#will my yapping ever cease? doubtful

[cramberry24]

Highlights of my experiences with COD WW2!

I did this with cold war a few weeks ago so now its my favs turn :) its all going the under the cut just in case bc it is VERY spoiler heavy and VERY VERY long, i like to ramble sue me

did not need to be persuaded to play it, my bro got it for christmas or whatever and i was like ohoho i see a game i will enjoy >:) this was like 2017 or whatever year it came out

when stiles was introduced i was like NICE a nerd character bc i always love those

going off of that, for some reason i was constantly stressed about stiles? idk why i thought something was going to happen to him the entire game but i was stressing

besides noting stiles, i think at first i was like "oh i dont immediately have a favorite i barely even know these guys" and then like 5 seconds later i was like "ya know what this zuss guy vibes i like him"

which was rly funny at the time bc then i was into a lot of ww2 stuff and had a lot of favs who were medics, and so at first i was like "sick my fav in this one is just like, a normal soldier" and then five seconds later he became the "got a medkit for ya" first aid guy and i was like "u gotta be kidding me"

and then five seconds after that i fully believed he died, like i screamed. thought i cursed him to death by choosing him as my favorite. not even joking my bro was with me i went "i like this one" and then he immediately got stabbed and my bro was sitting there like, u have the worst timing

i was neutral about pierson until the "u got guts private, i just dont wanna see em" line and then i was like OHO hes NOT just a complete asshole he has LAYERS and he started festering in my brain right with zuss

zuss was an immediate fav pierson festered like a fungus and now here we are

i laughed so hard at the fairy fucking godmother comment i had to pause the game and take a timeout, everytime i replay it i go "hes gonna say the thing" and then i cheer

im horrible at driving? everytime zuss was like "give me the wheel" halfway thru any driving sections i wept tears of joy

i thought the train wreck was the coolest thing ever i loved the crash, was giggling and everything

i hate stealth and lying missions so paris was incredibly stressful for me, i loved playing as rousseau though

at some point halfway thru i started talking about it with a friend from school and i would facetime him when i was playing and chat with him, this will be relevant later

i dont remember if i cried when turner died but if i didnt, i did get very upset and choked up but then i was like "at least it cant get any worse" and tried to let that make me feel better HAHAHA

rly enjoyed the ardennes mission HOWEVER this is when i was fting with my friend and his bitch ass couldnt remember the order of events and asked if i had reached the "train scene" yet. thinking of the train crash, i said "yeah it was sick as hell i loved it" and he went "really?" and im like "? yeah?" and hes like "but werent u sad about zussman? isnt he ur favorite?" and i go "wtf r u talking about nothing happened to zuss in the train scene?" and he goes "he got captured by the germans?????" bc he FORGOT about the train crash and was only thinking of the train yard captive scene

so that got spoiled for me literally right before i did Ambush, i never forgave him for that. if i could ever play any game for the first time with no memory of it, i would choose this one just bc he spoiled that for me and i never got to experience the shock of it in real time. i fear it would destroy me.

anyway so when it happened i knew there was nothing i could do in advance so i was just like super pissed off and then they made me DRIVE AGAIN so i was even more pissed off

fell to my knees and wept and cheered when they finally addressed kasserine pass, the whole game i was waiting for pierson to talk about it >:)

i get way too into games and was like shaking with stress in the epilogue bc i was so worried about messing up even though i could literally just replay it if i failed

i have one last fun fact but im keeping that card tucked away until we get further into "I am King" because it's like, kind of a spoiler, which sucks bc its my most favorite fun fact but i decided to include it in the fic so now i suffer the consequences of my own actions

OH MY GOD a few last little tidbits i nearly forgot that are more actor focused! went and saw Love, Simon with my friends like the next year after i played cod ww2 and lost my shit when josh duhamel popped up on the big screen

in the same vein ive been on a big romcom kick for the past like two years and stumbling on ones with josh duhamel has been like, really funny - every single one is just like, pierson if he wasnt traumatized and miserable

my SHOCK when i was binging criminal minds and jonathon tucker was an unsub. genuinely did not know how to react. also when i watched the virgin suicides and i yelled out loud "BABY ZUSS". anyway NOW im done i believe

[mysumeow]

ᯓ★ KINKTOBER DAY 6: OVERSTIMULATION

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Afab body reader, overstimulation (receiving), unprotected piv, handholding omg officer this fic right here /j

ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: When you simp so hard...it actually gets you were you want?

ᓚᘏᗢ WORD COUNT: 2.4k

ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: doneeee with my pending kinktober posts omgggg i thought i could use the whole week to procrastinate my days only playing infinity nikki and but then some stuff came up and ive barely been at home T_T but i really wanted to check this off my list before i lost the inspiration ueueueueue

. . . KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | TWST MASTERLIST

“Ace—“

“Oh, boy. I know where this is going.”

“Did you see Malleus’s—”

“I did, and I don’t want to hear you gush about it.”

“His radiance is unfair, but I’m not even mad about it. And that ponytail? He should wear his hair like that more often, he looks so—”

Fed up with your yapping, Ace forced a spoonful of his lunch into your mouth. “Thank the great seven that the cafeteria's so noisy no one heard anything. I would’ve run away and pretended I didn’t know you.”

You didn’t even bother chewing before you swallowed the lump of food down your throat to continue. “Don’t even let me get started on what I would do if I got my hands in his ponytail.”

Ace groaned in annoyance and opened his mouth to cut you off before you got started, but his face paled when his eyes landed on someone behind you that heard you talk about his liege like that.

“Human! Such unbecoming thoughts…!” was none other than Sebek. Had he not gripped his lunch tray hard enough, it would’ve clattered to the floor. Curse the fae part of his blood that gave him better hearing.

If Sebek was around, then Malleus too…

Was this the end of the renowned Ramshackle prefect? Was this the way your journey into this unknown wonderland would finish? If you were lucky enough, dying was the way to return home…

“Sebek, it’s not polite to interrupt someone’s conversation,” Malleus reprimanded him. “Let’s continue in our way. We’re in the middle of the entrance.”

“Yes, my liege.” Sebek’s infuriated expression calmed down, and he followed him.

“I thought you were a goner!” Ace couldn’t help but laugh, his hands on his tummy.

“Do you think he heard? I don’t think I’ll be able to speak to him ever again.” meanwhile, you hid your face behind your palms.

“That’s what you get for subjecting me to your lovesick babble.” Ace poked your side. “If it serves to console you, he didn’t seem angry. Then again, who knows what a prince is thinking.”

“Maybe I should go apologize.”

“Errh, it’s best not to bring up the topic again, in case he didn’t hear you. Maybe he was thinking of something else and didn’t notice it.” He shrugged and went back to eating his lunch before it got cold. “Do whatever will allow you to sleep better tonight.”

After this, sleeping tonight wasn’t something you were going to be doing much, that’s for certain.

You found yourself at the door of his club before you could decide whether confronting it was a good idea or not. You were just going to say hi and probe his reactions to decipher if he was mad or not. If there was any crackling of lightning happening, you knew that was your cue to run away…

“Prefect.”

Your hand stopped just before you could knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Your hand sweated while you turned the knob and stepped in with caution. You expected a rapid flash of lightning to strike you down the moment you stepped into the empty classroom; instead, Malleus had his hands occupied with stone sculpting tools. His movements ceased when his eyes found yours.

“Come closer. You won’t be able to hear me at that distance.”

You made it inside without being turned into a pile of ash. That was a good start.

“I doubt I’ll have any more visitors other than you this afternoon,” he surveyed you for a second. “You appear to be uneasy. Did something happen?”

“No,” you were quick to deflect. “Uh, you said something about having visitors now?”

“Well, of course. I placed an announcement about a gargoyle tour for today, but, as usual, there’s a lack of invitees. Other than you, that is.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him you didn’t come here for that—besides, the tour could be interesting. You weren’t against the idea of dipping your toes into the history of gargoyles.

He must’ve noticed your contemplative expression, as he continued with a: “Or did you show up with other intentions?”

“I came here for the tour!” you blurted out. “I’ve always wondered what your club was like, and since you’re knowledgeable about gargoyles, I would like to listen more about them.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm. Well then, let us begin.”

By the time the tour ended, your worries had gone to the back of your mind, as you were immersed in the eloquent manner Malleus carried his words and shared his vast knowledge in gargoyles.

“I didn’t know there was a difference between a gargoyle and a grotesque. Being honest, they looked pretty much the same to me.”

“Correct, don’t confound the two. Gargoyles are a lot more than mere decoration. Good to know the tour has served as a new acquisition of knowledge for you.”

“I don’t get why people don’t visit your club more often. You’re great at explaining stuff, and I didn’t know gargoyles had this much history behind them. If it were Trein trying to explain this to me in the slow voice he uses during lectures, I wouldn’t have retained half of what I just learned.”

“I agree. The world should appreciate gargoyles more. Now, I’ll hold a pop quiz for you.”

“Oh—”

“It’s in your interest to say the correct answer, or this will be the last time you see me in this hairstyle.”

“Huh?!”

As your thoughts reeled into the implications of his declaration, Malleus threw the first question.

“What does this particular gargoyle represent?”

“A-Ah, that one! The power of metamorphosis, right? The ability to transcend beyond mortal limitations to higher realms of consciousness...something like that.” You were 99% sure that was what Malleus said earlier.

“Why are gargoyle’s expressions, which are commonly regarded as terrifying, like that?”

That was an easier one. “To ward off evil spirits and protect the people.”

“Right answer, although too simple. It also serves as a reminder that actions have consequences,” the way his lips curved with a taunting smile made you think that he did hear you in the cafeteria after all. “Last question: Why do some gargoyles have wings while others don’t?”

This one took longer for you to come up with an answer. You had a faint memory of him explaining it, but it was brief.

“Was it because they’re located in higher to protect places like towers?”

“Interesting observation. They don’t always represent ubication, however. Wings could represent divinity. A lack of wings meant terrestrial creatures.”

“…Did I fail the pop quiz?”

“Even though you could’ve done better, your score is acceptable,” the corners of his mouth quirked up with a barely held back amused smile. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

“I’m sorry for what happened during lunch.”

“Humans are skillful when it comes to deflecting from the truth, even when one’s inquiries are direct. I must admit, I welcome your honest opinion about my hairstyle today. Even if delivered in such an immodest fashion.”

“Did Lilia suggest the change in hairstyle?”

“He did.”

“He’s got a keen eye for this, then,” you nodded. “I… think it suits you. It’s a fresh look on you, which doesn’t take away your princely charms.”

“Princely charms…?” he placed a hand on his chin, in thought.

“I—”

“You sure know how to get in someone’s good graces.” He chuckled. “You’re welcome to thread your fingers into my hair. Just do not dishevel it too much, or I can’t promise what could happen to you if you do.”

Despite his ominous threat, Malleus leaned down to allow you better access to his head. With how close he was, a rush of ardor made you giddy, but you remained calm. You stretched your arm to caress the lush locks, your fingers threading into them. Cautious. His hair was well taken care of, the brush of the strands like silk against your skin.

“Last time anyone dared to caress my head that way was Lilia when I was still a child,” Malleus reminisced in a hushed tone. “Back then, I thought it was patronizing, to an extent. I don’t feel it that way now, however. How peculiar.

Malleus could be rather elusive at times, and, depending on what he would say, you weren’t sure you had understood him right. Yet, on this occasion, he wasn’t against your touches. That’s what you understood.

While in your thoughts, your fingers wandered close to an uncharted zone: the base of his horns.

By the time you noticed, it was late. Malleus raised his head to look at you, the change in his eyes evident.

If not for the pinkish flush taking hold of his cheeks, you would’ve thought you did something you shouldn’t have.

“You may proceed. I don’t…dislike the feeling,” he said, not moving away. If anything, he tilted his head closer to your hand. His throat emitted a low vibration, which you soon discovered was similar to a purr. Dragon fae could do that?

Your hands pressed against his chest when you felt him inch you towards a nearby desk, tools for carving forgotten near its edge.

“It appears that you aren’t aware of it, but my kind doesn’t lower their head to allow just anyone to touch their horns. They’re personal,” His slit pupils stared into yours, unwavering. “Why did you stop your hand? Do you not accept my advancements?”

You felt your mouth go dry with his towering presence. How he caged you in with his bigger figure, looming over you. “I do accept them!” you blurted out.

After you spoke, Malleus’s thumb caressed your lower lip, and his attention shifted there. Mere seconds after, his eyes closed as he leaned in, the message of what was about to happen clear enough. With your quickened heart, you reciprocated the oncoming affection.

It was unfair. Silky hair and soft lips unlike anything you’ve touched before. Typical of a dragon, Malleus soon grew impatient and greedy. Regardless of inexperience, the fervor in his heart made up for it. His fangs were in the way, numerous times threatening to break through your skin despite his efforts to keep the kiss prudent. You were addicted to the feeling of them creating subtle punctures, however.

His hand slithered behind your back to keep you upright; the space between your bodies became none. There was an obvious hardness concealed behind his pants that pushed and grinded against your body. The friction ignited pleasure. You lacked the constraint to avoid grinding against it, the pleasure straight to your clit.

“Does that feel good?”

You nodded, out of breath.

Malleus grabbed your legs and placed them around his hips; the push of his body into yours was stronger now. He moved in tandem with your grinding, the surge in pleasure hooking you to a nonstop movement. Your arms shot to wrap around his shoulders, bringing him closer. His lips and teeth sought your neck to litter it with his own marks. The noise of the desk’s leg creaking against the floor faded to the background; you were close to coming.

His lips engulfed yours, your moan of his name swallowed by him.

In the meantime, you caught your breath and undid the purple belt around his body.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He watched you struggle to undress him, the waves of your orgasm still fresh.

“I need you,” you admitted, finally pushing the coat off his shoulders.

“Glad to oblige.”

He finished the work and nudged your legs open to stand in between them. Thick and long—specially long—his dick was erect with a hefty amount of precum on its head. The size might be a little intimidating, but given how wet you were, it shouldn’t be a problem.

Malleus enclosed you, keeping his arms rigid to prop himself on top of your torso; his ponytail cascaded down his shoulder. You were tempted to reach out and brush your fingers in it. Maybe on another occasion.

A hand went to yours to hold it, which caused you to dart a glance at him, in question. His hand engulfed yours to near completion; if the difference in size wasn’t evident enough from height, this consolidated it. Meanwhile you marveled, Malleus jutted until it was inside of you, pushing your walls to accommodate him. It was no laughing matter—his cock prodded into the deepest part of your cunt, and yet, a couple of inches remained outside.

Malleus squeezed your hand with reassurance, taking note of your breathless state.

Backing down wasn’t an option for you. You needed him. Even if the stretch tiptoed close to pain, this—you wanted it. Even if the buzz from your previous orgasm still thrummed in your body and your clit was tender, you hugged his frame with your legs and offered the final push that remained to take him in until the base. At your encouragement, Malleus huffed from the surge in pleasure, eyes closed to embrace the feeling.

You canted your hips upwards to meet his thrusts; the creaking of the desk’s leg restarted its noise. Malleus gripped your hand with more fervor, lost in pleasure and forgetting about it. In turn, you gave his a firm squeeze. His chest heaved with deep breaths, a low groan making its way out every couple of seconds. He lowered until your chests were squeezed together, the hand that held your hip snaking to the back and grasping your shoulder to impel you harder. The rhythmic onslaught kindled your libido. One step away from the climax.

You came undone beneath him a second time; he didn’t stand a chance with how your pussy clamped down around him. His lips parted with a silent gasp as he came too, viscous cum pumped inside and coating your walls.

“Mal—” Your voice came at a higher pitch than you’re used to. He already came, but his thrusts haven’t stopped. They were slow and deliberate, not allowing a single drop to slip away from your cunt.

He dipped his head to kiss you, his lips encased yours. Albeit less frenetic, it wasn’t any less loving.  Just now, you remember your intertwined hands.

“I’m sorry,” you had dug your nails quite fervently. “I didn’t notice.”

“How do you plan on making it up to me?” 

“Ah…”

“Next time, when you harbor thoughts of such forward nature, I’d appreciate it more if you cofessed them to me only.”

[nightmare-foundation]

As someone who does see Ozpin and Ozma as the same person and Ozpin being essentially a defense mechanism and a constructed identity, I don’t think him basically devour souls makes him evil bc that’s Light fault. He tricked Ozma into accepting it. Think the train scene in Invincible, that’s how it is. Light killed those people not Ozma. Oscar is in danger but they will be separated. The merge is a bad thing and needs to be overcomes. Light is Ozma’s villain like how Adam is the Bees’.

I also one of the Ozlem endgame ppl too so that’s prob influences my thinking.

Yeah the merge thing definitely isn't Oz's fault. Light manipulated Ozma into accepting his task and thus the curse. Regardless of how it works, it was never his fault and he definitely isn't evil for it. A lot of people seem to love painting Oz basically as the root of all evil loll.

Generally I never agreed with the idea that Oz just... devours his hosts and his hosts disappear. My thoughts on the merge can be summarized in this video pretty well.

While i don't think he devours his hosts, I definitely don't think the merge is a good thing either lol. While Oscar won't disappear, even if the merge happens, that change is still unwilling on both Oz and Oscars parts. Ozpin as we know him (the mischievous, knowing Headmaster) will functionally cease to exist and Oscar Pine is changed, though the dominant identity will be Oscar, just with the added... 'bonus' of a Gods tyrannical mission, magic, and more memories. Ironwood hit the nail on the head when he said "Eventually, you won't be able to tell who's who anymore." Just in the... opposite direction than he meant, considering he's an unreliable narrator lol.

Generally there's lots of reasons why I don't see it as his hosts disappearing and Oz essentially just stealing their identity as a means to escape from being Ozma. Like, merging souls is bound to legitimately change his identity, considering your aura is YOU. It's your identity. His merge is a merging of identities. It's why Oscar is identifying with Oz's memories, why Oz always frames the merge as an inheritance or Oscar taking from him, etc. Plus there's Oz just... abandoning his old staff and making a cane, and there's the whole theme with your weapon being an extension of yourself- and we've never seen any other character abandon their weapon. Not even Cinder technically did. And he made it after he "[...] learned to work with the lives in which he had been paired."- which is REALLY interesting loll. (Also, adding in here after I finished writing the post- in that same scene, the host is in control of the body, and Oz is briefly seen off to the side, looking the exact same as the host, vs when his first host spoke to him and Ozma jumped back, looking like OZMA, not his host. I think he somehow changed how his curse worked? Which has FASCINATING implications)

Sorry, I love to yap about the merge Oz has to deal with. I have a million thoughts on his merge and how it works, especially tied into the Ozlem reconciliation. Because man, that'd be another reason why Oz is so scared to actually talk to Salem; he wants to reconcile with her so badly, but would she still love him? Would she still care for him even though he's not truly Ozma anymore? And that's just getting past the fear if she ever truly loved him in the first place.

And about Light being the Adam to Oz's Blake- i totally agree. I doubt the parallels are 1:1, especially if I'm wrong about Oz having abandoned Lights mission, but the parallels are definitely there and it's very interesting and sad.

But yeah lol, TL;DR- Oz absolutely isn't evil for his unwilling merge with his hosts. People who demonize him for it baffle me considering it wasn't his choice.

[strawberrypinky]

Would it be possible to get a sneak peak or snippet for chapter 4 of fire & ice👀👀 it’s completely fine if not. This fic has just been living in my brain rent free.

Or could we hear any of your headcanons for Elodie or Enver, or both?💖💖

Me? Getting to yap about my fic? For free?? BET.

First of all, THANK YOU Love xx. It truly makes my day when I hear people love my little passion project 💕

And of course you can get a sneaky little sneak peek:

All his claiming of superiority and imputing the dregs of society he once belonged to with an inferiority that could have been his had ceased to exist as he stood in that ballroom, Archduke of Baldur's Gate and a wife at his side. Elodie had scarcely looked at him all night, her face frozen with a perfectly manicured smile and an impeccable veneer of politeness whenever someone congratulated them, though Enver could see it slipping in moments where she thought none would see. A gentle quiver of her lip, a solemn tear escaping from her eye – it was a foolish display of weakness. He would reprimand her for it, and Bane tutted impatiently in his mind for allowing the impudence, but Enver supposed the privacy of their bedroom would serve as a more suitable location, specifically since their actual wedding in the eyes of his Lord would still need to take place priorly, and he'd much rather have her cooperating.

The wife of Bane's Chosen wouldn't show defiance - not in the eyes of the congregation and their Lord.

She would kneel and submit - to Bane, to Enver, their protection, their will.

Enver knew in spite of her defiance, she was astute and would come to understand he acted in her best interest and he was not unnecessarily cruel but, in fact, benevolent. Enver was not Nubaldin, who had delighted in being heuristic about his newest methods of abuse. Raphael had bid his time until Nubaldin had at least beat him to sufficient submission, though he was no less vituperative when he finally did acknowledge him. And though the cambion had preferred to use his chthonian tongue, at times, he was incensed enough to take a swing himself. Enver was unlike either of those two – he did not love Elodie, and he never would. Love was futile, a powerful but perilous means of control, and he would never allow himself that, though he doubted it was even possible for him to love another. Love was a fantasy for fools and the unlucky, and Enver was neither. He would give her anything she could ever want if only she asked; trust, companionship, power, sex, the world - but he could not give her love.

"We should take our leave soon," he bent down, whispering in her ear, before returning his attention to Lord Shattershield and the wine goblet in his hand. He felt her tensing up beneath his hand, but he paid her little mind as his gaze swept over the crowds one final time.

The Liardon family, it seems, had invited what seemed like every proud patriar and affluent merchant of the Gate, the crowd an amalgamation of bohemian intellectuals, eclectic artisans, tenacious militants and gaudy devisees. He could see his own parents gabbing with Counsellor Florrick, Selise Liardon scarcely hanging on in her poor health, yet the woman smiled brightly at Lady Jannath and her substitute husband – an artist Enver had never heard of before. Her companions stood off to the side, their eyes betraying the fury they felt, and yet they stood quietly as they chatted amongst themselves before finally, Enver espied Duke Liardon, whose eyes were hardened, the man a light shade of pink as he drowned his sorrows in a goblet of Elverquisst and half-heartedly listened to Duke Porytr's monologue. Enver's victorious smirk only widened, the defeat in the Duke's eyes only adding to his ecstasy as he tightened his grip on Elodie in a mocking display, dismissing her squeak of protest as he relished in his victory.

He had won – well and truly won, and there were no two ways about it. Elodie Liardon – Gortash, he corrected himself – was eternally his. They would build the kingdom he had been promised, ascending to the rightful station of Bane's most worthy – his most faithful. In mere moments, she would submit herself to Bane with utterances and body, and Enver shivered in delight as he thought of her kneeling at his feet before they would lose each other in ecstasy. He was certain Bane would reward them well for each malevolent punishment his Dark Lord bestowed benevolent largesse if he was particularly pleased with his followers.

As for headcanons? Well, let’s see…

Enver is a bit of a glutton as a result of being starved as a child in the Hells. He also has a bit of a stomach as a result.

Elodie speaks several languages, such as Common, Chondathan, Elvish, Alzhedo and Illuskan. She’s also fairly proficient in several dialects and knows a little Drow. Enver, on the other hand, only knows Common, though he has a decent knowledge of Infernal due to his time in the Hells.

Elodie would be a Bard if she wasn’t a Sorcerer. She also feels more elven than human, despite being primarily raised by a human mother.

If he had been raised in a loving family, Enver would’ve been a Cleric of Gond whose inventions actually helped people/Baldur’s Gate.

This will be more important in upcoming chapters, but: Neither Elodie nor Enver want children, and both of them have their own reasons for that. Enver does, however, always follow Bane’s command, so he demands they have them anyway.

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

How will Caster Gil’s s/o cope with his bad sleeping habits?

Hello anon, thank you for the request. Actually, yeah. I wonder about that too. I did once read an incredible one about a similar topic of Caster Gilgamesh being overwhelmed, which is also a great read!

All right, I'll give it my best ;3

Also Caster Gilgamesh is such a mood to the culture of overwork tbh, it make me feel kinda sad.

S/O Dealing with Caster Gilgamesh's Bad Sleeping Habits

- It had been months, if not almost an entire year since Caster Gilgamesh had taken a proper night's rest.

- He was up long before the cockerel crowed at the crack of dawn, and would remain that way- for even longer than the most nocturnal of night owls.

- In other words, he was working himself to DEATH.

- Whenever you'd visit, to assuage his doubts and reassure him that it's fine if he takes a nap; Caster responds with a simple "I do not require your concern. It is my duty as a king to work peerlessly to ensure that the buffoons' operating within Chaldea do not scrimp upon their duties." Although his words are harsh, what he really means is that he doesn't want you to worry about him. Just having you visit is more than enough.

- However, for you- who has to witness Gilgamesh running himself ragged on a daily basis- such words do naught to appease the doubt gnawing within your chest.

- Often finding yourself in bed alone, your only signal as to Gilgamesh's presence would be when his entire body would flop onto the bed at only the ungodliest hours of night. Not even sparing the time to materialize into a set of pyjamas, he would instantly fall asleep; decked in his regular gear and all!!

- Worried for his health, you'd often help out by removing his shoes (yep he didn't even remove those!!) and sliding his body over so that he could sleep soundly under the bed covers (he didn't even bother to tuck himself in). Sometimes, you'd even have to apply plasters to wounds or even place hot flannels on his face to regulate his temperature. That's how bad he was at taking care of his health.

- You even went as far as to carefully place his stone tablets by the bedside table, due to his overwhelmingly bad habit of literally taking his work to bed with him.

- When Caster Gilgamesh regains enough energy to resume his regular toil for the day, he's secretly moved by how you put in the effort to tuck him in every night. Softly kissing the temple of your forehead, he whispers his gratitude in your ear- only then to sigh once he realizes that you purposely put his tablet in the wrong area gain. "Honestly, this mongrel..."

- The truth is, you're struggling. Not only is he as stubborn as an ox whenever you or others try to negotiate with him, but he won't let anybody help him either! And to top things off, you missed his company greatly. Strangely enough, the two of you did most of your bonding during missions and events (because during those times he'd either be on a rare vacation or assist you for his daily work instead); which meant that you had barely any room at all for couple time!!!

- Tomorrow was a Saturday, which meant that he would be off for the weekend. In other words, it was the perfect time to confront him-once and for all! Resolve steeled within your heart; you prepared yourself for an extremely long night.

- Caster Gilgamesh is GOBSMACKED once he returns to his room. Usually, you'd be fast asleep when he enters. But this time, you had prepared a massive surprise for him. Softly glowing candles were lined across the rooms, illuminating it within a serene light; as the healing scent of lavender embraced the room. In your hands, you had none other than a massager and relaxing ASMR binaural CD set (of whales swimming in the sea) to help Gilgamesh relax to.

- He won't say it aloud, but to come home to a feat like this means a great deal to him.

- Although he is weary, his red eyes flicker with a slight ebb of amusement; as he gathers enough energy to smile. "What possesses you to be roaming around at the witching hours of night, mongrel? Has being on your lonesome made you that eager to embrace your king?"

- Your deadpan reply of "FUCK YES." leaves him utterly startled, to the point where he has to hide an enormous blush- blossoming wildly around his ears. "But look, Gilgamesh. As you're probably on the verge of passing out right now, let me make this quick." As he shrugs off his mini jacket (?)-your hands softly massaging the tight muscles rippling through his back-you finally begin to speak.

- You explain to him that although you understand that he has to work, it would be nice if he could stop overworking; both for his sake and also so that you could spend some more time together as a couple as well. As he often spent the weekends between many groups of people, the two of you barely spent any time on your lonesome.

- "I cannot adhere to such a request. What ails Chaldea ails me in turn, hence why I must continue to toil. Mongrel. I request that you do not press the matter any further. Nonetheless, I shall reward you greatly for the honor you have bestowed upon me tonight. I do adore the delightful little sounds those whales make." Caster Gilgamesh refuses to budge, his words bearing upon your heart like a heavy stone. As he sighs with bliss at your massage skills, you struggle to hold back the tears pricking your eyes.

- It is a long, and lonely night. Staring up at the ceiling as Gilgamesh snores softly by your side, you frown. Was this it, after all? Was this what could possibly break the two of you up?!! Such worries made it all but impossible to enjoy a good night's rest.

- The weekend passes as usual, with the two of you mainly hanging out with separate groups. The heavy weight drowning your heart- like a rock sinking beneath the tumultuous waves of the sea- only heightens in intensity.

- That is until Gilgamesh shocks you in return with a surprise of his own?!!!

- Seated atop your bed at a time as early as 10PM (omg), Caster Gilgamesh apprehends you with a brilliant grin. "Ah, so you have finally decided to bestow your presence before me. Sit." Patting the space beside him with an energy much unlike his usual worn-out countenance, you can't believe your eyes. "Why do you stare at me so? Didn't I tell you that yesterday's activities were much to my liking already?!" A compliment. Yet another rare miracle had occurred.

- As soon as you sit beside him, expression as surprised as pikachu's own; he sidles towards you, a devious grin plastered on his face, as he wraps both arms around you. "Mongrel." Cradling his face against the crook of your neck, his breath lightly fans your face. "Wherever you wish to go, I shall take you there. All you need to do is say the word."

- "?!!" His riddle confuses you to no end. When you ask him what the hell he means by that, he slaps a palm to his forehead in agony.

- "Fool, what do you not understand?! I am professing my desire to take a much-needed rest, just as you suggested!" A blush yet again seeps through his features, for the most unfathomable reason. "After managing to delegate certain responsibilities by placing them on the shoulders of some rather, well, unusually...proficient mongrels; I now have the week off. I shall also be able to return to my quarters at earlier intervals on the odd occasion." As he revealed his true intentions, actual mirth warmed his expression; as you stared back in awe.

- He had heard your advice, and was actually taking it to heart?! "B-but I thought you said...I swear you said..." Your mouth flaps, pure stupefaction taking over your features. You were certain that he wasn't up for negotiation, so what lead to such a change in heart?

- "It would be unbecoming of me not to pay attention to the mongrel yapping at my heels." In Gilgamesh language, this meant that he actually wanted to spend some time with you as well. "Do not be so presumptuous, I shan't cease all work. However, I can archive more time for more... mundane activities, I suppose. I am simply repaying yesterday's favor." How bashful a reply this was!!

- As you thanked him, eagerly talking about the places you wanted to visit by his side and the things you wanted to do for your first ever couple's holiday, one could daresay state that a rather warm feeling radiated within his chest no way would he admit to that.

- It's a good thing you spoke to him about it. This time, he'll try to fit in some more time for the sake of his own health and for you, as well. not like he'll admit that though

[liluwrites]

Auld Lang Syne

Three couples ring in the New Year. (DenNor, SuFin, HongIce) (2k)

I

Lukas turns his marshmallow slowly over the fire, and watches the sides burn golden.

Beside him, Matthias curses under his breath as his own marshmallow melts off the stick and falls into the fire. “Oh no,” he says as it disintegrates amongst the flames. “That was my last one.”

Lukas laughs quietly. “Here, you idiot. You can have mine.” He extends the stick and Matthias bites clumsily at it. “Good?”

“Mmm. Positively orgasmic.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Never say that again.”

“Why not?” He presses his face close to Lukas’ and presses tiny kisses along his jawline. “Am I embarrassing you?”

Blushing, Lukas pushes him away. “No, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Aww. You’re so mean to me.”

Still grinning, Matthias turns back to the fire. Lukas watches him; the way his face is lit golden by the firelight, the amber flames dancing in his eyes, the sparks floating around him like winter fireflies. His love for Matthias hits him like a freight train – a sudden blow to the chest that leaves him reeling and breathless. 

“Hey…” He says. It’s quiet, so quiet he thinks Matthias might not have heard, but of course he has.

“Yes?” He turns to him, his face aglow, and Lukas struggles to find his voice.

“I…I know I don’t say this a lot, not as much as I should, not as much as I want to, but…” he stares into the flickering flames. “I just…I love you a lot. I want you to know that.”

“Oh, Lukas…”

“Wait. Wait, I’m not finished.” He takes a deep breath. “You’re just…you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. So many people have given up on me, but you haven’t - you’ve never doubted me, even when I’ve given you so little in return – “

“Lukas – “

“And I want to say I’m sorry, and thank you. I never thought I would end up with someone like you, someone I could love so deeply with my whole heart, but then you showed up and – I love you. So, so much.”

He lowers his head, shy and nervous and fearing with every second the silence lasts that Matthias is going to laugh, that he doesn’t feel the same. Then, he hears a quiet sniffle, and a moment later, Matthias’ arms are around him.

“Lukas, you’ve given me so much. I love you the way you are. I can feel your love for me every day in the little things – the way you make treats for me just because you want to, when you let me talk to you about things you don’t know about because you know how important it is to me, the way you’ll cuddle with me in bed and give me little kisses, and keep kissing my hair even when you think I’m asleep. The way you gave me your marshmallow, even though they’re your favourite sweet! Never, ever apologise for the way you love me.”

Lukas can feel the tears prickling at his eyes, and he presses his face into Matthias’ jacket and clutches him so tightly he feels like his heart could burst. Matthias clings to him, kisses the top of his head and breathes him in deeply.

In the distance, a church bell chimes.

Matthias lifts his head. “That’s it. That’s the new year.”

Lukas wipes his eyes and smiles at him. “I’m glad I’m spending it here, with you.”

“Me, too.” Matthias’ arm tightens around him, and he leans into the embrace as, in the city below them, the first fireworks shoot into the sky. 

II

Tino smiles as he watches his children run shrieking around the yard.

It’s almost midnight, and usually he would have sent them to bed hours ago, after a story and a kiss on the forehead – but tonight is New Year’s Eve, the end of a decade, and everything is different. He has laid out a blanket on the grass so the family can all sit together and watch the nearby fireworks display.

“Ahh! Papa, no, stop!” Peter falls to the ground squealing as Berwald tickles him, growling like a bear. “Erland, help me!”

Erland leaps onto Berwald’s back in counterattack, and Berwald shakes him off and starts to tickle him as well. Hana runs around them in erratic circles, yapping excitedly.

Tino smiles at the sight of his husband and children playing – even after their ten years of marriage, he has never once regretted his decision. He and Berwald have their quarrels, but he could never love another person the way he loves Berwald, and they’ve raised a perfect family together; two adorable, happy young sons and and a dog, all in a sweet suburban house with a good school nearby.

As a teenager, he never thought he’d make it this far – but he has, and every year, he is always so, so thankful for the way his life has turned out.

“Papa, look, look! Fireworks!” Both children cease their game and crowd at the fence to see the fireworks shoot into the sky and shimmer back down to earth. Tino watches them too, entranced, until an arm falls around his shoulders.

“Hey,” Berwald says.

“Hi.” Tino raises into the tips of his toes to kiss his husband on the lips. He pouts. “Why are you so tall?”

“Why are you so small?” Berwald gives him the tiny, playful smirk he has grown to love.

“So I can do this!” He jumps into Berwald’s arms, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. Berwald catches him easily and holds him close, lowering his chin so their noses brush and their eyes connect. “I can kiss you better up here.”

“Oh, really?” Berwald’s eyes, darkened in the twilight, are sparkling with mischief.

“Yes.” He connects their lips briefly, then pulls away. “See?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Mm-hm,” Tino mimics, and kisses him again.

He feels Berwald smile against his lips, then the next moment, he is being spun in the air. Tino squeals and clings to him tightly. “Ahh, what are you doing?”

Berwald doesn’t answer, just spins him even faster. When he finally stops, Tino can feel his chest rising and falling from exertion, and the world is a multicolour blur of Christmas lights and fireworks. Tino gently hits a fist against Berwald’s chest. “You’re crazy,” he laughs breathlessly. “You know that?”

Berwald meets his eyes intensely. “I’m crazy about you.”

From the park beyond the fence, the crowd begins chanting. Five…four…three…two…one…

The joyous whistles and cheers erupt – and a moment later, Erland and Peter come barrelling into them, Hana yapping at their ankles. Berwald stumbles and releases Tino onto his feet. He stays in Berwald’s embrace, but opens his arms wide enough that their children can join.

Tino gazes around at his little family in the moonlight, and his heart is full.

III

Emil cringes as another body pushes past him. The Main Street is swarming with people waiting excitedly to ring in the new year, their bodies packed so closely it’s almost impossible to move past. But Leon’s grip on his hand is firm, pulling him steadily onwards through the crowd, and he clings to it like a lifeline.

“Not far now,” Leon calls over his shoulder. “It’s worth it, you’ll see.”

Usually, Emil would be at home on New Year’s Eve, drinking sparkling cider and watching the ball drop on television. But this year, when his boyfriend had messaged him asking to meet at the marketplace before midnight, he had accepted immediately.

He doesn’t like crowds, or noise, or being out after dark – but it’s worth it to spend time with Leon.

Finally, they reach the bridge, and Leon pulls him aside against the railings. The crowd is thinner here, and they finally have enough space to breathe and look each other in the eye.

“Hey,” Leon says, his eyes glittering golden-brown in the lamplight.

Emil can’t help but smile. “Hi.” He blushes. “I missed you.”

Leon laughs and wraps a warm arm around him. “It’s not been that long! I saw you on Christmas Eve.”

“Too long.”

“You’re adorable.” Leon pinches his cheek. “You’re the cutest boyfriend ever.”

Emil buries his face in Leon’s chest, embarrassed. “M’not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, you are.”

“No, you.”

“No – “ Leon ducks his head and silences him with a kiss. Emil closes his eyes and presses closer, deepens the kiss, and Leon responds with equal pressure – and the world shrinks to just the two of them, the warmth of their bodies pressed together and the electricity of their embrace.

Suddenly, a ripple of excitement runs through the crowd. Emil draws back, slightly dazed, and looks around. “What’s happening?”

Leon looks at his watch. “It’s almost time. Ten seconds.”

As if on cue, the crowd begins the countdown in unison. Emil catches Leon’s eye, sees the sparkle of anticipation, and they join in, their voices carried away by the energy of the people around them. In that moment, Emil suddenly feels a strange connection to all these people; all these strangers with whom he has nothing in common, except that they’re all moving into the new year, the new decade, together.

“Three…two…one…”

The moment the bell chimes, Emil feels Leon’s arm fling around his shoulders and the click of his phone camera. It’s so unexpected, he doesn’t have time to put on his usual shy scowl for the camera – instead, Leon captures him in his raw happiness, grinning and laughing in the first second of the new year.

As the crowd begins to scatter around them, Leon lowers his phone and shows Emil the photograph.

Behind them, the dark river glows with the reflections of fireworks bursting above it, and their faces are lit golden by the lights around them. They’re both grinning, faces pressed close together, eyes scrunched up with pure unfiltered joy.

Emil blinks. He’s always thought he was ugly in photographs, so it’s strange to see himself looking so radiant; but it’s strange in a good way, he thinks. It’s like a new version of himself, a version he hasn’t met yet.

“Do you like it?” Leon asks.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I do. Can you send it to me?”

“Sure.”

Leon types on his screen, and, a second later, Emil’s phone lights up. He taps in his passcode and clicks on the message, and smiles as the photograph fills his screen – their joyful, glowing faces, alight with the promise of a new start.

His eyes travel to the bottom of the picture, where Leon has added a simple caption:

Happy New Year!

[ladytesla]

Romance and Revolution: The Terrier Incident

[This is because @daeva-agas keeps drawing people from my shitpost Ikemen American Revolution game idea.  There was really an incident during the Revolutionary War where George Washington found William Howe’s dog and ceased hostilities long enough to return it to him.  George was a dog lover.  I felt like I needed to write something.  I’m getting more and more from ‘this game is a shitpost idea’ to ‘could this game be possible’.]

The battle had been brutal. It was all I could do to keep my composure as more and more wounded men came staggering through the fog into camp. My hands soon became dark with gunpowder and blood as I applied pressure to bleeding gunshot wounds.  My sutures became loose and clumsy as the needle and thread slipped through my fingers.  I tried my best to tune out the screams of the dying.  My father was working a short way away, just as busy as I was.  I couldn’t leave him by himself.  

“Miss MC, what in Heaven’s name are you doing here?”  

I knew that voice. Turning around, I tried to wipe my hands on my already-soiled apron. “General Washington,” I curtsied.  He stood tall and proud in the opening of the tent in which Father and I were working.  He looked just as tired as the rest of us, but thankfully unhurt.  He looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, a frown on his face.  I felt rooted to the spot.  Thankfully, though, that commanding gaze soon swept over to my father.

“Doctor,” he said, stepping into the tent, “why are you allowing your daughter to be here among the wounded?”

“MC has learned a lot through observation of my practice,” Father said with a salute.  “We need all the help we can get, and I trust her completely.”

George looked uncomfortable.

“It’s…” he began gently, before pursing his lips and trying again, “it’s not proper for a woman to be surrounded by death.”

He was worried about me. I could tell.

“With all due respect, General,” I said as politely as I could, “it’s not proper to run another man through with a bayonet, either…”

The man I was treating laughed grimly.  At least I caused a bit of levity in this chaos.  George seemed to agree, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

“For my own peace of mind, Miss MC,” he offered his arm, “allow me to see you somewhere more hospitable. Another surgeon has arrived, he will take your place.”

I looked to Father, not wanting to leave him.  He gave me a reassuring smile.

“Go on,” he said.  “I’ll be fine here.”

  I still felt guilty even after I’d changed my clothes and scrubbed the dried blood from my hands. But the fire in the hearth at the house George was using was warm.  

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”  Alexander sat down next to me and offered me a cup of tea.  His uniform was in calculated artful disarray, his hat at a jaunty angle.  I expected no less from him.

“Tea’s not that strong, since we need to make rations last, but I thought you could use some.” He explained.  “And I couldn’t imagine better company.”

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the cup.  His smile grew a bit rogueish when our hands touched.  I tried not to notice.  

“If you don’t mind, I’m trying to read.”  Thomas’s voice made both of us jump.  How did I not notice him sitting in an armchair in the corner?  He looked crossly at Alexander, who showed absolutely no signs of guilt or shame.

“Am I not allowed to have a conversation with a beautiful lady?”  He asked innocently.

“Not while I’m reading this pamphlet,” Thomas rolled his eyes.  “If you’re working on adding Miss MC to your list of conquests, Hamilton, might I suggest you do it elsewhere?”

“You could also read elsewhere, Jefferson,” Alexander quipped dryly.  

I was about to intervene before things escalated between the two of them, when the door burst open.

“I need to speak to the General!”  Nathan said breathlessly.  It took him a moment before he realized I was in the room.  His boyish face lit up with a grin.  “MC!  When did you get here?”

“Just a while ago,” I said. It was then that I realized he was holding something in his arms.  Something spattered in mud… and furry?

“Nathan, what is that?” I asked, standing to get a better look.

“What’s what?”  He blinked. “Oh!  It’s a terrier!”  He held out the muddy little dog, which yapped at me and wagged its tail.

“Why do you have that thing, Hale?”  Thomas frowned.

“I found him running around the battlefield, and he looked lost.  I couldn’t just leave him…” Nathan said sheepishly.  “And then I saw his collar.”

I looked at the little metal plate on the leather strap around the dog’s neck.  There was a name on it.

“The dog’s name is Howe?” I asked.

“The dog BELONGS to Howe,” Nathan corrected.  “I’m sure of it.”

“Sure of what?” George came walking in from the other room with Lafayette.  When he saw me, he beamed and inclined his head slightly in my direction.  I curtsied again.

“Howe’s dog was running around the battlefield all alone, sir,” Nathan said.

“I thought I heard a bark,” George smiled.  “Set him down.”  He knelt and held out his hand to the little dog, which looked happy to see another person.

“Good boy, yes you are…” George smiled, his eyes lighting up as he pet the dog.  “A fine little terrier.  Look how bright his eyes are.  You can tell he’s smart.”

“Sir, I’ve come to report—what is THAT?”  Paul entered the house, scowling at the dog.

“I’m sure you’ve seen dogs before, Mr. Revere,” Thomas said dryly.  “Apparently it belongs to our dear friend General Howe.”

“This is perfect,” Paul grinned.  “We’ll hold the dog hostage, and then—"

“No, we’re going to send him home,” George said firmly.  “I know if someone found Tipsy or Drunkard out all alone, I’d want them back.”

Hearing their names, the two foxhounds poked their heads out of the room George was using as his office.

“Give it back?”  Paul frowned in distaste.  “But how?”

“Sending him under a flag of truce with a letter.”  George looked meaningfully at Alexander.  As his aide-de-camp, it was his job to write his letters.  

“But who’s going to take the dog?”  I asked as George started to dictate to Alexander.

“I can go!”  Nathan said excitedly.  “I’ve been scouting around, I know the quickest way to get to the British lines.”

“I doubt your horse can outrun mine, though,” Paul jerked his head towards the window, where we saw Sweetheart waiting patiently where she had been tethered.

“I have a suggestion,” Lafayette said softly.  He looked straight at me, his face calm.  “Perhaps Mademoiselle should accompany you to return the creature.  If we are to do this bloodlessly, perhaps a flag of truce will not be enough to halt the gunfire.”  Though he spoke politely as he always did, I could see how calculating his eyes were.

“A flash of a petticoat should stop them in their tracks, if Mademoiselle will pardon me for my frankness.” He gave me a princely bow.

George was silent.  I could tell he was thinking the same thing. Everyone in the room was looking at me, waiting for my decision.  

“All right,” I said firmly. “I’ll do it.”

[antiriko-arc]

make this pain worth it. | part 1.

Andrew Minyard was born to die. It was the sad, harsh truth of his existence. It was something he lived with everyday, a weight like the world on Altas’ shoulders. He was carrying his demise. It wasn't even scary, the thought of death. Maybe it’s because death could be compared to a parasite; it lives inside you, festering, forming, until it takes you apart slowly and then you become rot and ruin and dust, until you decay from history itself.

Andrew Minyard knew he was going to die well before he was supposed to.

And he couldn't do anything about it. He was expected to give his life, if so needed, for whoever bought him. Andrew doubted that would happen. He resented the fact that he could be owned like a dog by someone. Someone who was weak and pitiful, who couldn't protect themself. If he didn’t take a bullet for his master, he would probably be killed when he was deemed no longer useful. That’s what happened when you were bred like a fucking dog. No one got out. You had kids, raised them to be loyal and ready to throw themselves off a bridge if their master asked them to. They put down the rabid ones, the ones who bit the hands of those who fed them. But Andrew had survived. Maybe it was because his psychotic tendencies had never shown themselves properly. Maybe it was because he had never really snapped at anyone. But the madness was there. It was inside every fibre, inside his bones. Andrew was his madness, his madness was him. It lay dormant, sitting, aching, waiting to take over and make its host more dangerous than he was already. No one wanted a rabid dog. They were killers; they could turn at the drop of a hat and kill whoever decided to take them in. It was dangerous, to ask them to protect you when they were waiting for the right moment to strike and rip your throat out. Maybe his mother could tell what was inside him. Maybe that was why she tossed him away. Maybe that's why she kept his pitiful brother instead. Andrew despised his brother. They were identical, and the only thing that distinguished them were the bands which Andrew wore on his arms. No one cared enough to ask why he wore them; he had given them their answers when they first asked him (a false smile and a short reply about how they were ‘none of your goddamn business’). Aaron was pathetic, at least in Andrew’s eyes. His mother had dealt so many blows that Aaron cowered beneath them for his whole life. He had learnt to deal with his erratic mother, to not say anything. Andrew knew that was the problem, that he was passive and took whatever he was given. Andrew hated him. He had grown up unaware of his shithead of a mother. He had grown up with steel skin, believing he was untouchable if he deemed it so (and often he did deem it so). He grew up with silent tears at midnight, the only way to take out the pain was to cut and scratch and bleed. Aaron grew up with pills washed down with cheap vodka, fresh bruises on any patch of skin that wouldn't be noticeable. Andrew noticed. Aaron cried when his mother died. Andrew just grinned throughout the whole thing. His medication left him buzzing above everyone else, every feeling elevated. His hatred for Tilda though, that was real. It was solid, a lump in his stomach that kept him grounded. The wake’s turnout was poor; there were a few people who stayed for tea and coffee, for the finger sandwiches that Aaron's aunt Maria had prepared. Andrew had asked mocking questions and laughed at her efforts, but she hadn't replied, instead continuing to butter bread and cut slices. Perhaps Aaron had warned her of his hostile behaviour. Andrew stood alone, hands in his pockets and smile still present on his face. The high of his medicine was shit, really, but he was doped up so often he was used to it. He missed the days when his foster brother would pass him a joint, and they would take turns inhaling the smoke, children getting high. “Andrew.” His head cocked, turning towards the sound of the voice. A woman, with a large grin plastered on her face. Andrew smiled back, and the women's own grin seemed to grow. “You must know about me.” “I can’t say I do,” he replied, taking a small step towards her. “Are you here to pay your respects? Do you miss dear Tilda? She was such a lovely woman.” His lips curled at the word lovely, teeth bared and glissening ferally. The woman laughed a hollow laugh, tossing back her head. She straightened up and leaned in towards him, eyes showing the madness that she had. “Fuck your mother. I’m here to collect you.” Andrew tapped his index and middle finger against his temple, eyes cold. “That’s not very nice. Are you here to put me out of my misery?” The woman’s eyes narrowed, though the smile she wore never faltered. “You’ve been bought.” It was Andrew’s turn to laugh, and it was just as false as hers had been. “Who’s fucked up enough to buy a broken dog?” “Someone desperate.” “No one is desperate enough for that,” he replied easily, shrugging his shoulders. “Now please, let me mourn in peace.” The woman didn’t move, just standing there, eyes trained hungrily on him. Her smile had turned sour, and Andrew was thrilled by how wound up she was getting. “You’ll come with me, Andrew, or I will make you.” He waved his hand dismissively, turning his back on her. “I’ll kill your brother.” “I hate him.” He turned away from her without another word. She said nothing, and Andrew could faintly hear the sound of the woman walking away. The sound of Maria’s scream broke his reverie. He turned on his heel, and saw the woman was holding a knife to Aaron's face, one arm locked around his neck. He wasn’t moving, keeping his eyes locked with Andrew. The next few things happened quickly. Andrew laughed, and the woman craved a line down Aaron's face. Blood welled on the laceration. Andrew was across the room in seconds, anger fuelling his advance. His knuckles connected with the soft tissue of her throat. He felt her windpipe move beneath his hand. He felt her let go of Aaron, heard her breath come out of her mouth. She fell to the ground, her laughs drowned out by her coughs. Aaron stared at Andrew, his gaze empty. He wiped a hand over his cut, and stared at the blood. “You were bought.” “I don’t care. What was our deal?” “The deal is off. You’re going to go,” Aaron hissed, looking towards the woman. “Fuck off, Andrew. You've done enough damage here.” The woman grinned up at them, teeth bared like a wild animal. Aaron's words only seemed to encourage her. “Come with me, Andrew. Nathan will be happy with his purchase.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew said, eyes trained on the woman, though his words were meant for his brother. “I belong to no one.”

“You are Nathan Wesninski’s dog. You belong to him. You will die for him,” the woman said, voice still hoarse from Andrew’s attack. Andrew wanted to hurt her again and again, until she stopped moving and her heart beat ceased.

“Fuck you.”

“Andrew, you know the rules,” Aaron hissed from behind Andrew. “You’re going.”

Andrew turned around, and looked at his brother. He stalked forward, until the two were almost touching. Andrew dug his nails into Aaron’s cheek, tilting his head forward.

“You want me to break our deal?”

“We were never going to be bought together. I don’t know why I ever agreed to that deal,” Aaron said, not bothering to move away from the nails biting into the skin of his face.

“You’re coming with me.”

Aaron allowed himself to smirk, turning his head towards the woman staring at them. “I think she only wants one of us,”

“I won’t allow you to get hurt anymore. You are mine, remember?.”

“You’re not even yours. Get the fuck out of here.” Aaron placed a flat hand on Andrew’s chest, pushing him away. Andrew stepped backwards, the hand on his chest sending waves of both anger and anxiety through his petite frame.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” A reminder, one that Andrew knew that Aaron would never have to remember. “I hate you.” Andrew could feel the presence of the woman behind him, hovering too close for his comfort.

“The car is waiting, Andrew,” the woman whispered in his ear, her smile evident even in her voice.

He had to go. He was a sold dog, who was forced to stand by his owner’s side, guns and knives strapped to his body. A dog who would be shot if he yapped too loud. He was fucked, in every sense of the word. 

Andrew Minyard was going to die well before his time.