#why is vincent built like that

[stygiovictoria]

cloud and vin

[picspammer]

Training Season by Dua Lipa Directed by Vincent Haycock

[captain-athos]

on progress and tradition in Conclave, or: why I don't refer to Vincent as a "liberal" or "progressive" pope.

I've seen posts comparing lots of different characters in Conclave but I've not yet seen one talk about Bellini and Tedesco. The entire Conclave is divided between the progressives and the traditionalists, between liberal and conservative, and ultimately neither of those things is actually presented as the solution. Like I know that it is more comfortable to headcanon Vincent as a "liberal" Pope but aside from his denouncement of Tedesco's comments (and, I suppose his assertion that he doesn't care for tradition if it stands in the way of serving the people of the church), we actually don't get a solid look at what Vincent's politics even are. More on this later.

I've seen plenty of talk about Tedesco's dogwhistles re: his comments on the latin liturgy and his remarks about Adeyemi, but on the flip side of this I've seen less acknowledgement of Bellini's "common sense approach" which I also find really interesting. Because common sense is really not all that common at all, and while his supporters will know what he means, Bellini uses language that is at best vague with regards to his intended policies, and ultimately frames his standpoint as "everything Tedesco does not." I also especially enjoyed the part in the book where he and his supporters tried to actually articulate what increasing the participation of women in the curia might look like, and weren't able to find a way to do so. I mean, nuns come into the auditorium while Bellini is making this point and everybody acts like they're making some huge imposition on the Important Man Talk until Lawrence, the only one who acknowledges them, says thank you.

Tedesco is equally ineffective, and for the same reasons. He and Bellini operate on a surface level, reactionary approach to their politics. They are the equivalent of slapping a band-aid on the problem. Tedesco sees that there is division in the college of cardinals, and he's right! They are a divided, petty, gossiping, politics-and-ego-driven group. He's noticed that the increased diversity has led to everybody sticking with their countrymen, and has concluded that the problem is diversity.

But the problem, in my opinion, is a layer deeper than this. We have diversity, but within the framework of an organisation that still favours eurocentrism, that is still built on centuries of ingrained, systemic racism. This beautiful Adeyemi-centric fic "although the virgin is white, paint me black angels - for they too go to heaven (all of the good black angels)" touches on this. Shoehorning a wider range of cultures into a church that was not built with their unique experiences and perspectives in mind is not addressing the underlying problem! We see this in hollywood all the time: thoughtless, arbitrary representation does very little to help marginalised people! And therein lies the issue: All of the changes that Tedesco and Bellini want to make do not address the fact that they operate in a church that systemically allows for, and in many ways nurtures discrimination, corruption, and abuse.

Furthermore, Bellini is a classic liberal, but in the way that liberals often struggle to enter into any sort of genuine conflict, and are largely concerned with appearances and messaging rather than action. Imo that's what makes him so reluctant to admit his interest in the papacy, and also what makes it so easy for him to bow out and move his support to Tremblay. He is, at heart, a coward with a fairly malleable adherence to his values, because it's the appearance of them and not the action that counts. He doesn't want to be seen seeking out the papacy. His meetings discuss the optics of the votes, of his policies, of the current standings of the top candidates. To cover his involvement with Tremblay's simony he grasps for excuses - he doesn't want to be the Richard Nixon of popes. He doesn't want to damage the reputation of the curia. It's all about optics, and while Lawrence does voice his discomfort with this as a priority, it's Vincent's gentle questioning that puts everything back into perspective. "You want me to vote for a man you see as ambitious?"

So where does this leave Vincent? I do believe that there are values that he would share with people like Bellini. But if we were to call him liberal or progressive, that defeats the purpose of him being there at all. Why not elect Bellini then? What's the narrative purpose of Vincent's character even existing?

Here's what I believe: he is the secret third thing. He is hope. He is faith. He is the possibility of forward momentum that has thus far not been considered. This is really hard to engage with in a fanwork or even as a writer though, because to me he represents the undiscovered! (however, there is a delightful fic series called "It’s Vincent And His Baseball Bat Against This Transitory Period" which touches on some smaller scale post-election possibilities I have had a great time reading about)

I mean, what would dismantling the power imbalances and abuse and corruption holding up the church look like? Would the church even survive something like that? That's the slow, slow work of so many lifetimes, and we don't even know what it could look like yet. What we do know is that Vincent would be up for it. In the book he actually refuses outright to indicate which "side" of the political spectrum he falls on, but he does tell Lawrence that he actually doesn't give a fuck if his actions do "ruin" the church - when Lawrence tells him to vote for Tremblay lest there be repercussions, even another schism... Vincent doesn't care! He remains steadfast that he will vote for whomever he deems most worthy.

I'm pretty critical of the Catholic church in general so do I personally think that this is a realistic hope that we end on? Not really. Vincent would get eaten alive. If we were being real, the papacy would kill him, I think. Being the pope is fucking brutal. But I don't think that's the point of Conclave anyway. By design, we very specifically never see Vincent as Pope. So I can respect the place he inhabits in the narrative. A pope whose hope for the future comes from the space between certainties.

[0viraptoraskblog]

Akira Kojima Info Dump 🐍

An archive of canon Akira information from EP’s old blogs!

Check my page for other characters! Screenshots under the cut:

There is some text between the screenshots this time!

Disclaimer: EP made a lot of confusing lore for a dozen different AU’s involving the twins. This archive is mainly for things in the BTD universe or those adjacent to it. Other note: EP had a few blogs that they used for character roleplay. “Nagakira” is sometimes used as Akira talking to the viewer, but the information is still canon because EP wrote it. “Doctor-dollmaker” is Sano.

Note: Akira is 20-21 in the first BTD game, and had just started his mercenary work within the last year or so.

It’s unconfirmed (that I’m aware of) but implied that in the BTD universe Akira’s relationship with his work is slightly different, given that he started younger due to the AU age difference. He didn’t have those extra 5 years to get involved with lots of side characters.

If you want to see his dicks in naga form like I’m sure some of you do, you can see it on my pillowfort ;) Be warned it’s obviously very nsfw.

Some general facts about him:

The twins both have plasma based powers; fire and lightning.

Akira has black scales in snake form while Sano has white. As a naga, Akira has more muscle and is built for constriction while Sano is slimmer but has deadly venom. Akira only has small fangs.

A lot of early art showed him having a close relationship with Farz (most likely why Farz is dating Vincent— who is/was Akira— in BTD2). I’ll touch more on this in part two. Speaking of, there will definitely be part two!

Also sorry for using Gato’s art instead of EP’s for the title pic but that artwork just captures him so well I couldn’t not do it ^^;

[milykins]

Hacked

I felt like I needed to redeem myself with Donnie since I’ve had a couple comments where people expressed feeling sad that I had a girl scream and run away from him in a previous headcanon. I thought maybe I should give him something sweet and fluffy. Added some fun quotes as well.

Special thanks to @iridescentflamingo @the-cauldron-witch @avery73 and @sophiacloud28 for all of your help with this story, editing it and helping me with ideas! I hope you enjoy reading it!

Aged up TMNT x Reader

TW: None: Donnie's system keeps getting hacked into and he gets increasingly more frustrated.

“No I’m not playing hard to get! I’m telling you, Sir, it’s not that kind of phone line!”

“It’s always the time for accuracy, Leo.”

“When you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

“Let me be the bad-ass for once.”

On the outside, Donatello was the brain, the tech-wizard, the tinkerer. A master of all things technological and a true intellectual able to solve a Rubik’s cube in less than 20 seconds. If it was broken, Donnie could fix it, if it was a seemingly impossible situation, Donnie could figure it out. His three brothers relied heavily on him because he was the smartest, even Leo because there were some questions even he couldn’t answer. This is how it had always been, and he didn’t mind for the most part. He did feel like he was a valuable asset to the team if not a bit overused.

On the inside however, he was the shy one, the introvert, the one who secretly feared being alone forever while slowly descending into madness from his own self-induced seclusion.

Despite Chief Vincent telling them they’d be accepted by society, the collective agreement to stay hidden remained. It had served them well, why mess with it? As they aged into adulthood, it became glaringly obvious. Loneliness, the fear of being forgotten after their father passed on. The crushing reality that he may very well die alone.

He wasn’t like his brothers. Mikey had gotten himself on the scene pretty easily and had made friends and had girlfriends. Raph too, had managed to snag someone, even no-nonsense Leo had. That just left him and he couldn’t help but think. What was the point of having all of this intelligence, creating all of these wonderful inventions, all of the things he’d built… if there was no one but his brothers to share it with?

Donnie acted like it didn’t bother him but secretly he felt it: a sort of crushing loneliness that seemed to stretch on and on. Sadly, he’d sort of given up on meeting someone. It just wasn’t in the cards for him… or was it?

It had started off innocently enough, one day he’d come to work on his computer and noticed something was… off. His desktop looked normal but none of the icons worked when he clicked on them. It didn’t take him long to realize it was a false desktop placed on top of the real one. Odd, he thought. Who had managed to even do this? He’d had the best firewalls and encryptions and security that not even the FBI could crack. Yet, he’d been hacked, someone had hacked him.

He blew out a breath of disbelief, ran a diagnostic and fixed the issue in no time. He did a careful sweep and found nothing else out of the ordinary. He chalked it up to a fluke and went on with his day thinking that was the end of it.

Then it happened again. Upon sitting down in his computer chair he noticed his taskbar was horizontal.

“What the hell..?” He fixed it and upped his security and left it at that.

A week after that all of his icons were replaced with Hello Kitty characters. He was beginning to feel annoyed. Who was doing this, and why? It seemed like they just wanted to mess with him. Frustratingly he couldn’t figure out how they kept getting in. Every time, he strengthened his security it didn’t seem to matter!

He reached his breaking point the following week when he was re-routed to a popular Pokemon meme every time he clicked on something. He was going to find this person and ask them to stop. They weren’t that hard to trace and soon he was purposefully typing a message.

Please stop, you’ve had your fun but it’s getting old

No :)

Seriously, you don’t know who you’re messing with.

Someone who can’t even stop a low-level hacker, clearly.

Who are you?

No one :)

Why are you doing this?

I’m bored, it’s fun

Bored?! How did you even find me? These servers are highly encrypted!

LOL not enough… I was just bouncing around and found them.

Are you with the Foot?

What?! No? I told you, I was bored and saw your shit, and took it as a challenge.

A challenge indeed. Stop this now, this is your final warning.

He broke off their connection then because that had better be it.

Of course, it wasn’t. One boring Saturday night, he was zoned out, totally engrossed in one of his projects. His computer screen flickers a moment. He almost doesn’t see it thinking it’s a trick of the light but it does it again. Curiously, he moved to his computer screen. When he realized what was happening, he actually laughed.

“Seriously? Again?! They have no idea who they’re messing with…”

It was clear that this was same someone who had been hacking him for weeks was trying to get into his system again.

“I’ve got you this time…” His fingers fly over his larger-than-normal keyboard as he managed to secure a one-way live video feed.

“Someone forgot to cover their webcam…” He sang, “Hello, you’ve been hacked by Donatello, I thought I already told you to cease and desist.”

You are absolutely mortified. You’d been doing this for fun, and had no ulterior motives. Truthfully you had been bored and loved a challenge. Yes, you were warned but you didn’t think he would hack your webcam! Immediately, you attempted to hide, hoping he didn’t catch a glimpse of your face.

On his end, Donnie first heard a soft, distinctly feminine gasp and a string of curses. There’s a flurry of movement as you tried to move out of the range of the camera and swiftly stick a piece of tape over it. More shuffling followed, along with the sound of you returning to your computer chair.

He can’t help but feel amused. “There’s no point in hiding, I saw you. How did you think this was going to go?” He waited patiently for you to answer.

You swore softly. The cat’s out of the bag. Swallowing your embarrassment you gingerly peeled the tape off. It didn’t take you long to notice that the video feed only went one way. That was unfair and you intended to change that.

“Sorry…” you murmered. Shit, shit, shit! I’m gonna get you for that!

He took a moment to get a good look at you. Even with the soft lighting of what he assumed to be your bedroom, he could still make out your pink cheeks, flushed flushed with embarrassment and the bridge of freckles across your nose. It was… cute.

“Sorry?” He echoed. “That’s it? You still didn’t answer my question.”

“Do I have to?” You’re trying to keep him talking while your fingers worked their magic. If he could do it… so could you.

“No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone. You’ve had your fun, go bother someone else, please.” He replies.

“But I like bothering you.” Almost there… just a few more seconds…

Donnie has to scoff at that. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet… there you are!” You cheered as you manage to tap into his own webcam.

In a split-second Donnie had instantly ascertained that she’d been distracting him. To his horror, the little red light of his webcam had blinked to life. Two seconds too long which meant he’d been seen…

“FUCK!” Immediately he cut the power, sending it straight through to your house. He was panicking, he’d been compromised, he was going to have to wipe her computer, all of her hard drives. His heart was pounding and his breathing had quickened as he tried to tamp down the panic he felt. No, maybe he’ll just find her… ask her to keep his secret…? All options were equally bad. What do I do…?!

Luckily, it didn’t take long for that powerful brain of his to think of a solution, albeit a temporary one. His fingers flew over the keyboard once again, restoring power on her side before getting to work.

You were utterly confused. Two seconds ago, maybe five…? Once the webcam was active, you saw what appeared to be the green, blurred image of his face. Was he wearing a mask? You heard the panic in his voice and the ensuing curse word right before your entire room was plunged into darkness. What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?

Just as quickly, it all came back and your computer was rebooting. Okay… you attempted to type once it was all back up and running but something was wrong. Nothing was clickable, nothing worked save for the cursor on your screen. Furrowing your brow, you kept trying, but to no avail. Then, something finally.

A message popped up on your screen and you wasted no time in reading it.

Apologies, I had no choice but to freeze your system. I promise I will explain everything but I need to do it in person. Meet me here:

There was an address to a building between two cross streets and he was asking you to climb the fire escape to the roof.

At first, you scoffed in disbelief. Hell no, you weren’t going to meet some stranger on a rooftop at some weird location. Did he think you were stupid?

Then, as if your mind is being read, another message popped up under the first.

I understand if this is something you might be uncomfortable doing but my identity and the safety of my family is at stake so I must give you an ultimatum. Meet me or your computer will remain frozen.

You swore softly to yourself. This wasn’t something you could fix on your own and you knew it.

You murmured a sarcastic reply. “Well, damn, I guess I’ll just go die then,”

He was giving you no choice and you needed your computer, not only for work, but it had everything. You considered it one of your most precious items. After a minute you’d made up your mind but you still packed your taser and pepper spray just in case.

Donnie was an absolute bundle of nerves. He’d already arrived at the location and was pacing back and forth while sticking to the shadows. He was berating himself about how stupid this plan was. She wasn’t going to show up, but he’d giving her no choice. He did feel a twinge of guilt but years upon years of lectures from Leo had made him be extra cautious. He couldn’t risk his family’s safety because he was careless.

You were nervous too as you carefully climbed the steps of the fire escape. Luckily, the building was only four floors but you still would’ve liked to take an elevator. Reaching the top, you took a moment to catch your breath.

“I do… computers… not stairs… you better be here.” Upon first glance you don’t see anyone and your annoyance grows. “Hello? Please don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing, I just want my computer back.”

Again, there was no reply.

Talking to yourself you groan. “Fuck… you are such an idiot…”

Donnie was only slightly panicking. To his amazement and relief, you showed up. In his anxious state he did manage to notice you looked kind of pretty despite the frown gracing your features. He felt frozen the moment he saw you but snapped out of it pretty quickly when he saw you about to leave.

“Wait!”

You turned. It was actually him. You recognized his voice prompting you walk closer to the source.

“Hello? If you’re here please show yourself. This is sus enough as it is and I’m already over it.” You couldn’t mask the exasperation in your tone. This was already beyond ridiculous.

Donnie had to admit he found her frustrated tone kind of endearing. In a fleeting thought he’d felt she was someone who could match wits with him.

 “Okay, okay, hold on, I’m coming out. Just… do me a favour and don’t scream, please.”

Arching an eyebrow you repeated. “Don’t scream? What kind of question is… oh.” You saw one extremely long leg and then another followed by a lengthy torso and a very green… okay, that’s definitely not human face. “Oh… so it wasn’t a mask…” It wasn’t as though he was unpleasant to look at though, just different.

He was trying his best to control his breathing, bracing himself for some kind of negative reaction. When none came, he took a breath and spoke, trying to keep his tone as even and neutral as possible.

“You see, when you hacked my webcam, you had unwittingly put me and and the safety of my family at risk… this is why I had to s-see you and why I froze your computer.” He was cursing himself inwardly for stuttering.

You were still trying to find your voice. You had SO many questions and actually still a bit annoyed. “First off… how…? You’re a turtle… I doubt anyone would even believe me… and… second… I didn’t even really see you! It was a complete blur and then you cut my power!” You exhaled as you took another breath. “NOW, I’m seeing you.”

Donnie couldn’t help but flinch a little. “I had to make sure, I had no idea how much of me you did see.” A soft sigh followed before he continued., pinching his skin just below where the bridge of his glasses was resting. “And if you had listened when I told you to stop, we wouldn’t be in this situation, now would we?”

He’s got you there and unconsciously you bite your lower lip. The stubborn part of you, however, wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. “Well, how was I supposed to know that you were a… seven foot…”

“I’m six feet, eight inches.” He interrupted with his matter-of-fact correction.

Another exasperated exhale from you. “Sorry, six foot, eight inch… turtle man!” emphasizing your point, you gestured wildly at the full length of him with your arms. “Who’s apparently so good at hacking that my entire network is completely frozen and I had to drag my ass across town to beg you to unfreeze it!”

He was a little amused by this, he had to admit as his mouth quirked a smile. “Like, I said, I had to be sure, and might I remind you once again… you were the one messing with me.”

“Yeah! Because you were fun to mess with! It was giving me a chance to practice, and it was just innocent fun, it’s not like I could do what you did! And… AND you wanna talk about an invasion of privacy? You hacked my webcam first!”

Donnie blinked, she was really getting all worked up now, and he was trying not to stoop to her level. He was failing. “I only did it because I didn’t think you’d stop! I gave you fair warning.”

“I would’ve stopped!” He doesn’t believe you at all and you hate that because he’s right, messing with him had been too much fun.

“Really?” he deadpanned.

“Yes,” you stubbornly replied.

There’s no stopping his eyeroll at that. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

She crossed her arms with another soft huff. “Fine, don’t believe me.” A shrug followed. “So, now what?”

The tall turtle paused. Usually, he had all the answers but now that he’d frozen her computer and dragged her all the way out here, he felt at a loss of what to say. “I… I just wanted to make sure you’d keep my secret and not tell anyone.”

“Okay… I won’t.” A simple answer, and a truthful one. You watched as he looked at you a long moment. No doubt wondering if he could trust you or not.

Donnie was actually subtly checking for very slight facial cues to determine whether you were lying to him or not. He could tell that your heart rate appeared to be steady. Your gaze never wavered from his, no dilation of her pupils and no mouth tics either. He believed you.

“Okay.” He finally said. “Thank you. I’ll unfreeze everything once I get home.” He turned to leave. “Please get home safely.”

Wait… that was it? Just like that, he was leaving!? “Wait!” You rushed forward to grab his arm. “Wait… that’s it?”

He looked… confused? He had immediately zeroed in on your hand clutching his bicep and then back to your face. “Yes…? You agreed to not tell anyone so… you probably should… let me go? The less you see of me, the better? I thought you were… angry anyway.”

Reluctantly, you released his arm, speaking softly. “I’m not… that mad, I never was really, I just… didn’t want this to be… it. I feel like I could learn a lot from you.”

You watched as her hesitated, seemingly working through his own inner conflicts at this presented opportunity.

“You could…” He turned back around, facing you once again. “Although, you’re already pretty good, I was actually impressed that you’d made it as far as you did.”

You couldn’t help but puff up a little with pride. “Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two.”

He actually laughed. Like a soft little chuckle with a wheeze, his lips blossoming into a smile. “Perhaps you could.”

You smiled back, that laugh of his was adorable. “I’ll let you go but, Donnie… don’t be a stranger, okay?” You already had known his name from getting into his system so many times.

He spoke your name too, softly. “Okay, I won’t.” He looked a little shy then. “Please, allow me to escort you home. It’s late.”

“How very chivalric of you.” Smiling at him with a nod. “I accept.”

Donnie looked pleased with this turn of events and then a little nervous. “I could… carry you, if you want, it’s faster going by rooftops.”

That was an unexpected offer. and now you hesitated before answering. “Oohkay… what are you, some kinda parkour master?”

He snorted softly with a little smirk. “Something like that, ready?”

When you nod, you’re scooped up into his arms at speed that makes you exhale quickly. Being in his arms and feeling the power they held was… nice.

“Hold on tight.” Is all he says and then he starts running.

Automatically you wrapped your arms around his neck watching as the edge of the building came closer and closer… and then, you were flying. Air shooting past your face at a speed that made your eyes water. Your stomach dropped and you clung tighter as you sailed through the air, landing with a thump on the other building.

“You, okay?” He wasn’t even out of breath, like this was easy for him.

“Yes…! Do you know where you’re going?” You ask a little breathlessly.

“Yep. Hold on, I’ll be there in ten.” He took off again, leaping across to the next and the next.

You had to admit it was probably the most exhilarating thing you’d ever experienced and you were actually a bit regretful when he stopped on the roof of your apartment building. Carefully, he brought you to your feet and pushed those large glasses of his up a bit.

“Here we are.” He was more relaxed now, you noticed and felt glad for it.

“Thanks, I appreciate you bringing me back.”

He offered a shy smile then. “You’re welcome. I dragged you out there, the least I could do is make sure you get home safely.”

“That is very much appreciated.” Feeling a bit shy yourself, you paused before heading in. “I’ll see you around.”

“For sure.” Donnie had found he didn’t want to leave yet either, he wanted to make sure you entered the apartment safely.

Heading in, you waved to him before closing the door behind you and took a deep breath. Wow… that really happened. That was incredible! You could barely contain your excitement as you went back to your apartment.

Once Donnie arrived home, true to his word he freed up her system and felt proud of himself for handling things the way that he did. He blew out a breath, leaning back in his chair a moment while lacing his fingers behind his head.

*bing*

He glanced at his screen to see his computer icons dancing and an unseen song playing in the background.

Ninja, ninja, rap, ninja, ninja, rap, go go go go. Go ninja go ninja go! Go ninja go ninja go! Go go go go!

Donnie snorted softly to himself and quickly typed a response.

Back in your apartment, your computer screen suddenly became flooded with memes. Mostly turtle ones of course and try as you might there was no containing your giggles and snorts as you watched them take over your screen. You liked him; there was something very endearing about his quiet shyness mixed with his sharp wit.

Typing back, you take over his screen once again. You took a breath and pressed enter. This was a big chance you were taking but you couldn’t help but feel a connection with the tall, lanky turtle man.

Go on a date with me

Check box yes or no

No rush

Donnie froze, his fingers twitching slightly as they hovered above his keyboard. She wants to go out on a date? With him? He had a mild panic attack for a moment and read and re-read the message at least ten times.

His cursor hovered over the ‘yes’ box. Come on Donnie, throw caution into the wind for once. When are you going to get another chance like this?

Making his decision finally, he clicked his mouse button.

Yes

You couldn’t hold your excitement as you blew out a breath of relief.

He said yes.

The End

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus

@the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28

@definitely-canon @scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs @fyreball66 @yorshie

[softgh0stbites]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆Moonlight and Ruin

-------------------------------------------------

Rating: NSFW 18+

Tags: cunnilingus f!recieving fingering public sex

Pairing: Vincent Valentine x Reader

Summary: After another month of pining and coming to terms with the fact that he will always be the one to hurt you, Vincent decides to slip a note under your pillow and escape in the night. He would get his revenge alone and then close himself off from the world as he originally planned. You find him twisting the ideas around in his mind as if he wants you to catch him. Read these for context as it's a part of a miny series: Where Desire Slumbers, A Dawn's Resolve, Eclipsed affections.

Notes: A little messy, but I wanted to give you a ramble I've had for a while about the first sexual experience between Vincent and our beloved indulgent reader. I'm not sure if I wrote him correctly, and I know I flipped through the povs back and forth. If you want a music recommendation, I listened to Cherry by Lana Del Ray and Cry by Cigarettes After Sex while writing this. Thank you for all your support!

re: edit there were so many typos and rushed sentences with no punctuation so I rewrote practically everything. I had my friend proof read it this time ;w; i've spent another 12 hours on this, nothing has changed just sentences are broken up better and not stacked like giant texts of the bible since someone said it was hard to read that way for them. Sorry about that!

◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯

The night stretches vast and endless above, its stars pulsing in quiet rhythm—dancing without ever moving. A crisp autumn breeze stirs your hair, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and the distant hush of a sleeping town. Your bare feet patter against the cobblestone, each step pressing into the rough, cool stone, a silent reminder that you could turn back and slip beneath your cold sheets and pretend this restlessness never stirred you.

But you don’t.

You don’t know why you thought you’d find him here, beneath the waning moon, in the hush of a world on the edge of dreaming. The streetlamps flicker, their glow dimming to a somber amber, no longer fighting the darkness. You had rushed from the inn the moment you woke, a strange unease settling deep in your bones, as if something was slipping through your fingers, something you weren’t meant to miss.

The note in your hand is a crumpled mess; creased, smoothed out, then tortured all over again beneath restless fingers. Frustration coils in your chest, your thoughts seesawing between the hollow comfort of ignorance and the sharp bite of truth. You grit your teeth, biting your tongue so hard that the taste of copper lingers on your lips.

The ink, scrawled in a hand too familiar, cuts deeper than the jagged cracks of the cement beneath you. No matter how many times you crush the paper in your grip, the words refuse to disappear.

This is where I belong. Forget me.

Your teeth clench, tension locking your jaw as your eyes sting, heavy with unfallen tears. As you walk toward the back of the inn where you and the party stayed, his shadow appears before his form fully emerges beneath the moon’s glow.

He sits on the fountain steps, head tilted back, staring at the stars.

Cool grass cushions your bare feet, each blade brushing against your skin, gentle but insistent, as if urging you forward. You already know he heard you long before you rounded the corner. By the time you step into view, his gaze is already on you. His eyes tighten slightly, not quite surprised, but in recognition.

Your tongue felt heavy, thick with words you weren’t sure how to say. After everything that had passed between you, the silence felt heavier than ever.

You had built something with him. It was something quiet, something unspoken. Nights spent on watch together beneath these very stars had fostered a closeness that needed no words. Your conversations were held in glances, intimate, in the way his shoulder would shift just slightly, inviting you to rest against him. A slow blink of his eyes was permission to inch closer, to let the space between you shrink.

You had thought, maybe, you were growing close. Maybe, you understood him in ways others didn’t.

Vincent was like a cat in some ways, distant yet watchful, his presence steady but reserved. Yet when he let you in, he did so completely. It was in his gaze, the way it softened with vulnerability at times when he looked at you, the quiet warmth that lived there despite his guarded nature. And in those moments, when his walls lowered just enough for you to see inside, you found it hard to breathe.

The thought of these moments slipping away was unraveling your patience, dissolving the restraint you had clung to for so long. How many times had you wanted to pull him down to you, his sharp features inches from yours—clumsily, perhaps, but with a longing that would speak for itself in the hurried whispers of your lips? How often had you imagined holding him beneath the warmth of the sun, grasping his hand mid-mission as you wandered through deserts, forests, towns…?

He was everything you wanted, and you had laid it before him, clear as water. He may have been the one who locked himself away for thirty years, but you were the one left parched, thirsting for even the gentlest reminder of his touch. Your pulse had never forgotten. It still beat with the memory of that evening on the beach, the way he had held you close—closer than he ever had before, closer than he ever had since. He hadn't touched you that way again, but he never truly pushed you away either.

Yet you knew.

There was something he wouldn’t tell you, something heavy, something awful that kept him trapped in his silence. It lingered in his distance, in the way he lost himself in thought. And though he never said a word, his gaze always betrayed him—longing for something, for someone he couldn’t find in you.

You remember the first time you caught him fiddling with the brooch. A simple piece—white gold wrapped delicately around a worn moonstone, dulled by time and wear. His clawed fingers turned it over absently, tracing the edges as if smoothing away the years. It looked fragile in his grip, yet something about the way he held it told you it wasn’t.

Without thinking, you motioned for him to follow. He raised an eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable but clearly questioning your intent. What business did you have leading him toward the storage closet? The realization of what it must have looked like struck you immediately, heat creeping up your neck as you fumbled with the door and yanked him inside by the edge of his cloak.

If he had wanted to resist, he could have. He was immeasurably stronger than you, yet he let you maneuver him without so much as a word. That alone made your stomach twist, warmth pooling somewhere in your chest.

"Vin, light, please." Your voice was steady, but in the darkness, you were grateful he couldn’t see the way your eyes traced his silhouette.

You couldn’t make out much, but the broad curve of his hips as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other was etched into your memory.

A quiet hum of acknowledgment rumbled from him before he reached for the dangling cord, tugging it down with an effortless flick of his wrist. A dim yellow glow flickered to life, painting the small space in soft, wavering light. Shadows stretched along the walls, wrapping around the two of you like something almost tangible.

You held out your hand expectantly.

Vincent hesitated for a fraction of a second before wordlessly dropping the brooch into your palm. His crimson eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—mild curiosity, perhaps, or maybe something softer. He watched in silence as you rummaged through a nearby box, fingers brushing past cold metal and glass vials until you found what you were looking for. You’d spent enough nights helping Cid polish rusted parts that you could find the right solutions in the dark.

With a quiet exhale, you pushed a few boxes aside, clearing a space just big enough for the two of you to sit. The closet was small, too small, and yet Vincent settled across from you without a word.

Your legs brushed first—just the lightest graze of your foot against his leather-clad calf. He didn’t move away. His other knee bent, resting just beside yours, framing you in a way that made your breath hitch.

Still, neither of you spoke.

Instead, Vincent watched, gaze intent, as your pale fingers soaked the cloth in the strong-smelling liquid. It was an unspoken challenge—one you knew he would intervene in the moment he thought you were being careless. His silent scrutiny was its own form of protection, his way of being present without interfering.

You gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be gentle, promise."

His brows furrowed slightly. He didn’t understand—of course he didn’t.

With an exasperated sigh, you reached forward and took his hand, carefully wrapping his gloved pinky around yours. His fingers twitched slightly at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. Then, pressing your thumbs together, you held the lock.

"This is a promise, locked, okay?" You grinned at him. "Vincent, if you didn’t look so young, I’d swear you were sixty-eight."

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a sound deep, low, and soft. A quiet, half-chuckle, barely there but unmistakable. The warmth of it settled deep in your ribs, spreading through your chest like firelight on cold hands.

The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the evening, tucked away in the maintenance closet, breaths nearly mingling in the close air. You worked the polish over the brooch until your fingers ached, the dull gold brightening beneath your touch. It would never be perfect—the scratches were too deep, the years too long—but when you held it up to the light, the stone gleamed once more.

That was when you noticed it.

A faint engraving on the back, previously hidden beneath the tarnish. Your eyes traced the delicate etching, lips parting before you even realized you were speaking.

"Lucrecia Crescent."

The name slipped past your lips in a whisper, barely more than breath.

Across from you, Vincent inhaled sharply.

You looked up just in time to catch the shift in his expression. His face didn’t change much, but you could see it in his eyes—the flicker of something raw, something fragile, before he carefully schooled his features once more. He reached forward, fingers steady but slow, and plucked the brooch from your hands.

Without a word, he tucked it back beneath his garments, hiding it away.

His gaze met yours, and for the first time that night, you saw something there. Uncertainty. Worry. Maybe even fear.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I won’t ask."

Vincent’s eyes flickered, searching your face. Whatever he found there, it must have eased him, because his shoulders relaxed just slightly.

"Thank you."

It felt like he was thanking you for more than just your silence.

When you finally stood to leave, you nearly tripped over the boxes you had pushed aside, your foot catching on something behind you. Vincent’s hands found your hips, steadying you before you could collide with his chest. The heat of his touch, even through the fabric, sent a shiver up your spine.

Your face burned.

Without another word, you stumbled out of the closet and down the hall, the sound of Vincent’s measured steps following close behind. The faint click of his boots against the floor was the only proof that any of it had happened at all.

The cool night air pulled you from your thoughts, but the embers of your anger only burned brighter when you noticed his hands fiddling with the same brooch. His fingers ghosted over the edges, as if testing the worn metal, as if weighing its significance all over again.

Your grip tightened around the paper in your palm, the crumpled note that had shattered the fragile quiet between you. He must have heard the rustle, because his shoulders rose with a deep, weary sigh.

You took a step closer. Then another.

Your emotions, always uncontainable, spilled over as your eyes blurred with tears. You had never been good at swallowing them back, not like he was. You felt everything too much, too fast, too completely. It overwhelmed you, made you ache in ways you didn’t know how to temper.

"Why?"

The word trembled from your lips, barely holding its shape. Your fingers clenched around the note like it was your last tether to him, like if you let it go, he’d disappear entirely.

Vincent’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way his gaze softened, a flicker of something regretful. He hadn’t wanted you to find the note so soon. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to leave it at all. He watched you, eyes catching the tear-streaked path down your cheek, but he didn’t move from where he stood.

"I'll always hurt you. There's no life to be had with me."

His voice carried over the space between you, rough and quiet, like he had already convinced himself of the truth in those words.

You could see it now, the things he wouldn’t say aloud. He would never give you children, maybe he was incapable of it, maybe he simply wouldn’t try. He didn’t have the heart to offer you a peaceful life, not the kind you deserved. He wasn’t going to settle down in some quiet town, wasn’t going to live in a house with a white picket fence.

He wasn't allowed.

The atonement was the only thing that made sense to him anymore. The blood, the fight, the ache, it was the only thing that stopped his mind from spiraling into a cacophony of cruel voices.

Your chest heaved as your grip on the note loosened. It fell, fluttering to the grass.

"And you get to make that choice on your own?"

Your voice cracked, but it didn’t break. The fury burning in your chest held it together.

"What about what I want?"

Vincent stiffened at the force of your words, his crimson gaze flickering with something new. It wasn't just sorrow, but surprise. He had expected your grief, your resignation, maybe even your regret. He hadn’t expected your fire, the way your anger crackled in the air between you.

You took another step forward, closing the distance. Heat radiated off your skin, a stark contrast to his own cold resolve.

Vincent barely had time to process it before you were towering over him, for once. He had to tip his head back slightly as you climbed the stairs above him, your form framed against the dim glow of the streetlamps.

His breath caught just slightly.

Your legs were bare, skin kissed by the soft golden light, and though he knew this wasn’t the time, his gaze betrayed him. It always did.

His eyes traced the line of your figure before snapping back to your face, catching the sharp rise and fall of your chest. The frustration rolling off you was palpable, and yet—

You were stunning.

You had always been stunning.

And that made all of this so much harder.

"Don't," he said, voice low, a warning that carried more weight than anger. The sound reverberated through him, steady but frayed at the edges.

But you didn’t stop.

"No, you don’t!" Your voice wavered as you scrubbed at your eyes, hands trembling against your cheeks. "I don’t care if you leave sometimes… but you can’t leave forever. Don’t go where I can’t follow."

Your breath came quick and uneven as you searched his face, hoping—pleading—to find even a small fracture in his cold resolve.

For a moment, something flickered in his gaze. A hesitation, barely there.

Then, as if retreating into himself, Vincent lowered his eyes to the brooch in his hand. His fingers brushed over it again and again, tracing the engraving as if memorizing something he had long since committed to heart. It was a habit, a ritual, one he repeated so often that you wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

"Precious things always wilt in my grasp," he murmured. "You're no different."

The words carried the weight of inevitability, as if he had already mourned you before you were even gone. As if he believed time itself would erode whatever it was you shared, leaving nothing but another memory to haunt him.

You swallowed hard. "That’s not true."

But he didn’t answer.

"I meant what I said. Forget about me." His voice was quieter now, but the certainty in it stung worse than if he had shouted. He glanced at you once, almost like he was bracing for the impact of his own words. Then his gaze broke away, darting to the ground, the fountain, anywhere but you.

Before you could move, before you could reach for him, Vincent stood. His movements were fluid, practiced, pushing you aside without effort but without force.

Then, without ceremony, he tossed the brooch into the fountain.

The sound of it hitting the water was small but sharp, sending ripples across the surface. The splash jolted through you, your breath catching as though the cold had touched your skin instead.

Vincent turned before the last ripple had even faded.

Without looking back, he stepped down from the stone ledge, cloak sweeping behind him as he descended onto solid ground. His walk was smooth, almost too composed, but there was something about the way his coat billowed behind him that felt final.

He was heading toward the treeline.

The woods would be an inconvenient pass, dense and uneven. But that was the point. In your state—bare legs, thin clothing—you wouldn’t be able to follow.

Vincent knew if he turned, if he saw the tear-streaked devastation on your face, his resolve might crack. His jaw tightened as he forced himself forward, steps slow but unwavering.

"Vincent Valentine, you absolute… i-idiot!"

Your voice rang out behind him, raw and trembling, cutting through the night like a blade. His stride faltered. The rustling of fabric followed, and instinctively, he turned his head—expecting to see you running after him, desperate for one final plea.

But what he saw instead made his breath catch.

You stood beneath the moonlight, lifting your shirt over your head, your hair catching in the neckline before you yanked it free. Then, with swift, determined fingers, you hooked into the waist of your shorts and pushed them down. Vincent's chest seized.

His gaze dragged over you before he could stop himself, taking in the sight of your bare legs, the way your linen chemise clung to your form. It was shorter than he imagined- shorter than in the fantasies he tried to convince himself weren't that indulgent.

His throat tightened, but the moment your teary eyes pierced into him, his gaze snapped up. You wiped at your face, your expression hardened, then turned away.

Without another word, you stepped into the fountain.

Vincent remained frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with your actions. You didn’t hesitate. You slipped beneath the water's surface, vanishing in an instant.

His stomach dropped.

His breath quickened as he strode forward, steps quick and heavy, his chest rising and falling harder than before. But just as he neared the edge, you emerged, breaking the surface in a rush of air and droplets.

The moment stilled and he would keep it in his memory until the day he drew one last taste of air.

You hoisted yourself up onto the stone steps, water cascading down your body in gleaming rivulets. Vincent stopped in his tracks. He could barely breathe.

You were soaked through.

Your white chemise clung obscenely to your skin, transparent where it lay flush against you. Your heaving chest, your rose-tipped nipples peeking through damp fabric, the water trailing over the delicate lines of your ribs, your stomach, pooling down the curve of your thighs—

Exquisite.

Vincent couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. His hunger hit him like a sudden storm, curling in his gut, thick and heavy, so tangible it ached. It pulsed in his throat, in his hands, in the places he had forced himself to ignore for too long.

Because hell, how long had he denied this?

How many nights had he stood under cold running water, his palm wrapped around himself, teeth gritted, your face filling the spaces in his mind? How many times had he swallowed down the need, convinced himself that this desire was something he could control?

But now, standing before you like this, seeing the heat in your eyes, the way you clutched the brooch against your chest—

He was starving.

And you were divine.

Your nipples, so often imagined in his mind, now stood in stark reality beneath his gaze, peeking shyly through the damp, clinging linen. His breath caught, his chest rising too fast, too sharp.

Your face was flushed, burning beneath the weight of his stare. Your arm moved instinctively to shield yourself, but even then, you lifted your chin in defiance. As if daring him to look. As if testing his restraint.

He could feel it, the slow, inexorable crumble of the walls he had spent decades fortifying. Self-restraint be damned. He had spent too long denying himself, denying you.

If you wanted to use him, then let it be so. His body, this body that had felt too much pain, too much weight, too many scars of the past was yours if you wished to take it. He had been a fool to pretend otherwise, a coward for running from the inevitable.

Selfish. Greedy. Unworthy.

He would let himself be all of those things for you even if it tore open old wounds.

He feared how willing he was how, if you asked it, he would pluck the moon from the sky and place it in your hands. If you whispered for vengeance, he would spill blood at your feet. If you asked for a crown, he would slay angels to bring you their feathers.

If anyone dared lay a hand on you in malice, he would tear out their throat with his teeth. He would only stop if you commanded it. Almost akin to ordering a hound.

The last time he had felt this, he had lost everything. He had watched the woman he loved die, had let it happen. He had told himself, never again. He didn’t deserve to feel this way again. And yet, here you were, undoing him with kindness.

A slow, creeping, aching torture that seeped into his very marrow, turning him starved and desperate. It was scary how you could undo him so easily with your words, your temper, your body.

As if entranced, Vincent moved.

He climbed the steps, slow and deliberate, his crimson eyes locked onto yours. When he reached you, his hand lifted, fingers curling firmly but gently around your wrist.

You tensed, your breath hitching as he pulled your arm away from your chest, no longer letting you hide. But he didn’t just look—he sheltered you with the bulk of his body blocking the cool night air from touching your skin.

Your cheeks flushed deeper, a small, startled sound escaping you. A protest? A plea?

Vincent brought your wrist to his mouth, his lips brushing against the damp skin, soft and reverent. The heat of his breath sent a shiver through you, the contrast between warmth and the cool air almost dizzying.

He kissed his way down the delicate line of your arm, slow and thorough, as if apologizing for every unspoken word, every wound he had left on your heart.

Your breath stilled as he lingered at your wrist. His tongue flicked out, warm and teasing, tasting the beads of water clinging to your skin.

And in that moment, as he devoured you with his eyes, you realized,

You would let him get away with anything.

If only he kept looking at you like that, like you were his.

Only his.

"You can't just leave her b-behind," you stammered, your voice unsteady, both from nerves and the biting chill that Vincent's cloak could only shield so much. "You can leave me behind, but don't... don't leave her when she's so important to you." The last words stuck in your throat, thick with something unnamed.

A tear slipped down your cheek as your gaze dropped to his chest. You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, couldn’t let him see the jealousy, the insecurity gnawing at you. You knew—this woman, the one his jewelry belonged to, he must have adored her. You had spent so many nights watching him stroke the space to the left of his heart, fingers brushing over the hidden keepsake, as if reassuring himself that it was still there.

You wanted to be the one who grounded him. You wanted to pull him from the tides of self-inflicted guilt, to anchor him here, with you. But if it was her memory that kept him whole, even in the smallest way, who were you to compare?

Even as your thoughts tangled, Vincent pressed forward, his steps deliberate, urging you back. The cold kiss of water met your skin before you realized it, your feet sinking into the fountain, the surface rippling up to your hips as he followed. He didn’t stop until your back met the cool stone of the sculpture, the carved woman standing behind you, her vase endlessly pouring water in the opposite direction, as if turning away from the two of you.

The lily pads and algae drifted apart around your bodies, disturbed by movement, a quiet acknowledgment of change.

A soft click echoed through the air. Then a splash.

Vincent's gauntlet hit the water, sinking beneath the surface, ripples stretching outward.

"She's a ghost," he murmured, his voice like velvet unraveling. There was no hesitation, no retreat—just him sinking to his knees before you, his hands settling at your hips, fingers warm against your skin.

Your breath caught.

"But—"

"You'll ruin me." His voice was raw, breaking at the edges, his hand tightening in the fabric of your soaked chemise. "Fuck—"clearly lost in how close you were, disregarding your concern of his past unrequited love.

It was the first time you had heard him swear. The way the word left his lips, a rasp dripping with want, sent a shiver down your spine. He was unraveling because of you. His fingers tangled in the wet fabric at your thighs, gripping it like he needed something to cling to, like you were the only thing holding him in place.

Your heart pounded, legs trembling as his hands traced over the pale expanse of your skin, slow, reverent. He knelt there, worshipping you with his touch, his mouth hovering just above your navel, the heat of his breath making your skin prickle.

You clutched the brooch so tightly that the metal bit into your palm.

"Stay," you whispered, pleaded, demanded, prayed. Your fingers tangled into his hair, gripping, pulling, needing.

Something in him fractured.

Vincent shrugged off his cloak in a single movement, tossing it over the fountain’s edge. The moonlight traced along the sharp lines of his shoulders, his chest narrowing into the water’s depths, his throat exposed to you. His lips parted slightly, his breath uneven. He was yours to observe, yours to claim.

And he let you.

All thoughts of leaving seemed to dissolve from his mind, because his grip on your waist tightened, his arms drawing you to him as he buried his face against your stomach. Your hands fisted in his hair as his lips pressed against the soaked fabric, mouth feverish, hungry. His teeth scraped against the linen, tugging, tasting. Desperate.

"Vincent—" you whined, but your hands still pulled him closer, fingers twisting in his hair as his gloved hands continued their slow exploration of your legs.

Anyone could step outside. The back garden only hid so much. But the thought of it—the risk—only made your pulse race faster.

Vincent pulled away from tracing the soft planes of your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. "If that's what you want… I won't try again."

"Promise," you whispered, though even you weren’t sure if you meant it.

His hand came up to yours, gently prying the brooch from your fingers and setting it onto the lip of the fountain’s edge. Then he used his teeth to tug off his glove, revealing the pale skin beneath, almost translucent barely luminescent under the moons light, veins faintly visible beneath the surface.

When he interlaced his bare fingers with yours, slowly and intentionally.

"I promise," he murmured. His crimson gaze flicked up to yours, then back down to where your hands fit together. His grip tightened at your hip, his voice rough with need. "I need you… need to worship you. But if you don’t want this—any of it—I’ll stop."

The certainty in his voice eased the tension in your body, but the heat in his eyes left you trembling, your arousal slick between your thighs, mixing with the water.

You nodded, breathless, then gave him the words too. "I won’t tell you to stop."

Vincent exhaled, something like relief slipping past his lips as his grip shifted. Your fingers tangled deeper into his raven hair, steadying you.

"We’ll see," he murmured, his breath ghosting over the inside of your thigh. His lips found purchase just above your knee, his bare hand sliding along your calf, lifting it from the water, resting it over his shoulder to expose you where he needed you. You were already soaked from water, but there was a lingering dark path along your lavender panties that made his throat tighten. Your toes barely grazed his back, and as he sank lower, his mouth following the path of his hands.

You shivered, sinking further into him, his hands trembling over your form, into this

Your stomach dropped. He was insatiable.

Vincent’s slender fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with deliberate ease even reaching behind his head to pull it down over your foot. Dusky lavender, he had complimented the color on you once before when you wore a similar sweater.

He wasn’t a man of many words, but his mouth was far from inexperienced. He knew exactly where to graze his teeth, where to savor the tremble in your breath. The ends of his fingers coaxed your hips to relax, guiding you toward the warmth of his breath. Every exhale that ghosted against your skin was followed by lips and tongue feverishly tasting your body.

When he finally settled between your thighs, his gaze flicked up, inky lashes framing eyes that burned into you.

That look alone could ruin you. You realized in this moment you would never deny him and he would never deny you.

You surrendered completely, already pleading.

"Vincent… please… hah… no teasing."

Your neediness didn’t go unnoticed. His mouth descended, tongue sliding through your folds, savoring the taste of you with an approving hum. He licked into you languidly, as if he had been starving for you, ready to drown in your release.

His fingers dug into your hips, sure to leave bruises, anchoring you to him. You didn’t want him to let up. Your hips rocked into his mouth, your leg bouncing against his shoulder, toes curling every time he sucked your swollen clit into the heat of his mouth before letting it go with a soft pop.

The contrast of the cool water against his feverish tongue sent shocks through your core. Your release was already building—too fast, too much.

You weren’t a virgin, far from it. You had been with men who promised, I’ll make it up to you next time, as they left you aching, unfulfilled. You had never asked for this before. You hadn’t thought a man would want it, would yearn so badly for a taste of you.

But here, beneath the vast expanse of stars, you understood pleasure. And the man giving it to you would never leave you wanting.

His tongue circled your entrance, your name tumbling from your lips in gasps. His fingers massaged your thighs, slow, teasing. He was bringing you back out of the throws of your mind, into the moment with him. You wanted them inside, needed him to fill you as you were clenching around nothing, empty.

"Vin… I… I need it…" You whimpered, grinding into his chin, shameless in your desperation.

He groaned against your skin. "Anything. Tell me."

His voice was heavy, thick with need. He had dreamed of hearing you like this of you begging for him. He shuddered when your fingers tugged at his hair again, his scalp stinging, but he loved it.

"Your fingers…" you murmured, shyly. So cute.

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk playing there before he dipped his head back down, teasing your entrance with his tongue as his fingers traced over your slick folds. He wasn’t in a rush, he wanted to savor the way your body responded to him maybe commit it to memory for when he was alone with his thoughts.

When he finally sank a single finger inside, your world tilted. The stars above seemed closer, or maybe it was just the way he was pulling you apart. He worked you open slowly, despite your eager pleas for more. Another digit slipped in, curling, pressing into that spot that made your whole body jolt. He was so deliberate with the scissoring motion inside, brushing against your walls so well. You'd thank whoever got him into working with guns, because fuck was that trigger finger absolutely wrecking you at this moment.

His lips latched onto your clit again, tongue circling so thoroughly, so expertly that your slick coated his hand, your thigh trembling on one side of his head.

Your breaths grew heavier, muscles clenching around his fingers. Your mouth parted, curses spilling freely as you tried to muffle your cries behind your wrist. You had waited months for this—for him to touch you like this—and now you were falling apart too fast.

Vincent groaned at the sound of your pleasure, the need in your voice. He needed more of it, more of you. It took everything in him not to let you remove his belts with that look in your eyes, as if you were already fucking him in your mind.

"Bite me," you gasped. "Please, please—ah—" You requested so insistently as you caught a glimpse of those sharp teeth hiding behind his perfect lips. Your hands fisted in his hair, urging him closer. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by how good he was making you feel, how completely he was consuming you.

How could he deny you?

A low growl rumbled from his chest. His mouth found your hip, lips parting wide before his teeth sank into the soft flesh above the bone. His fingers thrust deeper, curling, twisting, fucking you open as you pulsed and clenched around him. His bite was firm, not enough to break skin, but enough to make you shudder. His tongue soothed the mark after, sucking at it as if imprinting himself onto you.

You keened, pleading for more, and he obeyed.

He trailed bite after bite, leaving bruises across your hip, up your stomach, his lips pressing reverent kisses over each one. He lingered just beneath your breast, hungry and fevered, his body rising with yours as he pushed up onto his knees. You tilted your chest into him, offering yourself.

Vincent's hands trembled as they slid over your curves, cupping your breast, kneading, pinching. His mouth found the stiff peak of your nipple, pulling it taut between his lips, tongue flicking as he moaned against you.

You tasted like rainwater and coconut balm.

His fingers teased your other breast, rolling it between his leather clad hand. Each gasp, each moan, each sweet, desperate sound made his pulse pound harder, his cock straining against the soaked leather of his pants.

"I'm gonna… don't stop… so good… your mouth—mmh."

Your words were a drug. He groaned against your skin, hips jerking involuntarily with nothing to grind into. He wouldn’t touch himself, not yet, not when he had you falling apart in his hands.

He wanted this moment. He wanted to feel you come undone.

With a trail of kisses to your navel, he whispered, "Let go for me."

His fingers plunged deeper, fucking into you at the rhythm of your pulse, coaxing you higher, higher—until you shattered.

Your climax crashed over you, your hips rocking erratically as his name tore from your throat. Your trembling hands muffled your cries, teeth biting into your wrist to keep yourself from screaming.

Vincent didn’t stop—wouldn’t stop—until your body was completely spent, your slick coating his fingers, dripping into the water. Only then did he slow, guiding you down, letting you ride out your release on his hand. His lips pressed one last kiss against your arousal, letting his tongue taste his reward with a moan. He lapped you up, stroking a broad stripe of his tongue across your folds. You tasted absolutely delicious, his favorite kind of bitter and sweet.

Gently he lowered your leg letting you settle against him. A dull ache formed between your hips, but the way Vincent touched you now which was so soft, so sweet, made it feel like nothing at all. He kissed up your stomach, up your ribs, up the bruising havoc he had left behind. A part of him was satisfied, but the rational part of him was disappointed in his lack of self restraint. Your hands slipped from his hair, fingers framing his face as he lifted himself to meet your gaze. His chin and mouth were glistening from your slick, like you marked him too. His dark crimson eyes burning with a lot of different emotions. Fear, lust, longing, relief, shame- but most of all-

Devoted. Utterly, irrevocably devoted to you.

"Thank you," You whispered, hoping he would understand you meant for more than bringing you to the pearly gates of heaven itself.

Your fingers slid beneath his jaw, brushing the tip of his ear as you cupped his face. Your breath hitched as you watched him lick your arousal from his lips, from his fingers, methodical and unbothered by shyness. His flushed face, his lidded gaze, he was wrecked, but he still looked at you like he wanted more.

That gave you the in you needed. You leaned in, and so did he, your lips meeting in a slow, tender kiss. You guided the kiss, parting and pressing your lips together again, tasting the salt and musk of yourself on his tongue as you licked inside his mouth. He let you explore, his hands settling at your lower back, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your muscles as you sighed into him. He was so tall compared to you even on his knees and it sent a thrill down your spine. His hands could splay easily around your waist, hips, back. You felt coveted.

His lips were everything you had imagined—soft, warm, chapped in places but perfect between your teeth. When his own scraped against your tongue, a new spark ignited in your veins, rekindling your excitement. You pushed impossibly closer, hardened nipples grazing the leather of his chest, hips pressing against his, his erection prominent beneath the layers of clothing and belts.

You wanted to drop to your knees, to worship him too. But his hands held you firm. He wasn’t letting you move an inch.

You didn’t know who pulled away first for breath, only that as he rose to his feet, you clung to him, a sudden fear creeping in, a fear that he would forget your newfound promise.

But instead, Vincent knocked your legs out from under you with his forearm, catching you effortlessly against his chest. Your arms tightened around his shoulders, the water sloshing at his knees as he carried you toward the edge of the fountain.

"I didn’t give you anything," you murmured, your pout betraying your worry. You didn’t want this to be one-sided. You didn’t want to use him.

He barely paused as he stepped out of the water, carrying you with ease. "It’s fine," he murmured. "You’ve given enough."

There was a hesitation, barely a flicker, before his lips pressed softly to your head. You felt him inhale deeply before straightening again, adjusting you in his hold as he reached out, slinging his wet cloak over his shoulder.

The brooch lay on the stone’s edge, caught between his fingers. For a moment, he looked at it, as if debating whether to toss it back into the water—or keep it.

You answered the question in his eyes with a soft smile. Your hand moved to his, fingers curling over his where they held the brooch, and you clenched his fingers around it.

It was enough.

He could remember his past love. Remember who he was. You would never ask him to give that up. It made him the man you desired right now. You knew, in some way, that you could accept this ghost of his past. And you wouldn’t let a memory stop you from your pursuit of his heart.

As he carried you back toward the inn, you asked again, just needing to hear it one more time.

"You’ll stay… right?"

Vincent’s voice was velvet, rich in your ears. "I’ll stay."

In the stretching silence save for the sound of his walk and wet leather, you decided to say what you needed to while you still had a strum of bravado in you.

"I like you," you blurted out, chest tightening the moment the words left your mouth.

Vincent’s lips quirked into that charming, maddening half-smile.

"Oh?" His skin flushed at your admission, but instead of answering right away, he brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, an affectionate, unhurried gesture. He didn’t know if he was ready to name the feeling in his chest, but he could accept yours. Slowly if you would put up with it.

"You make it very clear—"

Your mouth fell open. He was teasing you.

Heat flared across your face, even down your neck. Had he noticed? The way you grumbled every time other women giggled at the mere sight of him? The way your eyes lingered when he walked past, hips swaying just enough to drive you crazy?

"I-I do not…" you tried to refute, but he only laughed. A soft, low sound that sent warmth straight through you.

"Mm." He pretended to agree, setting you down gently as you reached the front entrance of the inn. You were chilled to the bone, your body still sticky, exhaustion settling in from the night’s activities. Vincent looked entirely too smug as you wobbled slightly on your feet, and before you could recover, he pushed the door open.

The pub was quiet, lit only by a single candle on the bar. No one awake except for Cid, hunched over with a bottle in hand.

You immediately wanted to run past in embarrassment, pressing closer to Vincent. How were you going to hide your practically naked form?

He sighed, fingers lacing with yours as he pulled you behind him to give you some shred of decency, already dreading Cid’s brashness. But luck wasn’t on your side. The old man turned, grinning far too wide the moment he saw you both.

"Finally put an end to your lovers’ quarrel, huh?" Cid hooted, lifting his bottle. "’Bout damn time! Tired of watchin’ you two eye-fuck each other across the damn plane."

You buried your burning face against the middle of Vincent’s back with a groan.

"And it’s bad enough with those three," he jerked a thumb toward the hallway and set of stairs, letting out a loud laugh implying that you were as bad as Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith. That trifecta was incredibly entertaining, but annoying to witness at the same time.

Vincent sighed again, long and suffering, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles in warning before pulling you past the drunkard and toward the stairs trying to cover you but it was hard without the bulk of his cloak around him. He was quite a slender man towards his waist and hips, not quite built like a soldier, but rather like a turk. All lean and sinewy for quick attacks.

"Don’t forget, these walls are real thin!" Cid hollered after you with a chortle.

Vincent didn’t stop, dragging you down the hall before the embarrassment could suffocate you. You had never been more grateful for the quiet of the upstairs corridor. Four doors lined the hallway. Yours was at the very end, and Vincent’s which you were standing in front of it now. He had never willed himself to knock on your door before. Not even when he had slipped that note beneath your pillow in the dead of night. It still annoyed him that you never locked it, who were you hoping to meet in there? Was it him?

"I’m so tired," you mumbled, nudging his door open before he could suggest otherwise. "I’ll berate that bastard tomorrow."

The door clicked shut behind the both of you, and before he could process the moment, you were stripping. His eyes tracked the movement, the flex of your muscles as you worked the soaked fabric over your head.

Heat flared low in his stomach. Hard again. Behamaut save him.

Images flickered through his mind in rapid succession, your face pressed into his pillows, your lips wrapped around him, your hands gripping his hips as he took you for the first time in languid strokes. Your tongues exploring each other, his hands guiding your hips astride him, your fingers controlling his hair as his mouth performed his prayer...

His restraint wavered, were his knees about to become familiar with every inn floor in the future? A new religion blossoming between the apex of your thighs.

You snapped him out of it with a simple, innocent question. "Do you have anything I can wear?" your arms covering across your chest.

Vincent cleared his throat, shaking off the fantasy.

"Uh." He coughed, lowering his chin slightly, an old habit from when he could hide behind his crimson cowl. Right. Clothes.

He turned away, rummaging through his drawer until he found a tight compression shirt and a pair of his usual black briefs. Tossing them in your direction, he didn’t miss the mischievous smirk playing on your lips when you motioned for him to turn around with a twirl of your finger.

He complied.

The shuffling of fabric behind him tested his patience, especially when your scent lingered in the air, still warm, still intoxicating. He just busied his hands on hanging his wet cloak up on the dresser, hopefully by tomorrow it would dry out.

Then, your hands slid around his waist.

"You should change too," you murmured, lips pressing against the damp leather of his shoulder. Vincent turned to face you, tilting your chin up.

The air between you thickened. His greedy mouth claimed yours again, unable to help himself, hands trailing down your back. The compression shirt he had given you hung low at your hips, but it was tight at your chest, the fabric stretching where your breasts filled it out. He was definitely still a man underneath all of his armor.

You gasped his name, pressing into him, and he was unraveling all over again. His self-control frayed at the edges, his hands aching to rip that shirt off you again. Or maybe you could keep it on while he-

With a low groan, he forced himself to pull away, even though it pained him to do so. He knew you were tired, didn't want to increase the intimacy ten fold in one night when he had been on the verge of disappearing entirely.

Slow down. He told himself.

"Get comfortable," he murmured, motioning toward the bed.

Then, he turned away, undoing the buttons of his vest, but keeping himself out of your sight.

Vincent grabbed a bundle of fresh clothes and slipped into the tiny washroom, barely large enough to turn around in. He pulled them on quickly, not bothering to glance at himself. He wouldn’t ruin the night by standing there, picking himself apart. He just wanted to get back to you, sink into the covers, and fall asleep.

He wouldn’t leave again. Not if it meant seeing you cry like that.

The image of you charging through the grass, his crumpled note clenched in your fist, tear-streaked and furious, nearly brought him to his knees even now. He had made you sob, shake, scream at him. He figured he’d be making it up to you for a long time.

Stepping back into the room, he hesitated, spotting you curled up on his bed, face half-buried in his pillow. Something stirred, deep and unfamiliar.

He had never had someone sleep in his arms before. Not like this.

Sure, he had fucked before. Back when the human part of him still craved warmth, still sought out pleasure in tangled blankets and breathless gasps. But even then, his thoughts had been elsewhere. His body gave, but his heart remained locked behind bars.

But tonight?

His thoughts were only of you.

You had overtaken him completely, and he knew now—it would never be anyone else.

His feet felt too heavy as he neared the bed, as if something about this was too intimate, too real. His body wasn’t used to this kind of closeness, not after years of solitude. But you were already there, already taking up space in his life in a way that terrified him.

Carefully, stiffly, he slid under the blankets, trying not to disturb you too much. He hesitated, unsure where to place himself. His body felt too big, too cold, too unnatural for this.

Then, as if sensing his awkwardness, you shifted. Pressed your back into his chest- Sought him out.

Vincent exhaled sharply. His arm moved on instinct, resting over your waist. His fingers twitched, as if debating whether to hold you tighter. Unrelenting, he thought of his own greed, but he didn’t move away. You nuzzled into his pillow with a sleepy sigh and he felt like you wormed your way into his chest with that adorable hitch in your rhythmic breathing. He'd much rather just watch you sleep, he didn't truly need slumber at all. It did nothing for him most of the time, not like it once had.

You were so warm though. Inviting him to rest his weary self with you and something about sleeping with you felt more intimate than sex or devouring you in the fountain. He had almost thrown this away. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deep, committing your scent to memory. His grip tightened slightly despite the whispers in his head.

"You’ll be the one to hurt her. You’re going to bury her when this is over."

He swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

With your breath steady in his ears, your presence anchoring him in ways he didn’t understand quite yet, words he couldn't fathom, Vincent let sleep pull him under.

It was the deepest, peaceful rest he had known since waking from his coffin.

BONUS: [The next morning you would unfortunately find yourself mortified to have found yuffie beat you to the punch, digging your wet underwear, clothes, and Vincent's gauntlet from the fountain with a horrified look on her face. You would hide behind the corner of the inn, wanting to dig your palms into your eyes in humiliation.

"V-vincent got laid?!" She exclaimed in both horror and amusement with a bright grin stretching over her lips. She was going to tease him relentlessly for sure.

You groaned and shuffled back inside the inn without a word, passing everyone at the counter. You'd let Vincent collect his gauntlet on his own when he woke up.]

[charleslee-valentine]

I wanna talk about this scene.

A head kiss is *so* significant as a choice. Obviously he can’t kiss her lips unless he wants to have his face superglued to hers, but to waste time getting upstairs to have kissed her at all is sorta what I get caught on. There’s got to be *something* going through his head to make that decision over damage control.

We know the abuse of these women, tying them up in a medical chair, is because of what he went through in his childhood. The duct tape bindings in his high chair, the experimental surgical procedures from his father, the neglect; it’s all mirrored in the leather straps, the chair itself and the identical one up at the house. But we also know Bo, despite probably killing at least Victor, has undying devotion to his mother and her legacy. Trudy slaps her child no older than three across his face without hesitation. What affection might look like or have once looked like in the Sinclair house is curious.

The forehead kiss, in the context of the abuse, can read of both possessiveness and distance. Something like staking a claim, less intimate and affectionate than, say, one on the cheek. A heavily controlled sort of relationship. But back to actual affection.

With the Sinclairs, it’s very skewed what that might be like. When Vincent and Bo interact on screen for the first time, Bo is critically injured and angry. He snaps at his brother, but his remorse is immediate and he uses words as a form of affection. Promises as apologies. Almost like begging, a kind of worship on its own.

Which itself ties into his relationship with their mother too.

Trudy is kept down at the church, having her perpetual funeral service. Bo is seen on screen for the very first time kneeling at her coffin in a probable prayer. But that kind of devotion I think is the Sinclair way of affection. As in religion, which has a recurring symbolism in House of Wax, and as such in the characters lives. Prayer drawing parallels to love isn’t surprising.

Something interesting is that in numerous religions, head kisses can be the passing on of a blessing. Bo forces Carly into the same bindings he suffered in for years, but he grants her a blessing before he leaves her there. It doesn’t seem affectionate at first, if anything it’s just kind of condescending, but knowing how Bo works is what makes it much more interesting.

The question is why?

Bo consoles Vincent after he hurts his feelings by talking about their mother’s blessing and legacy. All of Ambrose is a gift from a woman who treated them horribly, and they accept it. The killings are literally for her. In that way, I think Bo is apologizing. He’s inflicting on this woman something that destroyed his life, and he isn't some zombified, all magical slasher; he’s still very much a human being who feels pain and emotions. A lot more emotions than either of his brothers seem to show on screen, actually.

His role as the leader -or the preacher of this church they’ve built, hence why he finds Carly hiding under the robes in the church- isn’t without remorse. It’s do what’s got to be done. Which started with his parents. Victor says in the cold open, “I’m doing the best I can,” while wrestling a toddler. They call little Bo the monster while they’re actively hurting him. These excuses are pre-programmed into his complex.

In regard to further biblical imagery and the Sinclair parents, is the theater. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? plays nonstop, with the specific scene with Carly being hunted in the theater taking place during Jane’s song. The first two lines of that say, “I’ve written a letter to daddy, His address is Heaven above.” There’s this idea of communicating with a dead parent again, just like Bo speaking out loud to Trudy’s corpse, but now it’s outwardly tying it in with religious beliefs. If Bo is the preacher, he’s simply passing along the holy message instilled in him by his parents above. Bo *is* Baby Jane in that way, but not for the most obvious reason. While yes, he is harsh to his brother, as Baby Jane treated her sister Blanche badly, there’s also the fact that he’s a washed up, desperate, abused child who craves love and validation and normalcy again. Using his communication with the divine up in Heaven above to spread a blessing is a way of getting approval. With a detached kiss to Carly, his crimes are the gospel.

A consistent theme here is not only his relationship with being abused, but also with Vincent. Biblically, conjoined twins are considered a mistake of nature. God creates two human souls, but it is the fault of nature that their bodies combine. However, because of the risks, it is also considered mostly immoral in the church to separate them if one or both will have their lives risked. For the Sinclair twins, their father did this surgery himself, at home, which is obviously wildly illegal and dangerous. That makes him a sinner and an obstacle to a perfect Ambrose, on top of being an abusive asshole. So he’s killed, implied to be shot by Bo directly. That bullet was his punishment as much as the highchair was Bo’s punishment. Vincent may not have gotten the highchair, but he does have the marks on his face to show for what Victor chose. The surgery, the sin of going against the new plan, left Vincent scarred and missing not just tissue but parts of the bones in his face. Having to wear the masks and being disallowed from leaving Ambrose is his punishment for Victor’s moral crime. God took from them both unfairly and I think, despite his devotion, Bo doesn’t quite believe in the faith fully because of that.

Again, he’s human. He has his doubts and fears. His reassurance to Vincent in the form of “Ma would be proud” goes for himself too. And his subsequent “She always said that your talent would make up for what God took away from you.” Vincent doesn’t need convincing though, he needs an apology. That’s what Bo’s speech about Trudy is, is an apology, but that doubles for both him and Vincent. And the head kiss too. Because again, he’s operating on what he’s supposed to do. It’s a routine.

At that point, I think Bo doesn’t get satisfaction from fulfilling God’s (ahem, Trudy’s) plan anymore. Carly, and by extension every other girl who was down in that cellar at one point or another, is a sacrifice to it. She’s duct taped in that chair because someone has to be suffering in order for the Sinclairs to thrive. That’s the way it’s been before. Someone has to be hurting to need God’s grace so badly as to keep up what they’re doing, rather than just forgetting Ambrose. But what makes me think Bo specifically has stopped deriving anything positive from that order, is that he also tells Vincent “We almost finished what Mama started.” Based on the number of empty seats in the theater alone, they could theoretically kill a lot more than just the six kids that night. Why stop there? Because of the sacrificial lamb down in his cellar. I think Bo thinks that his actions will trigger be some fateful event that’ll free them all of Ambrose. Some great flood or some such. And when it doesn’t come for an entire decade after Trudy’s death, I think his desperation is growing more and more over those ten years to where his faith is now slipping. Back around to the head kiss, the silent promises he makes to Carly is to reassure himself that she’ll be special and it’ll end with her.

Choosing Carly specifically, could come from a biblical Madonna-Whore complex. Bo saw the whole group the night before, only two of which were girls obviously. Between them, Paige is pregnant. The Bible states directly that she should be burned for that (as she is out of wedlock.) Ambrose is, to him, a Holy place, but bringing Paige in and keeping her alive, no matter for how short a time, would technically be making the entire land impure. So Carly it was. I do think he has an attraction to her, since whoever has the video camera that night takes special care to record her lips, and then he makes a comment about them after supergluing them. It’s just the fact he could’ve kissed her at any point before the glue came out, and chose not to. Just that little head kiss. Because as much as he’s preached, he has to resist temptation himself or it’s all for naught. Does that mean I think he doesn’t assault any of the women? No, absolutely not. There’s a sex swing in that cellar. It’s just a matter of repenting. The first time we ever see Bo’s face, he’s on his knees in the church. Out of all the empty buildings in Ambrose he chose to go pray at church before the group showed up. He knows what he’s gonna do and knows he shouldn’t. Hence the other meaning of the kiss again, the apologetic side combined with the resistance.

Bo is such a deeply, deeply complex character. He went through so much only to turn around and inflict so much. Going back to their father’s choice to do the surgery on his own, the impacts of having a whole person removed from the back of Bo’s head is so unknown.

From the way they were conjoined, their skulls may have very well been attached. Seeing as Vincent has impacts to the development of his brow bone, cheek bone, lower jaw, and nasal bridge, those bones would have to go somewhere, and the realistic answer is that they would’ve been fused to Bo, or at least the parts of those would’ve been there. All in the back of Bo’s head, directly against his skull. To me, it’s incredibly, incredibly unlikely that no impacts would’ve been made on Bo’s brain development. How much of his violent impulses are even his own, and how much comes from a traumatic brain injury, inflicted by their father himself. Certainly blaming that baby for being a monster, when it’s a consequence of his own behavior, seems about fitting with the rest of the manipulation processes that go on in that family. Which Bo had to learn from somewhere. Trudy was likely his biggest abuser, but I think Bo modeled a lot of himself, unconsciously, after their father. Killing him was just taking on that role, and the religious filtering of it all, is Bo’s way of processing that. The father, the son, and mama’s Holy Spirit.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

remembering again the full extent of what forever is

Ao3 | 3.6k Words | William's POV

TW: Blood and injury, angst, hurt no comfort, self deprication and hatred, intimidation and threats of harm/death.

“Solaire.” David Shaw’s voice was steady on the other end of the line, even as William heard the not so muffled sounds of rowdy wolves in the background. “This is a courtesy call. Doesn’t have to be anything more.”

"Alpha Shaw," William replied, "what can I do for you?"

“I just kicked the shit out of one of yours.”

_

Alexis makes another play for Sam after finding out he is leaving the House of Solaire. David intercepts. William cleans up his mess, fifteen years late.

William Solaire is not a kind man.

William had a cellphone, but he rarely ever used it. It was mostly for the purpose of reaching his few, non-clan contacts. His most common calls were to the Department, hour long affairs of waiting on hold, talking in circles, and nearly pulling his hair out trying to get even the simplest things done. 

So, when he heard the insistent buzz of his phone somewhere in his office while taking his morning (evening) coffee, he was surprised. Most people didn’t call him. He had clan members who vetted and handled most communication coming in to him, sorting out what was pointless, what could be handled by lower ranking members of the House, and what actually needed to go to him. There were only a few people who had his direct phone number. His progeny, both of whom were avoiding him. Samuel, who was avoiding him even more than Vincent and Alexis were.  Porter, who would only call if he were in a situation he truly couldn’t get himself out of, which was unlikely, seeing as he was in Skyside for a short vacation after the business at the Summit. 

He had fumbled with his coffee, opening every drawer in his desk before finally finding it under a stack of file folders on the bottom right. He huffed and answered the call just as it was about to be sent to voicemail. 

“Solaire.” David Shaw’s voice was steady on the other end of the line, even as William heard the not so muffled sounds of rowdy wolves in the background. Will didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of this particular outcome. Most likely because he and Shaw rarely if ever communicated directly. Their territory agreements were initially set in place by Shaw’s father, whom William had known professionally for many years before his death. It was out of respect for Gabriel Shaw that William made no move to encroach on Shaw territory after he died. It would have been too easy. Such a young alpha, so inexperienced, and riddled with grief. He had instead allowed David Shaw the time to grow into an alpha in his own right, subsisting off of more than just his father’s memory. It was a wise investment. The Shaws were a valuable ally to have, even if that allyship was becoming tenuous due to his actions at the summit. They were valuable, but fatally mortal. Shaw and his pack were not built to understand William’s thoughts and actions. He thought that a kindness of sorts. “This is a courtesy call. Doesn’t have to be anything more.” 

“Alpha Shaw.” William spoke to David Shaw with respect, just as he had his father, just as he did during their first meeting. Even that broken, snappy young man had always been called ‘Alpha’ in William’s presence. “What can I do for you?” He checked his watch, a beautiful, green faced thing that Vincent had bought for him. He had forgotten that. He blinked and refocused. It was nearing midnight. Too late for the Shaws to be incredibly active. 

“I just kicked the shit out of one of yours.” 

While they didn’t speak frequently, William had had his fair share of conversations with Shaw over the years. He had never heard him speak like this, or indeed sound so angry, so outraged. 

Will’s cold heart seized in his chest. 

“Samuel?” William breathed, but felt foolish as soon as the name left his lips. Shaw audibly scoffed. Of course not. For one thing, Samuel was no longer a member of his clan. For another, he was the mate of one of Shaw’s wolves. If he did anything to hurt his mate, William could see Shaw protecting his own over Samuel, but from what he knew about the man, Shaw wasn’t the punishment type. 

“No.” Shaw snapped. “Alexis.” 

“Ah.” William sighed. That pounding of fear and pain in his chest from an hour or so prior. Alexis got into trouble often, and his connection to her pain had distanced over the last fifty years. It certainly wasn’t as present as Vincent’s still was, as the echoes of his own progeny’s emotions were. Betrayal, sweet and cloying, still sat heavily in his throat. “That, I will admit, makes more sense.” 

“She’s drunk.” Shaw replied. “At least… Sam says she’s drunk. I don’t know how it works for vampires.” 

“It’s possible.” William confirmed. “She must have fed from another vampire.” 

“Yeah.” Shaw ground out. “She certainly did. She stepped foot on my territory. I’m entitled to defend it and my pack.” 

“Absolutely.” William said. He ran his hand over his face and fought not to sigh straight into the phone’s receiver. Stupid. She was now his only heir and she was encroaching on tenuous ally’s territory. She would be the death of him. 

“If you’d like to collect her, I’m looking right at her. Or I can hand her over to D.U.M.P..” 

“I’ll be there momentarily.” 

The Shaw den was well known to him. He had never been inside himself, but most of Dahlia was split between their two groups in terms of territory. The den was familiar to him as he was sure Wonder World was familiar to David. He carried a healthy level of suspicion and respect about the place, just like he did the people who inhabited it. Power respects power. Like calls to like. 

He knocked. It felt silly to knock. He entered every room with the certainty of his presence. He rarely had occasion to knock, but it would most likely be uncouth to appear inside of the den unannounced when they’d been attacked by someone bearing his blood mere hours earlier. Shaw’s Beta answered. He’d met the man once before, but was embarrassed to say that he couldn’t remember his name. The wolf grinned and stepped aside, ushering him in. 

“She’s healing already.” The Beta reported. “I’m sure she’ll be good by sunrise, given how much blood Sammy says she must have drunk.” 

It was uncomfortable to hear the endearment on the wolf’s lips. He shook off the instinct to demand respect for his Duke. Samuel wasn’t his Duke anymore. 

“I have no doubt that she’ll recover.” William smiled politely. The Beta had a casual air about him, but William could feel the raised hackles of every wolf they passed on the way to the Alpha’s office. It wasn’t an unusual sensation for William. He was, more often than not, the most powerful being in any room.

They rounded a corner to a small corridor of open offices, and Will spotted Samuel on a plush leather couch, bent over his knees and taking exaggerated breaths. His mate was sat next to him, blood dried over their mouth, rubbing small circles into Samuel’s back. 

Will moved before he even thought. He was knelt before Samuel in an instant, searching for his eyes. He heard the heart rate of every wolf in the room pick up. The Beta stilled and held out a hand. Everyone froze. The only sounds were the hammering of half a dozen hearts and the snarls and growls of Sam’s mate, startled into a defensive position by his sudden movement. 

William didn’t touch. He knew that this wolf’s claim to Samuel was more powerful, more sacred than any he’d ever had. Still, seeing him shake, struggle to breathe, made Will’s throat tight. 

“Samuel,” he said softly. Sam didn’t look up. He could see better from this vantage point. Samuel’s knuckles were bloody but long healed over. There was a mess of red on the side of his neck. 

Alexis had bitten him. 

William felt anger boil in his stomach like acid. He hadn’t felt like this in fifteen years, since the night he’d carried a shaking newborn from Alexis’s house. 

“Oh my boy,” he said softly. He looked up to Sam’s mate, who was swallowing growls and trying not to flash teeth. He could smell Alexis’s- his- blood on them. He shook his head. “I am so sorry. I will deal with her.” 

“You should have already dealt with her.” Samuel’s mate sneered. Sam stiffened. “She fucking bit him.” 

Will didn’t reply to the disrespect. He owed them this. He owed Samuel this moment. He wouldn’t let his damned pride take that from him. 

He stood, let his hand grace over Sam’s hair as his mate’s growls subsided. 

He knocked gently, unnaturally on the Alpha’s office door. 

Shaw was sat at his desk, his face and hair splattered with blood, inspecting his battered knuckles as he stared down Alexis. She was sat across from him in one of the plush, maroon chairs for visitors. William could almost convince himself that she was having a civil meeting, sitting politely with her back to him. As he stepped closer, though, he could see the strange tilt to her head, he could hear her ragged breathing. 

“Solaire.” Shaw nodded, his face grave. He indicated lazily towards Alexis. “She’s fucked up but she’ll live.” 

William rounded the chair and got a good look at Alexis. Most of the minor damage had healed, leaving behind smudges and splatters of blood and dirt where there were once cuts and scrapes. The worst of it, though, was still healing. Someone, most likely Samuel’s mate, had taken a bite out of her neck and shoulder. The meat of her shoulder was oozing blood down her front, staining her torn dress from blood red to black. Her throat was pried open like a clam, the pearl of her exposed trachea fluttering as it tried to maintain its structure. Her blackened eyes were hazy as they glared back at Shaw. Her arms twitched, her inch long, sharpened nails digging into the crushed velvet arm of the chair. Will imagined that, if she had the strength, she’d be biting for anything with a pulse, Shaw included. One of her hands jerked towards him as he came into her line of sight. He took it gently in his own. 

“Your kindness does not go unnoticed.” William replied to Shaw. “And it will not be forgotten. If I may, what exactly happened?” David nodded slowly and ran his fingers through his hair, which had begun to go stiff with blood. 

“Sam was attending a pack meeting.” He said after a moment. “That’s his right. His mate is a member of this pack, so he is too. Your progeny-“ he sneered as he looked at her, “-invited herself. My Beta and I met her at the door and barred her from stepping foot in our den. She was… unsteady. Sam asked for privacy and stepped out to take care of it. His mate followed. By the time I smelled blood she was already on the ground. It took three of us to get my wolf off of her.” 

Alexis coughed and squeezed his hand, her lips curling up in disgust or anger. William couldn’t keep his attention on her face for very long. He didn’t know if it was the echoes of her pain or his own that filled him up when he did. 

“I apologize for my clan’s intrusion on your territory.” 

“And-“ Shaw raised his hand, his face twisting, as though apologizing for the interruption. “-and the intrusion on my pack. Sam is the mate of one of my wolves. That makes him a full fledged member of this pack.” 

William’s brow furrowed. He was well acquainted with vampires’ sometimes antiquated ideas about shifters and other mortal empowered races. The idea that a vampire would lower themself so much as to identify as part of a pack above their own Clan of origin was shameful to many older beings like himself. He couldn’t help the shiver of prideful objection that tried to overtake him. It was his blood in Samuel’s veins. That part of him screamed to draw him back, to collect him away from harm, to have him and understand him and protect him in a way that Shaw never could in his last fifty-odd years on this earth. 

But that was the same instinct that screamed in Alexis to cross territory lines. That was the same instinct inside of her that turned Sam, even when he begged her not to. That possession before love, before respect, before care. That ugly part of her that William punished so readily came from him. 

So he swallowed it down like blood in his throat. Hot and bitter and unkind. Samuel did not belong to him.

“I want to be very clear to you, William.” Shaw continued, his voice teetering on the edge of control. William imagined that it was only the mutual respect the two of them had cultivated that kept Shaw from losing his grasp in decorum entirely at this point. “Sam is mine. He is a member of my pack. He belongs to his mate. And he belongs to me. She touched what is mine . Sam asked me to keep her alive, so I did. But if he had allowed it, I would have killed her, regardless of any allyship.”

“You openly admit your willingness to kill my progeny?” William asked. His voice was purposefully blank of anything that would give away his position on this issue. Shaw was treading on dangerous ground. Many kings had killed for less.

“Yes.” Shaw replied easily, as though he were unaware that that word alone could be the punctuation on his life. Shaw knew it. William could see it in those dark, steady eyes. “In order to make this next part stick in her brain.” Those dark eyes shifted to Alexis, who was struggling to sit up properly in her chair. Her neck was fluttering closed, healing slowly. “If you come onto my territory again, if you hurt a member of my pack, if you so much as look at Sam in a way that displeases me, I won’t take his wishes into consideration. He wants you left alive out of some sense of Maker loyalty? That’s fine. But I won’t let the opinions of a single pack member revoke my right to protect what is mine. Do that shit again, and you’ll meet your end between my teeth. Do you understand?” 

Alexis bared her bloody teeth, gasping down air and blood. 

“He’s mine.” She gasped, voice ragged and popping. “In a way he can never be yours. When you’re dead and gone, he and I will still be here. And when I’m ruling monarch of the House of Solaire, I’ll do what I please with him.” 

Silence rang through the room. William swore he could see Shaw’s teeth grow and sharpen in his mouth. Heat bubbled up in his own chest. Shame burned through him in a way it never had before. 

Will’s hand snaked to the back of Alexis’ neck, cradled her nape in a gentle hold. He had made the decision before she even finished talking. 

“Alexis will never have her invocation rights returned to her.” William said softly. Two sets of predator’s eyes snapped to him. “I will give my own ability to invoke her to Vincent.” 

“ Vincent ?” Alexis screached, jerking under his hand. He held fast, his nails digging into the tender flesh. 

“He is a closer ally to the Shaw pack than he is to me, now.” A rueful smile curled around his elongated fangs. “Should something happen to me and Alexis become monarch of the House, someone outside of her control will hold her invocation rights. Vincent is a kind man, and will not abuse that ability over her. And he loves Sam. More and better than I was ever capable of.” William cut his gaze to Shaw. “Is this satisfactory?” Shaw stared him down, unblinking, and unafraid of a trance or threat. It was rare for another empowered person to meet his eye. He supposed that was why he had always liked Shaw so much. He was unafraid of William’s power, but not ignorant of it. 

“That’s a big thing to give up.” Shaw sighed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I find it hard to believe that you would hand over any power, let alone something so… useful.” His lips curled around the word with disgust. Shaw was far from the first mortal to find invocations distasteful. Wolves. They so valued their freedom, their democracy. Short sighted, fast fading, mortal creatures. William had seen Shaw’s father pass through life in the blink of an eye. Shaw would do the same. Already, his brow was creased with premature worry lines. The quiet, twenty-year-old Beta had become the intimidating, thirty-year-old Alpha would become an old man would become a body in the ground. He aged, and he would die. He could not protect Sam, not in any meaningful way. In the long run, it would fall to William. This was the least he could do for Sam, who he had failed in so many ways, so many times. 

“I care for Sam more than I value this power.” He admitted softly. “And… I am more ashamed of my progeny’s actions than words can describe.” He folded his hand over his chest and bowed his head. William had not bowed to anyone in centuries, not since his Maker had forced him to. William knew with a frightful certainty when his Maker’s blood had adorned his body like a brand new, tailored suit that he would bow to no one ever again. And yet here he was, his head inclined, his back bending under the weight of his progeny’s actions, his actions. Shaw sucked in a breath as Alexis jerked. He knew how rare this was. “I beg the forgiveness of your pack and its Alpha.” Shaw bristled under the formality. 

“Yeah well…” he huffed. “Get her off of my land and keep her off.” 

“Happily.” 

Shaw left the office to move Samuel away before William and Alexis made their leave. Sam didn’t deserve to hear her screeching as she spat venom into Will’s face, into the face of his only ally left in this town. WillIan’s gaze froze her in her spot even as she craned to catch sight of Samuel through the door as Shaw left. The shadow of Shaw’s imposing figure blocked his pack from their view. 

“I think,” William said softly, his voice stilling Alexis’ frantic movements, “that it is time to reorder my Court.” 

Alexis finally fell into silence. She blinked up at him owlishly, her blackened eyes brimming with… something. Anger, perhaps. Or grief. 

“What?” She breathed. He brushed his knuckles against her throat and let what little magic he could externalize flow into her. His magic knew hers, had known hers for fifty years now, as well as it knew himself. It was his blood in her veins, afterall. Everything that she was he had been, he was. 

Her wounds closed over slowly. She winced at the sting of his magic, rarely ever used to heal. Samuel would have made easy work of those injuries. William wondered if someone had stopped him from healing her. He doubted that Sam would have let an injury lie unless under direct order from his mate or his Alpha. 

He was so good. And it was Alexis’s blood in him. It was William’s.  

“You do not want to rule a House.” He replied. “Not truly. You want power over those around you. And you want the freedom to do what you please. But you cannot have both. To carry power over others is to be tied to them, to belong to them. That is something you have never understood.” 

“Will-“

“It would be a kindness, I think,” he said, “to save you from the burden of the crown.” He bent to lift her up into his arms, cradled her head until it rested, limply, against his shoulder. She spasmed for a moment but eventually gave in to his hold. He was reminded of a night decades ago, holding a slight, bloody thing in his arms in the woods outside of his territory. She fought his every touch, his every kindness. He remembered, even then, even in the dying tilt of her, the hunger that rang through every bone. That was there before him, but it was so familiar she might have inherited it. Perhaps that was why he had turned her. Perhaps that was why he had allowed her to live after what she did to Samuel. Perhaps that was why she had remained on his court, in his line of succession. 

No more. William Solaire was not a kind man, least of all to himself. The parts of him that had bled for Alexis stopped here, in this room, in an unfamiliar office in the territory of the only ally he had left, an ally he might have strengthened or lost tonight. 

“You are my progeny.” He said softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head through her blood-matted hair. “I will care for you for the rest of your life.” He closed his eyes to his next words, let them wash over her unobserved. He owed her this, at least this. “But if you touch Samuel again, Shaw won’t have to kill you. I will do it myself.” 

He carried her home, tucked into his arms and weeping. He prayed that, come morning, his progeny would still be his, that the ache in his chest- her chest- would ease. He prayed that, one day, he would pay back all that he owed. 

For all of his riches, he doubted he would ever wrap his hands around enough. That, William thought, had always been his problem.

[lelanida]

The dualism of Sky. A small essay.

Vincent Diamante, maestro, we don't deserve you. Music is the heart and soul of Sky. It's not the face of the game, no. Music does not try to attract attention and force you to interrupt the gameplay in order to enjoy it. Instead, it works for the atmosphere, not just without overriding everything else but also giving other aspects leadership positions. Sky's music is patiently waiting for you to pay attention to it. And since we're all here, let's appreciate it.

Sky has two main leitmotifs. The first is the theme of our first flight on the Isle of Dawn. It also plays during the loading of the game during the daytime. The second is the "Flight" by Aurora. Not many people pay attention to this, but these two melodies accompany us (in one form or another) in a bunch of other compositions. "The first flight" sounds at moments of special emotional uplift and "Flight" at moments of decline. You may think: "Well, what's the big deal? The music, written at a time when lore was still important, contains an interesting subtext.". But it's not that simple. I listened to the rest of Sky ost. I have tracked the use of these leitmotifs, and I can say with confidence that these two themes never play together. The composition either uses only one of the leitmotifs, or both, but at different ends of the song... ...I was thinking until I listened to the soundtrack of the season of prophecy.

The theme that sounds when you complete the trial. In it, both leitmotifs are woven together.

This is the ONLY theme in the entire game built in this way. I sat in a stupor for a while and was about to bury this musical analysis. But then it hit me. What was the season of prophecy about anyway? No, not about the trials. NO, not about the extra candle cakes. The season of prophecy was about Alef.

The theme of passing the trial is the theme of Alef. And it combines two opposing leitmotivs.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, get ready for madness because this simple detail puts everything in its place.

As soon as I found out about the existence of the Megabird in lore of Sky, this character immediately interested me. I liked how she was essentially detached from the whole action, but at the same time, incredibly tightly woven into it. Megabird is Sky's phenomenon whose potential TGC is afraid to exploit.

I have always been confused by the generally accepted image of a Megabird. She is always portrayed as a powerful, very wise, prudent, and merciful being. The true and only ruler of this world. Everyone was pleased. But not me. And the most important thing is that I couldn't explain why! Something inside me subconsciously resisted the concept of monotheism within the framework of Sky, but there was no specific reason. I had a feeling that it was simply... wrong. And now I realized: This is indeed wrong! Megabird, as the only deity, will actually break the whole system!

Sky is steeped in dualism. It's always one thing against another. I mean:

Life and death.

Nature and machine.

Sky and ground.

Descendants and ancestors.

Children and elders.

Light and darkness.

In this, Sky is different from Journey. In Journey, you didn't have a clear enemy. Journey taught that you can become your own enemy. The ancient civilization destroyed itself, not someone from outside. And the messengers must step over themselves, and themselves only in order to be reborn. Journey taught you to look into yourself. Sky is about something else.

Even though the concepts of these games are similar, Sky is a fundamentally different game. Sky is about joining up with others. Therefore, Sky sets a clear boundary between "we" and "they". And I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Otherwise, this system simply would not have worked. In Sky, everything has an opposing force. The other side of the coin, if you please.

Megabird just can not be the only deity. This contradicts the whole system, starting from philosophy and ending with music. Someone, something, sentient, unsentient, there MUST BE SOMETHING on the other side. That's why I made Angst.

Let's return to the topic of the two leitmotifs and the Alef. The system of confrontation between the two sides can give us an answer to another question.

What is "the void"?

We know that after the explosion of the crystal, Alef fell in a kind of "void", from which he still has not found a way out. But what kind of place is this? Many people used to think that this is something like a dimension of darkness. But I can disagree with this.

At first It is logical: Alef was imprisoned in a darkstone crystal and fell into darkness. But I have a question: Why does this "darkness" charge us?

The void is not darkness. If it was the darkness, it would have extinguished the skykids' cores in the blink of an eye. The void is the place BETWEEN light and darkness.

Alef, the child of light, was imprisoned in a darkstone crystal, the gift of darkness. Together, they created a new, third kind of energy. Chaotic, unpredictable, wrong. Alef has united in himself, things that, according to the laws of this world, cannot be combined. Therefore, it is his theme that connects the two main leitmotivs of the game. The Alef was on both sides at the same time.

But you can't be on two sides. You're either light or dark, or you're not on anyone's side, like ancestors were. At the moment of the Shattering, Alef literally tore the fabric of the Sky universe itself. That's why he got into the void. After all, if he does not obey the fundamental law of this world, then he has nothing to do in this world.

The void is the space between light and darkness. Like a number divided by zero, the void is negligible, but at the same time infinite. It is a mirror that doesn't allow energy to mix. Therefore, the floor in it charges us. The void reflects our own light back into the cape.

That's why the Megabird sends us to die in Eden. With our sacrifice, we repeat the same shattering on a reduced scale and fall into the void to the Alef. But Alef sacrifices a fragment of his former power to bring us back to the side of light. And when that happens, the void just pushes us out.

Something like that.

[nemesis-writer]

[Unwanted Ransom(Chapter 6)]

Masterlist Oxytocin

TW- some shows of mental illness

10 years ago...

"Xerxes come on say something this is a safe place."

"Then why is there a camera?"

"It's there just in case you get-"

"I get what, crazy? Yeh, lady I know the drill"

"It says in your file that you have gone through multiple doctors in the past since your mother's death."

"And what makes you think you can fix me?"

"Because you are special, you have so much potential, and you put it all to waste."

"Who cares? My so called 'family', if I can recall they abandoned me, neglected me, and one of the little brats scarred me." Yep you obviously know who I'm talking about

"Xerxes, don't put the blame on others."

"You've been married for 15 years, three kids, one teen, one toddler, and one infant.

You're parents are divorced and no matter how many times you and your husband hate each other you wanna stay married in order to prevent the same trauma you had pass on to your kids.

Did I get it correct? Oh wait don't answer that I'm always correct." I sighed laying my head down.

"And you've become observant when it comes to hurting others, see I've studied your pattern of behaviour based on the reviews all your other doctors have represented to me before I took this case. And boy was it a long read.

Technically I'm entitled to tell you anything that could help you. And you thought that you could go through me?"

"I don't give a fuck what people say, who do I trust? No one, if a friend wants to jump on train tracks, don't expect me to hold their hand.

I don't give a damn what they insinuate about me anymore, I am an Amala never a Wayne, so I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to." And with that I abruptly stood up and grabbed my bag, I head out there.

The only reason I went there because, my 'dad' heard that I got into a fight and handcuffed the brat in the janitor's closet.

Just suck it up Xerxes, in a few years, you can finally escape them.

'Just suck it up' That's the advice I'd always tell myself no matter how much I cried, scream, or hurt myself.

Present...

"AHHHH, PETE, THERE IS A FUCKING BUILDING!!!!" I screamed as I held on tight to him.

"JENNY MOVE YOUR HAIR, OH SHIT!!!" he lost a bet so he had to swing me from Vincent's house to dad's. When we finally descended, I sighed and laid on the floor for a while.

"Y'know MJ would normally puke with this." He sighed.

"I'm built different" And I walked normally inside my house, I didn't feel any signs of...

fuck

oh wait

Oh shit

never-mind

I rushed to my bedroom's toilet and hurled a lot. Gosh, I should've listened to MJ. With that I washed my face, and brushed my mouth. I went down-stairs ignoring my surroundings.

I kinda had a crush on Pete for a while, but then I met Vincent and felt like Pete is a brother to me.

"AYOO, PETE LET'S GO WATCH SAW 2-" I immediately cut myself off when I saw, something I thought was a dream.

oh wait

it can't be

tell me I'm dreaming.

OH SHIT....

"Hey baby bird-" Richard stuttered, and tried to hug me.

"Back off Grayson, dad what the fuck is going on."

"Xerxes-"

"Who said I was talking to you limp-dick? Now dad seriously what the hell is going on here?" I looked at dad with puppy eyes, gosh I'm so adorable.

"Now, they just came here to drop your stuff." He explained.

"They are not my things they are Xerxes' things, I only things that I need are what I have now." I stated, as I looked at the cunt who ruined my life, I only sighed.

"Xerxes-"

"Zip it Timothy, or I'll tear you're tongue from your head." I stated, I've been watching the Originals again, and might I add, Nikklaus' has been looking good.

"Xerxes-" Jason tried to start. But I cut him off with a glare, he then corrected himself.

"Jennifer, we miss you and we apologise-"

"For what? Neglecting me? Abandoning me? LEAVING ME TO DIE?"

"We didn't mean to." They all protested.

"Bullshit!"

"Language!" Dad sighed.

"When is my birthday?"

"January 7?"

"No, it's September 8, what the hell is wrong with you people?" I was eager to run and ditch these people and run up to my room.

"Xerxes, you're my sister come on." He tried to grab me, but I dodged it and grabbed his hand spinning him downwards. Thanks Nat.

"Touch me one more time, and your arm won't be the only thing that will hurt."

I immediately rushed upstairs and ran to my room, locking it, which activates voice-recognition. Gosh, I was so angry with them. I started to get really angry and accidentally punched a hole in my wall that was connected to Morgan's room.

"JENNY!!!" Oh fuck.

"SORRY M! I'll fix it later." And with that I just dropped onto the bed. I grabbed my phone and texted Vincent.

Jinx- Hey V

V- Hey Jen, how r u?

Jinx- My previous fucked-up family is back now

V- damn, wanna hang tommorow? 🙂

Jinx- Sure, but I gotta lotta hw tho 😢

V- call me if you can then 🤙🏻

And with that I decided to lay down and wonder how fucked up my life could get. I started to fall asleep so I decided to shut down all of my devices, in order to avoid the annoying sound of the 'Brady Bunch' trying to text me.

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

A/N- It could've been longer if my dumbass didn't accidentally delete my first draft, could've been so much better.

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194

[mintygreencake]

Little reminder,

Your faves would not be alive if it wasn't for Milo Greer. And I stand by that, because if Asher stayed in the ward any longer I promise you he'd be on t-shirt. That also goes for Damien, David, Lovely and most likely Huxley. 💀 (Probably Sam and Vincent too cuz I know they wouldn't last too long)

Your faves would have been your favorite clothing brand by the time the department gathered their forces.

Just another reason why Milo Greer is THAT guy, shout out to my man he just built like that 😭

[dixons-sunshine]

Running Out Of Time | Vincent Bauer x Fem!Reader

Summary: With the world being in shambles, you and Bauer found solace in one another, enough so that the two of you grew closer and entered a relationship. Bauer would do anything for you. However, due to a mistake, he was at risk of losing you, something he never wanted to happen.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending.

Warnings: Swearing, talks of suffocation and death, allusions to sex (but nothing crazy).

Word count: 2.3k.

A/N: Requested by an anon. I had way too much fun writing this. I just wanna apologize in advance if there’s any inaccuracies regarding some details. I didn’t have the time to rewatch the entire movie while writing this, so I had to go based on my memory alone. Anyways, I hope y’all like this! (Italicized paragraphs showcase memories).

“How the fuck could you let that happen?! You were in charge of makin’ sure everythin’ was in order!”

“I said I was sorry! It was an accident!”

“Well, ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna bring her back if she ends up fuckin’ suffocatin’, now is it?!”

In his panicked haste, Bauer accidentally hit his side against the edge of the table. He muttered a quick pained ‘shit’, before ultimately resuming his mission of trying to find something, anything that could help out in that dire situation. Blueprints that showcased how the sleeping pods were built were strewn across the table, along with seemingly all of Bauer’s tools. He needed to find a way to fix this.

He needed to find a way to help you.

“Go see if you can find anythin’ that can help us.” When Cartwright made no haste to comply with his request, he was met with the loud banging of tools being thrown to the floor. “Are you deaf? Fuckin’ go!” Bauer roared, effectively scaring his companion into doing what he asked.

Bauer grabbed a screwdriver from the tools that were littered across the floor—although he was not sure what use he had for it—as well as one of the blueprints from the table and rushed back to your sleeping pod. He placed the paper on top of the glass, his ocean-like eyes flickering down to look at your sleeping form. You were deep in slumber, the drug that kept you asleep not having worn off yet. And if Bauer did not find a way to get you out of that pod, you were going to suffocate.

“Fuck,” he mumbled to himself. He looked over the prints that showed how the sleeping chambers had been built, trying to figure out how to fix the problem—the pod would not open, and he had discovered that if he attempted to open it, the air would leave the pod and you would slowly suffocate. However, if he simply left you there, you would suffocate, too.

He did not know what to do. He was at his wit’s end. His throat was constricting as he tried to right back the tears that burned his eyes. Why did it have to be you? You were the genius when it came to thing like this. Why could it not have been him in your place? You would have been able to figure out how to fix the situation. Him… He was not sure he would be able to.

Bauer closed his eyes. Unwillingly, he thought back to the moment the two of you had made it official. Well, as official as two people could make it when you were stuck underground with only one other person who would know about your relationship.

You giggled as Bauer pressed kisses to your flushed skin, his arms encircling your waist. “Vince…” you trailed off, leaning your head back against his chest.

He repeated your name in a similar fashion, his chuckles vibrating against the exposed flesh of your shoulder. “What?”

“We can’t do a round two. We already wasted enough time with round one,” you reminded him. You turned around in his embrace and gently cupped his cheek in your hands, his stubble grazing against your palm.

Bauer turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to your wrist, his hands falling down to your hips to pull you closer. “We can make it quick…” he trailed off suggestively, leaning his forehead against yours and bumping your nose with his.

You laughed lightly and gently pushed him back. “Woah there, tiger. We have responsibilities.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “To hell with responsibilities. I wanna spend time with the most gorgeous woman in this place.”

“I’m the only woman in this place,” you pointed out.

“Doesn’t make you any less gorgeous,” he retorted. He wrapped his arms around you again and pulled you flush against his chest. “And now I get to call you mine.”

“Is that so?” you asked with a small smile, although you did not mind the sound of that at all.

“Yup,” Bauer confirmed with a grin. “All mine. And I’m never lettin’ you go.”

“You promise? I don’t like lying.”

“Pinky promise. I’d never lie like that.” He pressed a kiss to your lips. “I promise I won’t let anythin’ happen to you, either.”

Bauer’s eyes snapped open again. He forced himself not to dwell on the past. You were in trouble now, in the present. Not the past. He had made a promise to keep you safe, and by god, he was going to keep it. Even if he has to figure out a way to break the glass to your chamber and let you use his pod instead. He would offer up his life for your’s in a heartbeat.

“What do I do, Darlin’?” he questioned, his eyes trailing over your unconscious form. “How do I fix this?”

Naturally, all he got in response was silence. It made him even more frustrated. He had to fight against the urge to break something. He wished that some force could knock the knowledge on how to help you into his brain. He needed to know how to help in this emergency.

“For fuck’s sake!” he yelled angrily, gripping his hair as he realized that the blueprint was of no help. At that moment, the thing was merely a stupid piece of paper. It gave him absolutely no insight to how he could potentially open the pod. “Stupid piece of shit!”

“Calm down, Vince.”

Bauer lifted his head, shutting his eyes tightly. Your voice echoed in his head, anchoring him from whatever dark place he was descending to. He had to have a clear head if he wanted to be of any use.

“Calm down,” he muttered to himself, his grip on the screwdriver in his hand tightening. “Calm down. Just think. What would she do in this situation?”

Bauer lowered his head to rest against the glass of your sleeping pod, both as a way to force himself to focus and as a way to bring him some closure. You were still there. You were not gone yet. And by doing that, more memories flooded his mind.

“What’re you doin’?” Bauer questioned, leaning back in his chair as he threw the ball against the wall, caught it, and repeat.

You looked up from the book in your hands and gazed into his beautiful cerulean eyes. “Reading,” you stated matter-of-factly.

Bauer rolled his eyes at your response. “No shit,” he retorted playfully, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “but what are you readin’?”

You lifted your book for him to see. “A manual. It’s pretty interesting.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Bauer said with a chuckle, rolling his chair to be closer to you.

You scoffed and softly punched him on his arm, laughing when he overdramatized it. “You’re such a dork.” You sighed and leaned your head against his shoulder. “It’s good that I read this. It tells us what to do in case of emergencies. If the air runs out, if we need to get certain doors to open, if there’s a problem with the pods, things like that. Now I know what to do if we ever run into these problems.”

“I stand correct. You are a nerd,” Bauer began, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But you’re my nerd. And I’m not even gonna lie, you talkin’ to me, showin’ off how smart you are… It does things to me.”

A laugh emitted from your chest. “Is that so?”

“Damn straight.” Bauer turned your head and crashed his lips against yours for a deep kiss. The book fell from your hands in favour for you to cup his cheeks, your tongue slipping into his mouth.

“The book!”

Bauer practically shoved himself away from your pod, the screwdriver falling to the ground with a loud ‘clink’. He rushed over to the locker that held some of your things and flung it open, quickly beginning to search for the one thing that could potentially hold the answers to the problem at hand. However, despite the revelation that he could potentially find something that could help, it was not that easy to find it. It was not in the locker.

The timer on the wall was steadily counting down, precious seconds ticking by until it was time to go to sleep again. Bauer knew he had to act fast. The next place he looked was the drawer where your singular extra change of clothes were. Once again, no luck.

The man tried not to let his hope dwindle. It would not do anyone any good if he were to throw in the towel. He needed to think. Where else could you have put it?

He let his feet lead him to the trunk at the far end of the room. When he opened it, he was met with a meager select few objects. However, on closer inspection, his eyes caught the glint of a brown hardback cover.

“Yes!” Bauer exclaimed excitedly when he picked up the object and it was, indeed, the very same book he had been trying to locate.

“What? Did you find something?”

The sound of Cartwright’s voice made Bauer turn around. He quickly looked at the index at the front of the book and flipped to the page where all the information regarding the sleeping pods began. His eyes scanned through everything, and thankfully, he found exactly what he needed; a way to get you out, and without having to risk anything else.

“Read this to me,” Bauer instructed his companion, shoving the book into his hands and showing him where he needed to start reading.

He did not give Cartwright time to process what was happening. Bauer rushed over to the array of tools that were littered across the room, picking up a flathead screwdriver and rushing back over to your pod. He pressed a hand against the glass, his brows furrowed together.

“Just wait a little while longer,” he whispered so that Cartwright would not hear. “I’ll get you out. I promise.” He turned around to face the other man, a spark of determination swimming around in his ocean-like pools. “Start readin’.”

Cartwright, who cleverly sensed that it would do him no good to argue, nodded and shifted his attention to the pages of the book in his hands. “Okay. So if you look beneath the pod, there should be a little hatch-like thing. It says here that it’s not easy to open, so—”

Before Cartwright could even finish his sentence, Bauer had the hatch open. It revealed a keypad, and by pressing the bright red button, the screen flickered to life. “Now what?”

Cartwright hesitated for a moment, completely taken aback by the fact that Bauer was working at lighting speed, but he quickly shook himself from his thoughts. “Um, next you activate the keypad—”

“I already did that. C’mon, what’s after that?”

“Jesus, can you give me a chance?” Cartwright snapped, glaring at the man that was crouched in front of your chamber.

Bauer returned his glare with one just as fiery. “Can you hurry the fuck up? We wouldn’t even need to do this if you hadn’t fucked shit up in the first place!”

The man inhaled sharply. The urge to retort was strong, but he held his tongue and instead continued on. “You gotta enter a code. Ten digits.” He looked back up at Bauer and was met with an impatient look. “Okay. No need to look at me like that.”

“I’ll tell you what. We can talk all about looks after we get her outta this fuckin’ thing.”

Cartwright sighed and tried to keep his cool. “Okay. So it’s 7-6-0…”

Bauer typed those numbers out onto the keypad. “7-6-0,” he repeated to himself.

“2-1-9…”

“2-1-9.”

“8-5-7-3.”

“8-5-7-3.”

The screen flashed green, showing that the code had worked. Bauer breathed a sigh of relief. However, it was short-lived when he noticed that the pod was not opening, and you were still in a deep slumber.

“It didn’t work,” Bauer muttered to himself, before raising his voice in panic. “It didn’t work. Why didn’t it work?!”

Cartwright was flipping through the pages hastily. “I don’t know! That should have worked!”

“Well, clearly it didn’t!” Bauer exclaimed, raising from the ground and stalking over to Cartwright to grab the book. “You must have missed somethin’!”

“I didn’t miss anything!”

“You—”

Their argument got cut short. Behind them, the pod hissed as the air left it, an all too familiar sign that it was going to open. Bauer dropped the book on the ground and rushed forward. He peered over the pod like he had done many times before when he had waited for you to wake up, although this time, instead of waiting for you with his signature playful smirk, a worried frown was in its place instead.

The seconds that passed felt like an eternity. However, when your eyes opened and you gasped for air, Bauer could feel the relief wash over him like tidal waves. The door that held you from his reach opened way too slowly for his liking. When it finally did, though, he brought you into his arms, holding you tightly against him.

“Vince?” you asked hoarsely, utterly confused by the way he was acting. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Bauer shook his head and pressed his lips against your head, fighting against the lump that formed in his throat. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

You frowned. “Of course I am.” You slowly turned yourself around in his arms, gazing into his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Bauer simply sent you a strained smile. “Let’s get you up and going first. Then I’ll fill you in, okay?” When you made no move to agree, Bauer cupped your cheeks in his hands. “I promise.”

You slowly nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

[cami040405]

Between Art and Silence - Vincent Sinclair x Reader

Chapter 7: Fragments of Truth

Summary: Bo begins his plot to plant doubts in your mind and Vincent, afraid of losing you, begins to devise a plan.

Chapter 6 here!

(A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this part, I was very busy with work and only found time to finish writing yesterday, I hope you like it!)

Bo watched from the top of the stairs, leaning against the rotten banister, where the varnish was already giving way to the splinters of exposed wood. The lit cigarette between his fingers trembled slightly, although his face was expressionless. The smoke rose in lazy spirals, framing the man's tense silhouette.

He didn't need to hear words. He had seen.

He had felt.

You were walking up the stairs with your eyes filled with a tenderness he hadn't seen in years. Not since Trudy died. Not since everything that was still delicate in that house was swallowed up by the darkness. And Vincent... your damned silent brother, who barely looked at anyone, was now spending too much time near you. Too much time watching. Too much time clinging.

Bo inhaled deeply, holding the cigarette tightly. The heat from the embers bit his fingers, but he didn't care.

"Damn it, Vincent..." he muttered between his teeth.

He bent down and rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the now-closed door to his room. He wasn’t stupid. He could be rude, impatient, even brutal—but he was never stupid.

You were different from the others. He’d noticed it the second you’d crossed the town line with that curious gaze, scanning everything as if searching for meaning in the cracks. You weren’t like the others, and that was why you were dangerous.

Not because you screamed or fought. But because you thought. Because you felt. And, even worse… because you were starting to awaken something in Vincent.

Bo stood up slowly, his gaze hardening. His mind was buzzing with possibilities. Like a grumpy chess player, looking ten moves ahead. He knew he couldn’t act violently so soon. Not with you. Not with Vincent like this. Because Vincent wasn’t a small problem. He was a powder keg—and you were becoming the match.

Bo walked into the living room, past the family portraits, and stopped in front of his mother’s. Trudy smiled in the painting, her maternal expression frozen in time. It ate at him. Part of him wanted to please her, even after she was dead. Another part wanted to break that portrait and forget her forever.

“This isn’t going to end well,” he told himself.

But it wasn’t anger that was driving him now.

It was fear.

Fear of losing control. Of seeing everything they had built—however twisted, however dark—fall apart because Vincent was now starting to feel, and when Vincent felt, he was unpredictable. Bo had spent his entire life trying to protect his brother from a world that spat on him. That mocked his mask. That called him a freak. And now a girl had appeared, and with a kiss on the mask… undid years of isolation.

No.

He couldn’t let that happen without resistance. Bo stubbed out his cigarette hard against the wall. The bitter smell of smoke mixed with the wax that permeated the house. There was time. He knew how to play it cool. And you… You still didn't know all the masks Ambrose was hiding.

Not even his.

Bo wiped his greasy fingers with a grimy rag, his gaze fixed on the deserted road through the gas station window. The entire city seemed suspended in a dead time, and yet he could feel the tension vibrating beneath the cracked sidewalks as if the entire earth was breathing with difficulty.

You. Vincent.

He squeezed the rag in his hands until the fabric tore. What irritated him the most was not Vincent's attachment, but the fact that he himself was beginning to understand why.

You were... alive. Curious. Attentive. Unlike the people who usually passed by Ambrose and looked only at what they wanted to see. You looked beyond the surface. And that was too dangerous.

But Bo was a patient man. Since he was a child, he had been forced to wait. Wait in silence, with his ankles tied to the legs of the wooden chair, the ropes biting into his skin until they opened wounds. Trudy said it was for his own good, that he was "too electric." That he needed to learn to obey.

Vincent cried. But he cried in secret, behind his mask and behind the walls. Bo was the only one who got hit, the only one who stood up to him. Bo was the one who stood up for himself, the one who yelled back. The one who bled first.

Deep down, he always believed that Vincent was the favorite. The "good" twin. The twin who had talent. Who, despite his deformity, was still his mother's darling. She said that Vincent was a gift from God, while Bo was the storm, the evil twin.

Years later, it still burned. Even with Trudy dead, the echo of her voice still lived in the corners of the house. 

Now, you appeared. Sweet, sensitive... and dangerous. Bo needed to stop you from breaking what was left of Vincent's loyalty. But he couldn't be direct. Not now. He needed to plant doubts. 

Small but precise seeds.

.

Later that afternoon, he found you alone in the backyard, sitting on a stone step near an old iron basin. The sun barely filtered through the gray clouds. You stared at the horizon as if the world outside was still accessible. As if freedom was just a road ahead.

Bo approached silently. He coughed lightly, just so as not to scare you.

“Golden hour,” he said, stopping beside you. “My mother loved this time of day. She said it hid imperfections.”

You smiled with one corner of your mouth, but didn’t answer.

“Vincent likes it too,” he continued, as if talking to himself. “He usually goes out to draw at this time… when he’s not too busy.”

You looked at him, curious. There was always a dubious tone in Bo’s words.

“Busy with what?”

Bo shrugged.

“With his things. With… the little secrets we keep here.”

You frowned. But Bo just smiled. That smile of someone who knows more than they should. Of someone who tries to seem cordial, but speaks with barbs.

“You like my brother, right?” he asked, as if commenting on the weather.

You hesitated.

“He’s been nice to me… differently.”

Bo nodded slowly. He lit a cigarette, letting the silence between them last.

“Vincent is… complicated. Silent, yes. But not empty. He feels. More than he seems. More than he should, sometimes.”

“And is that bad?”

Bo exhaled smoke through his nose.

“It depends. Have you ever seen someone keep a feeling inside for too long? It festeres. And then, when it finally comes out… it destroys everything.”

You didn’t answer. But the tension in the air increased. Bo noticed.

“You know, sometimes I think he only doesn’t hurt you because he doesn’t understand what he feels yet. Because deep down… he’s afraid of himself.”

You looked up. Bo’s gaze was fixed on you.

“But what if he’s just trying to protect someone?” — you replied firmly.

Bo laughed dryly.

— Protect? Y/N, my dear, no one here knows how to do that. We learned to survive, not to take care of others.

He took another drag and threw the butt on the floor.

— You seem strong. But strength is also measured when it’s time to leave before everything falls on your head.

You remained silent. You knew there was truth in his words. But also manipulation. A careful game of shadows and broken truths. Bo took two steps back and said goodbye with a simple:

— Good night, dear.

And he disappeared around the side of the house.

You stood there. The wind messed up your hair. And for the first time… you felt doubt creep in like a thin crack beneath your feet.

After a while, you walked slowly back to the Sinclair house, the cold wind blowing against your face and the coat doing little to contain the shiver that ran up your spine. But it wasn't just the weather. 

There was something different in your mind now — like a planted seed, germinating in silence. The conversation with Bo echoed in your head like a dissonant song.

"Do you really know him?"

You wanted to ignore it. You wanted to believe that Bo was just trying to manipulate you. But there was something in his gaze… something that brought truth mixed with lies, enough to destabilize your certainties.

You arrived at the house and hesitated for a second before entering. The door creaked, but there was no one in the hall. The hallways were quiet, as if the entire house was holding its breath. You went up to your room and closed the door behind you. You leaned against the wood, your eyes closed, trying to control the lump in your throat.

Vincent.

His touch was still present in your memory—the warmth beneath his glove, the slight tremor of his breath behind his mask, the way he drew back after the kiss on his cheek, as if he didn’t know how to react. There was sweetness in him. Fragility. But now, the shadow of doubt threatened to cover it all.

What if Bo was right?

What if Vincent was complicit in everything, even if silently?

Outside, the sun was hiding behind heavy clouds. The light inside the room seemed weaker, more muted. You sat up in bed and took the old document you had found at the gas station out of your pocket. The woman in the photo stared at you with happy eyes, frozen in time—a voiceless victim, like the mannequins in the basement.

“What did you see, Vincent?” you murmured to yourself. “What did you do?”

Down below, hidden behind the house, Bo watched from the back porch, a cigarette burning between his fingers and his gaze fixed on your bedroom window. His jaw was clenched, his eyes half-closed. For a moment, he seemed lost in old memories. 

His mother’s screams. The chair they tied him to. The restraints. The feeling of helplessness, of anger. And, above all, the frustration of never having been the “perfect son.” 

That role had always been Vincent’s, the silent twin. The favorite.

“You always did everything she wanted,” Bo murmured, as if speaking to the past. “Always so proper... so obedient...”

The cigarette crackled in his fingers, lightly burning his skin, but he didn’t react.

“But now you want her? Do you want her to see you with different eyes? No. That’s not going to happen.”

Bo took a step back, lighting another cigarette.

“I’m going to open her eyes. Slowly. I’m going to show her who you really are, little brother. And when she sees... when she understands...”

He left the sentence hanging, a bitter smile curving his lips.

Bo knew he couldn’t make you run away—not now. But he could do what he did best: twist truths, manipulate silences, push people into the abyss using only words.

And he had barely begun.

.

Meanwhile, Vincent was alone in his sanctuary of shadows and wax. The workshop, lit by a few lamps hanging from the ceiling, was quiet—only the rhythmic sound of tools being organized by skilled hands filled the room. 

But his mind, on the contrary, was a whirlwind. The mask over his face was now heavier than ever. He could feel the sweat dripping beneath it, the heated leather pressing against his scarred face, reminding him of everything he was trying to forget. 

He used it to hide. To protect himself. But also... to keep others from seeing what remained inside. He looked at the life-size wax sculpture he had been secretly molding for the last few nights. It wasn’t a victim. It wasn’t a trophy. 

It was you. 

The delicate curve of your face, your eyes slightly closed like when you smiled without showing your teeth, your hair molded with obsessive patience, flowing down your shoulders. He wasn’t recreating you out of violence, as he had done so many other times. He did it because he wanted to preserve you. Because somehow, his presence had reconfigured everything he knew as right.

But now... Bo was moving.

Vincent knew. He could see it in the sidelong glances, the venom-filled silences. Bo was unpredictable, but he was methodical. He wouldn’t kill you impulsively—he would break you inside, make you turn away from Vincent. Run from him in fear.

The memory of the kiss on his mask still burned into his skin.

You.

The first person since your mother who had touched you without horror. You hadn’t screamed when you first saw him. You hadn’t recoiled. You hadn’t treated him like a monster. And more than that, you listened to him. Even in your silence. Even without words.

But that was what scared him.

What if you found out?

What if you saw what he’d already done?

What if you looked at him the way everyone else had—with revulsion and fear?

Vincent sat on the cold floor of the workshop, leaning his back against one of the shelves. His hands were shaking slightly. He looked at his fingers, covered in dried wax and calluses. How many lives had passed through his hands? How many had been paralyzed by his obedience? 

He obeyed. He always had. Ever since he was a child. He obeyed his mother, the idea of ​​art. He obeyed Bo, the veiled violence of her orders. Because it was easier to keep quiet and follow than to fight. Because fighting always ended in pain. Because his scream had never been heard—and so he had learned to keep quiet. 

But you… You were waking something up inside him. And that was what made him panic. Because he knew he couldn’t have you. Not in this place. Not among the lies, the hidden bodies, and the voices of the past echoing off the wax walls. Vincent stood, his eyes fixed on your molded figure before him. He touched the sculpture, his fingers resting on the curve of your shoulder with an almost reverent care. He wanted to protect you. But protecting you also meant keeping you from the truth.

And you were already too close.

What are you going to do, Vincent?

Are you going to lock her up here, like the others? Are you going to lie to her until the end?

Or are you going to let her go and bear the pain of being left behind?

But he couldn't choose either option.

Because, for the first time, he wanted to be seen.

And being seen by you... meant showing everything—including the monster he'd always hidden.

.

[desmorotu]

more redacted headcanons!!!

some might be angsty? most of them?

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

- i saw a hc where milo isn’t necessarily short, but the other guys are just unbelievably tall. in my head milo is 5’11, ash is 6’5, and david is 6’9. tank is the only one who looks deceiving bc they’re like 5’10 in my head but their wolf is as big as david’s. ppl from the outside make the joke that shaw security is secretly a tall person club

- guy was a music major before he switched to writing. i mentioned it in his playlist post but i get those vibes HARD. he also writes honey poetry because he knows they secretly like it

- i like the idea that darlin and angel came from a rough family upbringing because 1. it’s relatable to a lot of ppl and 2. it would explain why tank shoves themselves into harms way and why angel is so outgoing now. it shows different responses to trauma imo.

- babe sometimes has crippling panic attacks on the thought of angel being a latent empowered and leaving them alone as the unempowered person of the group, but in my mind babe is the latent one and they’re a fire elemental.

- sweetheart feels guilty sometimes for being empowered while the other mates aren’t. they know it has absolutely nothing to do with them and that they can’t do anything about it, but sometimes they feel a pang in their heart at the fact that the other two won’t feel their core swell and warm up when looking at their mates.

- starlight has night terrors about the time they fell down—both times. they also think about when avior fell and they can’t help but intrusively picture what he looked like when he finally landed. it makes them physically ill. avior has to be extra careful when talking back about their experiences sometimes.

- lovely is still goes to therapy every week to work through the trauma of adam, dying, and now they’ve added the summit on top of that. they’re withering away into a husk of themselves. they’re so exhausted with dealing with all of this pressure, but they’d do anything for vincent (and i think that’s going to be their downfall).

- gavin has been brought to tears on multiple occasions at the thought that freelancer loves him for him and not just because he’s an incubus. he’s had to muffle his sobs because he genuinely does not know how he deserved someone so loving. he hasn’t brought it up to them yet.

- i think that freelancer is on the ace spectrum (greysexual maybe?) and that gavin was the only person they’ve ever really had sex with, or wanted to have sex with. they trusted him enough to “show them the ropes” and he built their confidence to where it is now. gavin helped build their relationship with sex and while they’re still on the spectrum, they’re more positive about it and they enjoy that kind of intimacy with him.

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

that’s all that i can squeeze out of my brain rn >:( i haven’t been on tumblr that much and UGH it’s just bc my real life is more interesting than my redacted life (which is a very good thing, but still it makes me sad) and i have no motivation to post 💔 but here are some hcs that have been on my mind lately :3 i hope they make sense

k byeee 💟

[freewilllife]

@aod1098

The pro-life movement does not just think of men as humans. We consider the fetus (little human) as a life and it is one worth protecting. Women are also considered in this equation. Despite popular belief, women do not benefit from abortion. Women's mental health are affected by killing their unborn children. Females who have had abortions are more likely to suffer from mental health issues (Medicaid study in California) and do not receive adequate care afterwards (Vincent Rue Study) and suffer deeply from their abortions. Everyone is a human in the pro-life movement. We don't hate males or females for whatever reason.

In all kindness, I do not suscribe to your belief system, therefore it is pretty irrelevant to me, if you believe this or not.

Men's half is a very important part after all we couldn't have the baby if not for their half. It takes two and both sides are equally important.

It is the women��s body who builts the baby, who has the greater costs in that process, who takes the greater risk, therefore the opinion of a man is pretty irrelevant regarding abortion.

Abortion is not a human right. Our rights extend until it affects the life of another. When a woman is pregnant, there is another life that is involved, the most innocent of them all. Abortion procedures are inhuman, it takes the life of the child and in brutal ways. No one should have the right to end the life of another.

Oh, but it should be. The right for all women to abort, if they want to or to keep it, only if they want to.

The child is a parasyte that merely lives dependant on her life and body. So it should be absolutely possible for the woman in question to end this situation, if she wishes it.

By the way, that means you are even against all abortion, where the life of the woman is at stake? Even when the child is already dead inside the poor women and it might cost her life?

You would honestly rather traumatize a woman to have "give birth" to a corpse?

And you would rather condemn a child to live in utter pain, if the defects are too gave?

That also means that are blind and deaf to the misery of the oh-so-importan-life, if the child suffers due to the circumstances it is birthed into? Sometimes it is the correct decision to abort, if you can literally cannot afford a child or if the child would face neglect or abuse. There are enough horrible parents on this earth.

You lack clear empathy for other women. You can decide for yourself to have as many children until your teeth fall out, but why would you deny another woman agency regarding her own body. Are you jealous, maybe? Nope just concerned for other women because I (and other pro lifers) are concerned for the ladies.

Ah, so you show your empathy by taking away their agency? That´s a far cry from empathy, if you ask me...

This is a gross sentiment (among other things you said) I see a lot from the other side. I don't see how spreading hate on the other sex helps your side one bit. Division causes nothing but more pain. Men and women are equally important and needed in daily life. They are usually the ones who do jobs none of the women like (oil riggers, firefighting, and more physical straining jobs) as well as the other half to creating life. If you want to make change you should try getting others on your side, not hating on half of the population, it just draws people away from your cause...Not that I want your abortion stance to draw more people. You can do whatever you want with your body. As long as you don't effect the life of another (life in the womb included) I don't care.

I honestly don´t know if I should cry or laugh about this.

I think, I prefer laughing.

I hope, you are as concerned with the misogynistic moids, who rape and dehumanize women, as with a woman like me, who just wishes to stay the fuck away from men.

I curious as to what cult you were raised in. Everyone's environment influences how they turn out later in life, in different ways for everyone. For religions people leave their religions they were raised in and others stay. It's different for everyone. Happens a lot. Around 93% of America was Christian in the 60s, not anymore (not even close). A lot of people left. Also the pro life movement is a lot more divisive then you think. There's Christians, Muslims, Atheists, Agnostics, and more. Men and women are in the movement as well. I agree there are some religions that don't treat women fairly at all. Not all of them though. Some religion may have mistreated women, but some religion has also helped women elevate their status and gain more rights. After all women are biologically weaker than men, men could easily overpower women if they wanted to. Religion has helped this from happening through morals.

I am not American and I hardly share sensitive information like this. According to my religion teacher in middle school, the belief I had was classsified as a cult. And I went to a catholic school...I got additional religious education by the church, we went to and by my father. As a child I was scared of god, greatly...All the sins I committed by being basically alive.

Show me a religion who does treat women well? Their common ground seems to be that they all oppress women, only the degree differs greatly.

I think I have an interesting book for you:

The better half - On the genetic superiority of women

by Sharon Moalem

And religion has been used for thousands of years to justify oppression and evil deeds...in the name of god. Murder seems to be absolutely

Also the pro life movement is a lot more divisive then you think. There's Christians, Muslims, Atheists, Agnostics, and more. Men and women are in the movement as well.

Spectacular, so many fractions that have something against women having agency and a choice in that matter. I am sorry, but this is disheartening for me.

Abortion is dangerous (whether it's legal or illegal) whether it be the procedures themselves or the mental or physical affects afterwards.

Self-inflicted abortion or by an untrained person is absolutely dangerous, by a trained person and legally, not more dangerous than other medical operations. The sooner the better even.

Some woman go to great length to get rid of the child. Allowing it makes the process safer...Often the woman has to wait too long to abort.

If the woman decides not to give the baby up for adoption, there is pregnancy centers that are designed to help these women (at least in America). If a country doesn't have this, they should.

She still has to go through an unwanted pregnancy that changes her body. Some women just don´t want to go through it.

And the child suffers due to the process. An adopted child often has issues with feelings of abandonment. It is not as clean and easy, as you make it sound.

Taking care of a baby is also not the end of the world and can be quite joyful.

Who are you, that you can decide for every woman?

Some women aren´t born to be mothers and I absolutely wish for them to stay childless, if they want to.

Additionally there are enough already abused and neglected children on this world.

Not a form of self defense. Having the baby doesn't mean demise for the women. It is questioned whether we ever need abortions since technology has advanced so far that we could just have the woman give birth early and take care of the early birthed baby for any health complicated pregnancies. The baby poses no threat so it can't be a form of self defense.

Again, you cannot say this, without actually knowing the situation of the individual woman. In some cases, it is very well an absolute catastrophe.

The fetus cannot be considered a parasite either sense the women and the child are from the same species.

It very well is, if you like it or not. The child does not give the mother anything useful during pregnancy, but takes from her body important resources.

There is a reason, why pregnancy is not possible, if the women is too thin and lacks nutrients.

I sorry to hear about all those experiences of those people you know and for the ones that occurred in your own. Also can take years for the affects of abortion to actually take affect, but they do come. Life can be very cruel. Any hardship the child might have in their life does not diminish the importance of their life. I do think that everyone should work to make a better system for children who may have been unwanted by their mothers for whatever reason. We shouldn't be killing humans with unfortunate lives though. I do wish you would value yourself more. You're more important than you give yourself credit for. It's just sad.

Thank you, that is nice of you, nevertheless.

A woman having or not having an abortion results both times in some kind of negative feelings.

I´d rather wish only for women, who like to be mothers, to become a parent.

The problem with your stance...it takes agency away from the individual woman due to your own flawed belief system. Just that you understand me right: My own belief system is also flawed, because it is subjective. My moral compass are not rules forced upon others.

However I´d rather not play god, but let the people in question have a choice.

This seems to be a better approach than forcing people, that more often than not leads to tragedy.

You cannot change the fact, that the mothers didn´t want the child...you cannot brainwash people to that degree. The child still knows and still suffers. Even within the most stable families.

We all wish to know, where we come from. Preventing this, takes even agency away from the child.

I would call having extreme defecies and great pain not "unfortunate lives"...that would be too superficial.

[glazedsnail]

I finally typed the silly Shane x ♀Reader I had in my notebook for weeks.

It's an accidental voyeurism tale of what happens when you try to check in on newlyweds.

Warnings: NSFW/Accidental Voyeurism/Swearing

Small extract:

‘They’re still at it.’ ‘Abby, get down, we shouldn’t be watching.’ ‘You can stop watching, but I know you want me to narrate.’ She laughs, without being contradicted. Penny slowly joins her. ‘Aw, her wedding dress is on the floor.’ She says, as she sees your hastily discarded garment. Hopefully from where she is, she cannot see the tears, other snatched laces, and even teeth marks Shane left on your dress as you finally arrived in your now conjugal bed. 

Pretty tamed, and honestly? I wrote it back then especially for the lame joke at the end. A fun small read.

Ao3 version up here, and Tumblr version under the cut.

Picture of the incriminating notebook I write quick smuts in. You'd never guess.

‘The wedding was great, wasn’t it?’ Following an idea of Mayor Lewis, the entirety of Pelican Town is heading to the farm. Better than admitting that he forgot to give you their wedding gift, he pretends he had planned to give it as a group the next day. ‘Why did we have to be so early though.’ Most young adults are recovering from the reception. ‘She’s a farmer, they’ll be up.’ ‘Anyone saw them leave the reception last night?’ Asks Marnie, Jas trailing behind in her hand. ‘They just up and disappeared, did they not?’ Shrugs Gus, a bit saddened the newlyweds didn’t stay long enough to try his new deviled eggs recipe. ‘From their own wedding reception, how rude.’ ‘Right, Pierre’ Laughs Caroline ‘ Like you cared at all while slumped over the bar.’ ‘Open bar, may I add. Right?’ He shouts to the back of the cohort. ‘Ugh, don’t scream like that, dad.’ ‘My head…’ Moans Sam, holding Vincent with a limp arm. ‘Nobody forced you to drink that much.’ Snaps Jodi. ‘It’s a wedding, of course we’ll drink. Wasn’t expecting to have to wake up with the chickens the very next day.’ Groans Sebastian, head in his hood. ‘Speaking of, pleasantly surprised by Shane not having a single drink.’ ‘Well Marnie, you know he’s not had a drink for ages. Besides, he was too busy with the farmer…’ ‘Lewis!’ ‘Heh, perhaps this is why they left “early”...’ No other sounds are heard apart from the slow steps of everyone in the dirt path. ‘What do you mean, Elliott?’ ‘Oh, Penny, bless your heart.’ ‘You know what’s..expected after a wedding, right?’ ‘Alex, we have actual kids here, pipe down.’ Some throats are being audibly cleared. ‘Speaking of…Do you think it’s a sensible idea to…’ Too late, they’re at your farm. The sun shines on all the bountiful crops. Bleatings and mooings can be heard. ‘Oh the poor things, sound like they’re hungry.’ Pities Marnie. ‘That’s not possible, she’s nothing but diligent on all the feedings and tending!’ They walk to your house. The dry soil makes them realize you’ve not watered anything yet. Bizarre. They’re used to more assiduousness in your daily tasks. Your pet’s water bowl is even empty. The younger villagers start snickering. ‘What’s so funny?’ Snaps Lewis. ‘I mean…’ Abigail starts, in between laughs. A heavy “thump” is heard from the house. ‘Surely they can’t be fighting. Already?’ ‘If they’re fighting, Shane’s winning.’ ‘Vincent! Get down that crate this instant!’ Loudly whispers Jodi, snatching her son from the window from which she takes a peek. ‘Oh.’

She quickly retreats, signing to everyone else to do the same. ‘What?’ A collective ‘Ooh.’ erupts from the crowd as they eventually understand. They’re quickly gone from your property. However the younger ones have a better idea. ‘That’s uh, impressive.’ Gulps Maru, lending her window view to the next one. ‘Your mom built them a squeaky bed.’ Jokes Sam to Seb, joining him by the window. ‘The sound of the bed is what shocks you? Not Shane’s… stamina?’ He retaliates. ‘If that’s what beer and pizza gives you, why am I bothering with eggs and training?’ Laments Alex, looking away. 

‘They’re still at it.’ ‘Abby get down, we shouldn’t be watching.’ ‘You can stop watching, but I know you want me to narrate.’ She laughs, without being contradicted. Penny slowly joins her. ‘Aw, her wedding dress is on the floor.’ She says, as she sees your hastily discarded garment. Hopefully from where she is, she cannot see the tears, other snatched laces, and even teeth marks Shane left on your dress as you finally arrived in your now conjugal bed. The mere mention of you finally being his wife was enough to drive him crazy, and he was going to show you how great he would be at disrespecting you each time you’d walk the threshold of your bedroom. ‘Hey Emily, when she comes to you for mending don’t judge her too harshly.’ Abby is finding the whole ordeal very amusing, and cannot stop peeking at the window. ‘Do you think they just came home, got themselves naked and just went at it?? And…Are like that since last night?’ Emily says back. ‘That’s not physically possible.’ Haley scoffs, trying to look disinterested, on her toes from the porch. ‘I mean, with breaks. I see wrappers on the floor and’ ‘Oh, fuck Abby can you stop scanning the whole room?’ ‘Seb wants your focus on the bed.’ Sam laughs. ‘Hey, hands where I can see them!.’ ‘I’m grabbing a cigarette, you perv.’ ‘We’re all pervs.’ States Emily. ‘And I’m the oldest here. I should tell you all to stop this.’

But they don’t. They stop talking, but it only accentuates the sounds coming from the poorly sealed window. Shane is grunting as he makes you squeal, beg. Your voice only ever muffled by his wet kisses. The level of your moans growing as he groans ‘You love that huh? Come on, cum again for your husband.’. He feels your inside clenching at his voice, the sole allusion that Shane is your husband makes you quiver. Knowing that this is your husband’s cock hard at work against your plushy walls, and that it belongs to Shane, is more than efficient to make you see stars and leak all over him.

‘He’s…really making our farmer scream isn’t he.’ ‘They both sound like they’re having a good time.’ ‘We should stop watching. Aw they’re holding hands.’ ‘Penny, only you and Abs are watching right now.’ Seb points, smoke escaping from his smirk. ‘We should have stopped twenty minutes ago! As the oldest I take responsibility and’ Emily was about to grab Abigail and Penny but is stopped by the view. ‘Who knew Shane was this…potent.’ ‘Isn’t there something quite enticing?’ Laughs Abigail, welcoming Emily at the window. ‘No’ She shakes her head. ‘It’s so wrong!’ ‘I think it’s the tenderness and the…’ ‘Roughness?’ ‘Girls, can you PLEASE stop analyzing our friends’ love making?’  Sam, Seb, and Alex are down the porch, hands in their pockets, looking away. ‘Wait, wait.’ Abby says. ‘He’s…Oh Yobba he’s a healthy man! He’s falling on her chest, she’s shaking..’

She describes your arms wrapping around Shane, sweat falling on his back and forehead, resting on your bare chest as he gave you yet another orgasm. You’re both trying to find a steady breath, but cannot resist each other's lips. ‘I love you.’ You whisper to your husband, his head on your forehead, looking straight into your satisfied eyes. You feel his exhausted cock twitch inside of you, as if the words were enough to start him again. ‘I…love you’ Shane says back in between breaths. ‘I love you so much.’ he repeats, his sweaty hair finding the warm groove of your neck. You feel his hot breath on your chest, the fast thumping of his heart against your damp skin. His hand on your breast, his lips peppering kisses on the soft skin of your throat as if to apologize for the rough teeth marks he left all over, that you will carry for days. Showing off that you belong to him. 

‘Haley what the fuck are you doing??’ ‘The lighting is too good.’ She quickly whispers, snapping a picture of your intertwined bodies, falling into bliss. ‘Never going to look at Shane the same way now.’ Says Maru who joined the herd of men, clearing her throat. ‘Can’t believe he hid that from us, from me! His favorite coworker!’ They all laugh as they finally leave the window. ‘He belongs to the farmer now anyway.’ ‘Lucky lady…’ Whispers Penny ‘Hopefully that won’t affect the farm, right?’ 

They all look around your farm. One day of negligence won’t really be of any harm. But they need something to clean their mind. ‘We owe it to them.’ Ventures Alex. ‘Yeah, that’s the least we can do.’ Joins Seb. But they stay a long time standing without looking at each others. ‘So, do we start?’ ‘Give us a second, Penny.’ After a while the door swings open. ‘Aah!’ they scream. Shane, coffee in hand, an old pair of joggers on his worn out body, appears on the porch. ‘Good…Morning?’ He starts in a raspy voice, surprised to see such a crowd. They all get flustered, stammering one after the other. Emily takes a deep breath and starts. ‘How’s your coffee?’ She shouts clumsily. ‘I mean, enjoying yourself? I mean, enjoying your coffee? Outside? What a glorious day.’ Shane looks at all the faces one by one. ‘Erm’ he starts. ‘Can I help you?’ ‘We’re here to give you two your wedding gift.’ ‘But Mayor Lewis has it.’ ‘And he left.’ Shane’s confusion grows as their malaise expands. ‘Ok.’ He laughs, leaning on the door’s frame, pulling some of his wild sweaty hair falling away from his content face. ‘Thanks for coming to the wedding, actually.’ ‘You left before we could even say congrats, man.’ Says Sam, faking being hurt. ‘Surely had an itch to scratch.’ ‘Sebastian shut up.’ ‘Right.’ Shane chuckles. ‘Sorry ‘bout that. Needed to rest and all.’ He clears his throat, sipping on his coffee. They laugh awkwardly, in false understanding, knowing fully well what had happened. ‘We thought you might need some help around the farm, after last nigh…evening.’ Maru says, keeping them all on track. ‘Yes!’ Excitedly pipes Haley. ‘That’s why we’re here, cause we certainly didn’t hear or see anything and.’ Emily slaps the back of her head before whispering. ‘You’re staring at his crotch.’ ‘Is everything ok, Love. Oh.’ You appear at the door, a bathrobe tightly around your waist. You’re about to remove your hands from Shane but swiftly remembers that you’re married, and he’s yours. Despite his clear and usual abhorrence of public display of affection, he grabs you by the waist, bringing you to his warm embrace. After all, you’re his wife, and they are the intruders. It’d be rude not to show you how proud of his wife Shane truly is. ‘They’re here to…help around the farm? If I got it right?’ They quickly nod. ‘You must be exhausted.’ ‘You’ve been very busy.’ ‘Very very very busy.’ ‘Guys!’ Maru snaps, blushing heavily. ‘I’m not against it.’ You say, your hand secretly rubbing Shane’s back. ‘I wouldn’t mind just… resting with my husband.’ You add, grabbing his firm buttocks in your needy hand. ‘Thanks guys.’ Shane swiftly says, pushing you back in and closing the door, rebecoming the animal he was all night. They exhale, more or less proud of themselves for keeping a straight face. ‘So uh, where do we start?’ ‘Do you think they’re at it again?’ Abigail laughs. ‘Surely not!’ They pause, looking away or at their feet. ‘That’s not love at this point.’ Says Sebastian, lighting another cigarette. ‘That’s just lust.’ ‘No no, it’s definitely love.’ ‘Abby how the fuck are you back at the window?!’ ‘Oh yeah, she loves Shane’s assets alright.’ ‘Sam for Yoba’s sake don’t join her. Can’t you do like Maru and Penny? They’re already gone feeding the sheep.’ ‘Is that a euphemism?’ Haley laughs, walking towards the farm, not making Emily laugh one bit.

They watch you as you show Shane, your husband, how appreciative you are of all he’s done for your body all night. You’re kneeling in front of him sitting on the bed, his joggers barely down, his rough hand holding your hair, grabbing your skull, as you slowly stroke him, your tongue playing, teasing, tasting him. He groans, impatient, his hand shaking on the back of your head. And you take him whole.

Outside the window, they gasp. ‘Well.’ Abby starts, a grin on her face. ‘Shane must be pleased that his wife…’ ‘Abby…’ ‘Knows her way…’ ‘Abs I swear to Yoba and all that is dear.’ ‘Around a cock!’