#✗ the enormity of my desire disgusts me — asks.

[mashbrainrot]

if only you guys knew how long I have wanted a gif set of those bj and charles moments in gfa...

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

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There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[gothsuguru]

Request: Getou feels bad for secretly liking Gojo’s gf and making excuses to touch her.

the enormity of my desire disgusts me

contents: f!reader, one-sided love, obsession, cursing, touching (not unwanted but the intention is unbeknownst to reader as geto makes it a point to always want physical contact w them), mentions of self-destructive behaviors, guilt, & delusions. w.c: ~ 2.3k

a/n: hi! tysm for requesting :’) this is my first ever request/first time writing so please bear w me & i hope you enjoy! constructive criticism is totally welcome! <3

guilt creeps up suguru’s throat like a slithering serpent.

it crawls around the base of his tongue, writhing farther down, embedding its fangs into the flesh of his throat. a raw, mangled, bloody mess left in its wake.

remorse, witnessing the disarray that guilt’s plight leaves, frantically tries to discern where a home can be made. perhaps it can dance along his ribcage. pirouetting across his bones until it reaches a bloody cavern where it can dwell within a hole burrowed deep inside suguru’s heart.

maybe all of this despair can be washed away… a desire to cleanse his palate & purge his feelings away persists, yet he doesn’t allow himself the reprieve.

instead, he decides to swallow his shame down like a bitter whiskey, relishing in the thorn-like pin prickles. the harsh amber reflecting in his fatigued, glassy eyes.

the ache serves as a reminder.

suguru figures that the sharp gnawing pain that spikes his heart & torments his throat is the very least he deserves.

his therapist did say he had a tendency to wallow in his self-destructive thoughts. delude himself & cyclically make bad choices which turned into bad habits. but what’s another bad decision to him? a pyromaniac to his very core; suguru would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy playing with fire.

allowing himself a moment of respite, he fishes out a cigarette he stole out of shoko’s purse from the left pocket of his leather jacket. a silver heart-shaped vivienne westwood lighter in the right. he takes it out, rolling it softly in his warm palm, lackadaisically playing with the switch. imagining the cold metal were your cold hands instead, his own seeking to offer up warmth for your comfort. he gazes softly at the flame; flickering on and off. on and off. on and off. a burning fire reflected in his eyes. a burning desire razing his heart.

the whole world in the palm of his hands — the heart you presented to him.

(a gift from you to him — you begged him to quit smoking, it was bad for his health and you wanted him to be there in the future as best man at yours & satoru’s wedding. with a tight-lipped smile & crinkled eyes, he said he would.

always the deceiver.

you lit up, gaze softening while telling him to specifically use this lighter to light up the teakwood candle you bought him for his birthday. his smile turned fond, eyes crinkled softly with genuine mirth & adoration, he said he would. and he did.

always the sentimentalist.)

bringing the cigarette to his lips, he exhales a puff of smoke, allowing his low-lidded gaze to flit across the room. the warm lights illuminating the grungy bar, a favorite of nanami’s & shoko’s.

he reminisces on the days where both of you would talk for hours. from deep conversations about space, morality, your futures & pasts, to asking each other about what food you’d eat for eternity (cold zaru soba noodles for him, any form of potato for you), savory or sweet (both of you chose savory — suguru relishes in the fact that he has a connection with you on this), & if you two would still be best friends if the other one was a worm (both of you answered yes — you’d build a terrarium where wormguru could play & suguru would keep you in his pocket not caring if he’d be dubbed the weirdly hot worm-man.) from the serious to the silly, suguru felt his chest bloom with tender warmth. from the bottom of his heart, he knows that in this world and any others, he could truly be himself with you.

a soft sigh escapes him, a small smile gracing his face thinking about his memories with you. calling the bartender over for another drink after he downs his whiskey, he drawls out, “give me somethin’ sweet.”

he turns back around to the crowd of strangers, unintentionally smiling. he finds a few pretty boys & girls gawking at him, hyping themselves and each other up to go talk to him. he sees a few more pretty boys & girls looking away from his intense gaze, too shy to go up to him, praying instead that he’ll go to them.

the grin that previously took residence on his face falters. he finds himself upset that they’d think his smile was reserved for any one of them. none of them pique his interest per usual, & he hopes that the bags underneath his eyes, his myriad of piercings & tattoos, chipped black nail polish, and overall resting bitch face will stop anyone from coming near him.

(he knows it won’t. people often went after suguru and not satoru. he was always more caring, more in tune with his emotions with an air of magnetic mystique, unlike his brash, loud, & arrogant counterpart.)

suguru intakes a sharp breath, surprising himself with the haughty & bitter thought against his best friend, quickly washing it down with a sweet daiquiri hoping to honey the words in both his throat & mind, while simultaneously praying that it would soothe his heart.

slightly more alert, his gaze wanders around the room again. tired eyes widening slightly, lighting up greatly when he sees you.

there you were in all of your glory.

sitting leisurely, a leg swung upon the other, arm resting over the back of the tattered red vinyl couch, the very same one you both had countless conversations on. how were you so effortlessly cool? you could do anything and suguru would revel in it — drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

and like a moth, he found himself gliding across the bar towards you, his feet moving faster than his brain. his body demanding that it be near you, that it be graced with your presence. with a flick of his ring-clad fingers, his cigarette is crushed underneath his black boots. a piece of strawberry gum is popped inside his mouth along with another reapplication of vanilla lip balm to his lips to make sure that you knew they were soft to the touch.

with his heart beating ridiculously fast, he takes a deep breath before he stands in front of you, your perfume enveloping his senses making him slightly delirious from how delectable you smell. he prays that the blush dusting his cheeks fools you into thinking that he just drank too much; that it’s not because of you peering up at him through your lashes with your pretty eyes that are now affectionately directed towards his own.

“yo! suguru! long time no see!” you wave as you get up to greet him, a massive grin overtaking your face, eyes almost crinkled shut because you’re so excited to see one of your best friends.

without warning, suguru envelops you into a tight hug. his left hand placed against your lower back while his right hand cradles your head against his chest, your cheek pressing against his beating heart. suguru places his chin on the top of your head, craning his face slightly to get a whiff of your shampoo, ghosting a faint kiss on your hair that he knows you don’t feel, relishing in this moment with you. for a few seconds he can pretend… he deserves that much at least, he figures.

he could stay holding you in his arms forever, your body pressed up against his, protecting you from everything & everyone bad in this world, shielding you from predatory eyes around the bar. fucking wolves, the lot of them — suguru contemptuously thinks. it’s a good thing you’re here in his arms, suguru muses, confident in his ability to keep you safe.

as quickly as that thought dashes through his brain, you pull away. not wanting to alarm you with his panic that you’d leave him, a tight grip stays around your waist, forcing you to sit back down. he positions himself right next to you, his thighs touching your own, his right arm draped across your shoulder.

something that you can consider friendly.

something that he can consider more than that.

affectionate, no matter which way you take it.

“it’s been a while.” a fond smile beams across his face, bright amber eyes desperately glazing over your face. you’re so close to him and he’s so attentive to you, he imagines that the boy across the bar must think you both look like a couple. the pleasure suguru derives from that thought is second to none. you do look like you’d be his. he’s certain that he looks like he’d be yours, if his devoted nature is anything to go by.

he takes a a few strands of your hair, twirling them slightly around his fingers. “what are you doing here anyways? i wish i saw you before, we could’ve hung out!” suguru teasingly pouts, lips slightly jutted out, his eyes twinkling with playful mirth.

“tell me about it,” you playfully whine. “thankfully i just got here so we have plenty of time to hang out! don’t worry, i’ll make up for it so you can forgive me.”

“you never have to apologize for anything.” seriousness takes over his tone. suguru doesn’t want you to ever feel bad, even as a joke. not wanting to make you uncomfortable with his tense energy, he eases up his features and winks, “don’t worry your pretty little head about it, i’ll let you off the hook this time.”

you bark out a laugh which makes him elated, glad that he was able to make you smile. “sugu, you’re way too sweet! and ooh — you asked what i was doing here! toru wanted to chill out here for a bit, said if he didn’t get to drink a virgin piña colada right this second he’d faint.” you gaze around the bar, muttering under your breath, “he should be on his way here soon…”

right… satoru.

suguru feels his mouth get dry by the second, a venomous pang of guilt daggers his heart. his eye twitches along with his fingers, wondering if he should take his arm off of you.

if satoru saw this would he just consider it friendly touching? would he think that suguru was trying to make the moves on you? would he scream in his face about how can his best friend stab him in the back this way? the bitter taste of betrayal coats suguru’s tongue like a curse, and before he can do anything about it, a big SMACK! on his shoulder wakes him out of his trance.

“SUGUUUUUUUU! I MISSED YOUUUUUUU!” satoru bursts out onto the scene loudly, holding both your & suguru’s shoulders from behind the couch, bringing you two towards each other in a massive hug. with satoru’s face in the middle, smooshing both of your & suguru’s cheeks against his, suguru can’t help but feel a gnawing sense of shame.

satoru, affectionate as ever, kisses you both on the cheek. snowy hair ruffling with his actions, aquamarine eyes twinkling as bright as starlight, white eyelashes fluttering against the pink blush hued upon his soft cheeks. from here, suguru can see the light dusting of freckles on satoru’s nose, & the lightest sheen of gloss on his pink lips. no doubt from kissing you before he got here.

a twisted part of suguru is thankful for the kiss on the cheek, your glossy residue imprinted on his skin. an indirect kiss, he muses.

“sorry it took so long, i had to park so far away. hope you didn’t miss me too much, angel.” satoru pecks you on the cheek again, cheekily stealing an upside down kiss on the lips from you while he’s at it.

“no worries baby, i had sugu to keep me company.” you smile wide, eyes softening as satoru smoothes down your hair.

suguru forgot.

satoru trusts him with his entire life. with you.

the loud, brash, arrogant, self-centered boy suguru knew as a teen had grown up. cleaning up his act the moment he met you. enamored with your beauty, kindness, & personable nature — satoru fell deeply in love. he was still loud, but only to proclaim his love on the rooftops for you. he was brash at times but never with you. his arrogance was also truly never unfounded, he was just that confident in his own self and in the relationship he could have with you. suguru still thinks satoru can be self-centered at times, but never about you.

satoru puts you forward in every single aspect of his life — devoted. loyal. faithful. unbelievably constant with his love & adoration for you. your perfect other half.

your true soulmate.

you’re his one and only. and he’s yours.

“satoru! it’s been a while.” suguru prays the loud music can cover up the slight crack in his voice. he can feel his throat constricting like a python, he coughs to clear it, wanting to rid himself of the strangling feeling. he does what he does best in that moment: putting on a facade. a tight-lipped smile along with crinkled eyes graces his features, and he hopes that both you & satoru mistake it for pure happiness.

“you good, man?” satoru tilts his head like a puppy, looking at him questioningly. you do the same, concern clouding your beautiful eyes. he’s terrified that you both could see right through him.

“yeah.” suguru whispers quietly.

the ache that torments his throat & spikes his heart serves as a reminder.

he puts his warm hand over your cold ones in a comforting gesture. for who would it bring solace? he doesn’t know. at this point in time, he can’t bring himself to care. “just the summer heat.”

he brushes his thigh against yours once again, fiddling with your fingers softly. he figures he can allow himself this.

glancing into your eyes, his reflection stares back him.

he accepts that living with this ache of shame & this disgusting sense of desire is the very least someone like him deserves.

he figures he should allow it to devour him.

[petertingle-yipyip]

STRANGER (xiv) - KAZ BREKKER

tags: @beekeepingageissome @shadowzena43 @nikfigueiredo @mp-littlebit @starmansirius @hadesnumber1daughter @directioner5life @strvngestark @hostilityghost @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @justnerdystuffs @faeriepigeons // previously // next

Pairing: Kaz x Davina Rollins (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 6,940

Summary: Backed into a corner, Davina makes a shaky deal with the last person in Kerch she wanted to be tied to. Are good intentions enough to justify what she’s done?

He thought Davina was a pain, then he had a conversation with her Heartrender friend. Suddenly speaking to Davina, even arguing with the woman, was seeming more appealing by the second. If he called for her, would she answer? If she answered, would she be kind?

“What business?” He asked flatly, not bothering to look up from studying his all too familiar cane.

“Davina sent me.” The Heartrender answered.

“And I should care why?”

“I saved your life, you ungrateful bastard!”

“Regretting that now, are we?” Kaz mocked.

Kaz knew better than to push the Grisha too far. With a flick of his wrist, he could knock Kaz out cold. He could kill him if he wanted to. But he also knew that the Heartrender followed orders from Davina, and for all Davina’s faults, she wouldn’t let Kaz die. She’d proven that much. She’d gut him and hurt him herself, with words or weapons, but he’d live.

“Kol, was it?” Kaz looked up finally and the man in front of him was staring daggers. “Let’s talk about your leader, shall we?” Kaz gestured to the open chair.

Hesitantly, Kol sat.

“Give me one reason I should keep defending you.” Kol said sharply.

“Defending me?” Kaz almost laughed. “I don’t need your defense.”

“With Davina. Do you even realize what it does to her, to feel as she does?”

The enormity of his desire in regards to Davina disgusted him. He wanted so much where she was concerned. He wanted to protect her, to shield her from the pains the Barrel caused, that her father caused. He wanted to fight beside her. He wanted to hear her scold him and he wanted to scream at her. He wanted to blame her and forgive her. Wage war for and against her. To give her anything and everything. To lean against her and raise her up. He wanted to own the Barrel just to share it with her.

But he would never admit that he knew exactly what it meant to feel as she did, especially not to Kol.

“Her heart will get her killed.” Kaz waved a dismissive hand. “That’s her weakness. She lets people in.”

“She’s stronger for it.” Kol shook his head.

“Is Melli? Are you?” Kaz struck a nerve with that one and he saw it on the Heartrender’s face.

“Are you any stronger for not letting anyone in?”

Kaz made a gesture to the things around him.

“My reputation speaks for itself.” Kaz said, almost proudly.

“You saw her as a threat when she wore the hood, before you knew her name. She had the same heart then.”

“She hid it better.”

After he learned who she was, everything was obvious. She didn’t hide her heart at all, really. Not when she had the drawings and her ring brought to him. The drawings which now felt like contraband, like the one piece of evidence that proved him a liar. That proved Dirtyhands had a heart and it beat for the Rollins Princess. That proof sat in the top drawer of his desk.

“You’re impossible.” Kol scoffed.

“So leave.” Kaz shrugged.

“Do you care about her at all?”

“She wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t.” 

A heavy silence fell over the men. Kaz could hear the chaos that was the Crow Club. If he focused enough, he could hear the money being exchanged. But even with the thoughts of his own potential wealth, he couldn’t quite get Davina out of his thoughts.

“You make her vulnerable.” Kol continued.

Kaz had to avert his gaze to hide his eye roll. He suddenly had the overwhelming urge to knock himself out just to spare himself the conversation.

“Is that all you’ve come for, to tell me what Davina thinks of me?” Kaz challenged, though there wasn’t as much edge to his words as expected. “Does she know you’re here telling her deepest feelings?”

“No.” Kol admitted, regret settling across his features. “She didn’t tell me what to talk about, actually.”

“She just sent you for a chat?” Kaz looked at him in disbelief. “Davina doesn’t do things without reason… She’s planning something, isn't she?”

“She’s been different since that night. Bringing home Melli was supposed to set things right, but now she seems different. Distant.”

“What did you expect? Her father nearly had her closest friend killed.”

Kaz wondered if Davina saw the parallel. He knew he wouldn’t be the one to bring it up. He’d rather take a hit to the jaw by every Dime Lion than mention that to her.

“I can’t help her through this but you might.” Kol continued.

“If you’ve come for sympathy, you’re sorely mistaken.” Kaz bit out. The words tasted bitter but he said them nonetheless.

“Not sympathy. Understanding… She listens to you, Brekker. For some reason only the Saints understand, your word carries weight with her.”

“What, exactly, do you think I can do for her that you cannot?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be some mastermind? Figure it out.” Kol’s focused turned towards the door, likely thinking about Davina and her crusade.

Kaz took the silence as a chance to think as well. If Davina was pulling away from her friends, he knew it was so she could stand against her father with less worries. The possibility of losing Melli must’ve hit her so much harder than she let on. Why else would she cut herself off from her support? She was willing to go on a suicide mission and wanted to make sure no one would mourn her. Who would mourn someone that was so cruel in their last interactions?

The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach. Davina was trying to burn the bridge with him as well.

“You should go.” Kaz finally spoke. He needed some time alone to truly think.

Kol didn’t protest. “Will you consider what I’ve said?”

“Keep an eye on her. My friends and I will be leaving town soon so we can’t rescue her if one of her idiotic plans backfires on her.”

“Leaving permanently?”

“Don’t look so hopeful, Kol.” Kaz mocked. “Long enough that she can get herself killed but not long enough that her damage can’t be undone.”

“Best of luck.” Kol nodded. A polite response, even if he didn’t quite seem to mean it. “I’ll be sure to ask the Saints to protect you all.”

Kaz pulled a face and waved the man away. He had enough back and forth with the man, adding the topic of Saints to that pile was not on Kaz’s to-do list. Instead, his focus locked on one of Davina’s drawings. It was always on top of his paperwork stack, as if without the visibility it would be gone. It was a reminder, like the little ring still tucked safely under his shirt, of her. Not anything particular about her, just her, and that was always enough.

“Kaz.” Jesper burst through the door. Kaz casually looked up, even though the sudden appearance of his friend did jolt him from his thoughts. “You’ve gotta see this.”

Kaz raised a brow but didn’t move. Jesper groaned in annoyance.

“One of Davina’s got the boot and he’s been left at the card tables.” He continued.

Now that had his attention.

“Which one?” Kaz asked as he stood, careful not to seem too interested.

Jesper shrugged and led Kaz to the man whose hand was currently stuck to the card table. The hilt of the blade was easy to recognize. He’d had that blade held against him, slashed along his skin for shallow wounds. He’d recognize it anywhere, the same as he could Inej’s blades.

Davina left that man there, a statement to those who could figure who she was out that she was not done. She would cut down whoever she had to in order to get what she wanted, which was just to keep her friends safe. Anyone against her would be dealt with accordingly.

She was strong. She made the hard choices. She was the only person beyond his Crows that cared whether or not he lived or died. The only other person he could trust.

So, potentially like a fool, he went to her.

It took three days after Kaz left to get into the Menagerie. You had Kol visit Inej’s friend. True to Inej’s word, the girl was eager to help. Her information corroborated what Inej left for you, though you never doubted her.

One night when you knew Heleen was out of office, you sent Kol to see his new friend while you climbed the building nearest the office window.

Heleen’s office was heavily scented with whatever candle she was last burning. You wrinkled your nose and pulled your scarf tighter around your face. You shuffled through papers on her desk first, just in case anything was interesting. All you found was a calendar with names you didn’t recognize and little drawings of animals beside them.

Appointments, you realized with disgust. That was another  thing you planned to burn.

You went to the drawers next. Flipping through, most of it was indentures. You were tempted to burn it all, but Heleen would only find new girls to replace them. You wondered vaguely if there was a way to end the Menagerie completely. But you understood that it was a means of profit first off and Ketterdam was nothing if not for profit, and getting rid of one Pleasure House would do little in the grand scheme of things. If the Merchant Council truly cared about the way things were in Ketterdam, the Barrel wouldn’t exist.

So you shook the thought, as well-intentioned as it was, and focused on the task at hand.

The Crow Club deed wasn’t hard to find. You tucked it safely into your cloak’s main pocket before continuing to the next drawer. The indenture for your ally was easy as well. Too easy, even. But where was Inej’s?

As you were pulling the paperwork, the door opened and your ally was dragged behind her. You spun quickly, slammed the drawer, and hid the contact behind your back. You mentally cursed yourself, wondering just how long had you been searching? How distracted were you?

“Why am I not surprised?” Heleen sighed. “A Snake.”

“The Snake, actually.” You countered calmly. “Who’s she?”

“You don’t know?”

You shrugged. To her credit, the woman didn’t seem fazed. There was an apology in her eyes so you knew it wasn’t a set-up. You did it to yourself.

“Don’t you want to know where her client went? He’s one of your pets, isn’t he?” Heleen’s taunts continued.

Your eyes flicked to the nearest candle. The edge of the desk, top right corner of the large calendar. One slip of the hand and you could burn both. It wouldn’t halt her business in any way but it’d be a hindrance at least.

“So long as my Snakes are respectful in their debauchery, I don’t quite care who they visit.” You laughed.

She hummed in delight before shoving the girl away. Your ally gave you a brief nod before disappearing into the halls.

“Care to tell me why you’re here, pilfering my personal items?” Heleen asked, shooing you out from behind her desk.

“I heard that a certain Bastard left something with you in exchange for your blessing to take the Wraith on a little trip.” You began. It was true enough. “I want it.”

She laughed. You faced her head on. “You’re serious?” She asked, that stupid grin still plastered to her face.

“Yes.”

“Your father already tried to convince me and he failed. Why should I give it to you?”

“As a business venture.” You continued confidently. “If he manages to secure his payout and returns to pay out Ms. Ghafa’s indenture, you lose income.”

She scowled at the idea. Profit was everyone’s master after all.

“Give me what Dirtyhands left with you and I can ensure Inej’s indenture lasts a long time, regardless of the money he offers you.” The threat was a nasty sentence, one you never thought you’d say, but you needed the facade. You needed the rumor of turning your back on Kaz and his crew.

She tapped her manicured finger against her desk in thought. The deed sat heavily in your cloak’s pocket, burning against your side. You already had your prize. Any deal with Heleen was a distraction. You needed time, enough for Kol to ensure the woman who helped you gets out and enough for you to leave without drawing suspicions. You could already tell the vile woman was intrigued.

“You don’t even know what it is.” She tried.

“I don’t have to. If Brekker was willing to wager it and you accepted it as collateral, it has to be valuable. That’s enough for me.”

“Tell me why I should risk double crossing the Bastard.” She said, pretending to be on the fence.

You shrugged slightly. “You let me worry about that. I can be very persuasive.”

You carefully pulled the indenture paperwork from behind your back. “Admittedly, I was looking for it, just to know what it was before making the deal. Or if I could find Inej’s indenture, I could’ve made a different deal, but I found this one. I can’t read the name.”

You squinted at the paper and moved closer to the flame. Heleen’s hand shot out to snatch it from you but you moved quickly, withdrawing the paper and sticking it in the flames. It caught fire quickly.

“Oh, Saints.” You feigned and dropped the flaming parchment. It landed on the calendar, soon igniting it. “I’m sorry.”

“You fool!” She screeched, throwing a nearby glass of water on the small fire.

“It looks like you’re short one woman now.” You frowned. “Almost like you need the deal with me so you don’t lost a pair.”

“No matter.” She attempted to regain her composure. “I can redraw the paperwork. The little wretch will never know.”

“Wretch?” You repeated, frowning slightly. “That’s harsh, Heleen.”

“I’d say it’s rather kind compared to what I could say about you.”

You waved her off. “I am curious… Doesn’t she need to sign the indenture?” You asked innocently. “And you’ll need a notary, but bringing this to the Exchange will prove you’ve lost it. Her name will already be recorded as an indenture but with no paperwork on your end to prove what she still owes you… They’ll have to let her go.”

You shrugged. “Well, I’m sure you have a lot to think about. I’ll be back tomorrow to know your answer.”

“Your father raised you well.” She commented on your way out the door, freezing you in place for a moment. “You were made for this place. You may even rule it as he does someday..”

“So they tell me. But it’ll take more than a few fires to dethrone the King.” You shot over your shoulder and left.

Two out of three goals - and a bonus task - wasn’t bad, but you needed to complete the third. You owed it to Inej to see it through.

A few hours later, Kol met you in your office.

“Our friend is aboard a cargo ship for Novyi Zem. Her papers should get her through customs and she has enough kruge for a decent start after exchange. ” He told you “She insisted I tell you how grateful she is.”

“That’s good. I’m glad she’ll be happy.” You nodded. “Inej should be relieved, too.”

“How’d you fair?”

“I got what I really needed.” Your foot tapped the floorboard. “And I freed our little ally, but I didn’t get everything.”

“What’d you miss?”

“The Wraith’s indenture.” You confessed. “I told Inej I’d burn it, same as I did the other, just to make sure she’s taken care of if Brekker’s job comes up short.”

“When has he ever come up short?” Kol rolled his eyes.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know what this job entails for them. I could tell it had a massive payout, considering someone tried to warn him off the job.”

“You think he should’ve passed on it?”

“If there’s one thing Kaz Brekker will never pass on, it’s a solid bounty.” You laughed slightly. “Him being gone leaves me with time to try and fix this but I don’t know how much time I actually have left.”

“Can you get in again?” Kol offered.

“I doubt it. Guards at the Menagerie have probably been doubled by now or at the very least someone’ll patrol her office more consistently. She’ll expect me to come for it… I had one chance at it and it’s gone.”

“I can go with you.” He offered. “They won’t stop us both. Melli might want in on this one, too.”

“She’ll have moved it by now. It may not even be at the Menagerie at all anymore.” You shook your head. “No matter what I do, if Brekker doesn’t come through, Inej goes back to the Menagerie.”

“Then we’ll break her out. The Crows and us, we’ll get her back, even if we have to force Heleen’s hand.” He was so determined. “Inej is our friend too, Davina. She fought for Melli.”

“If that’s all it takes, Kol, then you should consider Kaz our friend, too.”

He waved a hand and you chuckled quietly. “We can’t let it happen to Inej.”

“You’re right. I know Melli’s gonna tell me the same thing but for now, it’s in Brekker’s hands.” You sighed. “Keep an ear on the harbor for when they return. I’ll keep tabs on the Menagerie.”

Rumors were flying by the next day. Tante Heleen made it known that she was robbed by the Rollins Princess. Stadwatch paid no mind to it, however. Maybe your last conversation had them thinking it was a baseless accusation. Either that or her refusal to say what was stolen made her unreliable.

If word got out that she had the Crow Club and lost it, she’d be humiliated. You’d be elevated to a new level as a threat in the Barrel. Anyone who didn’t consider you a Barrel Boss would have no choice. All incentive for her to keep the details under wraps.

By the night, however, Heleen was dead and your father was in your office. You couldn’t immediately prove the two were related, but you wouldn’t put anything past your father.

“Hello, Davina.” Your father smiled. Your head snapped up from your desk, seeing him flanked by a Lion on either side. How he got past Adrin, you didn’t know but the potential of her hurt gripped your heart. It must’ve been readable on your face because your father offered a falsely sympathetic smile. “Don’t fret. Your doorman is unharmed.”

“What business, Pekka?” You asked tightly. One hand went to one of the sheaths of your vest, fingers inching towards a blade. You wouldn’t become the next death by your father’s hands that night.

“We’re not here to fight. I hear you’ve come into your own, finding prime real estate in the Barrel.”

“Meaning?” You raised a brow. No way would you confess to having the Crow Club deed. The document was locked away in a safe beneath your floorboards, something you had Kol help you place when you first got the Poisoned Rook. Not even Kol knew what was there, only that it was your prize from the Menagerie job.

“Brekker’s club. I want it.” He shrugged. “Name your price, Daughter.”

“You cannot have it. I don’t care what you offer me. It won’t be yours.”

“Let’s not play this game, Davi.” He gestured to the men beside him. “You’ll lose.”

“Not in my own club, I won’t.” You stood slowly and drew the blade. Inej’s blade. You had just sent Kol home for the night, which meant you would really be alone in the fight against your father and his men. But he made the mistake of bringing men you recognized, men you’d fought before, men you could beat. “What makes you think I’d sell the Crow Club if I had it?”

“I know Tante Heleen had it. She said something interesting when I went to speak with her earlier. Said you came by asking for it, and that same night it was gone.”

“Sounds like coincidence to me.”

“Now she’s dead and all of her properties are mine. You saw an opportunity to expand your empire. I’m proud of you.”

“I had nothing to do with Heleen.” You shrugged. “I can’t stand the woman but I wouldn’t kill her.”

“Of course not.” He shook his head. “Brekker and his crew did that.”

You didn’t bother to hide your confusion. “They’re not here.”

“They’ll go down for it either way. Don’t you see? The truth is what I make it, what we make it. Now I’ll give you two options, Davi.” He held up a finger. “One, you sell me the Club and your little crew is safe. No one’ll dare lay a finger on you or your Snakes.”

A tempting proposition.

“Or?”

“Or…” He held up a second finger. “You’re all dead and word gets out that Brekker and his crew did it. Stadwatch hauls them all in and they rot away in Hellgate. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get to see it all happen before you die. Call it a gift.”

You crossed your arms, feeling backed into a corner. You couldn’t let your father have the Crow Club. You couldn’t betray Kaz that way. You made a deal to keep an eye on the Club, which basically meant keeping Pekka away from it. But you also knew Pekka wasn’t kidding when it came to killing your people and you had to keep them safe.

So that’s what you would do, while also keeping your word to Kaz, even if it didn’t look like it. Pekka wasn’t going to take your friends from you again, not without one hell of a fight.

You recognized it was also a second chance. If all of Heleen’s properties were now your father’s, that meant the Menagerie, which meant every indenture belonging to the damned Pleasure House. Your father owned Inej’s contract, which had to have been part of the game in acquiring Heleen’s businesses, and he was going to be your way to take it back. 

All you had to do was play along.

“I won’t sell you the Crow Club.” You said firmly, sheathing the blade. “But I have something else in mind.”

He hummed in interest. “I’m listening.”

“The Club stays with me, but I will return home.” You carefully laid out your idea. “Spin it however you want. Name the place whatever you want but it is mine. The Snakes remain intact and untouched, with a successor of my choosing, and maintain sole ownership of the Poisoned Rook. They’ll pay a tax to the Lions, of course, for the protection. Dime Lions can take over working the Club under my supervision.”

“A family reunion.” He smiled. 

“A united front.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I can’t beat you.” You played up the disappointment in your voice. “I thought with Brekker I could, but he’s gone. He was far too willing to leave me for dead so why should I care if he gets his Club back? I finally realized he’s no ally of mine. Think about it, Papa. The King reunited with his Princess, the Rollins dynasty restored, made whole again… And you get to show Brekker who truly runs this place. We can make him regret the day he decided to try out the Barrel.”

The last sentence tasted bitter in your mouth.

His smile grew a little wider. He truly was proud of you in those moments and it made you sick. “Welcome home, Davi.”

You held out a hand for him to shake. “Do we have a deal?”

“The deal is the deal.” He shook your hand.

It felt like a death grip, not on your hand but around your heart. You’d have to figure out how to explain it all to Kaz upon his return. Your father took everything from him before, and with that handshake, you had done the same. Your father’s daughter indeed.

You dreaded the reunion.

The Crow Club was renamed by the next night.

“The Kaelish Prince?” You frowned at the sign.

“You said whatever I wanted.”

“You would only ever refer to yourself as King, which means this isn’t about you. It’s clearly not for me, leaving…” You trailed off in realization.

“Honor of my boy.” Your father beamed. “Your brother, Alby. Problem?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.” You answered flatly. “The boy inherits your kingdom still?”

“You might earn it back.” He shrugged. “Lad’s still young but whatever you build here with me, Davi, will always be yours. The entire Barrel can be yours.”

You had a comment on your tongue, about his legacy and his fortune going to a spoiled child, but you held back. Heleen was right about one thing. You were made for the Barrel. Alby wasn’t. You didn’t need to know the boy to know that. Tearing down your father’s kingdom just might be the greatest thing you could do for that boy’s future.

You were in the Palace when you were young, watching money exchange hands and card games be stacked. You could count cards before you could fasten your own dress buttons. Your father didn’t raise you to be his successor but the Barrel raised you to outdo him.

It was a trick, to lure you into some sort of mutiny or double cross. If you walked away now, you risked the Snakes. You’d leave Inej at Pekka’s mercy. The rumors of Heleen’s death coming at the hands of the Crows were already in full swing. Wanted posters were all over Ketterdam. Stadwatch was in your family’s pocket.

Kaz and his friends were doomed unless you stayed put and began unraveling your father’s empire from the inside. So you bit your tongue.

It didn’t take long for your father to clear the Dregs out of the former Crow Club. Dime Lions took up the positions quickly and the place was as busy as ever. You occupied Kaz’s former office and it felt strange to put it lightly.

You were haunted by his presence in that room, despite him being completely out of the country. It seemed like everywhere you were, you heard his voice. You remembered some interaction with him in that room. His DeKappel still hung on the wall and there were several instances where you simply stared at it. If you stared long enough, you could almost imagine the leather of his gloves against your hand.

Everything about you had changed in those few short days. You’d gone missing from the Poisoned Rook entirely. Your last words to Kol were for him and Melli to manage it while Adrin and Stephan alternated at the door in his absence.

Your hair was still the altered, shadowy red, but it was now neatly braided and pinned out of your face. You wore much nicer clothes, more like your father’s, though he couldn’t take the Grisha made vest from underneath it. And it was easy enough to stash blades up your fitted long sleeves. You had to add rogue to your cheeks and darken your lashes. When you asked your father what all the fuss was about with your appearance, he said that there were certain expectations of a Rollins. Anything less was unacceptable.

When you managed to wear your cloak, it was simply for dramatics or just the comfortable weight on your shoulders. You didn’t hide in the shadows of its hood. You weren’t allowed to.

It was as if the Hood didn’t exist anymore.

You were merely your father’s puppet at that point. A pawn he was playing until you would quit and give him the deed to the new Kaelish Prince. But you could not yield. You were too stubborn for that, too loyal to Kaz, too ready to give up everything for the people you loved.

You were walking the floor one night, almost a week since Kaz left. You hadn’t heard any news, not that you knew which country to pay attention to, and you were beginning to dread. It was possible that he was dead, that they were all dead, or they had failed so they weren’t coming back. Maybe he was reworking his plan and finding a new way to bring back enough kruge to free Inej.

You were dressed in darker clothes, more like what you wore prior to your reclaim of the Rollins family, with your cloak around your shoulders. You were going out as soon as your father left. The man was spending most nights at the Kaelish Prince, as if he needed to watch you. He did, and you both knew it, but neither of you would address it.

You had plans to sneak into two places. The first being your home building. There was an explanation you owed Melli and you had it written in a rushed note, safely tucked away in your cloak’s knife sheath. You wouldn’t be able to talk to her. You wouldn’t be able to leave her again if you did, so the note was your only option.

The second was the Menagerie. You were going to tear through every file, every drawer, every stack of paper in that cursed building to find Inej’s papers and burn them.

“Look at that.” A Lion pointed across the room. The man was assigned to be your guard. You figured it out by the way he was always less than ten feet away. Whether it was to keep you in the Kaelish Prince or keep you safe, you didn’t know. It wouldn’t make a difference.

You could just see the familiar face yelling about something you couldn’t hear near the door.

“Ah!” Your father seemed delighted. “Mellaney’s returned! Maybe she’ll want to join us for a few drinks. Davi, care to do the honors?”

“She shouldn’t be here.” You sighed. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Not so fast.” He said flatly and the guard took a step closer. “How do I know this isn’t a ploy?”

“I haven’t talked to her in a week. If there’s any plan, it’s hers and I can stop it before she does anything. If it was the Heartrender boy, it’d be different, but it’s Melli…”

Your father clearly wasn’t convinced.

“I can get rid of her. She’ll listen to me.” You nearly begged. “Papa, please. Let me talk to her. I’m the one she’s looking for anyway. It’ll be the last time.”

“Alright.” He shrugged slightly and nodded. “What harm could it do, eh? Make it quick.”

It took all your self-control to not run to your friend. You grabbed her arm and pulled her to a quieter corner.

“What are you doing here?” She asked in a panic. “What happened to the Crow Club? Does Kaz know about this?”

“It’s alright, Mel.” You said calmly, though you knew your own panic was obvious in your eyes. All you could think was that she shouldn’t be there.“I chose to be here.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because… There’s so much more than I can tell you right now.”

“What are you wearing?” She frowned at your new clothes. “And your face! Since when do you-“

“Right now, you need to go home and talk to Kol. Tell him everything is alright and I’m where I need to be.”

“I’m not leaving.” She argued. “You tell me and Kol to look after things and then you disappear! I thought you were dead until I was walking by and saw you in here, smiling with Pekka!”

“We all have our roles to play in this.” You said urgently.

“So what’s yours then, Princess?”

You frowned at her use of the street name. Why couldn’t she see that you couldn’t speak freely in that place?

“Right now, you need to be my successor with the Snakes. Name Kol your lieutenant. Keep them alive and away from this.”

“Don’t do this, Vina.” She whispered.

“You’ve heard the rumors about Kaz and his friends, Mel. Who do you think started them?”

“Pekka can’t control Stadwatch.” She shook her head, as if that would be enough to make that statement true.

“You’d be surprised.” You sighed. “This is a risk I have to take. It’ll make sense soon.”

Your arms were tight around Melli. You knew once you let go, she’d be gone. You doubted you’d get to see her again, not until it was all over at least, so you memorized everything in that moment. You memorized how her arms wrapped around you, how her hair felt against your cheek, how her shoulders shook with her quiet cries.

One of the Lions cleared their throat behind you, signaling that your farewell was over. You forced yourself to pull away. Melli sniffled, her eyes brimming with tears. You let your own fall freely as you undid your cloak and pinned it around her shoulders instead. You patted the spot over the empty sheath. There was a slight crinkle of paper and you felt the folded edge through the fabric.

Maybe Melli felt it too.

You turned away and followed the Lion back to your fathers side, letting out one long and shaky breath to regain your composure. All you could do was hope she’d find the note and be able to forgive you when all was said and done.

You didn’t want to think about what earning Kaz’s forgiveness would take now.

dearest melli,

you know me better than anyone. you know i wouldnt have made this choice if i didn’t think it was what was best. trust me when i tell you that this was in everyones best interest. i have to protect you and kol and the rest of the snakes. you are their leader now. theyll look to you and kol. it should be a smooth transition, especially once word gets out about me.

the princess returning to the king because she couldn’t stand on her own. all ive done is give my father more power when i just wanted to keep my word to kaz and keep you safe. what a mess ive made this time, huh?

when the crows come to you (and i know they will) take them in with open arms. welcome them as if you were me. protect them as long as you can, please. they have nowhere else. distract them if they ask about me. they cant know what ive done until i can explain it myself. but truthfully melli i dont know if there is a way to explain this.

this decision will be my last stand. i will not back down. i will not turn away. i will face this and all its consequences head on. i will show my father who ive become, who he had forced me to be.

if this is what finally kills me, you need to know that i love you, melli. you are my family and i wish i knew another way out. tell kol i love him, too. and yes, you can tell kaz the same. (he might not believe you or seem to care) i dont regret anything that brought me here.

i leave this next message for you. not kol. not adrin. not any other snake or any crow. only you. after reading this, you have to destroy at least this part. tear it into tiny pieces and burn it if you have to. it can never be found.

i write this in hopes that you will understand the weight of all the decisions ive made up to this point. when i was young, i knew kaz and his brother. yes, he had a brother. kaz was my first crush, him and his brother my only friends, and my father ran a con that took everything from them. kaz lost his brother (and his childhood) to the plague soon after. i didnt know until it was too late. that is why i left my father. that is why ive always tried to keep things right with kaz. and i relived that all when the lions had you.

and lastly, whatever you do, do not let anyone touch the safe. kol knows where it is. everything falls apart if that’s lost.

blink last, die tomorrow - DMR xx

You were praying Kaz was having better luck than you.

Meanwhile, Kaz was not.

It was a job with odds stacked against him. He knew that much going into it, but dammit all if he wasn’t convinced his Crows could pull it off. He ended up in over his head. Every plan he made unraveled before his eyes so they were returning to Ketterdam empty-handed.

“So… We’re going to Davs for help, yeah?” Jesper asked on the ship ride back.

Inej looked at Kaz with a knowing expression. He let it slip that Heleen would get the Club and Inej if they failed. But Kaz recognized something else in her expression, something knowing and hopeful. He knew she was hiding something since before they left, but he hadn’t given it enough thought to figure out what exactly it was.

“We don’t need Davina.” Kaz muttered. “We’ll manage. We always do.”

“Alright, but…” Jesper tried and Kaz sighed loudly in annoyance. “It’s an option.”

“She is resourceful.” Inej added carefully. Whatever she was hiding, it had to do with Davina. “And she cares about what happens to us.”

“Us?” Jesper snorted. “She cares about Kaz. We’re only involved by association.”

“That’s not true.” Inej frowned. “I’m sure if either of us asked her for help, she wouldn’t hesitate.”

“And are you only bringing that up because you saved her life so she owes you?” Kaz countered. “Or is that just coincidence?”

“She saved yours, too.” Inej shot back. “You would’ve bled out if she hadn’t offered her home. Her bed. Her Healer.”

Kaz scoffed slightly.

“Her Heartrender’s quite the looker.” Jesper said casually. “You think they ever-” Inej kicked Jesper in the shin before he could finish.

“No.” She said firmly. “Kol has eyes for the lieutenant, Melli.”

“Melli’s cute, too.” Jesper shrugged.

“No one’s hosting a beauty contest in the Barrel so looks don’t exactly help any goal.” Kaz muttered.

“Honestly, I think that’s why word got around that you two spent a night or two together.” Jesper continued. “Couple pretty things like you two? It’s fair to assume.”

“Shut up, Jesper.” Kaz sighed.

He would never admit any sort of thoughts of Davina, only ones where she was involved with her father’s demise, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. He thought of her voice when he couldn’t sleep, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, the way she fussed over him after the cafe. He’d never wanted anyone the way he did Davina.

She changed everything. The Saints never listened to him. He’d accepted that long ago. Even still, he’d fall to his knees and beg them to let him keep her if it came to it. She used to be his secondary phantom, following him the way Jordie did, reminders of another life come and gone. She was a bane to his existence, then he all but felt the ground shift and suddenly, she was the center of it.

“Hello?” Jesper was waving a hand in front of his face for his attention. “You weren’t listening.” His friend frowned.

Inej smiled to herself, like she knew exactly where Kaz’s mind went. If anyone would know, it would have to be Inej.

Kaz decided to ignore them both.

“He was thinking.” Inej answered teasingly.

“About what? About how we’re not coming back with our haul? Or how we barely escaped certain death?”

“Couldn't you tell by the glint in his eye?”

“Honestly, it looks the same as when he gets murder-y.”

“No, that’s the lovestruck look.”

“He has one of those?”

“He’s planning what he’ll say to Davina. He’ll need quite the speech.”

“For what?” Kaz gave in.

“To actually thank her for not letting you die.” Inej said pointedly.

“You didn’t thank her?” Jesper was shocked.

Kaz thought for a moment. Hadn’t he?

“No.” He confessed. “She went on some rant about how we shouldn't have been there and then said something about…”

Kaz wasn’t going to finish that. She didn’t exactly say Jordie’s name but the intent was clear. That hurt him more than any bullet wound.

“Right.” Jesper nodded slowly. “I forgot about your little lover’s quarrel.”

“Why are you so interested in Davina’s help?” Kaz asked, looking to shift focus off of him.

“She’s the only person that’s ever tried to help us. That’s worth something.” Jesper answered.

“If you’re not,” Inej began, that ‘matter of fact’ tone in her voice. “Why did you visit Davina?”

“I didn’t.” Kaz lied.

“You did. Two nights before we left, you went to her office.”

“Were you watching me?”

“Answer the question, Kaz.” Jesper added.

“I only went to ensure she didn’t make a move on Pekka while we were gone. If anyone’s taking that man down, it’s me.”

Jesper and Inej shared a look, but thankfully the conversation ended.

When they returned to Ketterdam, everything was wrong. Kaz felt it as soon as they stepped off the ship, but it only became clear when they saw the Crow Club renamed as the Kaelish Prince.

Somehow, Davina had failed and Kaz lost everything.

“We’re going to Davina.” Kaz said firmly.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Analysis: Of Mice and Men (Characters)

GEORGE

George, a ranch hand, is Lennie's caretaker.

He is normally good-natured, but angers easily, especially if someone is threatening Lennie.

George seeks the American Dream in the form of land where he and Lennie can live without having to answer to anyone.

His life is unduly complicated by his role as Lennie’s protector, but he accepts his responsibility and appreciates Lennie’s companionship.

He emphasizes the rare nature of his and Lennie’s friendship, explaining that “[g]uys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world…. With us it ain’t like that” (15).

Their relationship and their dream of a better future sets them apart from other ranch hands, but it also makes them vulnerable to violence and loss. 

LENNIE

Lennie is described as “a huge man…[with] wide sloping shoulders” (2).

The text implies that he is developmentally disabled.

Lennie relies on George for his care, and he describes their friendship in the following terms: “I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you” (15).

He repeatedly asks George to tell him the story of their dream farm and expresses his desire to raise rabbits.

Lennie’s love for soft animals demonstrates his gentle nature, but due to his enormous size and strength, he inadvertently harms animals and people.

Ultimately, Lennie is vulnerable in a society that refuses to understand or accept him. 

CANDY

One of the oldest workers on the ranch, Candy lost one of his hands in a work related accident.

His biggest fear is that he will outlive his usefulness, and he will be kicked off the ranch with no place to go.

He expresses regret at the death of his sole companion, saying that “I shouldn’t ought to have let no stranger shoot my dog” (67).

This possibly inspires George’s later decision to kill Lennie himself.

After hearing about the piece of land that George and Lennie plan to buy, Candy offers to give them all of the money in his savings if they will let him live with them.

This gives Candy something to hope for, though things do not go as planned. 

CANDY'S DOG

This former sheepdog is incredibly old, with no teeth and advanced rheumatism.

Carlson insists that keeping the dog alive is cruel, so Candy allows Carlson to shoot the dog in the back of the head.

The death of Candy's dog foreshadows other events that eventually transpire in the story; additionally, this moment functions as commentary on society’s treatment of elderly and disabled individuals.

CURLEY

Curley is one of the main antagonists in the novel.

As the Boss's son, Curley treats the ranch hands in a very condescending manner.

Since he is a short man, Curley is angered and provoked by those who happen to be bigger than him, implying that he has to prove his own strength and superiority.

Additionally, he brags about wearing a glove full of Vaseline to keep his hand soft for his new wife.

Nearly all of the workers dislike him and poke fun at him behind his back. Curley attacks Lennie because he is jealous of Lennie's enormous stature, but he ends up having his hand crushed after Lennie squeezes it too hard.

Curley is representative of land owners who hold power over those of a lower economic class. 

CURLEY'S WIFE

She is the only female character who physically appears in the story.

The unnamed wife of Curley is viewed with thinly-veiled disgust by the workers.

The workers claim that she already has a wandering eye for other men, despite only being married a few weeks.

It is implied that she constantly seeks out male attention to relieve her solitude. Like the male characters who are consumed by isolation, Curley's wife is both lonely and regretful.

She says that she could have been in movies or magazines if she had not married Curley.

It seems that she only married Curley to escape her domineering mother, who did not let her go to Hollywood.

Ultimately, she is trapped by her circumstances and by societal expectations of women. 

SLIM

A quiet, observant man, Slim is portrayed as the true authority figure on the ranch.

While the other workers listen to the boss and Curley because they have to, they listen to Slim because they respect him as a worker and as a person.

He gently convinces Candy that it is time to give up his dog, and may be partially responsible for George's action at the end of the story.

Slim is the only character on the ranch who understands the bond between Lennie and George.

CROOKS

Crooks is the only African-American on the ranch, and he has a crooked spine.

Due to prejudice that he faces for his race and physical disability, Crooks lives by himself in the barn.

He is described as proud and aloof, but readers learn that he acts this way due to aching loneliness.

Crooks is secretly happy when Candy and Lennie come to visit him, and even allows himself to momentarily believe that he too will live on their little piece of land.

However, after Curley’s wife threatens him, Crooks “reduce[s] himself to nothing....no personality, no ego” (89).

This scene demonstrates that Crooks withdraws into himself as a form of defense against racist attacks.

He realizes that even if George, Lennie, and Candy let him live with them, it would never really work out the way he wanted because of his extreme ostracism.

CARLSON

Carlson comes across as a bitter and self-centered man.

He is the ranch hand who proposes the idea of killing Candy’s dog.

He expresses society's view that the old and disabled are of no practical use and can easily be eliminated.

AUNT CLARA

While Aunt Clara is not a physical character in the story, she serves as a powerful memory for both George and Lennie.

She took Lennie in as a child, and on her deathbed asked George to look after Lennie for her.

THE BOSS

The boss plays a very minor part in the story, only appearing in the first part of the book to interrogate George and Lennie when they arrive for their first day of work.

He is curious about George always answering for Lennie and thinks that something suspicious is going on.

WHIT

A ranch hand who had a minor part in the story.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[hekateinhell]

Armand, having his priorities in order and being highly relatable in TVA:

I looked off, wanting the quiet, dreaming of bowers suddenly, not in words but in images, the way my old mind would do it, wanting to lie down in garden beds among growing flowers, wanting to press my face to earth and sing softly to myself.

"They could see nothing green here, and it's spring outside, southern spring. I can smell it through the walls. I want to look just for a moment on flowers. To kill, to drink blood and to have flowers."

I also love anything that tells us about the way Armand processes the world (i.e., how his 'old mind' used to think in images only). We know the 'Marius & The Flowers' chapter in PL and his gardens in B&G pretty well, but flower imagery and symbolism actually come up quite a bit with Armand also throughout TVC.

The rather erotic illusion he projects to Lestat in TVL:

Hell and heaven, or both made one, vampires in a paradise drinking blood from the very flowers that hung, pendulous and throbbing, from the trees. I felt a wave of disgust. It was as if he [Armand] had come into my private dreams like a succubus.

Perhaps my favorite, the mental garden he creates for Daniel in QotD as the last thing he'll ever be able to share with him through their telepathic connection:

Their voices carried over the garden. Such roses and chrysanthemums, how enormous they were. And light poured from the doorways of the Villa of the Mysteries. Was there music playing? Why, the whole ruined place was brilliantly illuminated under the incandescent blue of the night sky.

"So you would have me break my vow. You would have what you think you want. But look well at this garden, because once I do it, you'll never read my thoughts or see my visions again. A veil of silence will come down."

"But we'll be brothers, don't you see?" Daniel asked.

Armand stood so close to him they were almost kissing. The flowers were crushed against them, huge drowsing yellow dahlias and white gladioli, such lovely drenching perfume. They had stopped beneath a dying tree in which the wisteria grew wild. Its delicate blossoms shivered in clusters, its great twining arms white as bone.

Armand in TVA describing the disintegration of his relationship with Daniel as he saw it, with love as something that blooms like a flower (and something that sometimes fails to do so):

There was never any innocence for us, there was never any springtime. There was never any chance, no matter how beautiful the twilight gardens in which we wandered. Our souls were out of tune, our desires crossed and our resentments too common and too well watered for the final flowering.

[rosykims]

please tell us more about your second worldstate!!! 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 i'm so intrigued by your ocs and i saw you mentioning playing amell currently

thank u for asking omg !!!! i have 3 worldstates loosely planned out which is a Lot for me since i have a tendency to get deeply (perhaps pathologically) attached to one worldstate and one pc lol. but im being brave abt it !

worldstate 1 is my canon worldstate, and the overarching theme for it is self-mythology/loss of personhood. i wont go into detail since i yap enough abt them already lol but i have elspeth (warrior f!cousland romancing alistair) cillian (a rogue m!hawke romancing anders) and ashara (a mage f!lavellan romancing/redeeming solas) all going into datv head first. my canon datv pc will likely be an elven archer f!rook romancing either davrin or taash hehe <3

second worldstate is all mages and obv thats the main theme i wanna have fun with

lucander amell (he/him, blood mage and spirit healer, romances morrigan) unassuming, distant, and polite and also kind of unnerving. used to being seen as a bad guy and is willing to act accordingly, but otherwise is a pretty decent, honorable man. does morrigan's ritual, kills the archdemon, leaves alistair a grey warden. doesn't become warden commander in awakening bc he goes into hiding from the wardens before they can ask too many questions abt the ritual and why hes still alive. he tracks down morrigan in the hopes of protecting her, and then stays with her and their son after that.

cecilia hawke (she/her, spirit healer mage, romances fenris) a blue!hawke who's sweet and motherly and soft spoken and has an enormous guilt complex/self hate for being a mage lol. carver joins the templars, and she later sides with them in act 3 and kills anders which </3 anyways. she survives here lies the abyss in dai and hopefully goes on to attend biweekly couples therapy with fenris <3

thomasin trevelyan (SOFTEST of launches on that name) (she/her, knight enchanter mage, romances cullen. maybe.) socially adept, politically cunning, with a love for the game and a desire to regain her place within the trevelyan family nobility. sides with the mages, doesn't drink from the well, negotiates a truce between celene/gaspard/briala, pardons the wardens, redeems solas, disbands the inquisition post trespasser. shes a good girl and she's got her head on straight!

might do a qunari f!rook mage to romance taash or davrin for datv! we'll see !

lastly my third worldstate places value on the eluvians so its very elfy or at least elf-adjacent. and also the lineage of ameridan > garahel > maherial and so on. i just think its neat . still VERY much underdeveloped tho so no names yet

f!mahariel, she/her, an archer who romances leliana (prev tamlen :c) who dies killing the archdemon

half elven f!hawke mage, romancing merrill!! she sides with the mages but probably still kills anders :( shaking my head in disgust so u can tell i do not approve of this choice ..........

an m!trevelyan warrior romancing ?????????????? IDK. cass maybe. this is going to be exclusively a 'piss off solas' speedrun so hes siding with the templars, putting gaspard on the throne, doing war crimes, etc. wont be redeeming him i fear </3

i hate to say it. i HATE to say it. but if there's a way for me to make a solasmancing rook for datv i Will find a way in this worldstate for the comedic effect of antagonizing my m!trev. even if its just thru headcanons exclusively lol

[venusinmyrrh]

working title: pine and pitch and dragon’s blood

this is the story of a princess, a tyrant king, a heroic rebellion, and a wise mentor... depending on who you ask. it is also the story of a gallant king, a foolish old mentor, a rebellion as petty and cruel as it is idealistic, and a princess who went mad. most of all, it is the story of a dragon— and whether dragons are born or made.

the enormity of my desire disgusts me

[swifty-fox]

priest gale makes me crazy i wanna put him in a jar and then dissect him like a bug.

no but seriously he is so fascinating to me, his internal debate between allowing himself pleasure and letting the desire fester, ooh i wanna gnaw on him

John Ghostwrote this.

AS PER USUAL.... Little Beasts is inspired by Richard Siken and his absolutely amazing ability to write the violence of desire.

“I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.”

(this quote has stuck w me for yearrrrrrs)

I love the play between our baseline desires vs. societal pressure and expectations or in Gale's case, a fear of intensity of emotion. He comes from an abused background, strong emotions were something to be feared for a NUMBER of reasons and so he's spent so long repressing his he doesn't know how to handle the way John is able to bring them all to the surface. Nobody prepared him for this okay.

Some John observations in the sequel:

It’s a thrill. To hear Gale ask for what he wants, to know John is peeling back the layers of repression, at least a bit, to reach the hungry creature beneath.

*

There was a hungry desperation to Gale that felt so achingly familiar. Perhaps not a mirror but at the very least a twin to the own ravenous shadows of him.

*

He’d seen it, the way Gale's eyes glazed as he recited his hymns, the way his eyes would flick to the door of the church during mass when he thought nobody was looking. John wondered if he thought about making a mad break for it, or wouldn’t even let his imagination get that far. A rabbit in a trap that it had turned into its home.

*

There’s defiance in every line of him as if he hadn’t just invited John into the chicken coop.

*

 Gale’s stubborn refusal to give a single inch of ground, even when it would only encourage John to keep pushing. Maybe that was the point, a plausible deniability to his actions that kept Gale thinking he was the poor virginal princess beset by a wolf.

*

He wasn’t sure if the blonde even noticed the way he came alive at John’s pigtail pulling; the way his lips parted and he turned to face him full on. A boxer squaring up for the match. He wanted John to throw the punch, just to give him an excuse to hit back.

John sees Gale and Gale doesn't like it and he also LOVES it and he's got a lot of complex feelings about it.

one more Siken quote for good measure

You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do long division, and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn't do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn't matter anymore.” -Richard Siken

[melancholic-academia]

The blue of love --------------------

Love for me has always been blue.

Maybe because i never got it back. I got the part where love brings melancholia and longing with it but never the happy part. That part was shattered everytime.

The blue seeps into my skin. I'd bleed the blue oflove ifi cut myself. Somewhere on some moonless night, i feel in love with the blue and i never wanted to get out of it. Maddening blue. Lonely blue. Everlasting blue. To drown in the longing because that was all i had of love.

I was embarrassingly, shamefully, childishly desperate for love. Like a dog huffing in front of it's owner's feet asking him to throw the bone again so that it can go and fetch it again.

A hungry person will eat anything. So i eat the blue.

Hunger has grown ugly in me. It has claws and teeth. It is ugly and ashamed to be looked at.

Just running around looking for a home in abandoned houses.

Wretched desire fogs my brain and i can't distinguish real from the imagined. I knew it wasn't right and i wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way but i couldn't. I look at myself in the mirror and a starving, heidious monster looks back with bloodied hands trying to rip apart it's own chest.

I stood there, helpless, ashamed, staring back at it.

The enormity of my desire disgusted me.

~@melancholicacademia on Instagram

[usaghinanami99]

how are you into devilman

Fine, thanks, how about you? Kidding, kidding. I know what you're asking (and I know I'm late answering...): I don't seem like the type of person that would post about something like Devilman, right? Well, the reason behind my getting into it is actually the simplest you can think of: as the most cursory glance at my blog can show, I am an animanga nerd (and for many other things too, but that's a story for another day). I've also been a literary nerd since my dad taught me to read, and now I'm a Literarure student, to boot. My burning passion for literary creation and, crucially, for acquiring knowledge about it (through reading it first-hand, of course) thus plays an enormous part in the way I read and/or watch non-literary texts, which I never choose to engage with any less seriously than I'd do with anything else. And, well, you know how there are some books that you can't not read if you want to understand the literary history of a particular country and/or language? When the medium we're concerning ourselves with is manga, then we can't not read Devilman the same way we can't not read Astro Boy, Attack no. 1, The roses of Versailles or dozens other milestones in the history of Japanese comic that I can't list here and now. I've known that Devilman was among these required readings for a long time, because its immense importance was always referenced in all the books and magazines about the history of manga that I devoured as a Gymnasium student. And my curiosity only grew with the years, because the comic book shop I was a regular at couldn't obviously sell me a series with such a high age rating before I turned 18. You can add to that the fact that I thought I was already well-acquainted with Gō Nagai, when in fact I was only familiar with family-friendly animated adaptations of his most famous works. This is because since around the age of 7 I had watched and rewatched the Robotic Trilogy anime (which consists of Mazinger Z, Great Mazinger and UFO Robot Grendizer), as well as the unrelated Jeeg Robot, be it via some of the very frequent TV reruns or via videotapes that my mum had recorded at the end of the last century. Grendizer, in particular, is very dear to my mum because she grew up on it during the late 70's, so to put is shortly she made it so it could become a part of my childhood too. (Off-topic side note: she was very excited when news of the upcoming Grendizer U reboot aired on TV, but I fear she'll be disappointed due to it being written by the same Ichirō Ōkōchi who's brought us Devilman Crybaby...) Putting it simply: I knew I liked these anime series so I thought I liked Gō Nagai, which fostered my desire to read this all-important but forbidden Gō Nagai manga that I kept on reading about. How things have changed... It may be repeated too much, but it's just because it's true: no one respects Gō Nagai more than those who only known him cursorily through Tōē Dōga's classic adaptations of his giant robot stories, but no one hates Gō Nagai more than those who have actually endured reading his manga.

This was just the needlessly long story behind why, as you can see, I had the moral duty to read Devilman. Flash forward to early 2017, I turn 18, I go to the comic book shop, I buy Devilman, I return home, I read Devilman, I am traumatised, I begrudgingly recognise its genius, I am still disgusted, I develop a (probably unhealthy) love-hate relationship with this manga. Not with Gō Nagai though, that one is a pure hate relationship. BTW, you can imagine how shocked I was when I discovered that my childhood fave Tōkyō Mew Mew was secretly a Devilman retelling; I am just glad I hadn't yet watched stuff like, say, Neon genesis Evangelion before reading Devilman, but this just proved how right I was about there being some manga that should be required reading before passing on to... well, everything else.

I unfortunately suffer from a terminal form of completism syndrome, which is how I ended up searching Japanese blogs for info about those silly pachinko cutscenes that have sparked your question. But in fact, Devilman may very well be what is slowly curing me, since I was so horrified from some of the later official material I've read, not even mitigated by the redeeming virtues of the original manga, that more and more I'm starting to reconsider my stance about having to read and watch *everything* about any particular franchise I get into. I wish I didn't have to learn this the hard way, though... and that I had some brain bleach handy, sigh. Yes, I hate Gō Nagai. Yes, I hate almost all the non-70's Devilman stuff that I've read or watched so far (to the point that I don't know whether to go on or not). Yes, sometimes I wish I could warn my younger self. But historical knowledge is one of the things I value most and, if I hadn't read this foundational title, what sort of pseudo manga fan would I be today? And I love Ryō Asuka to death - don't we all? - along with many future characters and stories by different authors that he paved the way for. These are the two things that I reckon make it worth it to be into something as infuriating and terrifying as Devilman.

[xynchronicity]

@blackwatchxbandit asked: ❝The enormity of my desire disgusts me.❞

"Disgusts you?" The Oni chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment, cowboy." He's smirking behind his mask, "Do I invade your every thought? Do I keep you from being able to focus on missions? Too distracted with shadows to see the enemies lurking around the corner?" Oh, the fun he'll have with Cassidy.

[itsrainyheart]

i can't seem to remember the last time i dreamt, yet every day feels like a dream. i wouldn't want to call it dissociation because my awareness denies me this pleasure; even though defining is limiting, sometimes i wonder how it feels to fit in a definition, without the ifs and the buts. human beings are paradoxical. she loves me, she loves me not, no, she loves me more than i can bear so i push her away and then feel guilty about being a deplorable being (or im just 16); i tell him i don't want him but i never know what i desire, so how can i be so sure? the day goes by, crying and wailing but a few words from her feel like a beam of light in a space darker than the ever consuming one inside me. the enormity of my desire disgusts me. but they always tell you to dream big and the moment you do, they ask you to put your foot on the ground because life's gruesome, we never get what we want. i position myself in front of the mirror, look in her eyes, at the crook of her neck, the stomach, the body she can't provide to. it is to say, that i've never been a natural and all i do is try but in reality perhaps, all i was, was a natural and i never did try. the biggest joke is, i don't remember being young at all, i was always this old, always aching, always decaying. maybe the real tragedy is having to let go what you never knew, what never was yours. you are fine. this is fine. and your life's a long line of fine.

[jakedamikasa]

Continuation Mommy Issues

Mikasa x Male trans

– I was afraid, afraid of the conversation we would have, a million thoughts appeared about, could it be that she saw me smoking? I don't even smoke. Did she see me drinking? I don't even drink. Did she see me walking the streets at dawn? she doesn't even go out at that time. Did she find out about my relationship with Mikasa? Did she find out I'm not a mama's girl? All these thoughts were running through my head, but the last two scared me, a lot. I keep my bike in a corner of the garage, my hands were sweating cold, I was shivering a little, I sigh and open the door slowly but unfortunately it makes a noise -I know it's you, come here now- says a voice coming from the kitchen, I knew it was the woman, I take the backpack off my back and leave it on the sofa, I walk to the kitchen door, but I don't go through, I didn't want to go through, I didn't want to go, I knew something would happen , I knew it was all going to start again. I go through the door, the woman was sitting in the chair at the table with her cell phone open, from afar I couldn't see straight -Sit down- the woman asks, I pull the chair and sit down in front of her, the woman looks at me, her gaze red from crying -Why?- she asks -Answer me [Dead name], why?- she asks again looking deep into my eyes capturing my every movement -Mom, I don't know what you're talking about- I answer -Now you're going to pretend to be silly with your mother!!?- She raises her voice making me shrug -You need to calm down and seek therapy to help you- I say trying to make my voice steady -Me? Why do you say that, I'm fine! - she exclaims - You, besides being destroying your psychological, are also destroying mine too – the woman raises an eyebrow -What do you mean? I give you everything, I give you water, food, clothes.- I just keep silent, it wasn't worth arguing with that kind of person - I found out everything, [dead name] or [name]- when my name comes out of your mouth , I feel my heart racing, she slides the phone towards me, when I flicked my eyes across the screen I just wanted to disappear in the moment, there were pictures and videos of me and Mikasa, I couldn't move -Explain to me [dead name], ME EXPLAIN WHAT THOSE ARE!!- the woman gets up slamming her hands on the table with force -I give you everything, I gave you love, affection, attention for you to be with a disgusting woman and still keeps saying that she is a boy, that she identifies as a boy- said -Do you give me love? kindness? attention? You never gave me any of that, NEVER- I retort raising my voice -And you respect my girlfriend, unlike you they respect me!- I mean referring to my friends -You lower your voice with me! I'm your mother and I was the one who brought you into this world! - She says starting to approach me, I quickly get up and leave the kitchen being accompanied by the woman -You say mother but you don't even know how to do the least that every mother does! My father, even though he was absent, he certainly wouldn't be an idiot like you - the woman is surprised by the words, her eyes transmit anger, the angry woman hits my chest hard, pushing me hard, catching me off guard, I fall to the ground scared, shaking , with a pain in the chest and an enormous desire to cry

-IF YOUR FATHER REALLY CARES ABOUT YOU HE WOULD ASK YOU TO LIVE WITH HIM, DO YOU REALLY THINK THESE FRIENDS CARE ABOUT YOU? THEY WILL JUST USE YOU AND YOUR DISGUSTING LITTLE GIRLFRIEND WILL LEAVE YOU AT THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY - she spits out all these words, it hurt me, it hurt me deeply like it was knives with sharp blades, still on the ground I scream back -YOU DON'T TALK ABOUT THEM THAT WAY YOUR BREAKDOWN- I curse her, something I never had the courage to say in front of her, the woman approaches me and grabs my neck - HERE'S THE NEXT, YOU DON'T TALK TO YOUR MOM THAT WAY, I PUT YOU INTO THIS WORLD AND I CAN IF I WANT TAKE IT OUT!!!- Loosen my neck -You will never be a real boy, you were born a girl, a woman!! I will always see you as my daughter, if you have these things about being a boy, let it be far from my house, far from me- she walks away and goes back to the kitchen, I get up from the floor, grab my backpack and run up to my room, I open my wardrobe and take my clothes and stuff them in my backpack. I run out of my room with my backpack ready -I HATE YOU, I JUST WANTED A MOM- I shout for the woman to hear and slam the front door hard

– Tears were running down my cheeks, I wiped them off but they wouldn't stop, I don't care about the speed of the bike my mixed feelings, anger, sadness, thoughts of self-harm, feeling useless, disgusting, stupid. I desperately knock on the door which is soon answered by Eren, his expression of boredom turned to one of concern, he pulls me by the arm putting me inside, he sat me on the couch and started asking me countless questions but he did not receive any answers, he looks for on the cell phone but he doesn't think so, he runs to his room to get it but when he returns to the room he notices me disappearing, he goes into despair and goes to the bathroom but when she tries to open the door it was locked. Was it true? Are they using me? My father didn't care about me? Would I ever get to be a real boy? SHIT! THE TALKS OF THAT WOMAN HIT ME, I hold my hair pulling the strands hard -You useless, you useless- I started repeating in a low voice, my body was shaking like hell, I couldn't breathe properly, when I least realized it the bathroom door was open and a female figure enters, Mikasa without thinking twice hugs me tight, her warm and warm arms gave me a little comfort -She's right, I never I'll be a real boy, I'm a complete useless- I comment -Hey, hey, hey who said you're not a real boy?- Mikasa asks -That woman, she said horrible things to me, she said she never I'll be a real boy, that my father never cared about me that my friends and you will abandon me, she assaulted me… - my throat dry, failing miserably to continue, I just bury my head in her chests and cry even harder -That bastard you don't know what you're talking about, she's not your real mother, if she really was, it wouldn't be such a stick up your ass. Baby, I will never, never leave you, me, Eren and Armin will never do that, Eren called me desperate saying that you locked yourself in the bathroom crying and saying something, Armin and I came running here. We all care about you just like you care about us- she says stroking my hair, she sits on the bathroom floor and puts me sitting on her lap -You are our big boy, I love you so much honey, you are the boy more and stronger than I know, every day I remember how lucky I am to have you with me, I wanted to protect you and all the bad, from the break-ins that hurt you.- your words comfort me, my heart warms and little by little I I stop shaking, I just stay silent listening to every beat of your heart, I snuggle closer into your chest and I feel a huge desire to sleep, I'm happy to know that even everything was falling I had people by my side, I'm totally grateful for them - I love you too- I speak softly, soon falling asleep, the only thing I remember was his low laugh and his grip around me tightening.

[bronzebtch]

the enormity of my desire disgusts me — and thus, please do imagine rhea looking at your muse with so much longing but with no words that she could ever confess it with. wishing she could ask someone to stay, to want, but my god, is she ashamed of them. mouth open and closing, settling instead for a small smile; fingers itching to touch, but doesn't. she stands up straight instead, chin upwards, proud - have a safe journey ahead. ( but think of me sometimes. think of me the way i've never been thought of before. )

[nobodyssoldier]

i. a web weaving

I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it — living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.

ii. digging deeper

name: altan server polat

age: 25

former house: slytherin

blood status: halfblood

face claim: enes kocak (ask for alternatives)

allegiance: the knights of the round table

gender & pronouns: utp

special notes: altan server polat's canon name is albus severus potter. it has been changed to better reflect his face claim's ethnicity.

you are your father's son; a legacy carved from shadow and grief. you did not inherit his legend, but you inherited his ghosts. where darkness was thrust upon him, yours lived within. golden heroism passed you by, leaving still deeper wounds in its wake; you have his worst parts: his sullen silences, his sharp-edged snark, his loneliness. anxiety and depression envelop you like a hallowed cloak. a second skin of spectres weighs heavy on your shoulders — invisible to others, but insistent nonetheless.

your siblings burn bright with fire and nerve, but you're spun from secrets, midnight thoughts, and careful steps. there's power in being overlooked. your talents lie not on the battlefield but in guile and strategy. you’ve learned to craft your words into weapons. arrogant wit your shield, irreverent sarcasm your sword. each cutting remark is a carefully crafted potion, precise and potent. your magic mirrors your nature. it's thoughtful, moving like water rather than fire. it seeps into cracks, seeking out the path of least resistance. you excel at the subtle arts. you're drawn to the darkness not out of any nefarious intent, but out of curiosity. you want to understand and perhaps, in doing so, to understand yourself.

your perfectionism is a heavy burden. behind every raised eyebrow and drawled correction lies a childish need to prove your worth — to show that you belong in this family, even if you've chosen a different path. you preferred dungeons over towers, green over scarlet, cunning over glory. and wasn't that bravery? beneath these carefully constructed walls beats a fiercely loyal heart, though few ever earn the right to bear witness to it. to the world you are an oddity, a wolf amongst sheep, but those sheep know how well how gentle your claws can become in the softer moments.

sometimes you stand at his grave and wonder if he would understand the son he left behind — this child who has found a home in the grey spaces. in the tapestry of your family, you're the thread that murmurs rather than shouts. you don't quite match the pattern. you carry the names of two headmasters and the weight of their contradictions, and you've embraced them as you have embraced yourself. neither light nor dark, neither hero nor villain. you're something far interesting; someone who chose his own path. you don't want to be the chosen one — but you're still choosing who you are, even when that person doesn't fit the mold everyone expected. you are your father's son but not his reflection and never his echo. and now, you must live with the choices you've made, even if you sometimes wish you could take them back.

iii. connections

one. JAN SIRAC POLAT & LILA LUNARA POLAT , siblings — remember that game you always played with mom when we were little: would you still love me if? would you still love me if i smacked go? would you still love me if i robbed a bank? would you still love me if i killed someone?' i said nothing. my breath was coming too fast. i would still love you,' go said.

two. SCORPIUS MALFOY , best friend & soulmate — but do you feel held by him? does he feel like a home to you?

three. HARUN POLAT , father — and my father's face changed. it became terribly old and at the same time absolutely, helplessly young. i remember being absolutely astonished, at the still, cold center of the storm which was occurring in me, to realize that my father had been suffering, was suffering still.

four. ORESTES LESTRANGE , one-night-stand — - do you have any weapons on you? - i have a longing that's killing me.