison. No. The only threat present was Rin looking at him. Her voice rose above the crashing waves against the rocky cliffside.

“I am scared more than you know,” she seethed, and the hurt cracked at her voice just as the threshold blocking the tears she’d been blinking away began to falter. “You have every right to be angry, I won’t deny you that. But I do not want to do this without you.”

But she would. The words unspoken weren’t a threat. No, they were a promise. Rin was independent of him in both mind and body. She would make her own choices as she deemed fit — as she’d always done — as he once bade her to do. Even in this, with the lives that they created, she would take it into her own hands. Sesshomaru stiffened his jaw, stamping down his turmoil at the scent of her tears.

How could you think to do this without my involvement, Rin? I am always —

“I need to know that you are beside me, that you can set aside this silly prejudice.”

His thoughts spilled from her lips, and he recoiled with such ferocity that his heel clipped a deep crevice in the earth.

“Silly?” He uttered in a tense graven tone, shocked and exasperated at being referred to in that manner.

Rin didn’t seem swayed by his tone or otherwise, her arms folded loosely over her chest. Sesshomaru’s gaze flicked to her wrist where the sleeve of her yukata fell back, exposing smooth skin without the cloth bracers she’d don into battle. He didn’t expect for Rin to take arms against him. Never once had she raised a hand to him, albeit she was adept at making her words sharper than her knives.

“And what would you call it?” She demanded fretfully, a wrinkle in her nose as she tipped her head to one side. The uneven fringe of her bangs darkened the shadows around brown eyes, which were almost glowing in the dim light.  “What reason could you have for hating hanyō as you do? You feel they are beneath you? Just as humans are — as I am?”

Before he could think to rein in his tone, Sesshomaru growled. “You are not beneath me.”

How could she say something like that? For a second, the displeased look gave way to one of fleeting affection, and he brieflyyearned for the Rin who smiled at him warmly. Not the incandescent woman who glowered at him a second later, unapologeticallyerasing the kindly expression of his beloved wife.

“I am an exception then?” She shifted her stance to set her hands upon her waist, and he couldn’t help but notice the way her fingers lingered at her abdomen. “Will your daughters also be an exception, Sesshomaru? How will you justify it to them?”

He almost wanted to say that he did not have to. When they were born, he would protect them with all that he had because they were theirs. Part of them was Rin, and he loved her. That they were hanyō was unavoidable. Why was that not enough for her?

“Where does this stem from, Rin?”

He had to know: whatdrove the wedge between them that she could not speak to him as candidly as she did now? He stared at her, and she looked away. It was enough to loosen his tongue, but he bid himself not to say a word. Give her time. Give her a choice. Even if she seemed keen on taking his own away with nary a word.

After a moment of painfully long silence, resignation flickered across her face. “Inuyasha.”

Sesshomaru scoffed at the name and turned his head away, but Rin wouldn’t allow him to evade thr topic . She hardly ever did. Now, as they stood on the precipice with only the sea behind them and their home before them, there was nowhere for either of them to flee .

“He is the root of all of your hate towards hanyō.”

“This has nothing to do with him.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Sesshomaru.”

The image of her displeasure in his mind paled considerably in comparison to the dark, terrible expression marring her face. She flung a hand aside sharply, the grass bending upon the breeze as if answering her call.

“You felt scorn toward your brother for your father’s demise — because he fell protecting him and his mother —”

“He was a fool—”

“He was a father protecting his child,” Rin gestured aggressively to her abdomen, curling her fingers in the silken fabric.  “It didn’t matter if Inuyasha’s blood was tainted by humanity, he loved his son. And you hated your brother for so long, enforced this idiotic belief that he was beneath you to wallow in your own pain and justify your actions against him.”

Sesshomaru turned his head away. He didn’t want to hear this. Not from her. Though, when he closed his eyes, he could see Inuyasha and the priestess Kagome as she’d been then. A wide-eyed andterrified teenage girl clinging to his half-brother’s sleeve.

“You used his mother’s image to trick him.”

Inuyasha’s eyes, golden and glazed over, unseeing him but someone else. He couldn’t see past the demoness’ guise. It was according to his plan, a foolish mistake on the hanyō’s part. Sesshomaru suppressed a tick of annoyance at how he referred to his brother then. Inferior, lacking, sentimental.

What he saw was the face of his dearly departed mother. The woman who caused their father’s demise all so that he could live. And what a wretch he’d grown to be.

He isn’t any longer.

Why the Mu-on’na protected him, Sesshomaru couldn’t understand at the time , but the pain in Inuyasha’s eyes when their gazes met — he felt satisfaction.

Now, it was a acrid memory of his failures in the pursuit of what would have never been his. Slowly, he met Rin’s eyes . Her shoulders undulated heavily, and the smell of tears had only grown stronger. Pain. She was in pain.

I am the cause.

No, this started with her deceit. Hadn’t it?

“Are you my judge then?” Sesshomaru questioned in a low tone, almost lost to the night with how airy and light his voice had become. “Is this your punishment — to withhold this from me? Shame me?”

He could see them before, but  now as the clouds rolled past, moonlight spilled into their small pocket of the world and glistened on streaks of silver tracking down her cheeks. She shook her head slowly, the corners of her lips twitched upward, but there was no mirth to be found. Her eyes were wet, lashes heavy and fluttering shut as she closed her eyes.

“This is my evidence. My evidence of what I need from you…”

His fingers twitched at his side. The urge to reach out and wipe away her tears stilled by her own hand raising to do the deed itself.

“Set aside your prejudice, learn from your mistakes, and be better for it…” Her shaky breaths were beginning to even, and when her hand pulled away, the disheartened woefulness in her eyes was replaced with a fierce assertion. “Because you were wrong.”

The tight grip on her yukata eased. Silk smoothed out with gentle brushes. His gaze transfixed on each sweep of her fingers as if he could see past the tranquil veneer she’d set.

“Because if you raised a hand to these children as you did your own brother, I—”

Sesshomaru’s eyes widened, and Rin’s face fell. Their eyes met, and not a word had to be said. He could feel the intent behind her pause . Her calm mask had cracked, replaced with a horrific and fearful  expression. His own facade schooled into neutrality despite the sudden upset at the implication.

“Would you threaten harm to me…” His voice trailed off as he watched her shift from one foot to the other, her gaze falling to her feet. Disbelief crept into his voice as he called out to her. “Rin?”

Her eyes closed. “To protect our daughters?” She started resolutely, a fatigue and sadness engulfing her face as she met his eyes. Her brown almost deepened to a murky black.

“Without question.”

Sesshomaru straightened and this time, when he turned away from her, he didn’t look back. Rin’s footsteps were deafening. Each one guided her further from him to the thicket of trees and beyond to the palace.

Standing alone on the edge, Sesshomaru looked to the crescent moon in the sky.

[malethirsty]

Heaven - Finn Bálor

Summary: Loosely based on the Julia Michaels song of the same name & tells the tale of a backstage reporter who falls head over heels for the newest NXT heel Finn Bálor.

Warnings: M/M sex (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!)

Inspired By: https://twitter.com/malethirst/status/1195915287876362240?s=21 & the Julia Michaels song

October 2, 2019:

The day your life would change. As an NXT backstage reporter, you often would interact briefly with lower ranged superstars whom weren’t on the level of Cathy Kelly chasing around after them like she did the Undisputed Era, but still needed a connection with the audience, like Shane Thorne.

So you were surprised when Finn Bálor, the returning former NXT champion stepped over to you for an interview, you were prepped as per the broadcast standards & were counted in. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guest at this time, Finn Bálor” Finn happily stepped into the frame, taking you in. “So Finn, it’s quite clear you shocked the world with your sudden return to the NXT cohort, you would only give Adam Cole a sentence, but is there anything else you can divulge about your reappearance.” “Well Y/N, A master never reveals their secrets, but I will tell you to look to my past, cause you’ll find what I bring back here will be a blast.” he gave you a wink and walked off, leaving you confused, yet intrigued at the Irishman’s statement.

October 23, 2019:

After a few weeks, and a lot of digging, you found out lots about Finn through research, you had learnt of his connections to Becky Lynch & Jordan Devlin, his adoration of the old Irish tales which inspired his Balor character, but what struck you the most was his time in the Bullet Club in New Japan Pro Wrestling. Something about seeing Finn or as he was known back then Prince Devitt, strutting around with a ‘Give No Fucks’ attitude sort of turned you on. However tonight Finn was going to leave his mark, which was what Hunter told you as he delivered the message that you would wait behind the scenes for Finn to do another interview. By now Finn’s statement about his future being his past had traveled through the WWE Universe like wildfire & people were watching with baited breath, wondering what Finn would do.

You watched excitedly as Tomasso stepped up to encounter the Undisputed Era, grinning when Johnny Gargano joined him and by the time Finn stepped out, your heart was in overdrive. You subtly bounced from corner to corner waiting to see the scuffle unfold, when suddenly Finn hit a Pele Kick on Gargano, stepping back & allowing the Undisputed Era to ravage themselves upon Ciampa. Your jaw dropped open as you let out a gasp of shock, which continued to resonate as Finn continued to batter Gargano, eventually leaving him broken on the ramp way as he moved back, shooting what looked like guns at the Undisputed Era.

You were in two minds, you felt awful for Gargano & Ciampa as they had just been battered, very badly in the former’s position, however seeing Finn in dominance brought back those feelings of passion you had seeing him in NJPW. However as the show cut, you had to pull yourself together as Finn would be heading over. As this was an exclusive for the web, you could be more questionable than the generic intro & question and you planned on doing that. Finn strutted in and stood by your side, his dominance was exuding from him and it took you everything to pull yourself together, how you were able to tune into the staffer counting you in, you never knew.

“Finn, it’s fair to say you shocked the entire world yet again, only for untoward reasons. You just dropped Gargano & Ciampa and let the Undisputed Era ravage them like a pack of bloodthirsty hounds, why?” Finn let out a chuckle, once a few weeks ago this would be a bright happy chuckle, but this time it was evil and filled the air with a sharp sting “Gargano was a means to an end, I plan to elevate this division by any way I can from the fucking wreck it was become & I plan to do it by any means necessary.” You were intrigued by this statement but had to move forwards “Due to your ‘My future is my past’ promo, many thought that you would appear as the Demon King tonight, why did you opt for this instead?” “Y/N, what’s to say you haven’t?, what if we have merged already?, let his darkness seep into me? My future did become my past, you just didn’t go that far back. I told you I would turn heel & I still surprised you all!” You were stunned, you’d never seen anyone passionately plan their heel turn so brilliantly. Finn turned to look into the camera ‘You better start getting on The Prince’s level, cause things are about to change around here. And if you can’t keep up, I’ll squash you just like I squashed your precious Rebel Heart.” Finn trailed away, the interview concluding.

Having had a lot to take in, you returned to your dressing room to unpack & return home, when you saw Finn behind you “Well hello there stranger” “Finn!” you startledly said “I wasn’t expecting you” “Well I just came to congratulate you on handling me, I know Renee, Charley & Cathy would have broken into tears as I went on my tirade, but you? You listened with open ears & took me in, like you adored me. That’s how an interview should be done here, none of this ‘Oh I feel bad for the good guys, let me take out my anger on the heels’” Finn adorned a sing songy high voice to mock the other interviewees which made you chuckle. “In fact, I think you like me like this, don’t you? I thought from the first interview you were interested, but tonight, I knew for sure.” You noticed he was moving closer & closer to you. “You like the good guys as much as anyone, but you know the bad guys like me can make you feel so good” he stopped right in front of you “So why don’t you take a chance? Kiss me like you want so desperately to”

At this point, you lost all inhibition. You surged forwards, kissing the newly turned Bálor. He wrapped his hands in your hair returning it. You backed into the bench in the middle of the room, falling onto it. “Wow” Finn groaned “You’re such a good kisser, but I think you’ll make an ever better fuck” he tore through your shirt, and made quick work of your pants, taking in your naked form “Beautiful, and all mine” he admired before ripped his shirt off in the manner he did yours as you let out a groan “I’ve got you moaning & I’m not even inside you yet, good Y/N” You took in the compliment, it seeming like molten gold as Finn began to make work of his pants, presented his cock to you “Suck it, prove your worth to me”

You sucked him, taking his massive cock down your throat, your eyes welling up, but you kept focused, determined not to let Finn see you crack, this was about him & you would do anything for your Prinxe. “Oh fuck! Suck it Y/N, oh shit! So many only manage half, but you? You took me straight down, like you were made for me” Finn slid his big hands behind your head & began to move you up and down as he growled in pleasure. Eventually he pulled you off, gazing cockily at your face “You liked that didn’t you?” You draw sharp breaths “Finn p- please” “Please what? Use you words Y/N, use that beautiful mouth to tell me what you want” You gasped out several breaths before begging “Fuck me Finn please take me. I. Am. Yours.”

Finn quickly moved so he was on top of you on the bench and quickly thrust in “OH FUCK! My treasure is so tight! So perfect!” He began to fuck into you roughly, moans falling from your lips joining his groans of pleasure “Fuck Y/N, take my cock. Yes! Just like that!” You started into Bálor’s cold eyes filled with passion and kissed him again. “Your body is like a garden babe, and I plan to explore” still fucking you, he bit into your nipples, one after the other, moving his hands down to explore you.

You threw your head back, knowing if you so much as looked at Finn’s beautiful face, you would spill. He seemed to recognize this & quickened his pace “I can feel you holding back, it’s ok my love, cum for me” you fell apart at this point, your cum decorating both your chests, he fucked you even faster, looking longingly down at you “My beautiful treasure, all mine. Forever” he started to thrust sloppier “Fuck, I’m going to cum, take me my love, we will rule NXT together, no one will ever destroy us, the Prinxe with his loyal lover. So darkly perfect and serene. OH FUCK!” Finn came deep inside you. You stayed entangled with him for a while, before you moved to try and get your clothes forgetting Finn had ripped your shirt “Don’t move, I’ll get you a towel from the bathroom” Finn disappeared briefly before returning with said towel, which you quickly put on “Come with me to my house tonight, I have more to experience with you Y/N” and as you joined hands with the newest villain of NXT, you felt complete. It was true what they said ‘all good boys go to heaven, But bad boys bring heaven to you’

[by-nina]

Little Bird

AO3 | FFN Royai Week 2020 | Day 5 – Picture prompt; seated couple Rating: K Genre: Fluff/Friendship Word Count: 2,044

A/N: My warmest thanks to everyone who gave their love throughout Royai Week! I’ll see you all soon for the big bang. x

The years to come are already bound to be empty without a friend. “I hope you don’t wait for me.”

Morning comes with the soft cooing of a bird in the Hawkeye house. The sound startles and awakens Roy, who had fallen asleep in the living room with his face pressed to an open book. It takes him only a second to regain his senses, having woken up so suddenly due to the bird, now nursing a slight ache from the discomfort of his sleeping position over the coffee table. He sits up, and he hears a few rushed footsteps and the snap of a door closing. The cooing disappears, and then there is silence.

            Roy quickly rises and follows where the sound had gone. It leads him to the back door of the kitchen not far away. He peeks through the glass pane of the door, soon glimpsing someone at the edge of the wood behind the house. The master’s young daughter, Riza—she looks over her shoulder as if wary of being watched, back hunched forward over something in her hand that Roy cannot see. Suddenly, with soft sprightly steps, she disappears into the wood.

            Confusion and mild panic rise within Roy. He hasn’t been in the wood before, doesn’t know if the girl is even allowed to be out like this, much less when half the sky is still dark and twinkling with its remaining stars. The master would kill him if anything happened to her.

            Roy realizes that he is barefoot only when he has stepped out onto the dewy grass, felt the wetness and crunching beneath his feet. The sun hasn’t risen high enough yet to truly break through the fog, and it chills him, having been used to much warmer mornings in Central. He briefly considers going back into the house to put on his house slippers and a coat, but the sound of her footsteps is quickly fading ahead of him. He grits his teeth and gives chase.

            To his relief, the wood isn’t quite as deep as he thought it would be, even though it is still a bit of a shock for someone around whom greenery had been scant growing up. Roy trudges through a three-minute walk’s worth of slick dry leaves and entangled twigs on the forest floor before he comes to a clearing—and she turns quickly when she notices his arrival, startled and indignant.

            “Why are you here?” she snaps. Roy takes an automatic step back, surprised at the loudness of her voice.

            “I-I’m sorry—I just saw you going out the back and wanted to make sure you were safe—”

            Riza exhales and pouts. “I can take care of myself, Mr. Mustang. You should go back before Father wakes up.”

            He misses her command as his eyes find her hands clasped in front of her. At last he finds the source of the cooing that had awakened him—a small dove, blinking and trembling slightly in her grasp. Roy also notices the way she is holding the poor creature; her wrists and knuckles appear tense, but taper out into gentler fingertips that sink into the dove’s feathers.

            “What are you doing with that bird?”

            She glances down at the dove and turns away defensively to hide it from view, even as her shoulders relax slightly. “Nothing. I’m just setting it free.”

            He ignores her attempts to brush him off; curiosity has taken hold of him. He has never seen a dove this close, much less in the hands of a child like her. Back home, the doves and pigeons in the city square allowed visitors and passersby to sprinkle bread around them for feeding, but would always quickly fly away and perch out of reach whenever they were approached. He never even knew what people wanted to do with the birds once they had run through the dispersing flock. But here, he could tell by the tone of her voice and the careful way it sits in her hands that it is there for its benefit, and not because she had simply wanted it for herself.

            “He was injured,” she suddenly says. Roy has leaned in to take a close look at the bird. “He flew into my window last night with a bad-looking wing. But I think he’s doing better now.”

            “Oh. And you took care of it?”

            There is a shadow of a small, fond smile on her lips now. She strokes the dove’s head with one finger. “I guess you could say that. I kept him in a box in my room, left out some water and seeds for him. You shouldn’t really watch a bird or pet it when it’s healing because you might scare it or make it worse. But then he started hopping around and flapping his wings a little, so now I think he can go back out and fly.”

            Roy blinks at her. “Have you done this before?”

            She nods. “With smaller birds. I’ve never taken care of a dove before.”

            Slowly, she opens her hands, and the dove ruffles its feathers once before hopping out onto the surface of a wide, flat rock. It fumbles around, seems to turn and look at her, then finally takes off and makes a short flight into the branches of a nearby tree. It perches on one, then transfer to another.

            Riza lights up as she watches the dove. Roy follows her gaze upwards.

            After a while, her face falters into a slightly wistful expression, but not one that is entirely unhappy. She looks pointedly at Roy. “This was my secret spot, you know. No one’s ever been here before.”

            He looks around. There is more to the spot than the wide rock to sit on; the clearing comes up to the edge of a small cliff overlooking a grassy meadow colored by several patches of wildflowers. The meadow spreads out to a small lake; farther along is another wood, then the mountains. It offers one of the best views he has seen so far during his short stay in the East.

            “I’m sorry I followed you here.”

            She smiles again, much more softly this time. “If you can keep the bird a secret from Father, then you can come here too whenever you like, Mr. Mustang.”

            Roy cannot help but return the friendly look she gives him.

            “Just call me Roy.”

Her father’s apprentice soon becomes her best friend.

            Roy turns out to be less like the uppity, self-absorbed city boy Riza had first judged him to be, and more like someone she might have already known closely over many years. He learns very quickly about caring for birds outside of the alchemy lessons he has with her father, as more hurt and sick birds come in through her window over the next couple of years. Finches, jays, sparrows—they always seem to find their way to her room, and she cares for each one diligently as he watches. On days that her father allows him to go into town, he buys medicine and supplies for tending to the birds.

            Nights of caring for injured birds turn into quiet talks that last until the odd hours of the morning. More than once, they fall asleep in her room in the middle of a conversation, shortly awakened by their patient’s sudden chirping. There is an ease in talking about him, an understanding she has never known with any of the children in their town. A greater sense of empathy than she has ever gotten from her own father.

            All too soon, Roy turns seventeen, and something changes in him, as if a fire has been ignited in him by a new sense of purpose. They have talked about their ambitions before, and she has always known that the lessons with her father would end and he would leave to seek something else, but she finds no comfort in that knowledge, or in their unspoken mutual attempt to forget about his departure until it looms closer than ever.

            Riza begins to miss him sooner than she had hoped she would.

“Roy?”

            She peers around the wall at him as he studies in the living room, careful not to disturb the robin in the box between her arms. In the moment before he looks up, as he is poring religiously over his notebooks and some reading materials from her father’s study, she sees for the first time just how much he has changed since the morning he followed her to her—their secret spot. Sharper features, an intensified focus… a grown young man.

            And then he does look up, and Riza is comforted by the warm familiarity of his expression. Roy sees the box right away; he needs no further explanation. He rises from the floor and follows Riza as she slinks into the kitchen, cradling the box as she had every other bird that came before the robin.

            “Master Hawkeye?” he whispers.

            “Preoccupied. I’ve just handed him a stack of old scientific journals that he hasn’t read in years.”

            They keep their footsteps light and quiet until they reach the same old wood, and then the walk up to the clearing feels both like walking back in time and getting to know each other all over again. Roy asks Riza about the robin in the box; she asks if his alchemy lessons have been going well lately, and how he has been dealing with her father, and what else he is working on. Sunset is fast approaching now; the light turns dim beneath the canopy of the wood, and the shrill, steady chirping of cicadas fills the air.

            Neither one mentions that this bird is will be their last.

            At the clearing, they take in how much more colorful the meadow has become in the past couple of years, if overgrown. The wildflowers sway in the wind, and the water in the lake ripples as it reflects the sun setting behind the mountains in the distance. Riza sits on the flat rock, then Roy takes his place next to her. She gently sets the box on the ground between their feet, cups the robin gently in her hands, and raises it slowly in the direction of the meadow. It hops up; it shifts its weight on its feet; it sings a short series of notes in her hands; it takes off, and then it is gone.

            “He’ll be all right.”

            Riza imagines how she must look to Roy, staring far too long at the spot in the tall grass behind which the robin had disappeared. She can’t imagine that she will cry now, when she has cried very few times in her life, and never in front of anyone else. Never over the birds she has had to let go of after caring for them. After all, she has never longed for any of them to stay.

            Why would she heal their wings if they were never meant to fly?

            “I know he will. I’m happy for him.” She pauses for a moment. “I’m happy for you.”

            Riza only wishes she could say this more sincerely.

            A flock of birds suddenly emerges from the grass and soars up into a formation circling in the sky. Behind the clearing, birdsong rises from the trees and fills the space around them. They look up to find small birds of every color and every shape calling out to one another, breaking through leaves and branches, bringing the forest to life in a way that neither of them has seen or heard before.

            “It’s amazing, what you’ve done for them,” says Roy.

            “You’ve helped me care for them too.” Her voice turns small. “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”

            Riza waits for him to respond—hopes that one person in her life will at last care for her in the same way she has cared for them. If he doesn’t, she doesn’t know when she will have a chance at it again. The years to come are already bound to be empty without a friend.

            “I hope you don’t wait for me.”

            For a moment, she is farther from the birds, further from him than ever.

            But his voice is gentle and low when he speaks again, like the coo of a dove.

            “I hope you fly, like they do.”

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/64052086

Chapter 31

It was the second time Arthur woke up with a headache. Struggling out of his bed he vowed to himself to stop this. Sitting on his improvised desk and looking at all the papers he had filled in the last few days he concluded that it had at least been worth it. Now there were tons of material for an article. He had  photos of every band member and they had been eager to appear in the press. They all had been quite nice to him, even if a little bit too hard-drinking for his taste.

Arthur immediately got to work. Because he had no instructions about the length of his text and assumed that a big one would be more impressive, he used all the information he had. It felt good to write again. Against his worries, he didn't unlearn it. Still, he needed hours to finish his text. Then he immediately went to Mrs. Oliphant and slapped the papers on her desk.

"This is all I could find out," he said as if it was nothing. His boss looked doubting at first but after reading a few lines and realizing what was lying in front of her she became more and more excited. "Arthur, how did you do that?" "Well...", Arthur nervously scratched the back of his head. "Nick liked the idea and brought in all the others. No big deal, really." She eyed the photos. Arthur had developed all of Nick's pictures and had needed a while to decide what was best suitable for the press. He had kept all the others of course. Mrs Oliphant at least looked very pleased.

"I gotta say, you outdid yourself. You're one of the few useful reporters I have. You'll go out again." "To where?" Arthur was both proud and confused. "If what you're writing is true and the Make Believes are about to finish their record, they'll soon show up at Hackney's for a shooting. You'll go there and keep your ears up." "Davy Hackney? But he's in the Parade District!" Mrs Olphant nonchalantly opened a drawer of her desk. "There's your Letter of Transit. Don't dare to come back without any results!"

Arthur couldn't believe how lucky he was. He stared at the Letter as if it was a golden treasure. His boss was impatient. "If you don't mind, I'm quite busy at the moment." "Sure...S...See you..." Arthur stumbled out of the room.

Overwhelmed by multiple feelings at once, he didn't know what to think. He had been craving for this Letter ever since he had gotten back into town. It was his way to freedom, to Percy - or at least the Parade, and then he could find a way out. Suddenly all he wanted was to run away and leave it all behind. Next he thought about Nick. He couldn't leave without Nick! But now he could meet him again. And freely move about in town, wherever he wanted. Finally he was a human being again.

Arthur's heart was pounding while he walked back to his tunnel hideout that he could finally leave. He only wanted to gather some things he thought he needed. The medal was one of them, not only as a disguise, but also because it was precious to him. He liked to wear it as if it had been a special gift.

Outside he didn't need Joy to strut happily like the others, making his way to the bridge. He was shivering a bit when he had to give the Letter to the Bobby, as if the man could read his entire life story from it. Seconds later though it was done. He set foot into the Parade District.

Being there felt like a dream. As if he could go to work again and everything would be forgiven. Perhaps he even could come back. But now he had a different job. Before he went to Hackney however he had to go somewhere else first. He had refused to visit the house of his parents but his own...there was nothing bad about that. His feet were moving automatically, along the familiar streets. He greeted people he knew but who had forgotten about him and treated him like a newcomer. Still, he braced himself for being found and chased around. But no one attacked him. Probably thanks to Sunshine. He carefully walked closer to his house. It looked so harmless, but perhaps they had installed traps and alarms, just in case the Downer came back.

After examining the entire place he was surprised that everything was left untouched, in the same state as he had left it. He opened the door and simply entered his hallway, as if the entire incident had been nothing but a bad dream. It wasn't even looted.  No one had noticed that this house had been empty all the time.

At least he was certain now that he had no curious neighbors, he thought and chuckled. His fruits were rotten of course, and so was everything he had in his fridge. He opened the windows to get rid of the smell and started cleaning even though he had no clue what he really wanted in this house. After all, he didn't plan to stay. He could've felt foolish, but in the end his house was another good hideout. No one would suspect a righteous reporter like him. In addition he was glad to live in a clean environment again. After he had cleaned up of course.

Arthur was soon absorbed so much in cleaning that he didn't notice how time went by. It was already dark when he was finished. Of course he could still go outside, but he wouldn't hear much from Hackney anymore, so he had to wait until morning. He didn't mind though, he rather had some tea and relaxed in his new old home.

He had almost turned up Uncle Jack's New Hour, just by habit, but by now he couldn't stand that show anymore. Enjoying his tea, he thought it was good to finally have some calm and quiet, since he had slept badly in the last few nights. Still, he smiled. Nick Lightbearer had turned his life upside down, in a good way. Him, of all people.

He hoped that Hackney would cooperate because he needed to see his rockstar again. Lying in his bed, he continued to think about Nick. He wanted to wake up with him by his side for once. Actually he wanted to live with him. Perhaps even here. He was looking forward to it while he fell asleep.

The next morning was calm too. Arthur got up early and ate his breakfast from the supplies he had brought with him, enjoying his newfound home. Going out to find Hackney he was in a good mood and motivated. Reaching the Clayton Center of Art & Design he had to smile again. Some mannequins looked like Nick. He was quite the trendsetter.

Inside, he heard Davy Hackney's voice, loudly discussing something with a woman. Arthur kept his distance to listen. Sounded like a model had suddenly canceled and they had no replacement. Now Hackney was probably too upset to give any secrets away, but Arthur still tried. Coming closer to the famous fashion designer, the man eyed him from head to toe.

"Finally," he shouted out. Arthur wondered if Mrs. Oliphant had announced his visit. "Right height, right build, a bit tan for my taste", the man went on. "I...", Arthur began, but Hackney interrupted him. "What are you waiting for, sweetie? Off you go, to the catwalk!" He shooed Arthur into a back area of the building, where most likely a fashion show was taking place. Arthur would've liked to correct the misunderstanding, but no one was listening to him.

The next morning in Nick's house broke late. Their party had been extensive and Nick and Morrie had joined it too because they couldn't sleep anyway. The only one who was fresh as a daisy again was their manager, who shooed them awake. The band was spread all around the house. Nick and Morrie lied in a chair together, completely entangled and had to open their knot in order to get anywhere. "Virgil, what's wrong with you?", Nick complained weakly when he realized who had ended his beauty sleep. His manager softly but certainly ordered him to get up. "You too, Morrie."

Soon, The Make Believes shuffled through the house, half asleep, "I'll kill him," Brad muttered to Nick. "Trust me, we better keep him." While they were treating themselves with lots of coffee they waited for an explanation. "Do you like to push us around?", Chris moaned. "Your tape is ready, right?", Virgil only asked. "Yeah, we're ready and run down. So what?" "You need photos for the cover to finish the album. I want to get that done today."

They exchanged glances, then they laughed. "Gonna be a great picture! Five half dead musicians!" "Count me out. I look smashing as always," Nick said adjusting his hair. "Sure," Matt deadpanned. "With the dark circles under your eyes shining right through your mask. Pretty." "Why don't you make a photo right now and call the album "Fuck off", Brad suggested and they chuckled hysterically.

Virgil smiled. "I'm sure Davy Hackney will get you back into shape." "No, not another slave driver like you," Chris complained. "You can't do that to us. Nick, say something!" "Well, that's the hard life of a rockstar. You wanted it no other way." "This is how you're stabbing us in the back! We should've known!" "You want to be stars or not?", Nick replied, then he said to Virgil: "I have one condition though: You won't drag us back on stage right after this. Not today and not tomorrow." "And the day after tomorrow," Matt threw in.

"We need time to recover after all the hardships," Nick went on. "Right, Morrie?" He poked his lover who had been leaning on his shoulder the entire time. Morrie shot up. "What?" He blinked. "What did I miss?" "The show starts in five minutes," Brad said in a dead serious tone. "He's kidding," Nick said softer to his confused lover. "It's in ten minutes." They laughed again. Morrie shrank a bit, looking meek. Nick rubbed his back.

"Seems like you're having fun after all," Virgil concluded. "So let's go. For all I care, you can have two days off." "Only two? You should've asked for a week," Morrie moaned. "I would've never got that through," Nick said. "Just be pleased for now."

Nick actually looked forward to the photo shooting. He hadn't seen Davy for a long time and the shootings with him were quite fun, as soon as he had gotten used to the designer's resolute attitude. And the fact that he was always in a hurry. When they entered his shop, he walked towards them with open arms. "Virgil, finally! I thought you ditched me too! You can't imagine what a mess this day is!" He took Virgil's hand with both hands. "We did what we could, but you know how it is nowadays, all controls and barriers," Virgil answered and Davy sighed. "It's awful. Heaven knows why it has to be so complicated."

Then his gaze fell on the band "Nickie, dear! How are you?" "Hey there, sexy beast," Nick said and received kisses on both of his cheeks, before Davy eyed him. "You look terrible, honey!" He waved him off. "I'll fix you up again, don't worry." He turned to the others. "And you are The Make Believes? How exciting! All together again, in my studio! I'm glad you came." He shook everyone's hand. Morrie eyed him warily. "Now, now, into the make up room, if you please."

Arthur was completely exhausted.  His feet hurt from all the walking up and down the catwalk, and his fingers hurt from changing clothes. All this putting up, taking off and putting up again, and walking out and back in, enduring the flashlights, posing and smiling, always smiling, never showing any signs of fatique... When the fuss was finally over, Arthur dragged his tired feet back into the shop and fell into a chair. He hadn't seen Nick again and that crazy designer had only come back once in a while to criticize his performance. There hadn't been a second to pause, let alone talk. It was pure slave labor and Arthur would never say anything bad about models again.

Now that he had his peace, he pulled out a bag of cookies he had found in one of the dressing rooms  because he was in dire need of sugar. He was about to open it when it got snatched from his hands. "Are you out of your mind?", he heard Hackney's voice. "Ruining your figure like that." Arthur's patience snapped. He jumped up and grabbed his prey. "For the last time, I'm a reporter, not a model!"

This very moment the band came back from the make up room. "Arthur," they greeted him and waved. "Hey, Arthur!" Arthur was bewildered, seeing them suddenly all at once. "Hey, guys..." "So, you know each other?" Davy Hackney was surprised too. "Is he another star?" "Nah, he's a journalist", Chris said grinning. "Do you spy on us now?" "Uh...", Arthur wasn't in the mood for confessions. "No, I'm here to help out." He pointed at Hackney. "Oh, he was wonderful," the designer put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Dearie, I'm much obliged. But now I beg your pardon, these gentlemen need me."

"I'd like to talk to Nick first." His lover stepped out of the crowd. "Say yes, Davy. You know me, I won't leave you in the lurch." He gave him an innocent look and Davy gave in. "Okay, you have five minutes." "Thank you," Nick said gushingly and dragged Arthur with him. "And behave yourselves," Davy shouted after them. Nick turned around and winked. He shoved Arthur into a room and kissed him wildly. Arthur enjoyed it very much. He would be fine with five minutes of nothing but kissing.

After a while however Nick let go. "You sleeky bastard, you! What are you doing here?" "Instructions from above," Arthur said smiling. "So, your record is finished?" "Perhaps," Nick answered mysteriously and lifted an eyebrow. Arthur placably stroked his lover's chest and played a bit with his fluffy tie. "See, I don't want to disturb you. Can we meet tonight? I'm living in Lansdown Road, here in the district. It's not far." "What do you mean you're living there?" "I'll explain later," Arthur promised. "Please, visit me." Nick found his gaze irresistible. "Okay...I'll be there as soon as I can." Arthur gave Nick another eager kiss.

When they left the room Arthur didn't want to  go without any evidence. "Would you mind a group photo, now that you're standing all together?" The Make Believes didn't mind at all. They posed with Nick in their middle. Hackney crossed his arms. "Normally I'm taking the photos here." "Why don't you join them, Mr. Hackney? Come on, don't be shy." The designer adjusted his hair and suit before he strutted in front of Arthur's lense. Arthur was happy. The day had been a success. "You've been wonderful, all of you," he said and blew a kiss that was mostly meant for Nick. "Bye, bye!" "Bye, Arthur", the band sounded amused.

Back home, he was excited, wondered how he should spend the time until Nick arrived. Then he noticed he had nothing left to eat and drink so he went to the store.

Nick visited him in the evening, when Arthur had prepared everything and had been walking through the house multiple times, fixing up his already clean rooms. When the doorbell rang he shot up and shivered while opening the door. Nick strutted in and looked around.  "Okay, what are you telling me now, Arthur Hastings?" He planted himself in front of his lover. "Are you a Downer or what?" "Yes," Arthur said happily. "But this is still my house!" Nick furrowed his brows. "Since I have my job back, I can come back here and nobody seems to remember that I was gone! I finally have a real home again!"

He fell into Nick's arms and Nick returned the hug. "I'm so happy for you," he sighed into his ear. "Now I don't have to sleep in the tunnel anymore." Nick looked at him. "Does that mean you won't visit me again? In my tunnel suite?" "Does that mean you still use it? You weren't there anymore." "I'll use it again, I promise. And hey, if you need a warm bed in the tunnels you can sleep in mine. Just make yourself at home." Arthur's eyes lightened up. For such a long time he didn't have a place to sleep and now he had so many.

"Are you hungry, Nick? It's not the Avalon, but...I hope it will do." Nick blessed him with a compelling smile. "Yes, I'm indeed hungry..." He pressed his lips on Arthur's and their tongues played with each other until Nick's stomach growled. "I guess that's the cue." Arthur chuckled and dragged his lover into the kitchen. It looked like Arthur had put everything on the table that had fallen into his hands. It reminded Nick of their first improvised meal in the tunnel.

He now understood how much Arthur must've suffered down there in the dirt. Here, everything was so clean and tidy, he barely dared to touch anything. It looked like the photos in a catalogue. But then again, in a way Arthur had just moved in. "What is it, Nick? You're so deep in thoughts," his lover said quietly. "I...I'm just surprised...", Nick stuttered. "It's a pretty home." Arthur seemed to lighten up even more.

What Nick didn't say was that he felt very nervous all of a sudden. He normally didn't go into other people's houses. They visited him or he brought them to his hotel suite. Morrie's home was an exception. Nick wasn't prepared to see that side of Arthur. His lover however didn't seem to notice. They made sandwiches and drank tea.

"Isn't it incredible," Arthur sighed. "Where we are now?" Nick stared into his tea. "Do you plan to...start a normal life again? You have a job now. And a home." Arthur thought about it. "There's no normal life for me anymore," he said wistfully. "You won't take Joy at all?" Nick felt awful to ask. Arthur looked so lost. Something was broken inside him and Nick wished he knew what it was.

"No, no Joy for me." Arthur asked himself if he would ever explain it. He was afraid that he had to anyway but he pushed that thought away for now. Nick touched his hand. "With me, you won't need any Joy." Arthur squeezed Nick's hand. He was right. It was just like that. Nick warmed his heart more than any pill could, and with him he couldn't help but to be happy. He felt himself smile and looked at his lover admiringly. This time no waiter came to disturb their stares.

Nick lifted Arthur's hand and brushed every of his fingers with his soft lips, not turning his gaze away from his lover. Arthur had goosebumps everywhere. He used his other hand to stroke over the other man's cheek. Nick shortly stopped, enjoying the touch. Then he turned his head and trapped one of Arthur's fingers between his teeth. Seconds later Arthur sat on Nick's lap and they exchanged wild kisses again while their hands roamed each other's bodies. Arthur had been starving already, almost three days without his rockstar.

Nick's hands had found their way under Arthur's clothes when he stopped him. "Not here?", Nick guessed panting. "I have a bed," Arthur sighed. "A bed, you say?", Nick shouted and threw Arthur over his shoulder. "This needs to be consecrated! I wonder where it is! I guess upstairs!" His lover chuckled. "Wait, you can't carry me all the way up." "Wait yourself and see, King! Don't unterestimate the powers of the almighty God of Rock!" "You're breaking your back," Arthur kept laughing.

They bantered like that until Nick found the bedroom and pressed Arthur down into the mattress with a kiss. They turned the tidy room into chaos, throwing pillows and rolling around on the bed. It was a wonderful night.

[blackjack-15]

A Cursed Half-Game: Thoughts on: The Curse of Blackmoor Manor (CUR)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: mention of MHM, CUR, “The Bluebeard Room”(Nancy Drew Mystery), mention of Harry Potter, mention of Twilight.

The Intro:

Alright, time to pay the piper.

I haven’t exactly made it a secret that CUR is one of my least favorite games in this meta series, which is why I’ve kind of been dreading writing this meta. It’s not that I have nothing to say — quite the opposite — but more that I was worried about my own internal bias would make this meta boring, heavily one-sided, and (most of all) unpleasant to read. And while I’ve talked about games I dislike before (SCK and FIN primarily), CUR sits at many people’s #1 or #2 slots of Nancy Drew Games of all time, and there’s not much critique of it out there.

To make a long, rambling story short, I was most of all worried about being a lone, pedantic, soap-box bore rather than actually just working through the game. With that in mind, the first run-through of this meta was too much of a “compliment sandwich” type review, and didn’t say anything productive. And I hated writing it.

So instead, I’m just gonna play this straight. Let’s dive in, shall we?

The Curse of Blackmoor Manor is the first in a sequence of games that goes from CUR through CRE that I refer to as the “Jetsetting Games”, where HER decided to experiment with the locale of their games and be more (though not completely) conservative with their actual plots.

Nancy’s summoned to these cases for small, every day reasons — helping a neighbor, helping a friend, having fun with friends on a trip, an internship, etc. etc. — and a large part of the game is devoted towards the “oooh look we’re in this Weird Place!! This is so Weird and Cool! Look at this place!”. This isn’t a bad thing — two of my personal favorite games fall within this section — but it does represent a marked shift from the Classic (SCK—FIN) and Expanded (SSH—SHA) Games.

CUR as a game is perfectly emblematic of the Jetsetting Games; the setting (England and Blackmoor Manor) takes up most of the narrative room in the game, dictating what Nancy finds suspicious and what she ignores, and presents challenges that are simply due to the setting. Decoding cockney, the (horrific) old architecture and decorations, the “family legacy” spanning centuries — all of this relies on the setting rather than being justified within the mystery itself.

It continues with the full-screen approach that SHA presented, allowing for larger visual puzzles and more work being put into the actual setting, a quality that CUR largely benefits from, excepting the fact that it shows just how ugly some of the rooms really are.

CUR is also memorable for being the first absence of Bess and George, Nancy’s erstwhile phone compatriots, since their introduction, and the reoccurrence of Ned as a phone contact. I do find the absence of Bess and George a little odd in a game featuring one of Nancy’s (and thus one of Bess and George’s) neighbors, but Ned has been absent for the entire Expanded Games saga, so his presence is a fair trade-off.

I could go into the fact that I find it very curious and telling that the appearance of the Hardy Boys usually shunts Ned off to the side, if not out of the whole game, but that has nothing to do with CUR itself…so I shall forbear until a later date.

Though I don’t usually go into the actual book that the game is based on most of the time, it’s impossible to resist in this case.

CUR is actually based (loosely) on a book called “The Bluebeard Room”, notable for including the Cliché Trifecta — drugs, sex, and rock ‘n’ roll — not to mention giving Nancy multiple romantic entanglements and being the book where Ned and Nancy decide to date other people. The title of the book is a reference to a room in Penvellyn Castle that Linda (or, in the book, Lisa) is forbidden to go into by Hugh.

“The Bluebeard Room” has two main plots that actually converge into one about 2/3 of the way through the book: drugs and witchcraft. A Penvellyn ancestor (who, oddly enough, is also Linda’s ancestor) from the 1700s was burned at the stake on supposition of witchcraft, leading those who still practiced it to form a secret coven, sending Nancy “elf darts” (which apparently look like arrowheads) as warnings/threats. The coven turns to drug smuggling and selling, but keeps the room in Penvellyn Castle previously used for witchcraft for their drug trade, threatening Hugh in order to keep it secret.

Nancy comes in because Linda is still her old neighbor and her mother still asks Nancy to go investigate why her daughter looks so sickly after her marriage. Linda’s mother suspects Hugh of poisoning his new wife, which is a great dark turn that I wish the game had kept. Nancy, hearing about this in the first chapter, faffs around a bit with the lead singer of a British band and sleuths about drugs for half the book (9 out of 18 chapters) before going to investigate this majorly time-sensitive issue.

In the biggest change from the game, there’s something actually physically wrong with Linda — she’s being poisoned. She’s worried that the townspeople don’t like her, but other than that and Ethel (a local retired games mistress and drug dealer in this book) doing fake seances to scare her and Nancy, she’s totally fine, psychologically speaking.

Nancy figures out that Ethel’s the one poisoning her via an “herbal remedy” and takes it to a doctor, but the doctor says that it’s harmless — due to the fact that the doctor is part of the Witch/Drug Coven as well. This discovery doesn’t really impact the plot, and Linda’s only real symptom is repeated sleepwalking towards various cliff-like structures so that Nancy can save her at the last moment.

This poisoning subplot is instead changed to psychological manipulation and gaslighting in CUR, and the entirety of the drug/witchcraft coven is taken out, leaving just the inciting incident and the new “poisoning”. Without the coven, Her Interactive had to find a new plot and a new culprit, and instead decided to take the incredibly minor genealogical plot in the book and blow it up to be the main plotline of the game.

In CUR, the Penvellyns take main stage, and a few Holmesian twists (the move from Polpenny to Dartmoor, the mysterious “beast” of Blackmoor) are thrown in to round out the game. CUR also takes one look at witchcraft and shakes its head, instead relying on more realistic things like Bad Science, Bad History, and Werewolves to carry the “haunting” aspect instead. The “Bluebeard Room” changes from a locked room to a secret passage, and Linda is shoved behind a curtain, never to be animated seen. Hugh Penvellyn is a ghost, only able to be called a few times, and Ethel is remarkably innocent, considering she’s the main bad guy in the book.

In the end, CUR has very little resemblance to its source material, and while it’s certainly not the only game that does this, I feel like it’s a great shame. Just including the whole spousal poisoning angle and letting us see Linda (if only at the beginning) would vastly improve the game — and before you say that spousal poisoning is too dark for HER, this is the same game that includes witch-burning as an integral point of history and has an outwardly abusive villain, so I think it’s a fair shot to include it.

The Title:

The Curse of Blackmoor Manor at first glance looks like your typical ‘haunting’ title…until you realize that it has little to do with the game itself.

For starters, the manor that Nancy explores is rarely referred to as “Blackmoor Manor”, so it’s easy to forget that the manor itself, according to the title, is supposed to be at the center of the mystery, when it’s really just a location to bottle Nancy into so that they had an excuse for not sending her to a pub.

The curse is also then at the center of the mystery via the title, and while it’s a part of it, I wouldn’t say it was the focus either. Even worse that the title places the curse on the manor, rather than on the inhabitants — The Curse of the Penvellyns (a bad title in itself for multiple reasons) would have at least been a more on-the-nose title while still keeping itself vague.

The problem that the title exposes is that this game leans way too heavily on the “ooh isn’t this spooky look at it” side and not enough on actual plot. “The Curse of Blackmoor Manor” shows immediately that Linda’s not the focus of the mystery, that the villain’s got to be a Penvellyn — if the manor is cursed, then it’s got something do to with the family, after all — which before the game really begins in earnest, already boils us down to the two actual Penvellyns in the cast.

Nancy, Linda, and Nigel are outsiders, and neither Hugh nor Ethel appear enough to be the villain by HER’s preestablished conventions, so the title has already closed opportunities, rather than opened them up, which is what a good title should do.

What really gets me is that this title is a great title…but not a great title for this game. I feel like it’s a waste of a really good, provocative title on a game that doesn’t live up to it nor is defined by it, and I think that’s a real shame.

And speaking of living up to things and closed opportunities, let’s take a look at the mystery.

The Mystery:

Mrs. Petrov, Nancy’s neighbor, asks her help to go see what’s wrong with her recently-married daughter who now resides in her husband’s native England.

Because when you’re worried about your child, send the recent high school graduate in your neighborhood rather than going yourself. Alas, the Plot Must, so away Nancy goes on a jet plane to Merry Olde England.

Nancy discovers that it might not be so Merry after all when she arrives and immediately hears howling and snuffling, running into the Manor for safety from the possible werewolf outside. (Yes, this game drops the Werewolf Bomb that early.) Linda refuses to talk much to Nancy, claiming that the girl detective wouldn’t be able to help her, and Nancy finds that most of the rest of the inhabitants of the house aren’t too keen on her presence either.

With the help of Ned (in his first appearance since FIN!), a lycanthropy researcher (yes, I know) named Paliki Vadas, and a talking, possibly immortal parrot, Nancy must solve the case, figure out what’s going on with Linda, and along the way uncover a creepy family cult centuries in the making.

The bare bones of this mystery are quite similar to a lot of the Nancy Drew games, and are solid on their own. Besides the fact that we’re missing the usual suspect in cases like these — aka the spouse — it’s a fairly cut-and-dried plot, which is a plus to the game as it has to sell quite a few very odd things.

Even adding in the werewolf stuff (which, once again, occurs too early in the game), the mystery still isn’t too out there…until you remember that the werewolf stuff also includes ridiculously anachronistic technology, dubious history, an immortal parrot (parrots of Lulu’s size and coloring would live at most 50 years, not the 80+ she’s got under her wing), and a secret family society. While one or two of those can (and have) go together and still make for a solid, believable mystery, having all of them occur at once does stretch this mystery further than it should be.

The mystery as laid out in the beginning is a solid 7/10, but as it is added to over the course of the game degrades until you’re looking at something silly, unbelievable, and just plain odd, placing it at around a 3/10. The “twist” of who the culprit really is only works if you’re the type to pass over a child as a suspect, so if you’re not that type, it doesn’t add to the mystery at all.

What really hurts the mystery (and the game) the most is that CUR is, at best, plot-optional (if not plot-avoidant). While the puzzles are front-and-center (infuriatingly so in some portions, where Nancy can do five or six puzzles in a row without any real story push behind them), what little story there is often hides behind events that are hard (or sometimes impossible) to trigger and require a guide to achieve even most of them (like the guinea pig note, which requires Nancy to enter a room before doing the puzzle that guards the room).

Even then, there’s no guarantee that you’ll hear Brigitte’s ballad, that you’ll see Linda roaming, or anything else that gives you a better chance at unpacking the mystery. (In my latest playthrough with my friend, who played for the first time, we only got one “haunting” scene, despite setting alarms throughout the night to attempt to trigger them for at least a week in-game).

You need every haunting to actually make this a fair-play mystery, and the fact that you can miss all of them shows that they didn’t care about the plot/story.

All of the puzzles and garish rooms and promises of nightly hauntings can have the effect of duping the player into thinking more is going on plot-wise than it seems, but when you take it apart, all you have is some spooky music and flashes, and an endless stream of Halloween-at-the-school-gym puzzles without much of anything to tie them together.

The Suspects:

Linda Penvellyn is the person that Nancy’s hired to help, and is the source of one of the most far-fetched plots in any Nancy Drew game. Due to circumstances out of her control, Linda believes that she’s been cursed for exploring a secret passageway and is turning into a werewolf. Because of this, she’s taken to eating incredibly rare meat, shutting herself in her curtained bed, and only roaming around at night for fear of discovery. She refuses to talk to Nancy because she wants the girl detective to leave before she’s cursed too.

Had the game been done better, Linda would have been a heart-wrenching character — a young woman alone in a new house and new country where no one seems to like her and her spouse, who is the whole reason she’s in that situation, is rarely present, leaving her with unknown and unfriendly in-laws. On top of that, she’s being gaslit in order to think that she’s turning into a werewolf, her hands are growing terrifying amounts of hair, and her own brain is sabotaging her. Even when someone she knows turns up to help, she’s terrified that she’ll go through the same thing as well, and thus keeps to herself as much as possible.

However, because most of this is glossed over in the game, Linda gets little sympathy and is instead treated as strange and possibly dangerous, but ultimately as a character of little weight. She doesn’t speak much and she’s never animated, and the most humanity we get of her is her worry for Nancy and whatever her mother says about her.

Linda is thus a non-entity as a character and as a possible culprit, and is mainly just there to give Nancy a reason to be there so that she can unravel the actual “focus” (such as it is) of the game: The Penvellyn Secret. And speaking of…

Ethel Bossiny is Jane’s tutor and the most terrifying part of the game by a long shot, courtesy of her multiple jump scares. Though not a Penvellyn herself, Ethel is a keeper of their Secret, and is part of a long line of tutors to the Penvellyns, helping each “chosen” Penvellyn learn their history, navigate the ludicrous series of puzzle guards, and leave their own to protect the Sacred Penvellyn Rock.

Sarcasm aside, Ethel would be a good choice for the culprit — not the least of which because she’s one of the villains in the source material — except for the fact that she shows up too little to be the actual culprit. By this point in the series, HER has hammered out its formula pretty well, establishing the 4-suspects-to-a-plot standard and requiring that the baddie must be able to be interrogated. As Ethel only shows herself to Nancy twice, the game’s interface itself spoils the fact that she’s not the culprit.

Her section in this meta is short because, frankly, the game doesn’t care about her — not even enough to really give her any backstory at all besides her job — so why should I?

Her charge, on the other hand, has a little more to do.

Jane Penvellyn is Hugh’s bratty daughter and Linda’s abusive step-daughter. She enjoys being raised by her (from all appearances, highly irresponsible) mother and resents being taken back to England because her father remarried (though she Doesn’t Mind being the next Initiate). That alone would make for an understandable character (though at 12 [and as a character who is supposed to have at least reached puberty], Jane is just slightly too old to not have that feel a little childish), but Jane takes it to the next level.

Faced with the common feeling of kids whose parents are divorced, Jane is upset that her parents didn’t remarry, and decides to make it everyone else’s problem. She first experiments on her guinea pig, killing it, then (instead of stopping there like most people because hey something has died) turning her experiment onto her step-mother, gaslighting her (and putting hair growth serum in her lotion) into believing that she’s turning into a werewolf. Jane continues this after Linda becomes a recluse suffering from paranoia, depression, and a lack of nutrition, trying to get her to crack so completely that she leaves.

Jane is one of the most horrific Nancy Drew villains due to her sheer lack of remorse. The ending tries to play it down like “oh Jane stop pranking your stepmother, you silly thing, here’s a slap on the wrist” but like…her being a tween doesn’t make what she’s doing any less horrific.

She’s also not particularly clever, getting away with this simply because no one bothers to check on her or to be more than just slightly helpful to Linda in a hands-off sort of way.

The whole game hinges on the fact that HER thought that no one would consider the 12-year-old as a suspect…except, like in Ethel’s case, the mechanics of the game work against them, as Jane is firmly in the “suspect” territory due to her availability and the fact that Nancy can question her. Once again, if the concept of “a child can’t be a suspect” doesn’t work on you, then there’s no reason at all that the player won’t figure it out in the first 1/3 of the game.

Letitia Drake is Linda’s mother in law and the current matron of Blackmoor Manor while Hugh is out doing Diplomatic Things. The most British stereotype ever, Mrs. Drake is Posh and Tightly Laced while secretly a bit more human than she seems, attempting to care for Linda in the most hands-off ways she can think of.

She’s also the source of a dangling plot thread about the inheritance and ownership of Blackmoor Manor, making a fuss about it without it actually mattering.

The inheritance plotline isn’t enough to make Letitia a compelling culprit, however. She’s given book!Ethel’s role of giving Linda herbal remedies, but unlike book!Ethel, these are actually meant to help her, rather than introduce cocaine into the poor woman’s system. Her greenhouse is by far the most visually enjoyable part of the game, and a welcome change from the haphazardly-decorated rooms of the rest of the manor.

Finally, rounding out this estrogen-heavy cast is Nigel Mookerjee, a historian studying the Penvellyns and camping in their library to write the most boring memoirs of all time. He hangs out in the library doing research while the actual history of the library lurks in every corner outside of the library, so bad luck there, Nigel.

Nigel is…I hesitate to call him fully a non-entity, but he’s more of a comic relief character than anything else. He gives Nancy a few pieces of information, but is mainly there to round out the cast and to make the player laugh during what could be a tense game/moments for younger players (scaring him with the statue is probably one of the most overt, in-your-face laugh-out-loud moments in the series).

Nigel is never really in contention for “villain” status, as he has nothing to gain by hurting Linda, and thus pretty much disappears from the player’s (and Nancy’s) mind for the last third of the game — and not just because he runs out screaming. The thing that hurts him most as a character is the fact that either Paliki Vadas or Hugh Penvellyn (voiced by good ol’ Jonah Von Spreecken, in case you were worried that CUR wouldn’t give you your recommended dose of Vitamin J) would have been far more welcome as the fifth suspect (more on that in The Fix), making Nigel seem even more piddling and tiny than he was when he was born.

(Side note: after working as an admissions officer for a private university, I can say that I have had more than a few students begin an essay with some variant of “when I was born, I was very tiny”, so someone at HER either knew what they were doing or got lucky in making a joke.)

The Favorite:

Even though this review tends towards the negative, there are positives to be found.

My favorite moment in the game, sadly, would have to be when Nancy hits on that one statue during the first game in three full years where she can call her boyfriend. Either that or a few of the more subtle hauntings (like seeing Linda in the robe in the hallway — and yes, I do know that it’s slightly sad that that’s one of the more subtle ones).

The other moment that’s up for honors is where Nancy discovers Corbin’s crest (the crest that was lost due to the Penvellyns fleeing to France). Jane is dismissive of him, but Corbin is by far the most interesting Penvellyn — his crest even declares his loyalty to his bloodline, no matter where he was living — and designed the gargoyle puzzle (and ostensibly the curse beyond it).

Corbin is actually the Penvellyn with the most effect on the story (as the curse is what freaks Linda out in the first place) and I think it’s great that Jane doesn’t even realize that she’s a mirror image of him — displaced to Blackmoor, rather than away from it, having ties to a different country, etc. The big difference between the two is that, from what we know of him, Corbin is actually intelligent, subtle, and doesn’t spend his time abusing his relations.

My favorite puzzle in a game that’s pretty much nothing but puzzles is the Cockney Rhyming Slang. Sure, it’s not a traditional puzzle, but it’s super interesting, introduces the players to something they might never have heard of (especially at age 10, the lowest age HER recommends), and is a nice break from…well, all the other puzzles in the game.

I also don’t mind Lulu, as impossibly, ridiculously old as she is. HER does try to sprinkle Trustable Allies throughout the series — Miles the Magnificent Memory Machine being the standout — that Nancy can rely on for the cold, hard truth, and Lulu isn’t a bad attempt at the trope.

Lastly, I do really like that this is the first Nancy Drew game to take us out of the United States. Yes, the location is limited in scope and has nothing but accents to pin it down to anywhere specific, but it’s something new and different, and opened up the world of Nancy Drew to a considerable degree.

The Un-Favorite:

First off, this game does not do enough with Ned to justify his inclusion after so long an absence, and it doesn’t make sense that Bess and George wouldn’t be able to weigh in with Nancy about their neighbor. There should always be a rhyme or reason to why Nancy calls her specific contacts during a case, and this one is particularly egregious.

My least favorite moment in the game is definitely the beginning sequence (tied with the end sequence). The howling of the “beast”, the immediate slap in the face with the visual terror that is the great hall, the feeling of claustrophobia of being stuck in the Manor…none of these are things that excite me to play the game. Add in the last sequence, where past Penvellyns pretty much guaranteed that someone is going to die down there and Jane being a huge brat (and getting off way too easy), and it becomes quite easy to see why both the beginning and the end leave a bad taste in my mouth.

My least favorite puzzle is a little bit of a harder question. I don’t tend to list puzzles that can be solved easily with a walkthrough on here because, well, they can be easily solved by a walkthrough.

The whole maze and glowstick sleuthing, however…wow I hate it so much. It’s horrible that the glowsticks burn out so quickly, having to solve the maze over and over again (or use the shortcut, which the game doesn’t give you even after having completed it once like normal Nancy Drew puzzles)…it’s enough to make me close my computer and go take a nice relaxing bath before I overrun the Her Interactive office with mail-order rats.

If we’re going with puzzles that can’t be cheated with a walkthrough, then Betty takes the cake — for a few different reasons.

The automaton, commissioned in 1775, is based off The Turk, a master chess player automaton which debuted in 1770 — and which was a fraud, being operated in secret by a handful of chess masters to give the appearance of a working automaton. Betty is supposed to be a genuine automaton capable of playing a complex game (cards rather than chess, which would have fit better in 30 years during the Regency, when card parties were commonplace), built 5 years after The Turk made its debut.

I realize that what HER was attempting to do was to show how smart the Penvellyns were, and to scratch the Robot Itch that they seem to get every couple of games…but to put something so incorrect in a game is galling, especially as the Nancy Drew games are still in full-on edutainment mode. Part of learning the history of the Penvellyns is to allow the player to watch the advancements in technology and innovation throughout the 600+ years of Penvellyn lore, and to have Betty as the 1775 puzzle (and also used by the next initiate, Brigitte) is a slap in the face to the real inventors and geniuses of the time.

Betty is also as out-of-place as Alan’s puzzles are; CUR relies of the feeling of Ancient Magics and Rituals to keep Blackmoor Manor feeling appropriately spooky, and both Betty and the “ghosts” puzzle yank the player out of the world. Not only is it bad history and bad science, it’s bad aesthetic, and it cuts through any suspension of disbelief that CUR has managed so far with a knife.

Don’t even get me started on his crest having the GIGO principle bungled into quasi-Latin.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Curse of Blackmoor Manor?

The largest fix I would attempt (remembering that I’m trying to keep the fixes as small as possible) is to move the Werewolf Bomb from the first minute of the game to much later. In the Nancy Drew World, ghosts really and truly exist — even if they aren’t the culprit in any mystery — but it’s quite a jump from ghosts to werewolves, and an even bigger jump from werewolves to a character possibly being a werewolf.

I realize that the shift from witchcraft to werewolves was an attempt to jump on the small but growing bandwagon of paranormal fiction/romance (Twilight, for example, would come out the next year) and to disassociate the game from allegations of witchcraft in children’s/juvenile fiction (HER already received flack for it in MHM, and Harry Potter was receiving similar allegations). However, it does fit much less nicely than witchcraft would have (as you could have simply said that the “beast” of Blackmoor was the noises from the scientific experiments, a la HAU) and should definitely be moved.

A good point to move it to is the 1/3 mark in the game, after Nancy’s “nightmare” — placing it there would give Nancy a good reason to have the nightmare matter to her, and would make it seem like the Beast of Blackmoor is actually a Scary Thing that they don’t want to reveal to an outsider/foreigner/what have you, rather than feeling like the legend of a mischievous family pet.

Fixing the ending and having Jane actually punished for what she does (and having is acknowledged more than Nancy half-jokingly calling her a “beast) would go a long way towards improving the game. It’d also be good to mention Linda getting professional help and her and Hugh working out a compromise so that she’s not always at home while he’s always away.

In the other big change I’d make, throwing out Nigel (who is functionally useless) or relegating him to a small, Ethel-sized role (even better, a phone contact) and replacing the fifth “suspect” with either Paliki Vadas or Hugh Penvellyn himself would create more mystery, disguise the real culprit, and give some much needed plot into the game.

For Paliki, the werewolf researcher, including her as a physical suspect would entail something like her visiting Blackmoor to research the Beast (given permission by Hugh, who wants the family name cleared) and asking/telling Linda all about it to get an “outsider’s perspective”. Nancy would be drawn in by the possibility that Paliki was using her Psychologist Know-How and the power of suggestion (with a dash of poison/hair growth serum) to make Linda really think that she was becoming a werewolf in order to study her or catch a big break in the publishing community by “revealing” her.

Having Nancy get the system of poisoning figured out while attributing it to the wrong suspect would make Nancy look much smarter than she comes across in this game, and would give Nancy something concrete to investigate rather than bouncing from puzzle to puzzle.

Paliki could easily switch between the library during the day and that one chair in Linda’s room during the evening, giving you a chance to snoop through each area without her being there and giving another place to find clues (as well as making Linda’s bedroom an actually usable and useful location).

If HER instead went with making Hugh the fifth physical suspect, it would be a great reveal to have him be a phone contact in the first half of the game (certainly no later than the halfway point) and then revealing that he’s actually been hiding in the manor the whole time (some of the nighttime spooks that Nancy sees are revealed to be him), having come home early — or even never left — to try to catch who was hurting his wife right in the act of it.

Nancy suspects him because he lied about where he was and because she thinks that Hugh might want the notoriety of a crazy wife — especially if he’s thinking about leaving his job and doesn’t know how to quit. He could be discovered in the greenhouse room, sitting amongst the plants, or even occupying the Great Hall after he’s discovered. His inclusion would be particularly good if Nancy starts out the case with Mrs. Petrov priming her to think that Hugh is poisoning his wife (like in The Bluebeard Room).

Those are just two options, but I think they show how easy it would have been to interject more than just a shadow of a plot into this game, and how much HER missed out on by simply not putting any effort into the writing.

CUR isn’t the worst game that HER has ever made, but it does stick out as a game filled with bells and whistles and no actual substance, and I think it’s a shame that it gets praised for its flashiness and ridiculous plot when better games are overlooked because of it.

[julesvalebright]

Verdancy: Before

(( This story took place about a month ago now. I’ve just been that terrible about getting it out. Previous post is Verdancy: Prologue. CW: Some graphic violence, Void Stuff, minor character death ))

“Be sure to bring this delightful trinket with you to Pandaria, gardener. I’m sure it will serve you well there.” Ather’s roughshod baritone was met seconds later by the displeasure in Julrien’s reply. 

“You’re hilarious,” he smirked, launching a fistful of freshly revived soil at his comrade. Bits of earth bounced harmlessly off Ather’s moss-trimmed vest, just as Julrien’s reaction had, so he ventured on: “We can’t all get by on edgy pot-shots, you know. Some of us actually want--” 

A larger fistful, this time with a bit of finely hewn mulch, spattered the front of Julrien’s tunic. It was met with gritted teeth that slid into an easy grin as he waved about the soil knife still loose in his grasp. A recent purchase of beautiful Dwarven craftsmanship, the ‘trinket’ had replaced many of his usual tools, and had proven invaluable in their downtime at Silithus.  

“Will you two shut up already? I’m tryin’ ta pretend m’not surrounded by children,” Laures’ annoyance drifted like the desert nightfall through the mouth of their tent. She added the heavy toss of her plate boots against its stretched-hide wall for emphasis, which was of course followed by Lucan’s unmistakable laughing sigh. “The same goes for you, ya pig-witted prat,” the half-elven woman snapped, and Julrien could feel her exasperation from there. It was not unusual for the temperamental Laures to take out her frustrations on her twin, just as it was not unusual for there to be plenty to frustrate her. Lucan, for his part, was a deep well of patience, ever gentle as he pushed back. 

“You’re cross ‘cause ‘o the early summons this mornin’,” he spoke softly, his Westfall Common accenting the Darnassian they tended to use at camp. “‘Cause ‘o how you’ve been sleepin’…” Because of how they’d all been sleeping--or not, as it were, Julrien inwardly agreed. Ather grunted beside him, edging away with his back to the tent while the Sin’dorei listened on, his own weariness remembered.

“Lucan! Just let it go, will ya? I’m fine!”

Laures was in no mood for gentle talk. Of all of them, she had come closest in their trials to achieving affinity beyond the flora with which they worked; as such, she was as spirited as the nightsaber whose tattooed paw prints marked each side of her neck, and just as difficult. A heavy silence fell over them, drowning out the crackle and quiet laughter at neighbouring campfires and the distant--constant--clash of stone and steel. Every so often they could feel the swell of the Source at work, their magic welling up from the deep secrets of the earth and its Emerald counterpart in tandem. It was the nature of their work, that connection that spoke its inimitable truth and bound them all to the knowledge. Julrien felt it in that silent moment, listened to its whispers as he’d been trained to do. 

It came as it always did, like sunlight flowing to the tips of his fingers, shot through with ivy tendrils sown in his veins. It used to leave him giddy, intoxicated at the sensation and long after it had passed. It still did, to an extent, though he’d grown used to the vitality of it all in his time with the others. But there was something else to it this time, some subtle difference he couldn’t quite place. A voice, like Laures’, echoing her words… Let it go… let...go… let-... Sylvan ears perked, Julrien kept his focus inside himself, listening hard in hopes of determining what exactly he heard. It was Laures, until it wasn’t. He recognized it changing, felt his chest tighten as aching familiarity crept into its timbre. There was the ghost of grinning teeth in it- their tender pull at the dip of his hip bone, the inside of his wrist; he was sure he saw a smattering of freckles along an upturned nose… felt it pressed into his neck as he strained to listen, still... 

He was scarcely able to breathe by the time Ather’s sudden movement drew him to the present. Behind them, he could at last hear the strangled cry wrenched from Laures’ throat. It took him a moment to recognize the subtle change within had somehow found its way without, falling like great shadows over the open space of their encampment. It couldn’t be… here?

But it was everywhere. Behind him, screams raised the fine hairs at his nape, his bare forearms icy in spite of the desert air. There was no wind. It was the absence of it all that moved on them. The Void. They were under attack, and yet as he and Ather tore back the leafy canopy draped over their tent, it was only Lucan they saw inside. Lucan, with his fist clamped tight about his sister’s windpipe, squeezing with an untold rage, even as he stood calmly in the act. 

Laures’ eyes flew open, glassy and wide, pleading with them not to hurt him, as she made another valiant attempt to find her footing and gain some leverage. The hunting knife at her belt was well within her reach, and yet she hadn’t taken it, couldn’t, Julrien knew, bring herself to end this sudden horror at the expense of her brother’s safety. They were well past that though. Ather had already taken it upon himself to intercept, heavy-handed as ever as he grasped Lucan’s arm with a force to rival that around Laures’ neck. 

“Leave off, Lucan… this is not what you want,” he growled at their comrade, seeming in that moment to tower over them all. Julrien was quick to take advantage of the diversion, only a second or two wherein Lucan--but it wasn’t him, not really--glanced up at the demand. Laures gave a half-hearted shake of her head, hindered at once by even more pressure at her throat, until she all but hung from Lucan’s grip. “Let her go,” Julrien hissed, face turned towards Lucan’s pointed ear as he pressed the serrated edge of his soil knife to the underside of the half-elf’s chin. Lucan, for his part, remained impassive, unblinking at the dark clouds flooding his gaze. He glanced from Ather to the Blood Elf tucked in behind him, unmoved. “Why do you resist us?” he--they--asked, making a mockery of Lucan’s gentleness. Lucan was undoubtedly viewed by many in their group, as well as the larger body of Druids, as soft, even simple. His all-too-Human appearance, and downright cherubic features aside, set him apart along with his sister, who communicated her value through clenched fists and a wicked tongue. Lucan used neither, preferring to defer to louder personalities in most matters. But those in their unit knew him to be the very best of friends: loyal, unassuming, and gifted when it came to soothing both ire and injury. Julrien’s racing heart seized, the chill wrapped around it like a fist as he watched Laures’ red face turn ashen. Lucan’s voice went on: “We are already here, as we always have been. You need only let us in…” From there, it all happened so fast. First came the sickening crack of bone, silencing the strange sibilance spilling from Lucan’s tongue and wrenching from him an anguished, all-too-familiar cry. Next came the rush of stricken air that flooded Laures’ lungs. She spun, gasping and sputtering, away from her brother’s limply hanging limb, which Ather released as soon as she was free. From there, it was easy for Julrien to draw upon the entangling vines of their ken. The soil knife fell to the earth, shifting along with their meager bedding and few, small comforts from home as the thick verdancy split the ground beneath their feet, slithering between them to wrap Lucan in a stranglehold of their own. 

Julrien’s fingers still curled into his palms, still trembled with the effort of keeping this… version of Lucan… in restraint, for long seconds afterward. He exhaled for what felt like the first time since rushing into their modest tent, slumping against the wall with a kick of a heavy, straw pillow. Ather’s steely silence in the wake of his violence had him gritting his teeth, especially set against the twins’ pained wheezes and whimpers. But one look at Laures, and he knew better than to get into it then. 

“Laur…what happened-” he began instead, seeking backstory for the unlikely scene. A toss of his head swept sweat-dampened locks over his shoulder as Julrien started towards their friend. Laures, for her part, uttered a cracked, “M’fine,” alternating between gasping and gaping at the face of her twin held fast by coiled greenery- and something else entirely. It was hideous, this likeness of their half-elven comrade. His saucer eyes no longer held the golden fields of Westfall in their depths; amber irises were eclipsed by darkness as they darted from the towering Ather to the rustling door of the tent. His mouth...at first it was contorted in agony, only for a slow, seething smile to split his lips, exposing too many teeth to the dim light of their oil lamp. Everything flickered, the lamp, that grin… 

The wind had returned, carrying the sounds of pitched cries and clashing weapons, and with it the unmistakable stench of… charred hides? There was only a second when Julrien could swear he heard it, a voice of warning, as familiar as the vacant spot in his mattress. It rang in his ears, urgent under the cackling of Lucan’s stolen voice:

RUN.

But he was too slow to react; they all were. An explosion sounded mere yards away, rocking the encampment as it fed on nearby azerite and blew through the neighbouring tent. The trio were flung to the far wall as the flames roared to life, flashing gold and sizzling into slick blackness beneath. Julrien choked on the scream that ripped through his chest as his hold on Lucan, his magic, burned through his tendons. The strong vines he’d summoned, brimming with Light and Life, languished in his grasp and, and in their stead, the deep well of nothing threatened to swallow them all.  Such a heavy burden… Soon you will see…

Ather’s fingers felt like claws dug into his shoulder as he shook him from his daze, but Julrien could no longer make out his words. He gagged, bitter ash in his mouth as he registered the colours bleeding around him. Thick, dark tendrils burst through the flames, spreading like oil over everything they’d worked for, slowly devouring the Life at his fingertips until he couldn’t hold it any more. He could no longer hear Ather, just as he could no longer see where Laures went, but Lucan--their gentle Lucan--was everywhere at once. His head tipped back...his flailing limbs, grasping and wrenching and filling Julrien’s sight. His laughter... dripping madness like ichor, down Julrien’s spine--

Our time has come… Let go and be free… His world shook, swirling around him in fire and shadow. He couldn’t tell whose hands were on him anymore, couldn’t breathe a word of what he felt as the cackles and crackling faded into his own unsteady pulse. Run, the voice had warned. And he should have- they all should have run from this place. It was a festering wound, a sickness they were not equipped to deal with. His world shook and he shook with it, writhing as it threatened to feed on him like every one of his tangling vines…

...until the very moment his mentor’s palm struck his cheek. A moment passed, and another, and eventually he could sense the solid ground once more. Ather held him from behind, and he felt the desperate press of Laures’ nails in his forearm. Thoridath…their leader stood over him, taut brows belying the stern line of his lips. “We are out of time,” he confirmed, taking just one step aside and jutting a calloused digit in the direction of the portal. Ahead of them, the camp was ablaze with chaos. The Earthen Ring scattered, with enraged elementals bearing down upon their numbers, and the Cenarion crew were scrambling to aid. But Thoridath could not risk their little group; what remained of them had to make it through to the other side, if they ever stood a chance at curbing the assault. “I have Lucan,” the Kaldorei added hastily, and Julrien swayed a little beneath that fervent gaze. He finally nodded, pulling free of Ather’s grasp. 

One arm hooked around Laures’, dragging her forward as they all darted after the Arcane rift. As they neared its shimmering borders, and the promise of safety on the other side, he couldn’t help but pause and chance a look back. Behind them, in the charred remnants of their tent and pieces of their belongings, Julrien could still make out the slender figure of Laures’ twin. The half-elf faced the great Sword of Sargeras, his mutated body trembling with horror… with glee… or some terrible blend of the two. Ather saw quickly towards pulling a struggling and shrieking Laures through, as it suddenly became all too clear that this was the last they would see of her twin. 

Julrien alone lingered, one hand poised to help his friends even as they disappeared through the portal, the other clenched hard at his side. Thoridath, true to his word, had moved towards Lucan, arms outstretched as he seemed to speak to him, the way one might speak to a frightened animal. Lucan, if he heard him at all, did not respond, instead lifting a pair of blades in malformed hands, the ‘fingers’ too long and too monstrous to be recognized. Before Julrien could call out, before his fear could bubble over into words at all, he watched as the soft soul of his friend who once held golden fields in his eyes… plunged each of those daggers into their depths. Someone slammed into Julrien then, with an impact he felt in the centre of his chest. He didn’t see Lucan fall, didn��t catch even a glimpse of Thoridath through the violet-black murk and scorched soil. As he sank backward, there was nothing but liquid flames trickling through to iridescent light, and the scent of sunflowers tickling his nose.