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ghost-1-y · 6 months

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Sacrifice

Surtr!Kyojuro x AFAB!Worshipper!Reader

Content Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, masturbation (Kyo), getting caught masturbating (Kyo), knotting, Kyojuro is in heat, Kyo has a massive breeding kink, lactation kink (Kyo loves your titties), size kink, pregnancy kink, pregnancy (at the end), using horns as handles, implied belly bulging, mommy kink (reader referred to as both “mommy” and “mother”), love confessions at the very end, douma being an asshole, incorrect interpretation of norse mythology, reader is given as a human sacrifice to Kyo, mentions of animal sacrifice, reader referred to as “pretty girl” sometimes, please lmk if I missed anything!

Summary: The legends stated that the mighty fire giant would one day bring about the beginnings of Ragnarok and engulf the world in flames. You had been told of these prophecies since childhood and were a firm believer in appeasing the proclaimed Ruler of Fire through worship and sacrifice – just as you had been taught by the village elders since you were a mere child. What you didn’t expect, however, was for the village to turn their back on you and suggest that what would be needed would be a human sacrifice to appease the giant once and for all.

Word Count: ~6k

Divider Credit: @/benkeibear

A/N: So sorry this took so long!! I've had a mess of a week so far. I hope the fic is worth the wait! Apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors (I tried my best).

A fire blazed in the heart of the village, crackling with embers floating gracefully and smoke ebbing above the tallest of houses – its heat a sharp contrast to the bitter cold of the autumn night. Members of the village surrounded the bonfire, sitting with their families as they feasted, bellies full with the meat stew that was provided for them. A single bowl was left untouched amongst each family – a welcoming invitation for the dead to engage in the festivities that were part of Vetrnætr.

As chieftain, you engaged with the families, wishing them good health and happiness as they did the same for you, before engaging in sumbel with them as you poured wine onto the grass below.

“Freyr will be most pleased by your worship.”

In a way of parting from families, you’d praise their good faith before moving on to the next family. The smiles were abundant amongst the villagers, and, once you’d made your way fully around the bonfire, you removed your sword from your scabbard and raised it high into the air.

“Today we celebrate, and are thankful to the god Freyr for a wonderful harvest. Please join me in this sacrifice, in order to show our thanks to the deities of all the Nine Realms.”

However, before you could commit to the sacrifice – the poor lamb that was before you – a cold hand gripped at your shoulder, which made you turn in confusion.

“Perhaps I should tell you, before you engage in such an act, that the priest has some… concerns,” the man – Enmu you believed his name was – whispered. You sighed and sheathed your sword once more, your blood beginning to boil as you’d wondered what he could possibly want in the middle of the village’s celebration.

You trudged your way through the temple that resided on the outskirts of the village. The door creaked open as you walked through, and before you sat the village priest, who sat on a cushion made of feathers and animal skin. He upturned his lips upon seeing you, yet it wasn’t a true smile.

You knew he didn’t know how to, after all.

“Ah! My lovely Chieftain,” Douma drawled, “such a beautiful night to celebrate Vetrnætr, isn’t it? Although, I doubt that Freyr will grant you the beauty or fertility needed to continue your lineage this upcoming year, truly a shame,” he said, faking a pout.

You fought the urge to ball your fists. The village elders, and, apparently now the village priest as well, had been pressing you for a child – particularly a son – however, despite many suitors attempting to lay their claim to the throne, and therefore you, none had been successful.

Despite this jab, you maintained composure, “what do you need from me, Douma? You’ve interrupted the sacrifice.” You stared him down, and he forced a small laugh.

“Oh my, a harsh tongue doesn’t suit you, dear Chief” he sneered, “You see, I have become aware of some rather concerning events – ones surrounding Ragnarök in particular,” he paused, observing you for any kind of reaction, “unfortunately, it seems Surtr has traveled from Muspelheim to Midgard.”

Your eyes widened, “how would he be able to do such a thing? He isn’t a deity–”

“–ah, but he is a jötunn, and therefore would have the ability to travel between the realms,” Douma countered, “did you never pay attention to my lessons during your youth?”

You rolled your eyes, “you speak as though we do not dedicate sacrifices to him with each solstice. You know appeasing his anger is one of my most steadfast beliefs.”

Douma hummed, “well, it appears that you did not follow through with this past solstice, my dear Chieftain – rather dedicating it to Freyr than to Surtr – and, to be completely honest, I am quite disappointed in that fact.”

The door shut behind you, and two warriors stood on either side of you. You grabbed the hilt of your sword, sensing distrust in the air.

“Do you know, Chieftain, what would be required to adequately appease the Ruler of Fire?”

You pulled out your sword and swung at the warrior on your right, an attack which was quickly blocked by his own weapon. You landed a kick to the left one’s stomach, only for it to be trapped in an unwavering grip by the warrior’s arms. You attempted to swing your sword at him in retaliation, only for your arm to also be grabbed by the one on your right.

Douma stood up and walked towards you, gripping your chin – the cold of his skin causing you to wince.

“A proper, human sacrifice.”

A blow landed to the back of your neck, and your vision faded to black.

—

You awoke to a chill that laid upon your skin, feeling as though you were made of ice rather than of flesh. You were completely bare, lying on a wooden floor of what you presumed to be the priest’s sacred temple, as your vision was fully obstructed by a cloth which wrapped around your eyes. Upon moving your arms – which were thankfully in front of you and not behind, you noticed that your wrists were also bound by rope to prevent you from making any potential escape from Douma’s clutches.

Outside, you heard footsteps approaching, and the door swung open – causing you to flinch at the loud creak that sounded from it. A rough hand grabbed at your arm and pulled you up to your feet, forcing you outside where you heard murmurs of villagers on either side of you. Your cheeks flushed deep with embarrassment, the idea of your beloved villagers seeing you in such a state bringing tears to your eyes in pure shame.

“All of you, please say your final goodbyes to our beloved Chieftain – for she has volunteered to become the sacrifice that will appease Surtr and end his threats of Ragnarök!”

You couldn’t hear the cheers of your people over your pulse pounding in your ears, completely helpless as you were all but dragged along the dirt and gravel pathway before being placed on a horse. A faint rustling could be heard before you felt a rope tied around your neck.

“Be careful not to fall off, my dear Chieftain, lest your neck snap as you’re dragged along the rugged terrain by your horse,” Douma whispered to you before saddling himself onto a separate horse, and you could only assume that this rope was also tied to the horse in some way, thus forcing you to go wherever Douma led you.

You begrudgingly held tight against the horse’s mane as it went into a trot, the wind blowing harshly against your naked skin as the voices of the villagers slowly faded away, replaced by the clopping of hooves as you traversed to a place unfamiliar.

The horses did not stop, and you could only tell the passage of time as the cool of night gave way to the blazing heat of the sun that seared itself into your back. Hours must have passed, and your muscles grew sore the longer you traveled.

At some point, the horses slowed, and the sun’s heat was obstructed by a shadow which loomed above you. Again, a faint rustling could be heard before you were taking off of the horse’s back – yet the rope stayed wrapped around your neck, yet it was no longer taut if you tried pulling away from the horse’s body. You were dragged into the cool shadow, before a hand gripped at your hair.

“Such a shame you never produced a son,” Douma muttered into your ear, “you wouldn’t have to die if you were nice and fertile, my dear Chieftain.”

You could only imagine the nasty grin on his face as he pushed you forward, causing you to lose your footing and fall what could’ve been roughly two meters before hitting solid rock. You heard laughter above you before it started to fade away.

Luckily, the fall seemed to loosen the cloth which covered your eyes, allowing you to see out of one of them, yet you doubted it would be of much help as you got your bearings and realized that you were indeed alone in a dark cave, being left to starve and rot as a form of sacrifice to Surtr.

You decided, that if you were going to die anyway, that you’d at least explore the cave you were pushed into.

It was dark, yet not damp, the stone beneath you as dry as the walls that surrounded you, and you wondered if the sun somehow reached its way into the depths of this cave to evaporate the moisture. There was no life, not a single lizard or insect to be seen – although a few animal bones would be strewn about here and there as you continued your descent further into the cave.

You traversed further, being careful to not trip over any rocks or pitfalls. After what seemed to be an hour of exploration, you saw the tiniest spark of light in the distance.

Perhaps a way out? You thought, and walked closer to this flickering light, and the rather narrow tunnel you were in gave way to a large cavern – with a large bonfire in the middle, one much larger than the one in your village during the celebration of Vetrnætr.

Unlike the blazing heat of the sun from earlier, the warmth of the bonfire was comforting, with its orange hue flickering along the walls of the cavern.

As you got closer, you heard the slightest shifting from the other side of the cavern, followed by what could only be described as a low growl. You froze, unsure of how to proceed in front of a potential predator with nothing to defend yourself with. You slowly crouched and walked towards the bonfire, and, despite your hands being tied, managed to pick up one of the smaller logs on the outer ring of the fire before dousing the tip of it in flames – a weapon, should you need to use it.

As you slowly walked around the bonfire, you found a rather peculiar sight – realizing that the growl did not come from the likes of an animal.

But who– or what was before you was certainly not human.

The being before you was huge, possibly even a jötunn. You were never one to doubt your beliefs, but the idea that a creature from another realm was before your very eyes was difficult to swallow. However, from what you could remember from your religious texts, a jötunn is the only creature you could bring yourself to categorize it as.

The creature had large, curved horns that were sizable in their girth, and its tusks – not fangs – emerged up from its lower jaw. What’s more, it had pointed ears on either side of its head which emerged through hair resembling that of fire, locks that matched the finest gold and ruby gemstones that would cost a fortune in your village.

Unlike the face, its body looked quite human – although its very naked form boasted large, dense muscles throughout its entire body, and a cock that made you swallow absentmindedly from just how threatening its size was.

The creature was stroking its girth, thumbing itself over the leaking slit – a slight shudder escaping from its throat. It started to fuck itself into its grip, thrusting quickly as though chasing its release. Its other hand was fondling its balls – which looked heavy and full of seed, before having its hand move slightly upward towards the slightly swollen base of its cock, softly massaging it to seemingly ease the tension it caused.

Fully flushed with embarrassment, you backed away from the creature before you, each step seemingly calculated in order to escape this situation.

Is the creature sentient? It seems to be humanoid– does that mean it can think like a human? What if it’s a predator and kills me?

Thoughts rushed through your mind, seemingly going into a frenzy as you worried about potential outcomes of this situation.

Crack!

In your panic, you managed to step on a stray twig that managed to stray from the center of the bonfire.

The creature stopped its movements, and immediately turned its head to the source of the sound.

Its amber and crimson eyes opened and glared into yours.

“F-Fuck—!”

With one glance over your naked form, the creature before you released its seed, spilling it all over its fist and shaft, with the remaining drops dribbling onto its lower abdomen. It continued to slowly rub its fist up and down its length, closing its eyes as it played with its tip up until the last of its cum dribbled out from the slit, before tensing and looking back at you, eyes widening in shock – as though it couldn’t believe you were actually there.

“I’m sorry!” the creature exclaimed, a blush so red blooming across its cheeks that it seemingly felt the same amount of embarrassment as you. It hastily wiped itself clean on the furred animal skin it was laying upon. “I– I can explain, really– just– who are you? Why are you here?”

You were in shock, so much so that you couldn’t even eke out a full sentence. Your eyes drifted down to its cock once more, which – much to your surprise – was still standing incredibly tall and proud as it curved up towards the creature’s stomach. Heat prickled across your cheeks and down your chest as the fiery-haired being used its hands to cover itself up in front of you – sensing that you might be uncomfortable from bearing witness to such an event.

This is ridiculous, you thought, you are the Chieftain of your village – compose yourself!

“I am Y/N, leader of my village and child of a family of famed warriors,” you introduced yourself.

The creature raised an eyebrow to you in response.

“And what exactly brings a village leader into my cave?”

You hesitated, humiliation flooding your veins even more so than before.

“I– I was overthrown by the village priest and have been made a sacrifice to Surtr, the Ruler of Fire.”

You expected laughter from the jötunn before you, closing your eyes to hide whatever dignity you had left from what Douma stripped from you. However, instead of hearing a cacophony of hearty noises from the creature’s throat, you instead heard the thud of footsteps approaching you.

Slowly, the jötunn reached forward and removed the bandages which obstructed your vision, loosening and pulling them away with his large fingers, careful to not touch you unnecessarily in the process.

Your eyes widened as you looked up at the giant, his eyes surprisingly kind as he looked down at you. He bunched the bandages in his hands before tossing them to the side, then continued untie the ropes that were digging into your wrists and cast them aside as well.

“If what you say is true, please inform your village that I do not take human sacrifices.”

Your heart seemed to have traveled up to your throat, its beats both fast and fluttery.

“That would imply that I could go back– wait, what are you talking about?”

Then, the creature did finally let out a laugh – a small chuckle that rose from his chest and was deep and bassy as it rose through his throat.

“My dear human, I am the one you people refer to as Surtr.”

You stopped, instinctively stepping back – away from the creature that just claimed to be the harbinger of destruction – the one to bring flames that will engulf all nine realms and Yggdrasil itself.

You did what you believed best, and forced your body to the rocky floor of the cave, bowing in absolute submission and respect for such a being – nearly cowering in the presence of such raw power presented before you.

“Stand up, please, there’s no need for that here.”

You looked up at the being before you, rather confused by his words.

He sighed, “you humans have beliefs of me that are so far from the truth, it’s saddening.”

A pause, the only sound in the cavern being the crackling of the wood against flames.

“My real name is Kyojuro, the name ‘Surtr’ is a title bestowed upon me that I did not wish to receive. I am not going to harm you or your village, I do not wish for such evil. Whatever “priest” thought that a human sacrifice would appease this nonexistent will of mine is, to put simply, a fool.”

You let out a shaky breath, and he reached out his hand – one that dwarfed your own – toward you.

“Stand up.”

He was smiling as you took his hand, with a gaze that was comforting and kind as he sent sparks through your skin with his touch.

The prickling heat returned to your cheeks.

“I’ll help you get back to your village,” he promised.

You froze, your heartbeat quickening once more as you registered his words.

“I can’t– please, I can’t go back, not after what they did to me,” you started, preparing yourself to beg and plead this god-like creature for mercy.

Kyojuro frowned, “I understand, but I can’t keep you here. You need to leave, I– I can’t have you stay.”

You knew it was selfish, to leave your people in the hands of Douma, but after what he did to you– after how he humiliated you.

Where the fire in your village was scalding, his was warm. Where those treated you with indifference or malice, he had been nothing but kind.

Was it really worth going back?

“I’d like to stay,” you decided.

Kyojuro stopped, each and every second becoming more and more difficult for the jötunn. Every passing moment he ignored his very obvious problem, he became this much closer to just bending you over and taking you like a wild animal. His blood was hot in his veins, and fire licked at his lower abdomen, pleasure bubbling once more to the surface as he continued to endure his heat.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me, human,” he warned. He was using every ounce of his willpower in order to maintain his composure. His heat was going to near its peak soon, and he needed you away from him before that happened. He came to Midgard to weather it alone in his cave, and you were only making it all the more difficult.

“Kyojuro,” you uttered softly, and the creature before you let out a low growl, “will you let me stay if I…help?”

His cock twitched, precum dribbling slowly out of the tip, with the base of it swelling up once more.

“I don’t want you to try and sell yourself to me as though you’re a piece of meat. I–” he swallowed, “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t allow you to do that.”

“Kyojuro, I want to help you. I want this,” you assured, and he balled his hands into fists, as though the rope holding him together was about to snap.

“Y/N–” he warned, and you rolled your eyes.

“Please, fuck me, Kyojuro.”

The jötunn grabbed your arm, “if– if we are to do this, you must know that I am in heat, and I–” he swallowed, “I may not be able to control myself should we continue.”

You took your hand and brushed your fingers across his tightened grip, causing slight shivers to flow down his spine.

“Lose control, Kyojuro, I can take it.”

He groaned, and with his strength, picked you up and collided his lips with yours. Your hands sought either side of his face, kissing back with fervor as he moaned into your mouth. His tusks surprisingly didn’t obstruct your access to his mouth, and every once in a while he’d nip at your bottom lip, before laving his tongue over the swollen skin and pushing it into your mouth. You let out a small moan at the intrusion, and wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers finding purchase in his wild, fiery hair.

His grip on your body moved from your hips back towards your ass, cupping and massaging the muscle with his hands. His cock was stiff against your inner thigh, the precum spreading along your skin with each small movement. You wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning as his cock slipped between your legs and along your slit – the sheer girth of it a little worrisome as it pressed against your heat.

“Shit– so big, Kyojuro, hah–” you panted, and he growled.

“Never had cock this big before, have you? Don’t worry, dear, I’ll get you nice and ready to take me.”

He shifted your weight onto one of his arms, the muscles flexing as he shifted his other hand beneath you. Two of his fingers started rubbing along your clit, making small circular motions as his other hand groped at the fat of your ass. He lifted you up a little more so his mouth was in line with your breasts and pursed his lips around one of your perked up tits, sucking at it and licking broad stripes with his tongue. He groaned around your tit as he played with your pussy, reveling in how wet you were for him already. The mini vibrations sent electricity down your spine, and you moved your head to rest on his broad shoulder, giving small kisses to his neck as you whined from his ministrations.

“Lips feel so good, dear, love it when you kiss me like that,” he sighed, giving kisses to each of your breasts, “want to apologize for my earlier…release, you were just so beautiful…seeing you all naked ‘n presenting for me like that…made me want to breed you, pretty girl,” Kyojuro confessed, causing you to shiver as he softly whispered such filthy thoughts into your ear.

“Mmh– don’t apologize, Kyo– liked watchin’ you,” you admitted, and he let out a light chuckle, which made you lightly slap his rocky chest. He responded by giving a small bite to your breast, before licking it better with his skilled tongue.

“Yeah? You like the idea of me wanting to breed you? Getting you pregnant with my young?” he asked, his fingers moving from your clit down towards your entrance, where he inserted a single thick digit into your heat. You whined as your pussy clenched around the intrusion, and nodded in response, licking a stripe up his neck before kissing back down it again.

His finger thrust into you, curling against that one sensitive area inside of you as his thumb reached for and played with your clit. The moans that you let out echoed throughout the cavern, with the only other sounds being the shlick of Kyojuro’s finger deep in your cunt and the crackling of flames. After a while, he added a second digit, and slowly but surely worked you towards your peak, the tension slowly building up in your gut.

With one last swipe against your clit with his thumb, you came undone, your orgasm causing you to shudder and whine in his hold as he worked you through it, curling his fingers and rubbing your clit as you rode out each wave.

“Kyo–” you moaned, trying to grind your hips down on his fingers, and he smiled before meeting your lips in a heated kiss. He continued thrusting his fingers up into your now weeping cunt, prepping you nice and good to take his much thicker cock.

He walked back toward his makeshift bed – a pile of furs and animal skins which he must’ve collected prior to his heat – and gently placed you down on top of them. His large hands moved down your thighs, rubbing softly up and down your plush skin as he stared at the slick between your legs. He lowered himself between your thighs and inhaled deeply as he tried desperately to memorize your scent. He licked a stripe up your slit, causing you to jolt at the sensation, and moaned as your taste spread over his tongue like honey.

You squirmed underneath his touch, which made him hold your hips in place as he started to devour you. His tongue flicked over your clit before collecting more of your juices on his tongue. Your hands found his horns and gripped them tightly, pushing his head further between your thighs, earning a groan from Kyojuro. He pursed his lips and sucked at your clit before licking at it in circular motions, moving his hand between your legs again and pushing two digits inside your cunt once more, thrusting in and out of your hole with his fingers. After adding a third finger, he started curling his fingers into that one spot again, his movements quick and deft as he brought you to your second orgasm.

You moaned loudly as you came undone, legs shaking as your grip on his horns tightened, trying your best to buck your hips up into his face as he lapped up all of the juices that seeped out of your pussy. Only when you were able to open your eyes once more did you look down to see Kyojuro humping himself onto the fur pelts as he messily gathered the rest of your release onto his tongue.

“Kyo– please, I need you,” you whined, and he looked up at you with a fire ignited in his eyes. He got up, stroking his thick cock as he looked down upon your much smaller form.

“Get on all fours for me.”

Without hesitation, you rolled over and got on your hands and knees. Kyojuro kneeled behind you and placed his cock in between your wet folds, rubbing the tip up and down as his precum mixed with your juices. He shuddered before slowly pushing the head inside, causing you to tense slightly from how big the intrusion was.

“Relax for me, won’t you?” he asked softly.

You tried your best to relax, and he started to push more of his length inside of you, filling you up more than you ever thought possible. For a moment, he stayed like that, relishing in the feeling of your cunt tightly wrapped around his throbbing cock, his hips flush against your ass as you whined for him to move, please.

“Let me have this moment, dear, I– I haven’t felt something this wonderful in centuries,” he confessed, and you let out a soft mewl before complying with what he wanted.

After a few more moments, his cock dragged out of you slowly before thrusting back in. He rocked into you, slowly at first, which was most likely for the better considering how huge he was. He growled as he thrust into you, his heavy balls slapping against your clit as he reached underneath you to hold your stomach, pressing up slightly as he fully fucked his cock into you.

“Shit– you feel that, pretty girl? Feel my cock deep inside you?” he groaned, and you nodded helplessly, letting out a whine as he continued his movements. “Feel so good wrapped around me, so fuckin’ tight f’ me.”

You choked out another moan as he started increasing his speed, his groans becoming more frequent with each thrust. Kyojuro took his hand and gently tilted your chin up so you could look at him.

“Won’t last much longer, pretty girl,” he leaned down and kissed you, “gonna pull out, promise.”

You whined, “no– please, need your cum, Kyo– need it inside.”

He moaned loudly, “you have no idea what you’re asking of me, pretty. You’d end up taking my knot–”

“I want your knot, Kyo! Please give it to me–!”

Kyojuro thrust even harder into your sopping cunt upon hearing that, “fuck, you want my knot? I’ll get you fucking pregnant, fill you up with my young ‘n get your belly all swollen, you sure you want that?”

“Yes! Please Kyo–! Please–”

With a couple last thrusts, Kyojuro shot his seed inside of you, thick ropes painting your insides white and filling you up to the brim. You moaned as you felt the warmth spread deep inside of your cunt, and, before his release could begin to seep out of your pussy, a burning stretch began inside your abused hole. Realizing this is what Kyojuro meant by his knot, you tried to look behind you to catch sight of his cock seemingly expanding inside of your pussy, keeping his cum nicely plugged inside of you.

Kyojuro was panting, his voice rough as he pulled you up onto his lap.

“Good fuckin’ girl, taking my knot so well.” He looked down at your chest as you sat in his lap, his cock still rock hard and throbbing inside your wet cunt.

“Can’t wait to see these breasts filled with milk, gonna be such a good mommy, aren’t you?” he said before taking one of your tits in his mouth and sucking at it, as though he were trying to get you to produce milk already for him, and eventually his young, to feed on.

“Kyo, I– I’m sorry, but I’m not fertile, I– I’ve never been able to produce an heir with another man,” you sighed, and his eyes looked up to meet yours. “I’m really sorry, it’s why I was thrown down here in the first place” you continued, hoping your words wouldn’t anger him.

Instead of becoming angry, he simply placed you back down on the fur pelts and brought your legs up towards your shoulders so that you were folded completely in half. He then crouched over you, keeping you locked in a mating press with him.

“I’m no simple man, my dear human,” he kissed your lips, “if I say I will breed you and fill you with my young–” he paused, thrusting deeply into your cunt.

“–I mean every single word.”

Kyojuro started fucking into you with renewed fervor, his stamina seemingly having increased despite already releasing inside of you once. His cock reached deeper inside of you, and you could swear you felt him all the way in your throat. Every single thrust of his hips had you a whining mess, taking his knot until your pussy molded into the shape of his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it, take it all,” he groaned before pressing his mouth to yours once more. His tongue plunged past your lips – prompting you to suck on it, causing him to fall over the edge again, his hips stilling as he pumped a second load of cum into your needy cunt. You whined as he didn’t stop – continuing to fuck into your abused cunt despite cumming twice, his cock still stiff and leaking with every thrust. You felt his seed sloshing around in your womb, feeling so incredibly full by both his cum and his fat cock.

“Mine,” he growled while pumping himself into you, “you’re fucking mine.”

You could only nod and whine in response, having been completely fucked dumb by his cock.

“Pregnant.” He pummeled his cock deep into your cunt, “getting you pregnant. Fuck. Gonna have a round belly filled with my young, tits swelling with milk, I’ll keep you here – gonna be the mother to my children, gonna treat mommy so well, hunt for you, protect you, everything you could ever want.”

You moaned, your cunt clenching around his cock upon listening to his promises.

“Wan’ it,” you managed, “wan’ to be a good mommy so– fuck– so bad.”

Kyojuro groaned, his cock twitching inside of you as it swelled even more. “Can’t stop thinking of my young suckling on your breasts, tits producing so much milk that all of them have their fill– shit, gonna cum again, gonna fill you up– fuck!”

He spilled into you once more, filling your cunt up completely with his seed, ensuring that it takes, making good on his promise. His fingers flicked at your clit and your own orgasm came crashing down around you, pure euphoria flowing through your veins as you let out a silent scream from the seemingly endless waves of pleasure addling your mind.

Kyojuro rolled over and had you collapse on top of him, his arms reaching around your torso and holding you close.

“Did you mean what you said? About wanting to stay?” he whispered, slight insecurity being carried through his tone.

You gave him a quick peck to his lips, “yes, Kyojuro, you– you’ve been so kind to me, much more than anyone else in that damned village. I’d love to stay with you.”

He smiled softly at you, his eyes glowing with warmth as he cradled your head into his neck, petting at your hair as the two of you fell asleep next to the flickering bonfire.

—

A few months had passed, and you were waiting for your lover to return from his hunt. He had promised a large meal today, and you were excited to see what he had planned for the two of you.

You rubbed your baby bump as you cozied up next to the fire, resting in a heap of animal furs which acted as bedding for the two of you. You were surprised to find out that you were pregnant, but Kyojuro had sensed it about a month after you two had first met, and proceeded to treat you as though every step you took turned the rocks beneath your feet into gold.

The bump was rather large for only being a few months in, and your breasts were already swelling and leaking with milk, but Kyojuro had told you that it was normal – considering that his young would be half-jötunn. He quelled your fears of labor, saying that he would help you in every way that he possibly could when it came time to have the baby.

After a few hours, Kyojuro came back to the cavern, carrying your meal over his shoulder.

“How is my love doing?” he asked with the biggest smile on his face, causing you to giggle as you attempted to get up to greet him. Kyojuro rushed over to you, ensuring that you don’t so much as lift a finger while carrying his young. He leaned down and gave you a soft kiss before dragging your meal to the bonfire and beginning to cook it.

“Mmh– Kyo? Could you help me a little bit, my tits feel so swollen,” you pouted, and his ears damn near perked up at your words.

“Oh? Does mommy need some relief?” he asked teasingly, and you nodded. Kyojuro walked over to you and knelt down, his hands reaching to massage your breasts slowly. He kneaded them and licked at the milk which dribbled out, letting it coat over his tongue. His lips wrapped around one of your tits, and he sucked slowly, moaning as he drank from you. You whined when he moved to the other tit and performed the same actions, relief sinking in the more he suckled the milk out of you.

“Taste so good, pretty girl,” he whispered before getting up again to cook the meat he brought in.

You pouted again, “need you, Kyo, please,” and he laughed.

“You can have me after we eat, does that sound okay?” he compromised, and you sighed but nodded in agreement.

You laid back and rested upon the pile of furs, smiling in contentment as you looked at the two meals that were set out before you.

“I love you, Kyo,” you admitted, unashamed by your feelings as they echoed throughout the cavern.

Kyojuro froze, glancing back at you briefly before continuing to prepare the food, trying his best to hide the blush that traveled across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“I love you, too, my little flame.”

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 3

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Jake Lockley x afab!psychologist!reader (13.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, doggystyle, spanking, mean!Jake, degradation, dacryphilia, daddy/papi kink, cum eating, creampie, soft sex, needy/touch-starved!Jake, praise kink, dirty talk), lots of spanish NOTES: jake lockley deserves so much love. this was hard to write, i had so much i wanted to put into this chapter and i hope it all came through okay. also, i am not a native spanish speaker, but i worked really hard to make sure all of my conjugations/phrases were correct, but still, feel free to correct me! this is the final case study installment of this series, there will be one final concluding chapter (+ potentially a bonus part bc i’m feeling generous) DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

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CASE STUDY: JAKE LOCKLEY

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Protector

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Dismissive

CHARACTERISTICS: volatile, tenacious, arrogant, cunning, reticent; a true adrenaline junkie (engages in risky behavior in an attempt to fill his emotional deficit with a brief but intense adrenaline rush); extremely autonomous.

SPLIT FROM HOST: ??? currently unknown/unconfirmed (predicted to have emerged as a result of some feeling of physical inadequacy or repeated threats to safety; may potentially trace back to host's service in the military).

TRAUMA RESPONSE: thinks every hill is one to die on; unwilling to compromise or make sacrifices in fear of revealing vulnerability; maintains face no matter the consequence.

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: demanding, excitable, impetuous, unapologetic, aggressive; unafraid to take what he wants, but uncomfortable with affection.

Your heart was picking up speed as you knocked loudly against the door for the fifth time.

Surely he was inside. Where the hell else would he be? You’d texted with him just hours before—well, technically not Jake, since he refused to use a phone, but Marc—confirming that you were still good for your previously scheduled arrangement. Had he changed his mind? Did something happen?

Your anxiety got the better of you as you fished around in your jacket pocket to pull out your keyring. Steven had given you a copy of the key to their flat in case you ever needed it, or if you wanted to come over before he got home from work. You had yet to actually use it, but you figured this constituted as enough of an emergency to warrant your uninvited entrance.

You clumsily slipped the brass into the keyhole and jiggled it, twisting it until you heard the click of the lock. You silently prayed that Jake—or whoever was fronting—hadn’t engaged any of the other locks on the door that could only be unhinged from the inside. Fortunately for you, the knob twisted and the door swung open with ease, revealing the familiarity of the flat within.

It was... quiet. Not eerily so, but enough to make you proceed with caution. Everything appeared to be in order, undisturbed and in its place, but still, you felt a sense of uneasiness crawl up your spine.

You weren’t a stranger to the feeling, though. You often felt this way when you were in the company of Jake. You enjoyed his presence, and wanted to get to know him better, but still, he was unpredictable and volatile—you never knew what to expect when he was fronting. You couldn’t read him as well as the other two alters, and as someone who had an affinity for picking up on unspoken emotional cues, you weren't particularly fond of the element of surprise.

You heard a low buzz from somewhere off to your right, and as the door clicked shut behind you, you wandered towards the source of the noise on the other side of the apartment. As you grew closer, you recognized the previously indiscernible sound—humming.

“...Jake?”

You called out softly, and just as rounded the edge of the bookshelf that separated the living space from the bedroom, the door to the bathroom flew open.

The man in question strolled through the doorway, steam billowing behind him, whistling to himself, but he froze when he saw you standing before him. He quickly recovered from his initial shock, however.

“Bebita. Looks like you need to work on your patience.”

He teased, and you felt your mouth run dry as you took in his appearance. He’d clearly just finished up in the shower—there were still droplets of water rolling down his shoulders and the toned skin of his chest and abdomen, trailing southbound where a white towel hung lowly on his hips. You could see the dark hair of his happy trail against his navel, the towel very loosely covering his modesty. His hair was wet and tussled, curls falling across his forehead, and you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t one of the most attractive sights you’d ever seen in your life.

Much to your chagrin, he seemed to pick up on the effect that his appearance had on you. You watched as his lips curled into a devilish grin, staring at you with a depraved look in his deep brown eyes that only Jake was capable of.

“Why—Why didn’t you answer the door?”

Your voice wavered slightly, betraying you in your attempt to appear collected. His head tilted slightly in question.

“Because...I was in the shower.”

Oh. Right.

You swallowed, lips downturned into a small frown, suddenly feeling sheepish at your previous concern for his safety. However, your focus returned to Jake as he slinked forward, taking a few slow, deliberate steps in your direction.

“You’re blushing, mi vida. Am I making you nervous?”

You unconsciously shook your head at his question, although you could feel your heart racing in your chest as he drew closer to you.

“No? Hm, that’s a shame. I could’ve sworn I saw you staring at my cock.”

He paused when only a foot and a half remained between you, and you felt your face grow even redder at his statement. As much as you tried to resist, as much as you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, your gaze involuntarily flickered down to glance at his crotch—you could see the outline of his hardening member through the soft material of the towel, more prominent than it had been even a few seconds prior.

A dark chuckle escaped him, and you forced your gaze back onto his face. He was grinning wickedly, gazing at you with a carnal gleam in his eye.

“Está bien, bebita. I know how much you like it. That’s why you rushed in here, isn’t it? Didn’t want to wait for papi’s cock any longer?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your jaw fell slack at the nickname he assigned to himself—you felt your knees grow weak. Just as you’d said—unpredictable. You certainly hadn’t expected that.

But fuck, you really liked it.

His smirk turned into a toothy grin as he observed your reaction to his taunt. One more step towards you and you were only a short distance apart. You could see moisture congregating in the divot of his collarbone, and you desperately wanted to lick at the pooled water.

“Are you going to be good for me, bebita?”

You nodded dumbly at him, any cohesive thought escaping from your brain as all you could perceive was Jake, Jake, Jake. He parroted your senseless nodding, mocking you condescendingly. Without another word, he dropped the towel from his waist and it pooled around his ankles, exposing his fully-erect member to your sight, and you swooned.

His tongue traced over his lower lip sensually, looking at you through hooded eyes. A shadow crossed his face as his mouth contorted into a sneer.

“Get on your knees.”

You obeyed before you even consciously processed the command, collapsing onto your knees before him, your abrupt fall cushioned by his discarded towel. Your mouth watered as you became eye-level with the hardness of his cock, the vein beneath the underside of his shaft just begging for your attention. You resisted, instead opting to stare up at Jake’s face expectantly, awaiting further instruction. It was clear to you that he liked to be in control.

He smirked at your complacency, his hand reaching up to lazily stroke his cock a few times, watching the way your eyes followed the movement of his hands with laser focus, your lips slightly parted in anticipation. He tilted his hips forward and slapped your cheeks with the ruddy head of his cock a few times, and you whimpered at the action, eyes squeezed shut tightly with restraint.

“Stick out your tongue for me, bebita.”

You obliged, opening your mouth wide and letting your tongue loll out past your lips. He tapped his length against the slick muscle, and you savored the familiar tang of his precum on your tastebuds as he pulled back to fist at his cock again. You whined as he withdrew from you, but he just tutted at you condescendingly, slapping your cheek once more with his member.

“Oh, pobrecita. You want papi to let you play with his cock?”

You nodded feverishly, staring up at him through your lashes, doe-eyed. He pouted his lip out in a look of mock pity before removing his hand from his length.

“Go on, then, bebita.”

You lurched forward, your tongue flexing to lick a long stripe on the underside of his cock, tracing the jagged vein that had enticed you earlier. He hummed at the action, watching as you eagerly lifted your hands to begin slowly pumping the velvety skin of his shaft, your lips suctioning around the flushed tip and tongue dipping into the slit. A low groan rumbled deep within his chest as you bobbed your head, eyes never leaving his face as you studied each reaction he had to your movements.

“There you go, mi vida. So good for papi.”

You moaned around his cock at the repeated use of the title, and he chuckled at your obvious approval, one hand finally reaching up to card through your hair as you continued to work more of his length into your mouth.

“You gonna let papi fuck your pretty little mouth, hm?”

He pulled his hips back, removing his member from your touch and you gasped in a breath. You nodded in response to his question, opening your mouth expectantly, and he all but laughed at your eagerness.

“You want it bad, huh, bebita? You gonna ask nicely?”

“Please, papi.”

The word sounded foreign on your tongue, but your discomfort melted away when you saw Jake’s cock jump at the sound of your desperate pleading and he threw his head back in satisfaction.

“Please, fuck my face. Want to feel you in my throat. Please.”

He seemed satisfied with your begging as he wrapped both of his hands in your hair, tilting your head upward and guiding your towards his awaiting length. When your hands reached up to rest on his thighs, he pulled back, hissing at you.

“No, mi vida. Hands behind your back. Don’t make me tell you again.”

You clasped your hands behind yourself obediently, opening your mouth again, and you finally felt the fat tip of his cock rest against your tongue.

You practically choked when he harshly thrusted into your mouth, sinking nearly his entire length into your throat without warning. Before you could even recover, he was pulling back and repeating the motion, not giving you any time to adjust to the intrusion or ease you into a rhythm. You gagged unceremoniously as he fucked your face with reckless abandon, so you tried to slacken your jaw and just take it.

“Look at you, mi llorica. So beautiful when you cry for me, with my cock in your mouth.”

You could barely see him through the blur of tears as they rolled down your cheeks, mixing with the saliva that was foaming around your lips and dribbling down your chin. He picked up his pace, grunting with each motion, the head of his cock bruising the back of your throat with every forward thrust. He was guiding your head forward and backward in time with his movements, successfully burying himself into your face.

“You want me to cum down your throat, bebita? Going to take everything papi gives you?”

You garbled around his length as his balls slapped against your chin, and you felt his cock throb on your tongue as he sheathed himself completely inside of you, growling out your name as he shot his load as deep into your throat as he could. Still, he challenged you more, forcing himself further and further down your throat with each spurt of cum that he released, your nose smushed against his pubic bone as you swallowed around him, trying with all of your might to prevent yourself from gagging and ruining his orgasm.

With a satisfied groan, he slowly pulled his spent member from your mouth, and you gasped harshly, sucking in a deep breath of air and finally allowing the muscles of your neck to relax. There was a soreness lingering in the back of your throat, but you relished in the feeling as you wiped the mix of spit and tears from your face with the back of your hand, staring up at the fucked-out expression that Jake offered you.

“Did so well for me, bebita. What do you say to papi?”

There was an edge to his tone, his domineering persona not faltering for even a second as your scratchy voice responded accordingly.

“Thank you, papi.”

He nodded at you approvingly, watching as you blinked up at him expectantly. He was pleasantly surprised at just how quickly you’d fallen into submission—he thought he might have to coax you into cooperating with him, but it was clear to him that you were eager to please, your eyes glistening with residual tears from one of the best goddamned blowjobs he’d ever had in his life.

He leaned down and clasped his hands on your shoulders, yanking you to your feet without a word. You saw his eyes flicker down to your swollen, spit-soaked lips, but his gaze was hard as he took a step away from you, as if to resist the temptation to kiss you.

“Strip. Hands and knees, on the bed for me. Now, bebita.”

You didn’t protest as you hastily heeded his words, shedding your layers of clothing and tossing them to the floor before you scampered back towards the bed, crawling to your hands and knees in the center, head facing towards the pillows. You could hear Jake creeping up behind you, but you resisted the urge to turn your head and follow his movements, opting instead to squeeze your eyes shut and wait.

You weren’t afraid of Jake. Of course you weren’t. You knew he’d never hurt you—not unless you wanted him to. Nonetheless, you knew what he was capable of—actually, that was the thing. You didn’t know what he was capable of, but still, you could see the thinly-veiled chaos that swirled behind his coffee-colored irises, could sense the firm restraint he forced upon himself when he was around you, holding some unnamed beast at bay on your behalf. It scared you, but also sparked something inside of you—a primitive, savage excitement as he stalked you like his prey. Was it wrong if you secretly hoped he’d unleash the mayhem that resided within him, let himself go? God only knows the man deserved an outlet in which to channel his frustrations.

You felt the mattress dip down behind you, Jake kneeling on the bed behind your bowed position—your nerves spiked at the vulnerability you displayed, exposed as you practically felt his eyes tear through your body with crazed, wanton desire.

You were surprised to feel a soft caress on your hips, his rough fingers delicately ghosting over the supple skin on your waist. It was comforting, soothing, and surprising—a needed reassurance under his scrutinizing gaze. You felt his lips brush softly against the tender flesh of your left buttock, and you relaxed slightly, letting yourself sink down to your forearms but keeping your ass raised with the arching of your back.

“Are you ready, mi vida?”

He asked quietly, and you managed to squeak out a small ‘yes’ before sinking further into the bed and shifting your hips backs toward him in anticipation. He chuckled at your obvious eagerness, greedy for his touch, and you startled when his tender hold on your hips tightened into a bruising grip, the soft press of his lip to your left asscheek morphing until he was sinking his teeth into the flesh with a playful nip.

You yelped at the abrupt shift in demeanor, the sound earning you a sharp smack to your other cheek, his palm quickly rubbing the afflicted area to soothe the lingering sting of his spanking. You pressed your forehead into the sheet beneath you, your legs beginning to quiver with desperation.

“You’re going to stay like this, and take what I give you. Don’t move. ¿Vale, bebita?”

You nodded, but were met with another harsh swat on your backside at your lack of a verbal confirmation.

“Yes! Okay, papi, okay. Just—please.”

You were practically dripping onto the mattress beneath you, your arousal slickening your needy cunt as you desperately sought out any stimulation.

The pads of his fingers experimentally swiped through your folds without warning, and you jolted, involuntarily pushing your hips back to follow the withdrawal of his touch. Another firm slap against your opposite asscheek, a whimper escaping your lips as he scolded you.

“Stay still, bebita. Stop squirming.”

His order briefly brought you back to your first time with Marc, who had requested the same thing, but the words felt heavier when they were uttered by Jake—you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to find a way to make you comply.

When his fingers made contact with your core again, you clenched your muscles, forcing yourself to remain completely motionless, and you were rewarded with the tip of his digit just barely skimming over your clit. You whined at the sensation, but held your position.

Jake was pleased with your cooperation, but you couldn’t help but quake when you felt his tongue sweep through your folds to taste you. The spank he offered was softer, taking pity on you as he leaned forward and fully sank his mouth into your awaiting cunt. You mewled, fingers twisting into the fabric of the sheets beneath you and fisting at them tightly in an effort to keep still.

He was moaning shamelessly into your sex, his method tactless, sloppy and rushed. His movements weren’t practiced and deliberate like Marc’s, nor careful and precise like Steven’s—no, Jake was eating you out like a man starved, greedily mouthing at every part of you and reveling in the sounds that escaped your lips.

His hand lifted and he sank two fingers into your entrance, curling them forward frantically as his mouth latched onto your clit. He was working you to your orgasm quickly, hurriedly, desperate to feel you clamp down around him and cry out his name.

Your thighs were beginning to tremble. He must’ve sensed you were close, because he doubled his efforts, the vibrations from his growling buzzing through your flesh and pushing you over the precipice. On its own accord, your body lurched back towards him, your cunt grinding back against his face as your eyes rolled, your walls contracting around his digits and your juices leaking onto his awaiting tongue.

You felt dizzy, faint, your efforts to hold yourself upright through your climax exhausted you, and when you came down from your intense high, you felt Jake draw himself away from you, slow and intimidating. You felt your pulse spike as you awaited whatever came next. His large hand caressed your ass, gently smoothing over your soft flesh in back-and-forth motions.

“Sabe a miel, bebita. Such a pretty little pussy.”

His touch on your skin halted, and you felt his body lean over your back, his lips coming to brush against the nape of your neck.

“But you didn’t follow my instructions, pobrecita. You need to learn how to listen.”

You cried out when his hand swatted at your abused clit, your body jumping at the painful sensation in an attempt to escape his cruel attack. You felt one arm snake beneath your stomach to hold you upright, his forearm pressing your hips back towards him and keeping you there.

“I let you cum, even after you moved when I told you not to. Do you like being a brat, hm?”

You shook your head—another smack to your cunt, and you whimpered.

“No! No, m’sorry, papi, I—”

“Don’t you think I’ve been generous? Spoiling you? And still, you’re ungrateful, bebita.”

Your body flinched in preparation for the next blow, but instead, you felt his lips tenderly brush a kiss to the flesh of your ass.

“Compórtate. I think I need to teach you how to mind your manners.”

He slapped your ass again, harder than before, and you could feel the lingering sting forming a welt across your skin. He hummed.

“What do you say to papi, hm? For being so good to you?”

“Thank you, papi.”

You whimpered, tears starting to dampen the sheets beneath your face. Your appreciation earned you a soothing hand across the flesh he'd just struck.

“That’s right. Five more times, bebita.”

You sobbed in protest, body trying to pull away from him, but his arm wrapped around your torso forced you into place. He cooed at you.

“It’s okay, pobrecita. You’re going to say thank you after every single one, and then papi will fuck you. ¿Sí?”

He didn’t wait for your response. He smacked your clit, the sting burning its way through your lower belly. You choked back another sob.

“Th—thank you, papi.”

You stuttered, voice barely audible from where your cheek was smushed into the bedding, but Jake took pity on you. Two, three, four more times—the final blow landed sharply against your cunt, and you whimpered out your gratitude, eyes squeezed shut tight and your lip starting to freckle with blood from where you’d held it between your teeth.

He placed gentle kisses on your lower back, your ass, as far as he could reach, his arm still supporting your weight while the other came to softly smooth over your hip. Your mind was cloudy, your body completely surrendering to Jake’s will as you descended into subspace, clinging to his approval.

“You want my cock, mi vida?”

He asked gruffly, and you could feel his hardened length prod against your behind as he leaned further over you to press more kisses on your shoulders. You whined.

“Yes, papi, please, want you inside me, please—”

He shushed you calmly, sitting back to kneel behind you. He lifted your hips higher in the air with his arm, and you felt the flushed head of his cock brush across your soaked folds once, then twice. You mewled.

Without warning, Jake sank into you, bottoming out with one harsh stroke as his balls pressed against your puffy clit. You cried out, legs turning to jelly and giving out from beneath you, but he held you upright, keeping you stable in his arms.

“Mierda. Your little cunt is swallowing me, bebita.”

He withdrew slowly, and you could feel each ridge of his length as he pulled out until just the tip remained. Even though you braced yourself, you couldn’t prepare for the way he slammed back into you, his pelvis flush against your tailbone as you cried, pleasure sparking at the bottom of your spine in spite of the pain.

Jake’s pace was relentless, unforgiving, hips snapping forward over and over, the sound of skin slapping skin drowned out by your pathetic sobbing as your walls throbbed around his member. His teeth were bared as he railed into you, intently watching the place his cock was splitting you open.

“Carajo, you’re squeezing me so tight—going to cum for you, bebita.”

He practically growled as he speared you, and another orgasm was ripped from you with a particularly harsh thrust of his hips. Your cunt clamped down around him as he let out a long, low whine, hips stuttering at the sensation.

He let you collapse into the bed as he began frantically jerking his cock, pulling out of you just in time to shoot his load all across the reddening flesh of your ass. He let out a series of grunts, coupled with Spanglish expletives as he thrusted into his fist, his head thrown back in bliss. You felt globs of his hot spend settle onto your skin, streaking your backside with his seed as he panted above you, falling back onto his heels as he drank in the aftermath of his intense orgasm that was now painting your skin.

The moments that followed blurred together as you drifted aimlessly in the wakes of your pleasure, eyes fluttering in their attempt to keep you awake. Jake left you for several minutes, the absence of his body heat making goosebumps erupt across your skin, but you were too exhausted to move.

When he finally returned, you felt him softly dab the remnants of his ejaculate from your back before he gently shifted you onto your back, tucking an arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders as he hoisted you into the air. You whimpered slightly at the soreness in your muscles, your head falling limp against his bare shoulder as he carried you off. You weren’t consciously aware of your surroundings, but the sensation of warm water surrounding you helped ease the ache in your bones and clear the haze that had overtaken your mind. Jake gently lowered you into the bathtub, carefully tilting your head back to rest against the ceramic edge as you let out a relieved sigh, sinking into the welcoming heat of the water.

You felt as if you’d only blinked when you awoke, the water around you now lukewarm and the candle that had been burning beside you melted to the wick. You shifted yourself upward, hissing slightly at the soreness in your thighs, but you forced yourself to stand and exit the tub.

Silence surrounded you as you leaned to pull the plug from the drain before you noticed the plush white towel that had been folded neatly and left on the lid of the toilet for you. You gratefully reached it and wrapped it around your body, noticing the pruning of your fingertips.

How long had you been asleep?

You tentatively creaked open the bathroom door and peered outside into the apartment. It was dark, and empty, for all you could see, and you took a few cautious steps out into the room.

“Jake?”

You said softly, your soft call sounding much too loud in the quiet of the space. You proceeded forward towards the bed, shrouded only in light from the single lamp that was lit from across the way. Your clothes had been folded neatly and left in a pile at the foot of the bed, and you saw a small piece of paper settled on top. A note.

You picked it up and scanned it over once, then twice. You could tell this was Jake’s handwriting—it was a messy scrawl with an evident slant, the letters each written harshly with sharp lines. It was different from Steven’s languid scribbling, his words swirling together with smooth, clean strokes, and also from Marc’s, whose blocky penmanship was unmistakable. You couldn’t marvel at the fact that all three alters had markedly distinct handwriting, though, too focused on the content of the message to give it a second thought.

Went out for a drive Text when you get home See you tomorrow.

JAKE

You frowned slightly, heart feeling heavy in your chest as you forced yourself into your clothes. You checked the time—11:28. You’d conked out for nearly two hours, and you wondered how long ago Jake had stepped out. Was he waiting for your text in order to come back home? Waiting for you to leave so he didn’t have to see you?

You had absolutely no right to be upset, you knew. You should be grateful that he was sticking to his ordinary routine after your sexual encounter in honor of your experiment, but still, a pang of hurt bloomed in your chest. You briefly returned to the bathroom to blow out the flickering lavender candle before heading out the door, your legs wobbly as you trekked the two blocks back to your own apartment.

It was nearly midnight when you finally got home. You reached for your phone and shot the boys a brief message.

made it back safely x

A response came in barely thirty seconds later.

I'm so sorry Y/N He shouldn't have done this to you M

You fell into your bed immediately, eyes skimming Marc’s words, your lips pursing slightly. You let out a long sigh before typing your reply.

it's ok marc, i promise he didn’t do anything wrong i had a nice bath! :) tell jake i said goodnight xx

You connected your phone to the charger before setting it on the nightstand, quickly turning over and sinking into your pillow, trying to ignore the tears that were stinging the back of your eyes.

Your phone buzzed with a final message.

Sleep well baby Hope you give him hell tomorrow M

POINTS OF CONTENTION:

- slowing down

- embracing vulnerability and confiding in others

- accepting intimacy and allowing raw emotion

TREATMENT: - patience, foreplay - allowing himself to feel - aftercare (!)

You were, in fact, not going to give him Hell. Just the opposite, actually.

Jake spent too much of his time letting his demons possess him. Perhaps he needed a little taste of Heaven to show him what he's missing.

“Hi, Jake.”

You greeted shyly when the door swung inward. He leaned against the doorframe slightly, looking at you down the length of his nose. He didn’t say anything—just watched you. Studied you. Observing. After a few brief moments, you cleared your throat.

“Can I—uh, can I come in?”

A beat passed before he finally sidled back into the apartment, opening the door just enough to let you slip inside. Your side brushed against his front when you passed him, and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke clung to his white shirt. Oh, Steven would be livid.

You didn’t wait for an invitation before plopping down on one end of the sofa. Jake quirked a brow at your forwardness, and you signaled with the jerk of your head for him to join you on the other end. He offered a slow, dramatic roll of his eyes before seating himself beside you.

“What time did you get home last night?”

You asked quietly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you avoided his gaze. He breathed out a slow breath.

“Not too late. Hardly slept, though—your boyfriend wasn’t very happy with me. Kept me up all night, nagging at me.”

You frowned, finally noticing the deep purplish bags that had settled beneath his eyes. His curls were spilling out from beneath the brim of his flat cap.

“I’m sorry, Jake. Marc isn’t s’posed to be bothering you—it’s your weekend.”

He waved a dismissive hand, turning to settle further into the couch as he stared at some point straight ahead of him.

“No pasa nada. I’m used to it.”

He shifted in his seat slightly, his brows furrowing, and you could tell that he was receiving an earful from Marc.

“I’m—I guess I’m sorry, mi vida, if I upset you.”

You shook your head derisively.

“No, Jake, it’s—you’re fine. That’s what I asked you to do—treat me like any other girl.”

He let out a humorless bark of a laugh, knuckles rubbing over the stubbled skin of his jaw.

“Any other girl wouldn’t have gotten to see my bed, bebita.”

He noticed the perplexed look on your face and offered a sigh.

“It’s not...often, that I sleep with anyone like this. Usually it’s in the back of my cab, or a quick one in a closet—tienes suerte, mi vida. It’s rare they ever see me a second time.”

You felt a deep sadness wash over you at his confession. All Jake knew were rushed, meaningless hookups, no strings attached and no obligations. One and done.

“Is that why you didn’t kiss me, yesterday?”

Jake looked startled by your question, eyes widening marginally as his brows furrowed deeply. His lips set into a straight line, his jaw clenching tightly.

“I did kiss you. A lot.”

He insisted softly. You shook your head.

“No, Jake. A real kiss. You wouldn’t do it. Are—Is that not usually a part of your... you know?”

His knee began anxiously bouncing, his discomfort making itself evident to you.

“No sé. Never really thought about it before.”

You stood from the couch, and his stare followed your movements sharply as you crossed the short distance between you, stepping forward to stand between his spread legs. He looked up at you with dark, brooding eyes, uncertainty churning just beneath the surface. You slowly moved to sit on his lap, your thighs slotting on either side of his hips so you were straddling him. His hands mindlessly settled on your waist, his touch timid and delicate. Your fingers smoothed over his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Can I kiss you, Jake?”

His lips silently parted, a flash of fear briefly flickering over his features as he gazed up at you longingly. His nervousness was palpable, his hesitancy evident through the tension in his shoulders and the crease between his brow. He didn’t offer you a response, so you carefully began leaning your face towards him, tilting your head so your nose brushed against his. You felt his stuttering exhale fan out across your face before you finally let your lips brush over his own.

It was soft, and tentative, as if he was unsure of how to respond or worried he would somehow break you. You pressed your mouth a bit firmer to his, melding against him. You wished, hoped he could feel all your emotions come through the kiss—how much you cared for him, how much you wanted to show him that. Maybe your manifestation worked, because after his few fleeting seconds of unresponsiveness, you felt him sink into the feeling, one arm traveling from your waist up your back to cradle the back of your head in his hand.

He shifted beneath you, trying to pull you closer, as if you weren’t already on top of him. You could feel the stiffness vacate his muscles as the kiss grew feverish, desperate, his lips moving against yours hastily and messily. His free hand began to roam the expanse of your back as he pressed his torso into your own, your nose smushing against his cheek as he gripped you tighter.

He whined when your tongue swiped across the seam of his mouth, his lips immediately parting to allow you access. You dove in to taste him, the stale tobacco and faint mint of his toothpaste overtaking your senses and inebriating you with the distinctive flavor of Jake. His own tongue began to tussle with yours as he mirrored your actions, your teeth clashing messily as he all but tried to swallow you whole.

You pulled back abruptly, gasping in a breath, and his mouth chased yours in a frantic attempt to maintain contact. You felt his hips instinctually rut up against you, his hands still pulling you tightly against his body as he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling the scent of your soft skin.

“Slow down, Jake, take it easy.”

You placed both of your hands on either one of his shoulders and forced him to relax against the couch, his body following your guidance as he sank backwards at your request. His eyes were practically crazed, his lips swollen and ruddy as he looked up at you with a half-lidded gaze, chest heaving with panted breaths.

“Oh, hermosa.”

His muttered, his grip pulling you back to his chest as he surged forward to hungrily meet your lips again, his hands beginning to claw over every inch of your body he could reach, trying to feel all of you. You pushed him away again, more forcefully this time, and he fell backwards with a grunt.

“Hey, relax. It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

A flicker of sadness glinted briefly in his dark eyes, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it expression, but you caught it. You offered him a soft, assuring smile, grabbing the hat from his head and tossing it to the side so you could sink your fingers into his hair. He leaned back into your touch as your nails gently scratched at his scalp, a soft, breathless moan breaking from his lips as his eyes fell shut. You leaned forward and pressed a single kiss to the exposed skin of his throat.

“Come on, handsome.”

He was reluctant to loosen his hold on you, but you reached for his hand and clutched his fingers tightly so he could still feel you touching him somewhere. You led him over to the bed, pausing at the foot of it and gesturing with a nod of your head for him to lay down. He quirked a brow at you, lips curling into a mischievous grin.

“You going to punish me for being so hard on you yesterday, bebita?”

You weren’t oblivious to the excitement that shone in his eyes—he seemed enticed by the possibility of you torturing him in a similar vein to Marc, and you figured that was some information you could keep in your back pocket for future reference.

Instead, you let out a saccharine giggle—it was sickeningly sweet, cloyingly so, and Jake might’ve gotten a toothache from the sugar if it weren’t for the softness with which you crept over his splayed-out body, sinking your front against his as you pressed a featherlight peck on his lips.

“No, Jake. Nothing like that.”

You let your weight settle onto him, straddling his lap and letting your chest fall flush against his as you kissed him again—he mouthed at you hungrily, trying to force his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance, and you gently pulled away.

“Hey, tough guy. What’s your rush?”

His brows furrowed, gaze flickering from your eyes and down to your dewy lips, his pupils blown wide. You smiled sweetly at him.

“Slow down, okay? There’s no hurry, really. Let me just feel you.”

He blew out a huff of air before your lips were on his again, and he heeded your request, letting you take the lead as your poured all of your passion into the kiss. It was slow, deep, intimate, your fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt and across the hot skin of his torso, pushing the material up as you went. You slowly drew back to discard the article of clothing before immediately latching your mouth to his, slow movements still heavy and dripping with desire. You finally parted his lips with the swipe of your tongue, and you felt his fingers sink into your hair, tilting his head for a better angle with which to lavish you.

You could feel him getting greedier as he pressed his body up into your warmth, hands sliding down the expanse of your back and making a move to rip your shirt from your body. You pulled back suddenly, giving him a warning look.

“Hey. Slow.”

You reminded, and he stuttered out an exhale, his fingers gradually raising your shirt above your head as he tossed it to the side. His eyes ravished your body as his fingers traced along the newly exposed skin of your sides, his touch softly skimming your curves before coming up to cup at your breasts. You smiled sweetly down at him as he pressed a few fervent kisses to your collarbone. His dark eyes found yours, lips parted provocatively as he silently asked for your permission. You nodded gently, and his fingers trembled with restraint as he slowly reached around to unclasp your bra.

It was taking everything within his power not to flip you over and pound into you, but something about the look in your eye—reverent, devoted, loving—he didn’t mind too much.

When your breasts exposed themselves to him, he made a low rumbling noise from the back of his throat, leaning forward to latch onto one of your nipples hastily. You tugged at his hair and he groaned in frustration.

“Jake.”

You warned, and he pressed his face down into your cleavage, his breathing ragged and shallow.

“Mierda, bebita. You like being on top so much, hm? Like being in control of papi?”

You gently pulled at his curls again, forcing his face to lift and look up at you. You regarded him softly, one of your hands coming to delicately trace over his jaw and cheekbone.

“No, honey. None of that, okay?”

His brows furrowed, and you leaned down to press a kiss against the crease between them.

“It’s just you and me. Jake and Y/N.”

He repeated your name back to you in a low murmur, as if saying it for the very first time. Actually, now that you thought about it—maybe it was. Jake had never addressed you by your name before, only used endearments to speak with you.

He seemed puzzled by your suggestion, eyes round and questioning and lost, almost uncomfortable with the proposal of having you call him by his actual name.

“You can be on top if you really want to, Jake.”

You pressed a kiss to his nose, then atop both of his fluttering eyelids, then one in the center of his hairline.

“You just—have to be patient.”

You pressed your forehead against his, letting your eyes drift shut as you took in the soft sound of his breathing, finally settling down and evening out. You felt his head tilt up to meet yours again, and you let him kiss you, his pace steady and deliberate, easing you into a rhythm. His hands slowly crawled up your spine, cradling you close to him as he licked into your mouth, his hips bucking up just slightly when you gently tugged at his lower lip with your teeth. He pulled away, shaking his head at your flirtatious action and giving you a playful glare before mouthing gently at your jawline, down your neck and behind your ear. When you leaned into his touch, he sank his teeth in and suckled a deep red mark into your skin, earning a soft whimper in appreciation. His lips stayed pressed against you as they trailed down the column of your neck, along your collarbone and shoulder, and finally down to the flesh of your breasts.

You breathed out a low moan when he placed wet open-mouthed kisses along the top curves of your chest, slowly teasing lower until his teeth scraped your hardened nipple and his lips puckered around it. His hand came to palm at your other breast, kneading at the doughy flesh as he stared up at you seductively through his lashes.

“Fuck, Jake.”

You whimpered, and the sound of his name rolling so deliciously off of your tongue caused his hips to grind up against you once more. When he was satisfied with the array of red and purple marks he’d imprinted on your skin, he dragged his face back up to your own and pressed his lips to yours once again.

You were impressed with his restraint. You could feel the hardness in his muscles, see the tension in his thick shoulders as he forced himself to take his time instead of jumping your bones from the start. You hummed against his mouth before pulling yourself away and off of his lap, your fingers slowly trailing down the length of his torso before settling on the buckle of his jeans.

His breath stuttered at the action, his abdominal muscles contracting as he awaited your next move. You gently reached down to palm at his bulge through the layers of fabric and he groaned throatily, his eyes fluttering shut at the much needed stimulation. Your fingers deftly worked to unloop his belt before unbuttoning his jeans, and he lifted his hips to assist you in pulling them off of him.

When he was left in just his briefs, you pressed gently against his shoulder to make him lay back down and relax. He sank back into the pillows, propped up so he had a decent view of you between his legs, your fingers teasingly stroking over his length through the thin cotton of his boxers. He hissed.

“Estás una calientapollas. Please, hermosa. Y/N.”

He saw the way your eyes darted to his face at the sound of your name, your lips parting and your fingers ceasing their gentle sweeping motion over his cock. You held his gaze as you slowly reached up towards the waistband of his briefs and coaxed them down his legs, freeing his member that had been straining against the fabric.

After you’d tossed his final undergarment aside, you settled back between Jake's legs, your hands stroking each of his inner thighs softly, watching as he pulled his lip between his teeth. Your left hand slowly, slowly crept upwards until it ghosted over the silky skin of his shaft, his body shuddering in response to your touch. You waited until his eyes were open again, watching you, before leaning forward and letting a pool of your saliva drip from your lips and onto his awaiting cock. He keened at the sight, his hips jerking just slightly as you finally wrapped your hand around the base and began to stroke him at a treacherously slow pace.

“Mierda. Fuck.”

He grunted quietly, trying to keep his hips still as you started to pump him a bit faster, glittering eyes staring up at him reverently. It was dizzying, the way you gazed up at him with such infatuation. It almost made him nauseous.

You slowly leaned down and licked the precum from his leaking slit before letting your lips wrap around the head, swirling your tongue languidly over the tip, watching his face scrunch up in pleasure.

You briefly pulled back to press kisses up along his entire length, coupled with soft caresses of your fingertips. It was clear to you that Jake was beginning to feel frustrated—his hands were buried in his hair, head thrown back against the bed as if attempting to subdue his desires.

You took him back into your mouth, working him slowly over with your tongue and swallowing him down bit by bit, agonizingly slow. You could feel Jake’s thighs tensing around you, his hands flying from his head to fist at the sheets on either side of his body.

When you gagged around his cock, he lost his composure. You made a startled choking sound when you felt his hand against the back of your head, pressing you down onto his length as his hips bucked up to try to sink into your throat. You immediately recoiled, and Jake nearly whined, his eyes desperately pleading with you to grant him some release. You weren’t taking any pleasure in seeing him like this—this wasn’t your end goal.

“You going to edge me like Marc, huh? Want to hear me beg?”

His voice broke off slightly, his frustrations venting through his lips as he almost glared at you. You sat up, moving to straddle his waist once more so you could press your lips to his again.

“No, Jake, I told you, I’m not. I just—Let me take care of you. Wanna show you how much you mean to me, wanna—wanna worship you, wanna make you feel good—”

His brows furrowed as you rambled slightly, your eyes big and round and glassy. He was confused—what exactly was it that you wanted from him?

“Let me fuck you, mi vida—make us both feel good with me inside you, hm?”

“No, Jake, just—hang on, that’s not—”

“Then what? Want to see if I can be as vanilla as your little Steven?”

“I want to make love with you, Jake.”

His breath resembled something of a gasp as his eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline, disappearing beneath his curls while his eyes widened almost comically at your hasty confession. You cringed inwardly at your forwardness, taking in the expression of sheer panic on Jake’s face that had him looking like a deer in headlights. You sighed, leaning forward to press your forehead into his chest in an attempt to hide your face from view.

“Fuck. Sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel like you have to rush through this. I’m sorry, I just—I want—want you to enjoy it, want you to let yourself feel it, Jake.”

You could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, his lack of response smothering you after your fervent explanation. You wanted to disappear, wanted the ground to cave in and swallow you whole—instead, silence consumed you, settling across your back like a weight that you weren’t strong enough to carry.

“That’s...a new one for me.”

His voice was quiet, sheepish, and you could feel the vibrations rumbling in his chest as you lifted your head to look at him.

“I know.”

You acknowledged quietly. He was staring at you. Dark eyes searching within yours, scanning your expression, every detail of your face, as if attempting to see straight through you. Your heart was still pounding, your face rosy with an embarrassed blush—you felt his arms shift, his hand hesitantly lifting, fingers ghosting over the skin right above the waistband of your jeans at your hips, getting about as close as he could to holding you without actually touching you at all.

You’d never seen Jake Lockley at a loss for words before, and you’d certainly never seen him look so unsure. He was always so collected, nonchalant and unfazed, never dropping his guard for more than a second before that smug smirk reappeared on his face. He took things in stride, his confidence stifling as if he was always three steps ahead of the rest of the world, always knowing what came next.

But now there was vulnerability displayed across his slacken face, a certain wariness serrating his words as he spoke.

“I’m sorry, mi vida, but I don’t—”

“You don’t have to apologize, Jake, really, I promise it’s okay.”

You reached up a hand to cradle the side of his face, fingers gliding across the stubble of his jaw as your thumb brushed over his cheek. His head instinctually tilted in the direction of your hold, turning to press a soft kiss to the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry. This—I don’t know what I was thinking. This isn’t fair to ask of you at all, it wasn’t a part of the deal, and—we can stop here. Let’s—just tell me where you wanna go from here and we can do it. Anything.”

You breathed, looking into his eyes, your brows furrowed in remorse as you anxiously awaited his reply. He was still just looking at you, unwavering, his chest heaving slightly with each brash exhale.

You felt his fingers skate up your bare spine and you straightened at his touch, letting him gently pull you towards him until your noses were brushing again. His gaze never left yours as he drank you in, his lips parting so you could feel his warm breath against yours. After a few more grueling beats, your pulse jumping with anticipation, his closed the gap and kissed you with a tenderness you didn’t know he even possessed. He pulled himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around you until they enveloped you completely, your bodies melding together as his tongue traced the seam of your mouth, although he didn’t press any further—just feeling you, tasting you, savoring the sweetness that seemed to course through your veins.

You were breathless when he pulled back, although he only recoiled just enough to speak. You could feel the movement of his lips against your face as his dark eyes burned through you.

“Hermosa, I don’t—I’ve never... Nunca he hecho esto antes.”

You knew what he was saying even if you couldn’t actually understand it. Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled softly at him, sliding your palms over his chest before wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

“It’s okay, honey. I—we can figure it out together.”

He blinked rapidly at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought there were tears shining across his eyes. But then he was kissing you again, so softly and sincerely that it fucking hurt.

Your body was slotted perfectly against his, flush against the contours of his current position as his hands slid up and down your spine, settling lowly on your back, just above your ass. You could feel his aching arousal pressing into your heat, rubbing against the seam of your jeans as he held you against him. You let his tongue lick inside your mouth greedily before you drew away.

“Can I—Can I keep going?”

You asked softly, grinding your clothed core up against him for emphasis. A breathy whimper fell from his lips as he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before slowly nodding. You slowly crawled down the length of his body, pressing gentle kisses all the way down until you found yourself settled between his legs once again, not wasting any time in wrapping your hand around his cock and giving him a few gentle strokes. He sank into the mattress, throwing his head back into the pillows as his teeth sank into his bottom lip.

“You’re supposed to enjoy this, okay? But remember, this—this isn’t just about making each other cum, it’s—wanna make you feel good. We’ll take it nice and slow. You tell me when you’re ready to—when you wanna move on, and we will, okay?”

He looked down at you, his eyes still full of doubt and hesitance, but beneath the veneer you could see the warmth of trust shining through. He nodded at you reassuringly, and the soft smile he offered was one you’d never seen from him before—so genuine and credulous that it almost resembled Steven.

Without another word, you leaned forward and let the tip of your tongue trace the driblet of precome that had begun to slide down the length of his shaft. You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, suckling at the flesh as your hand began to stroke him steadily, wrist twisting just slightly to maximize the stimulation.

Jake let you toy with him for awhile, his hands gripping the sheets on either side of him in tight fists while he endured you doting on his throbbing cock.

When you reached to squeeze for his balls, your head sinking a bit lower onto his length, you felt his fingers wrap in your hair and gently coax you off of him, a low growl rumbling in his chest. You immediately ceased your ministrations, staring up at him attentively as he blinked slowly at you, his lip swollen from where he had been biting it.

“Do you—you want me to stop? Wanna—want me to ride you, or—”

He interrupted you with groan, throwing his head back against the pillows and squeezing his eyes shut. You could feel the muscles of his abdomen rippling.

“No, mi vida, it’s alright, whenever—you can stay down there as long as you like, I just—mierda, your mouth is so good to me, hermosa. Worried I’m gonna cum.”

He confessed, a sort of pained expression on his face. You gave him a pitying look—it wasn’t mocking, not at all, but genuine sympathy. You didn’t want to make him miserable.

“Just a little bit longer, okay, honey? I know it’s hard going so slow, I’m sorry, but—but I promise, when you finally let go, it’ll be worth it, okay?”

He smiled meekly at you, nodding as he removed his hand from your hair and returned it to its position tangled in the sheets at his side. You gave him one last reassuring glance before sinking your mouth back down onto his cock and lavishing him with more attention.

For several more minutes, he let you worship him, his hips jolting and cock twitching, although he was displaying great levels of restraint when it came to letting you dictate the speed and pace of your actions. You suckled one of his balls into your mouth, watching as he squirmed, legs kicking just slightly beside you as he mewled, his face scrunched up in pleasure.

You released him with a popping sound, finally satisfied with how you’d worked him up and extolled his cock. You crawled up his body and he eagerly welcomed your proximity, pulling you to his mouth to plant a hard, desperate kiss to your mouth. You smiled into him, fingers nestled in his curls.

“Thank you, Jake, did so well.”

You whispered, pressing gentle kisses to the expanse of his jaw as his chest heaved beneath you. He hummed to acknowledge your praise, although you could feel the tension in his muscles as he impatiently awaited your signal that you could continue.

When your eyes met his, they blinked at him, docile and alluring, and he took that as his cue to roll you onto your back so he could position himself on top of you. He pressed a few kisses to your mouth, as if he was struggling to pull himself away, before his lips traveled down your neck and collarbone, his hands popping the button on your jeans to finally have you bare beneath him. You didn’t protest when he pulled them down off of you, your panties joining them soon after. He leaned up to kiss you again, his rock-hard length dipping into your sopping folds as his body rocked against yours once, then twice, earning a low whimper from your throat.

“Go ahead, honey, I’m ready for you.”

You whispered, voice sweet, and he groaned lowly. However, he surprised you by pressing a soft peck to your cheek before sinking down the length of your body, his mouth trailing a line down the center of your torso before kissing right atop your pubic bone, brown eyes watching you closely. Your breath stuttered as you wrapped your fingers in his hair unconsciously.

“Jake, you’ve waited long enough, you don’t have to—”

“Wanna do this right, Y/N.”

He whispered, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your clit, causing you to gasp.

“Make me feel so good, hermosa. Promised going slow is worth it—gonna make it worth it for you, too.”

You couldn’t dwell on the fluttering sensation in your chest when his mouth pressed against you, wet tongue meeting your dripping folds with attentiveness—you released a soft cry as he lapped at your entranced, the tip of his tongue prodding at your clit gently, causing you to squirm.

Jake liked to run his mouth, but now, he was silent. It's not that he didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to spur you on with filthy praise—he simply couldn’t find the words. He was absolutely hypnotized by the sight above him, bewitched by the expression of pure, unadulterated euphoria on your face at each ministration he offered. He’d never been witness to such a beautiful view before—any time he’d gone down on someone, watching their nonverbal responses to his touch simply wasn’t his priority. It had always been rushed, forceful, as he ripped orgasm after orgasm from his partner with greed and insatiability. But now—now it was you. He was in between your legs, pulling angelic sounds from your lips as your thighs quaked around his head. You were glowing, radiant, ethereal as you basked in the pleasure, and Jake finally realized why foreplay was so important—seeing you like this might be even better than the real thing.

He heeded your words. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, wasn’t speeding you towards your climax with rapid swipes of his tongue and fingers. He was savoring you, each brush of his mouth against your core was languid and indulgent. His lips puckered around your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing slow circles around it with his tongue as your fingers fisted tighter into his curls, offering enough of a sting to make him groan around you. His tongue dipped into your entrance, lapping at your dripping arousal, your walls fluttering around his thick muscle as your hips jerked to meet his thrusts, pressing yourself against his face to chase your mounting pleasure.

This was different than the orgasms he’d granted you the day prior—this was a simmering heat, coiling lowly in your stomach, festering and building slowly as he sought out the places that made you squirm. You could feel the intensity spiking, even though his lazy speed remained constant—the way his dark eyes stayed firmly fixated on your face was dragging you closer and closer to the threshold.

“Fuck, Jake, oh God—”

You whined, and his hands slipped beneath your ass, lifting your hips to grant him a better angle at which to devour you. Your thighs were trembling, his tongue beginning to swipe over your clit in rapid side-to-side motions—the change of pace pulled a ragged wail from within you, the muscles of your abdomen squeezing tight. He couldn’t control the shameful rutting of his hips into the mattress beneath him at the sound.

“So close, Jake, yes, fuck—”

You were right on the precipice, stars clouding your vision, but right before you tipped over the edge, you yanked your hips back, lifting Jake's head away from you with your grip on his hair. He jolted, hazy eyes suddenly wide and alert as he sat back, bewildered at your abrupt departure from his lips. You squeezed your eyes shut as your orgasm dissipated, your tense muscles sinking back into the mattress as the coil loosened itself. You breathed out lowly, your lashes fluttering as you opened your arms to pull Jake against you.

“Sorry, honey, I—so good, Jake, fuck, but I—wanna cum on your cock, wanna cum with you.”

A low groan escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes blinking closed to stave off the arousal that was singeing his insides.

“You—¿estás lista, mi vida? Are you sure?”

You nodded vigorously, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he let out a slow breath, hands sliding to your sides. Your brows furrowed when he pulled back, gently attempting to roll you onto your stomach. You reached up to grip his shoulders tightly, shaking your head.

“No, no, Jake, I want—wanna see you, wanna be close to you, please.”

There was turmoil churning behind his eyes as he stared down at you, brows furrowed heavily as he fought his internal battle. You realized he’d probably never done it like this before—if the fact that he was afraid to kiss you was any indication, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’d never let himself be caught in such an intimate position.

But then his eyes softened, his hand coming to cradle the side of your face, his thumb pressing up against the swell of your lower lip.

“Okay, hermosa. Por ti hago lo que sea.”

You felt his member slide between your dripping folds, the head of his cock brushing across your clit as he guided it against your center, hearing the way your breath hitched at the feel of him over your bundle of nerves. You felt it notch at your entrance, the tip just barely breaching your folds. Jake cursed lowly under his breath, eyes glued to where his cock was about to sink into you. In spite of your desperation, your hands lifted to rest on either side of his face, forcing his eyes onto you.

“Look at me, honey. Want you to look at me when you split me open.”

“Carajo.”

He muttered, closing his eyes to steel himself before opening them again to stare into yours. You watched his lips part as he pushed into you, unbearably slow, a low moan rumbling through his diaphragm as he sank into you, only stopping when he was fully-seated within your fluttering walls.

The intimacy was stifling him. He felt lightheaded, breathless, his body hovering over yours just barely as he held himself up above you, drinking in your heavenly being—your hair was fanned out on the pillow beneath you, your pink lips slicked with saliva as your gazed up at him with doe-eyes, blinking slowly as your walls clenched around him.

“God, Jake.”

You whispered, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling so he fell against you, chest flush against your own. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, staying still inside of you for a few brief moments in order to just feel the way you surrounded him.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled back his hips, just barely, before pressing back inside of you, your moans echoing in unison as his balls nestled tightly against your ass again. He’d always been so busy chasing his release, relentlessly pounding into you that he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate just how perfectly he filled you, just how perfectly your walls clamped around his pulsing length.

“So good, mi vida.”

He groaned against your neck, repeating the motion of his hips at a more steady pace. Each thrust pressed against your cervix, causing you to whimper.

“Fill me up so nice, Jake, fuck, feels so good.”

He felt your walls clamp around him once more, and he pulled his head back slightly, lifting himself up a bit more so he could increase the breadth of his thrusts.

“Me vas a matar.”

He growled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as one hand came to palm at your breast, his eyes glued to the way the other bounced with each push of his hips forward. His eyes drifted back to the fucked-out expression on your face, your lips parted as you stared up at him, and his hips stuttered just slightly.

God, he was close already.

“Fuck, hermosa, me arruinas.”

You could feel him faltering, a bead of sweat dripping from one of his curls and down onto your chest, sliding between your breasts and down to your stomach. He watched it dribble downward, eyes dazed, his abdomen clenching as he attempted to stave off his impending orgasm.

His hand clumsily wedged between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in crude circles, his arm trembling just slightly. Watching him grow desperate above you was enough to spark the beginnings of your climax. You pulled him down for a bruising kiss, teeth clashing and tongues swirling as you swallowed his incessant groans.

“Wan’ you to cum with me, Jake.”

Your words were drawled, drunk on the way his cock filled you, and you could feel pleasure sparking in the base of your spine. The speed of his fingers on your clit sped up slightly, his hips struggling to maintain their cadence.

“Mierda, hermosa, oh fuck, so tight—can’t, I can’t—”

“Cum inside me, Jake.”

Your words were only a whisper as you skated along the edge of your orgasm, just barely hanging on as you desperately tried to convince Jake to let go. His eyes blew open wide at your words, grunting as his hips continued jacking forward.

“Y/N, shit, don’t—I’ve never—”

“Oh, God, fuck, I’m cumming, Jake, please, please cum with me, fuck—”

He couldn’t have stopped himself even if he tried. The rhythmic pulsing of your walls around his painfully hard cock was harrowing, gripping him so tightly that he couldn’t have pulled out even if he wanted to.

His balls drew up tight as his climax exploded.

“Oh, me vengo—mierda, fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, shit, shit, shit—”

His eyes rolled back as he nearly collapsed on top of you, his hips pistoning forward again and again as he shot his spend deep into your walls, his cock pulsing. His orgasm seemed to last minutes as his vision blacked out, brain emptying as his awareness only focused on how the pleasure zipped across his skin with each pump of cum that he released and how tightly your walls were squeezing him, milking him for all he was worth. He’d never cum so hard in his life, or so much—his seed was leaking out around his length as his body slowed to a halt, your tired cunt stuffed full of him as his cock spilled one final spurt of warm release, the head of his member settling against your cervix as he stilled, his weight bearing down on you as he went boneless.

Jake was slowly grounded back into reality at the feeling of your fingertips brushing softly across the length of his spine, your other hand buried in his curls from where his face was tucked into your shoulder. He could feel your hot lips pressed against his temple, your breathing steady and even as you regained your bearings. He forced himself to follow your inhalation patterns, attempting to slow the racing of his heart.

As the endorphins flooding his bloodstream began to thin out, his anxieties threatened to consume him once again. He pushed himself up and off of you, groaning at the soreness in his muscles and the exhaustion tingeing the edge of his movements. You could do nothing but watch him as he slowly pulled out of you, and you expected him to leave you as hastily as he had the day before—maybe he would’ve, if not for the way his eyes glued themselves to your exposed center, enthralled by the sight of his cum oozing from your fluttering hole and dripping downwards.

Your hips jumped slightly when you felt his fingers gently sweep over your cunt—his gaze never lifted as he scooped his release from where is was beginning to escape and pushed it back into you, forcing you to keep as much of him inside as you could. His eyes were dark, possessive as he tilted your hips up just slightly in an effort to stop his cum from leaking out of you.

His sudden captivation and obsession with filling you was surprising, a stark contrast from just moments before when he had desperately resisted your pleas to finish inside of you. The ghost of a smile flickered over his lips as he settled you back down, seemingly content with the show. His eyes flickered up to yours, and as soon as your gazes met, you saw the way a shadow crested his features, abruptly throwing up his guard after the unexpected vulnerability he’d just granted you.

Jake walked to the bathroom, letting the door shut behind him with a click. You pulled yourself into a sitting position, sighing as you felt the stickiness between your thighs and settling beneath you. You should clean yourself up, get dressed and head out so that—

The bathroom door swung open again and Jake walked out, a wet washcloth awkwardly held in his left hand. He stood at the end of the bed for a moment, as if unsure of what to do next. His eyes hesitantly found yours.

“Do—I’m—I haven’t done this part before, mi vida.”

He quietly admitted, offering a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. Still, your heart warmed at his efforts.

“Thought—figured I’d try what Marc does, but I don’t—”

“Thank you, Jake, that’s perfect.”

You encouraged softly, and his eyes lit up with your soft praises as he knelt down on the edge of the bed, leaning down to carefully press the cloth to your ruined core. You sucked in a sharp breath, the coldness of the water a foreign sensation in contrast to the heat that was broiling between your legs—Jake recoiled, eyes searching yours widely for direction. You offered him a lopsided grin.

“Sorry, s’just—sensitive.”

You explained, and he nodded, slowly wiping at the arousal that stained your skin. His lips were pursed as he focused on his actions, trying desperately not to hurt you. After awhile, he sighed.

“Would you—do you want Marc? Or Steven?”

Your face fell as he finished cleaning you up, tossing the towel on the floor beside the bed, before facing you, his curls falling across his forehead and into his eyes. You frowned.

“No, Jake—not unless you don’t want to—it’s okay, I can always leave if that’s—”

He let out a humorless, bitter laugh, one hand coming up to stroke at his stubbled jaw as he stared at the ceiling, clearly uncomfortable.

“No sé lo que estoy haciendo.”

You heard him mumble breathlessly, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

“Do you—will you come lay with me, Jake?”

You asked softly, as if you were speaking to a wild animal and were trying desperately not to scare it away. His eyes darted to your face, lips parting to protest, to make up an excuse, but then he shook his head at himself, crawling up towards you and seating himself beside you, his back resting against the headboard. You tentatively leaned into his side, nestling your head against his shoulder. You felt him stiffen beside you slightly, but then his arm moved to wrap around you, pulling you closer against his side.

You felt him release a breath he’d been holding as you lifted a hand to rest on his bare chest, drawing random shapes into the warm skin mindlessly.

“Why did you think I’d want Marc or Steven?”

You asked softly, your eyes watching the movement of your fingers on his chest. His hold on you tightened.

“This—s’not my job. I don’t do things like this.”

You sat upright, turning to face him fully. His eyes were hard as they looked at you.

“What do you mean, not your job?”

His lips pursed.

“You know, hermosa. You’re the doctor, hm? Steven and me, we’re—we both do something for Marc. S’why we’re here. Marc and Steven, they—they get to feel things, know people. I’m—I’m just here to make sure they’re safe, that they don’t get hurt.”

Tears pricked behind your eyes as his words registered in your brain. There was an aching sensation festering in your chest.

“No, Jake, that’s not—that’s not how this works. You’re a person, you have every right to experience things just like they do, you’re—”

“No pasa nada. This is the way things are, hermosa. I know you thought—thought you’d be able to come and figure us out, show us what’s what, but—but I already know who I am, what part I play.”

The dejection in his voice was unmistakable. There was bitterness in his words, resentment. The pain in your chest expanded.

“I protect. That’s what I do. Means I don’t get—I don’t get to have this, mi vida. What happened today—that’t not mine.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, so you turned and sank back into his side, hoping he didn’t catch your display of emotion. In spite of himself, he let you press against him, savoring the feeling of your soft skin against his own.

You were hoping he’d open himself up to you after your intimate tryst, but you obviously misread the situation—his walls had come back up, even stronger and more unwavering than before.

Perhaps he sensed your sadness. You felt him release a long sigh, his muscles going lax as he let his head fall against the headboard.

“Lo siento, hermosa. I—you deserve better than what I can give you.”

Your head turned to gaze up at him, finding his eyes staring straight ahead at a random focal point. You felt your heart crack a bit.

“Stop, Jake, don’t say that. That’s not true, I don’t—”

“It’s okay, mi vida. I appreciate what you tried to do for me today. Significa mucho para mí.”

He swallowed, and when he finally looked down at you, the warmth he’d been unabashedly displaying for you had been replaced by the familiar austere glint that normally resided there.

No. You wouldn’t have it. Not after all of this.

Your hand reached up to cradle his jaw, thumb swiping over the apple of his cheek as you turned his head to face you.

“I know you’ve heard me say it, Jake. To Marc and Steven. This wasn’t—this isn’t just research.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as his eyes flickered down to your lips, and you felt the arm that was wrapped around you tighten its grip again.

“I care about you, a lot—”

“You don’t know me.”

His words were brazen, suddenly harsh, insistent against your admission. Your brows furrowed.

“I’m not—I’m not like the others. I’m—I’m no good, hermosa. You care about Steven, and Marc, but I’m not like them. I don’t feel things like them, I can’t—estás mejor sin mí.”

“Then let me know you, Jake. You’re a part of this system, just as much as Marc and Steven, and you deserve to be happy.”

He didn’t answer you—his jaw rippled at the conviction your tone offered, so certain with yourself. You let out a long sigh, reaching to pull at his arm as you shifted. His brows furrowed, but he let you coax him into a lying position, his head against the pillows as you once again nestled into his side, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as you pressed your front against his side, face squished against his shoulder. You placed a soft kiss to the skin there.

“I’m gonna stay with you tonight, okay, Jake?”

You felt his muscles tense in protest, every fiber of his being telling him to make you leave, to get up and go, but the proximity and warmth of your body was intoxicating. After a few beats, he finally offered a slow nod, his limbs relaxing as he sank into the bed. You reached to pull the duvet over you two, clutching onto him tightly, and even if he refused to hold you back, you could feel the way his body went pliant beneath your touch.

He shouldn’t let you so close. He’d managed to keep his distance before—but with the way your breaths slowed into gentle snores, your hair tickling against his bicep, your comforting heat seeping into his bones—he felt his resolve begin to crack beneath the pressure of your insistent affections.

Jake let himself mold against you, his head tilting to rest against the top of yours as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head—he told himself that it was okay, you were sleeping, no one ever had to know just how much you’d softened him, how deeply you’d sunk your perfectly-manicured nails into his flesh—and no one ever had to know just how much he loved it.

For the first time in what felt like ever, Jake Lockley actually slept.

TAGLIST: @kezibear143 @gingermous @josephquinncore @steven-grants-world @am-3-thyst @fanofverymanythings @vaneyvfs @theboggyman-blog @belladri @roserfz27 @nowayhomerry @justanotherkpopstanlol @bagsy-not-it @elles-mind-palace @pimosworld @winterbiip @moonmoonboys @icuminurbutt @spxctorsslxt @fandomqueen74 @freerangesweets @wumpsquill @wordacadabra @lunaleah @hornkneeforbucky @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @ronanthesimp @deezisnotreal @avengersinitiative2012 @pri00r @wand-erer5 @bitchotine @cookielovesbook-akie @kingtwhiddleston @manofworm @welcometostayingawake @papillonoirsworld @xsarcasticwriterx @this--is--music @paradox-brody-chase

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messiahzzz · 6 months

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thank you sm for the ask!! 💕 i’m glad you enjoy my posts and it is not a strange request by any means!

note: this is merely my read on gale’s sexual preferences/kinks. i don’t want to police anyone on their headcanons or claim they are “incorrect”. since the game doesn’t provide too much detail, many things remain up to interpretation. (and lest we forget fanfiction has always encouraged the exploration of dynamics that may not be present in canon.)

gale is a character who isn’t interested in walking the straight and narrow route. he is all about new experiences, favoring non-traditional means, putting his own spin on things, and the thrill of seeking the forbidden. the sheer romance of the uncharted and the unknown. he is enthusiastic in almost every aspect and possesses an infectious zest for life. in regards to his sexual preferences, this translates into an eagerness to explore, witness new sensations, and reach new heights together. while approaching the topic of sexuality with a generally playful, adventurous attitude.

if you’re looking for harder kinks, however — i don’t believe gale is the character for you. and in case it needs to be said again: there is nothing wrong with being vanilla.

initially, i see gale as a switch, who gravitates more towards assuming a dominant role, due to his ever-present desire to give and to impress. i do think he enjoys giving up control, yet you still have to actively convince him to let himself go and be spoiled for once. his first focus will always be to fulfill his partner's needs and drown them in his all-encompassing love and adoration. i also believe that gale will grow more comfortable with being the center of attention, once their relationship has reached a point of total security (and he had ample opportunities to show in just how many ways he can wow them). gale is not a strict dom, nor a sub. in his ideal relationship roles would be discarded entirely, deeming them too restrictive in his expression of intimacy with a trusted partner. it’s all about variety and ridding oneself of the shackles of the worldly, after all. melting into one perfect whole, not knowing where he ends and his partner begins.

gale: we are all sensual vessels. illusory magic lets us sail farther, and feel more deeply.

gale: [..] i could use the weave to make us feel sensations beyond reckoning.

based on what we know about gale, these could be some of his kinks:

lots of praise (this is non-negotiable), sensation/temperature play (waxplay, electrostimulation/all the many perks magic has to offer), sensory deprivation, light restrictions and bondage, the occasional roleplay, katoptronophilia (self-explanatory), altered mental-states (hypnosis, psychedelics), orgasm control & denial, body worship, olfactophilia and given his propensity towards verbosity: narratophilia and some very inventive dirty talk. as for my own self-indulgent take: due to the recurring emphasis on hands during his romance, as well as his being the main tool in how he shapes and navigates the world: quirofilia.

nodecontext: flustered, standing in front of his romance partner in bondage gear. not necessarily uncomfortable with the bondage aspect, just trying to stay focused.

now, what are gale’s hard-limits?

gale, after the player received loviatar's blessing: your hide, your choice. not quite my cup of tea though.

while projecting your own kinks and fantasies onto fictional characters is fine and well, disregarding and ignoring the source material (and the character's stated boundaries) is another matter entirely. fanon!gale is rather ooc and very different from his canon portrayal, which is something that tends to irk me. although this remains a common fandom phenomenon.

personally, i don’t see gale as someone who enjoys pain of any kind, be it giving or receiving (with the exception of spanking and light choking, if a certain mood strikes. although it is kept mostly playful). contrary to what fandom may claim, having self-worth issues, being loquacious, emotionally expressive, and vulnerability-seeking (as well as being commonly perceived as arrogant and insufferable) doesn't automatically equal having repressed masochistic tendencies. he could be convinced to dip a toe into sadism, but only upon his partner’s insistence. although i doubt he himself would find enjoyment in that.

the same applies to degradation/humiliation. i doubt that a character who is still very much struggling with inherent self-worth issues and a general feeling of being defective/not worthy would derive sexual gratification from being degraded. yes, it can certainly be healing for some, but gale doesn’t strike me as someone who would find particular enjoyment in that. quite the contrary, actually. nor would he like to do the degrading for that matter (he would vehemently refuse. all he wants to do is sing your praises.) gale wouldn’t enjoy being leashed and/or collared in any way either. the prospect of being tied up or restricted is rather intriguing, cause it serves to center one’s vulnerability while also allowing for more intense sensations. anything that taps into the puppy play/slave territory tho? he would find it demeaning… and, quite frankly, silly.

gale is also not a voyeur, nor a cuck. the entire scene with the drow twins leans way too much into dub-con territory for my tastes. the only way you can get him to participate at all is by rolling a persuasion check with DC 25. in every other dialogue option, he immediately (and explicitly) declines. even if you do manage to pass the persuasion check, he is still very hesitant about participating.

gale: i might enjoy watching you tangled up with the drow, as long as i was five paces back.

he then immediately runs from the room, because sending a simulacrum in his place was the only way to somewhat remove himself from the situation while still being able to please tav. because of course he wants to please and clearly this is important to tav so he might just… have to discard his reservations and... just go through with it?!

gale: well i suppose it would do no good to back out now. let us begin this little anthropological study, if we must.

i am aware that fandom uses the fact that his “orb lit up in telltale excitement” as a justification that persuading him was the right choice, as well as confirmation that he was secretly into it and “just needed a little push" to explore his desires/get out of his comfort zone. that implication alone is very suspect and goes straight into the sort of logic abusers often use. you can be physically aroused by certain scenes, images, or sounds, even while being visibly uncomfortable with the presented scenario. it is a natural response that you can’t often control. which is what he is showing throughout the entire scene: discomfort. he was coerced into this situation, without any prior discussion or an opportunity to talk about his boundaries. furthermore, this is what he has to say if you approach him after the threesome:

gale: ahem. i hope you're not here to ask about our recent, erm, activities. i'd rather those were consigned to the footnotes of our romance, if it's all the same with you.

since he is strictly monogamous, any arrangement involving another person is also a no. he made this rather clear when tav sought him out after receiving halsin's proposal. him being monogamous isn't solely rooted in his trauma, it isn't something he has to “overcome” in order to heal, nor does it mean that their relationship is any less fulfilling. call him greedy, stubborn, or old-fashioned, but he cannot comfortably agree to that.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 meta #now what do i even tag this as?#coercion cw #degradation tw #humiliation tw #will have to do some more thinking about the whole “gale has a breeding kink” take #as of now i don't believe that it is a kink nor a squick of his #as long as there's no actual risk of pregnancy involved that is #btw guys i love answering these #if you enjoy reading my long ass posts feel free to clutter my inbox #it speaks

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dilfsonic · 8 months

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Okay so, unpopular take that applies specifically to my Service Animal AU: Shadow and Maria are not siblings/“sibling coded.”

If you’ve read the notes on the original lore post describing them, you probably already know what I mean. While they can and will have moments of inspired ‘sibling’ like love for each other, that’s simply too disingenuous a way to describe them. They’re so much more. They’re each other’s only friend, they’re charge and ward, they can mimic the attitudes of siblings but never fully understand them, they have no romantic interests (until sonic shows up) and so mimic certain attitudes in that way with each other as well. But all of these are mere approximations and mimicry without fully encompassing any of those relationships. Shadow’s “affections” can be easily misconstrued for holding more weight than they actually are intended, as gestures such as hand holding/cuddling/purring are all utilitarian expressions meant to ease Maria’s physical discomfort or anxiety in accordance to his job as her service animal. Nothing more, nothing less. Maria knows this, but others can and do easily make their own assumptions.

I’ve been a little nervous to express this interpretation as I feel it can be really easily misunderstood, and I don’t want to give people the idea that even the immensely “”romantic”” or affectionate gestures or affiliations applied to them are actually meant to be shippy. Their love is an all encompassing one, and to call it sibling-like or romantic are both incorrect, as they’re neither. Ultimately applying any real world label to this au will be incorrect and a little too extreme in either direction; the closest possible relationship that may most accurately describe them is that between a service dog and their owner, if such a service dog was as intellectually capable of their human.

They’re what you get when you’re the only two people in your whole world. They’re what you get when you pair together someone who’s indebted to the other for their existence, which goes both ways. And by normal relationship standards, I would disagree to consider it a ‘healthy’ dynamic, but it also cannot be judged by the milestones of what a normal and healthy dynamic even looks like.

Shadow is nothing without her (in his own mind), and this lends itself to an inability to conceptualize a ‘self’ to even express. Maria hates how Shadow views himself — a tool, a trained dog, a guard, a companion of necessity — but she also can’t avoid using him accordingly. That means having no choice but to treat him not as a person, but as her crutch. Shadow is little aware of her internal struggle with the dehumanization of him because they communicate this almost never. Nor does he mind being dehumanized, he has never been a ‘person’ since the day he was created anyway.

Maria would love nothing more than to call Shadow a little brother, her best friend, someone who she could’ve had take her to prom because nobody at her school wanted to indulge the sickly child, nor did anyone even know her well enough considering she spent most of her time out of school than in it. She’d love to call Shadow these normal things, but she can’t. Not yet at least. Sonic will slowly change them and the way they can view friendship and the world and what it means to belong to each other, but it’s hard work on Shadow and Maria’s part.

They are something that can’t be easily defined, because it’s complex, and messy, and while there are bright moments of wonder and joy, is also overwhelmingly dark in its implications, and they can feel utterly alone even when standing right next to each other. Shadow owes Maria everything, and Maria owes Shadow everything, but each underestimates the full gravity of how their own existence touches and expands the other. They consider themselves worthless compared to the other, and that’s what gets in the way of them truly being able to open their hearts to each other. The way Sonic later teaches them HOW to open their hearts.

So yeah. I hope this concept of blurring the lines doesn’t scare too many folks, but this is based on my personal interpretation of how I feel a continued existence between them in canon or a canon adjacent world might have been like. I know it’s easy and delightful to see em like wholesome siblings — which is also an interpretation I wholeheartedly endorse and adore, particularly the way my bud @ratrrriot draws them (please go follow them if you don’t already, their shadow and maria artwork is to die for!) — but this is just a slightly different and admittedly darker take on them that I hope won’t ruffle too many feathers. Sibling coded relationships between characters are so wonderful, but in this case doesn’t feel satisfying or like it can possibly cover the scope of them for this particular au. I dislike labeling them or comparing them to another dynamic, like Sonic and Tails who are very explicitly brotherly with one another.

I may make a separate post on Sonic’s impact in this world and how he touches the lives of Shadow and Maria, Helen (when she comes along), and this world’s version of Robotnik (Julian) if people are interested in that. I take a lot of inspiration from his characterization in the Adventure games and Sonic X for this AU, as he’s most closely canon-aligned compared to Shadow and Maria who are a little different; though I’m gonna try my best to fit their “canon” personalities into a completely different scenario. Such as, Shadow lacks the innate hatred he has for mankind as he never loses Maria, but he will retain the “my body is a tool” mentality and the general uncaring of others opinions of him, etc.

#I would love to hear thoughts so long as they’re civil #I have a playlist for them but I’ve been waffling on whether to share it or not #ultimately this is a Sonadow au as much as it’s an exploration of shadow and Maria’s peculiar relationship here #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #Maria Robotnik #service animal au #my post

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literallycallmesock · 2 months

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just wanted to put out my thoughts on TMA Gerry and TMAGP Gerry

Just because TMAGP Gerry hadn't gone through the same trauma that TMA Gerry had, doesn't mean he isn't goth anymore.

Happy people with good lives can be goth.

I've seen a few people using this as a way to mis-characterize goths as people who are genuinely unhappy people or traumatized individuals with no love for life or have an inability to feel happiness. That's not always true! Its good to remember this, keep this in mind, and not judge others solely on stereotypes or prejudices.

On the flip side of the argument, don't fucking harass people who headcanon TMAGP Gerry as not goth.

I still headcanon TMAGP Gerry goth as fuck! That’s just how I have him headcanoned in my interpretation of audio-described characters with no canon descriptions yet!

But that doesn't mean either goth or not goth TMAGP Gerry are "wrong" or "incorrect".

Until (if) we get an actual in-podcast canon description of TMAGP Gerry, its going to be a headcanon free-for-all, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Pastel Goth Gerry is valid.

Completely not-Goth Gerry is valid.

Your headcanons are valid.

Love yallz

#tma #tmagp #tmapg #tmagp spoilers #tma podcast #gerry keay

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

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maybe weird and mybe vague, but if you ever have the time and inclination, would you talk bout your opinion on Geralt and *religion*? I haven't read the books in a very long time, and i only am halfway though the series, but sometimes geralt says something (' for it is the **holy** and irrefutable right of every woman.') and i'm left thinking, because he doesn't seem to believe in much but at the same time he does?

Religion and Spirituality in The Witcher Books: What DOES Geralt of Rivia Believe In?

Hello my dear! Sometime you guys will send me an ask that just makes me go...HOW DID YOU KNOW I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THIS AND WOULD BE DELIGHTED TO RAMBLE ON ABOUT IT.

VERY MILD BOOK SPOILERS AHEAD

VERY LONG, EXTRA, GEEKY POST AHEAD

So. For those who missed it, this is in reference to my "abortion in the witcher books" post, where Geralt calls abortion a "holy and irrefutable" right, both words that imply either spirituality or at least moral beliefs that surpass reasoning and rationality.

Yet, we know that Geralt does not believe in the existence of 'the gods', (I'll pull the quotes for that and show evidence as we go) so why would he use such language? What DOES he believe in? Does he have a guiding spiritual system of beliefs?

A lot of people interpret Geralt's attempts at political neutrality as wishy washy or cynical or apathetic, and believe, as a result, that he does not have a particular driving moral system of beliefs. In fact!! On my abortion post there was a guy on twitter actually trying to fight with me, saying that it doesn't matter what Geralt thinks about abortion, because Geralt doesn't value human life. (lmaoooooooooooooooo)

I am here to say that this is incorrect all around. (to the conservative dudebro I told him that he was conflating 'has killed' with 'does not value life', two very different things.) Anywho. Geralt actually has an incredibly strong system of morals and ethics that are VERY clearly laid out in the books. We can even name that system of beliefs. It just gets complicated!

So, let's talk about that. First, let's lay out his beliefs.

Disclaimer: I'm working with English translations of the books, and as I get very precise about words, just please be aware of that limitation. Many times I wish I had a Polish friend who had copies of the book and wouldn't mind me (the dreaded Geraskier shipper and twn fan) pestering them every time I had a question about wording. If anyone doesn't mind being that friend for me, please let me know.

Now. Onward.

For those who did not read my abortion post, Panur is referring to the fact that In Sword of Destiny (p 345), when Geralt is discussing his mother with Calanthe, this is what he calls abortion:

“A choice. A choice which should be respected, for it is the holy and irrefutable right of every woman.”

There are two words that Geralt uses here, "holy" and 'irrefutable" and both imply something 'higher' than reason. Holy is religious in nature, while irrefutable is along the lines of "inalienable" which is the word Dandelion uses, when speaking about the right to abortion. In Baptism of Fire (p317), Dandelion refers to abortion like this:

It’s obvious that only the woman can make a decision like that. It’s her inalienable right.

Inalienable and irrefutable are words that describe inherent rights, which are not subject to rational debate.

Many would describe that as sacred or untouchable. So even though it is not as directly religious as the word 'holy', it implies a value that is higher than logic or rationality.

AND YET, we do know that Geralt does not believe in the gods. It is a point of discussion between him and Nenneke on multiple occasions. In The Last Wish (p37) Nenneke is worried about Geralt and is trying to convince him to let Iola, one of her priestesses, put him in a trance. He resists her idea. Here is what Nenneke says.

"Iola isn't a medium or a mentally ill soothsayer. That child enjoys the goddess's favor."

Geralt's face does something in reaction to this that indicates his disbelief, and Nenneke responds.

"Don't pull silly faces, if you please."

So whatever his face did, it wasn't good. She continues.

"As I said, your view on religion is known to me, it's never particularly bothered me, and no doubt, it won't bother me in the future. I'm not a fanatic. You've a right to believe that we're governed by Nature and the Force hidden within her. You can think that the gods, including my Melitele, are merely a personification of this power invented for simpletons so they understand it better, accept its existence. According to you, that power is blind."

So, Nenneke describes his belief system in regard to the gods as...they don't exist, at least not in the way people view them. There is magic and chaos and monstrous beings, sure. But there are no 'all powerful' gods enacting their will on the world, there is nothing so predictable or organized.

Those beliefs are repeated elsewhere in the books, but I won't pull every single quote. This one does the trick. Geralt believes that people invented the gods to explain the world around them.

We also know that he believes humans invent monsters in order to seem less monstrous themselves. He says this to Dandelion in The Last Wish (p167).

"People," Geralt turned his head, "like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, staar an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.

So. In Geralt's world view, human beings are the creators. They create gods. They create monsters. And when they blame the gods or monsters, it is a false powerlessness engineered to escape accountability. But Geralt holds people accountable anyway.

So, if Geralt does not believe in the gods, does that mean he believes in nothing? Does that mean he does not have a moral code?

Actually, it is the opposite.

If people are held accountable for their actions, when they have no gods or demons or monsters to blame, the standard for morality is much higher.

Geralt if often called self righteous for this stance. In The Last Wish, (p160) when Geralt is complaining about how hard it is to make a living as a witcher, Dandelion even tells him he should be a priest, saying the fact that he doesn't believe in gods shouldn't be any barrier.

"Whatever. Become a priest. You wouldn't be bad at it with all your scruples, your morality, your knowledge of people and everything. The fact that you don't believe in any gods shouldn't be a problem. I don't know many priests who do. Becomes a priest and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

But without spirituality, where does Geralt get his system of morals? How does Geralt decide what is right and what is wrong?

Well, once again, Geralt puts human beings (instead of gods) at the center, in the position of power and importance.

Let's start with the moral quandary Geralt faces most often. Which monsters are ethical to kill, and which are not ethical to kill?

Geralt has arguments many times throughout the books with people who want him to kill a monster that he does not want to kill,

AND conversely

he has arguments with people who judge him for killing monsters that they believe should be protected.

Those people are on the extremes. Some people see all monsters as inherently without worth. At best, they think they are subhuman and can be murdered for money making schemes or potions, or at worst, they think they should all be exterminated.

The other kind of person (mostly druids and academics) see them as part of mother nature, sacrosanct and untouchable, and accuse Geralt of being immoral for killing even one.

But for Geralt? It isn't so simple. There is no 'one size fits all'. He doesn't 'other' monsters like that. So he has to decided each and every time. And as a nonbeliever, Geralt does not have a holy book or god to consult with to tell him what is right. And yet? He always has an answer.

In reference to the monsters he does not want to kill, here are a few passages of Geralt explaining his reasoning. In The Last Wish, he tells Dandelion he won't kill mecopterans because:

I'm not going to kill mecopterans. Nor any other harmless creatures."

Then, in Sword of Destiny (p42) when when Yennefer and Dorregaray are arguing about dragons, Geralt speaks up. What he says explains why he doesn't kill them:

"Dragons aren't man's enemies," Geralt broke in.

Then later, Yennefer challenges him.

"...And what do you know, witcher?"

��Only," Geralt said, ignoring the sudden warning vibration of the medallion around his neck, "that if dragons didn’t have treasure hoards, not a soul would be interested in them; and certainly not sorcerers...

Later on in the book, Dandelion says that Geralt doesn't kill night spirits because they are "sweet". There are a lot of other examples, but basically, that is always the test. Did the monster harm a human?

Now, on the other extreme, there are people who think Geralt shouldn't harm any monsters. These are people who are big on theory and environmentalism, druids and academics. Here are two examples.

First, we have Dorregaray in Sword of Destiny (p40) he says that Witchers calling killing a vocation is "loathsome, low, and nonsensical". He says:

"The world...is in equilibrium. Natural equilibrium....The extermination of the natural enemies of humans, which you dedicate yourself to...threatens the degeneration of the race."

Geralt responds with his reasoning.

"Do you know what, sorcerer?" Geralt said, annoyed. "one day, take yourself to a mother whose child has been devoured by a basilisk, and tell her she ought to be glad, because thanks to that the human race has escaped degeneration. See what she says to you."

Basically, he's like...tell that to the people who are killed.

Then, in Blood of Elves, Geralt is talking to an academic called Linus Pitt. (it's actually a really funny story, I summarized it here) Geralt has been hired to defend the boat from a monster, and this academic has struck up a conversation with him. They are discussing sea creatures (aeschna) who have been pulling people from decks and eating them. This man offers a similar argument to Dorregaray.

"...It was wiped out a good half-century ago, due -- incidentally --to the activity of individuals such as yourself who are prepared to kill anything that does not instantly look right, without forethought, tests, observations or considering its ecological niche..."

Now, we as the reader know, witchers do consider ecological niches, because Vesemir teaches Ciri about them in the previous chapters in this same book. But for witchers, ecological niches ultimately do not outweigh human life. So after briefly considering just telling the man "where he could put the aeschna and its niche," Geralt responds, trying to appeal to the man's love of theory and scholarship and his college (Oxenfurt, natch)...

"Master Tutor," he said calmly, "one of those pulled form the deck was a young pregnant girl...Theoretically, her child could, one day, have become chancellor of your college. What do you have to say to such an approach to ecology?"

That doesn't work. Master Tutor Pitt is still snooty.

"Nature is governed by its own rules and although those rules are cruel and ruthless, they should not be amended...And nothing can justify the extermination of a species, even a predatory one. What do you say to that?"

So, Geralt reverts to his truth.

"I'd say it's dangerous to lean out like that. There might be an aeschna in the vicinity. Do you want to try out the aeschna's struggle for survival on your own skin?"

Linus Pitt let go of the railing and abruptly jumped away.

The point is always always always...idk man do you want to die? Do you want your family to die?

The test is always:

Harm to humans, vs no harm to humans.

At this point, we can comfortably say that Geralt's system of beliefs has a name.

Geralt does not exist, he is a literary device. But in as far as we can gather evidence and apply it to canon, his state beliefs fit the definition.

A system of belief that attributes the good and evil in the world to choices of humans, rather than gods, and that assesses good and bad based primarily on whether they harm or help humans, has a name.

Geralt is a humanist.

Here is the definition for humanism from Oxford dictionary:

an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

There are, of course, many ways to define any philosophy you could possibly discuss, but at it's most basic, humanism does not source morality from a holy book or a god. There is no higher power or authority.

It asks one simple question:

Does this do harm to humans, or does it help humans?

That may seem obvious, but a whole lot of morality based on religion falls away when you use this. Premarital sex? Is it bad? Welp? Are you harming the person you're having sex with? No? Ok, you're good! Homosexuality? Again, are you harming the person you're dating? No? Then you're good! Most sex based ideas about immorality just sort of goes away.

So is this just a decision making tool though? Or a system of morality? A way of life?

Well, for Geralt it is a way of life. This man is extra as fuck about his code of ethics.

I mean, there is no witcher code of ethics. But you'd better believe his extra ass made one, for himself! He calls it the witchers code, instead of Geralt's code, because that sounds fancier, and people respect it that way. If he just said, "I don't want to do it," no one would listen to him.

I did a post on his code.

So this guy is so in love with ethics that when no one gave him a code, he WROTE HIS OWN, and THEN! THEN he went out on the path as a young witcher, hoping to rescue innocents. He came out of the gate being driven by the value of human life.

When he is in the temple, talking to Iola, the priestess, (p115)about himself as a young witcher and what motivated him out on the path, he says this:

"...when I left Kaer Morhen and took to the road. I'd earned my medallion, the Sign of the Wolf's School. I had two swords: silver and iron, and my conviction, enthusiasm, incentive, and....faith. Faith that I was needed in a world full of monsters and beasts, to protect the innocent."

Geralt's entire personality is based on his initial desire to just...help people. Do good. It has nothing to do with gods. It has everything to do with the way he values human life.

Does this take a massive beating every day he wakes up? yes. Does he always live up to it? No. But it doesn't change the fact that it's there, that it is the underpinning of his character.

Also, I have to add, it informs his entire approach of political neutrality.

Geralt gets a bad rap for his ideas about neutrality. I'm not saying his idea about neutrality is the ideal or always correct. But people tend to see it as based in apathy or self interest and it very much is not.

He explains it to Ciri in Blood of Elves.

Geralt, Triss, and Ciri are traveling with Yarpen Zigrin and his men in Blood of Elves (p122) . Yarpen is transporting (smuggling) something crucial for the war effort on behalf of King Henselt of Kaedwen.

Triss is ill, so Geralt has begged Yarpen to allow them to join the caravan. Geralt says he will help out to pay them back for their kindness, only, Geralt has one thing he will not do. Since they are an official caravan, fighting would essentially make him an official soldier. So, if they are attacked by Scoia'tael, he will not fight. He says:

"Please don't count on my sword. I have no intention of killing those, as you call them, evil creatures, on the order of other creatures whom I do not consider to be any better."

Later, Ciri rides ahead and comes across some elven ruins. Geralt catches up to her and tells her what happened there. They are the ruins of an elven castle called Shaerrawedd, where humans mercilessly massacred a huge number of elven youth.

Geralt says that he has seen some elves about, but he isn't going to warn the caravan because he knows the elves are only there to visit their sacred place. He explains his neutrality to Ciri further.

"Do you know now why the Scoia'tael were here, do you see what they wanted to look at? And do you understand why the elven and dwarven young must never be allowed to be massacred once again? Do you understand why neither you nor I are permitted to have a hand in this massacre?....Do you understand?

She nodded.

"Do you understand what this neutrality is, which stirs you so? To be neutral does not mean to be indifferent or insensitive. You dont' have to kill your feelings. It is enough to kill the hatred within yourself. Do you understand?"

It isn't that Geralt doesn't care.

Geralt cares so so very much, and is so distrustful of power and political and religious institutions that he believes getting involved with them will end in him being used as a tool to do something to harm others.

Geralt does not want to be used as a tool to kill someone else. He has a lot of experience with that. He believes that the only response to a rigged game is to not play it.

Of course it is so much more complicated than that. Geralt has a lot to learn over the course of the series and he is tested sorely, and brutally. He is challenged over and over again. Is it even possible not to play? Are you playing by not playing?

But this post isn't about the relative ethics of political neutrality. It's about Geralt's spiritual and/ or moral beliefs.

The point of this post is, that Geralt is very passionately driven by his well defined system of beliefs, and that belief system is humanism.

Ok, let's go back to the words holy and irrefutable. Even though Geralt does not believe in the gods, he sometimes uses words that sound religious to describe his beliefs. Let's also go back to the word Faith. He uses it twice with Iola to describe his belief that he can help the innocent and do good in the world.

That is because, you don't need anything supernatural to value human life, AND YET sometimes that act of valuing human life feels sacred.

It is not logic. It is not reason. It is love.

I'm editorializing here. This is just me talking, my opinion. Humanism involves believing in the worth of human beings, and that requires a massive amount of faith, especially when people are out there doing evil to each other every day. Some days, love feels like a miracle.

Sure, you CAN make 'rational' arguments about why being kind to one another or valuing one another is the best way to live. It results in a high quality of life, it builds a healthier, more peaceful, world. It's all true.

But ultimately, most humanists are probably not humanists because of rationality. They value human life because they value it intrinsically. They believe that it matters, against all fucking odds. They just love for love's sake.

A know I do!

And having a protagonist like Geralt, who, no matter what horrors and evils he sees, not matter what abuse and trauma he endures, who never ever stops just fucking HELPING, who never stops CARING never stops TRYING, who exemplifies everything to love and cherish about the human spirit, just because he thinks HUMAN BEINGS are worth defending, it is so important to have, and for me, so fulfilling to read.

So, call him a humanist, don't call him a humanist, it doesn't matter. But watching him him go through hell, yet refuse to stop trying to help other people, it makes me feel better about being a human.

#the witcher #asks #geralt of rivia #the witcher books #thinking about geralt of rivia yet again #thinking about the witcher books yet again

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egg-emperor · 17 days

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Game canon Eggman is pure evil y'all, rest assured to my fellow evil Eggman enjoyers. He's never acted for any reason that wasn't fueled by his evil/selfish intentions. I've carefully analyzed him in all of his scenes for hours and hours for years and years. I don't need to theorize, speculate, or insist on personal interpretations to get to this conclusion because I specifically go by what the games tell and show me undeniably.

I analyze very literally, not abstract or based on how I feel about it, only literally what I can see and hear. I feel this avoids a lot of unnecessary confusion and complication and it can actually be this way and yet still have a lot of depth to it to explore despite this. I don't see appeal in straying too far with the what ifs rather than the literals that are deliberately blatantly presented because the former is when bias can seep in.

But I know some probably think, "If you think I'm biased because I don't like pure evil Eggman so I don't want to see him as such, why aren't you biased for not liking less than pure evil Eggman? What if you're just seeing what you want to see?" But with the way I only go by what's blatantly there to see and hear in the games themselves in bold explicit forms, I feel I avoid any chance of bias.

I don't like to admit this but when I was younger, I had some incorrect interpretations about Eggman. Yes, even me. XD I never thought he was this completely good and caring guy but I definitely didn't have the most accurate understanding of who he was, how he'd act in certain situations, and what he is or isn't likely to say or do. A lot of my own personal biases at the time were to blame.

Years of heavy studying and analysis got me to where I am now. And I realized he said or did the exact opposite in the games to what I thought he'd do or wrote in my silly private fanfics back then. So I started to look at him neutral and unbiased, without expecting or wanting anything specific and letting it influence my perception. Only exactly what I could hear him say and see him do instead.

I rebuilt my understanding into what it is now and ever since, it has stayed completely consistent. Every new piece of media just reaffirms it or gives me new stuff to add that tracks and doesn't contradict the old in the slightest. I'm still having new revelations, discoveries and eyes opened to new things about him but they only further prove, develop, and strengthen my understanding now.

This was all done by me just shutting off these biased parts of my mind and letting the game canon show me who he was, not by my own personal desires and influences. Then I realized I was such a big fan of what I understood him to be, all of my desires turned into loving game canon Eggman for exactly who he was and wanting him to stay the funny pure evil bastard he is. And he does! 💜

But yeah because of that, even though my old perception years ago certainly wasn't the same level as those that spread misinformation of him being way nicer, softer, and morally good than he is in the games, I know what it's like for bias to influence me in some ways. And those little things I believed then are far different from what I know now, so this isn't an example of me being biased lol

I'm very happy that I came to fully recognize, embrace, and appreciate his funny but very much pure evil self! And one of the main goals of my blog besides expressing my passion, is to help people learn more about him and understand him too because I swear, your enjoyment and appreciation of him can grow so much stronger when you do. I love when I'm told I've helped with that!

But if you really don't like that he's pure evil because it makes you uncomfortable, that's fine. But there's a difference between not wanting to see it because you don't like it and what happens in the games. And if you don't like game canon Eggman like that, I have a lot of respect for you if you admit that and just do something different in your fan stuff, without claiming it to be fact.

But game canon Eggman canonically being a funny silly but very evil and threatening bastard man personally fills me with immense joy and it's why I adore him so much. It's endless fun and entertainment! 🥰💜

#hope people don't take this the wrong way as telling people what to do. tried to make that clear at the end #and I'm trying to say that I almost understand the opposite perspective #just speaking my mind honestly as usual #dr eggman #eggman #dr robotnik #dr. eggman #sonic the hedgehog #my post #eggman is evil

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snezenie · 5 months

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utsugi and minoru: the divorce manifesto

longform analysis about noriyuki utsugi and minoru harada's relationship, as i see it. there's a lot of room for interpretation in their relationship, so of course these are my thoughts only.

contains spoilers for the full series.

word count: ~7,800

outline: i. the completion of each other ii. a deep and mutual understanding iii. the emphasis of their cruelty iv. the concealment of their kindness v. family and cycles vi. other allusions vii. conclusion

part one: equality and lack there of

1a. utsugi-kun, did you fuck my wife?

'jealousy' is a big theme with these two— generally in the context of utsugi's interactions with rai and hajime, as described by minoru.

their interpersonal relationships are the greatest source of their conflicts, as is clear with all their arguing and sniping at one another in the base game. there are two clear 'pairs' that become intertwined with one another: rai and minoru, and hajime and utsugi.

utsugi is someone who finally felt needed, the only thing he’d ever wanted, and then it's slowly taken from him as hajime becomes less willing to depend on utsugi. utsugi had uprooted his entire life to follow hajime, and he considers hajime's life and happiness to be his sole goal in life. it's natural to become agitated when it starts to become obvious that he might be unnecessary.

minoru states in the base game that utsugi is jealous of him, and that in some way minoru seems to have occupied that role as someone that hajime does depend on. but is this true?

utsugi never mentions that he thinks hajime likes minoru more, or that he's jealous of minoru in his monologues. these plain descriptions of his inner thoughts are some of the only things about him that can be taken completely at face value, there's no reason to act to his own self. he mentions his various grievances with minoru, so why does jealous never come up?

utsugi isn't jealous of minoru, that's why. minoru wants them to have a symmetrical relationship, something easily explained: utsugi has what i want, but i have what utsugi wants. so naturally i am jealous of utsugi and utsugi must be jealous of me.

(this is a work in progress edit i'll come back to, but i just wanted to edit out that utsugi was jealous of minoru because it has little canon backing and i think it's incorrect. i stopped edits here and will process the rest of the essay later)

a similar situation happens with minoru’s family: utsugi is more of a father to haruki than minoru was, and minoru explicitly recognizes this a few times. utsugi helps haruki with homework, calls him a good boy, and they sit together and sip juice. in contrast, minoru can hardly talk to haruki without losing his temper.

his complicated feelings towards utsugi and haruki's relationship are clearly illustrated in his outburst in the train station, where he frantically tells haruki that he is his father, not hajime or utsugi. his final actions speak to the fact that he did want to continue to act as haruki’s father, and yet his own fears and selfishness won out, burying those feelings.

the same unnatural setup can be observed in the complicated way rai, minoru, and utsugi’s relationship develops. rai makes multiple choices to the detriment of the family in order to stay on utsugi’s good side and appease him, and minoru himself is kept in the dark about haruki long past when utsugi understands everything. this creates a feeling of isolation from his own family, and utsugi manages to ‘replace’ him wholly in some ways, where both haruki and rai are placing higher importance on their relationship with utsugi than they do minoru. minoru shows keen awareness in retrospect that he was more deeply in love with rai than she was with him, likely adding to this insecurity.

hajime’s importance to utsugi is clear-cut, as the one who brought purpose and light to his life for the first time. while the isoi’s importance to minoru is underlined by the mundanity of his ambitions. he wants to be happy, he wants a family and friends, he wants for everyone to get along. there is no grand higher purpose for minoru. this desire for a mundane, happy family is possibly inspired by his original orphaning, where both parents blamed minoru in part for their issues before leaving his life entirely.

and relating to minoru's upbring, there are also multiple points in the game where the concept of affairs and cheating comes up, strengthening the existing concept of jealousy and insecurities within marriage. most prominently, minoru questions if utsugi likes rai in the reference room scene of DLC. to utsugi, to the viewer, to rai, this sounds like complete laughable nonsense. but minoru seems to ask it seriously, showing the depths to which he has started to question his importance to his family. it’s emphasized that he wasn’t merely asking this in jest when utsugi laughs in response and minoru seems confused by the reaction.

further references include that it comes up that both the harada and isoi families previously had incidents with their mothers cheating, shown as a symptom of the crumbling marriage. and again, minoru brings up an affair when affirming that haruki is his kid to hajime in a flashback scene in chapter 7 of the base game. (“unless rai had an affair! it's unmistakably my child!!”)

minoru’s feelings about rai and utsugi are never addressed as explicitly as minoru’s feelings about haruki and fatherhood, but this concept has come up too many times to be mere coincidence. minoru probably, at least momentarily in times of insecurity or irrationality, considered the idea that rai and utsugi might have something between them. considering how obvious utsugi’s single-minded devotion to hajime is (and minoru knew this!), it is a rather insane leap of logic. but minoru doesn't tend to make smart decisions, especially under duress. many of his ill-fated decisions in game are led by his human fallibility. most prominently, he misses his window to escape with haruki and reiji in 1999 because he goes back to sleep after receiving the text to move up the plan.

he wasn't ignorant or blind to utsugi’s devotion to hajime, it's just that his own insecurity, jealousy, and confusion over utsugi’s sudden changes in attitude bred hesitant, impossible possibilities in his mind. he has been so completely replaced in importance to both his wife and his son, his family being the only thing he ever wanted, that he doesn't know how to cope with it.

both minoru and utsugi’s most important relationships are fraught with insecurity over the other, and thus we can see how they complete what the other longs for. utsugi slots into the isoi family naturally as minoru’s relationships with his wife and son splinters. while minoru shows hajime a simple way to live happily and without expectations, utsugi continuing to unsuccessfully execute on what he believes are hajime’s wishes, ultimately just burdening hajime further.

1b. the one who knew everything and the one who knew nothing

their positions of power and authority mirror each other in similar ways: utsugi is clearly jealous of minoru’s apparent easy, unburdened existence while minoru wishes for the power utsugi has.

utsugi's complex is shown best when utsugi responds to minoru in the reference room: describing his demeanor as selfish, disrespectful, and ignorant. he's frustrated that minoru can continue living obliviously, even as utsugi himself is the one facilitating this state as he keeps minoru in the dark about many things. as an aside, utsugi also adds ‘without malice’ to the end of this description, showing how he knows that minoru is not purposely staying ignorant and riling up utsugi with his apparent carelessness.

at the same time, minoru is also feeling the stress and problems of the failing institute and his own crumbling family. it’s not inaccurate to call minoru ignorant, but utsugi exaggerates the depth to which minoru doesn’t understand. minoru repeatedly calls out the problems and failings he clearly sees, even, but he lacks the power to execute any real change. as an example, he calls for the removal of utsugi and the recognition of the crimes of the institute in the scene where utsugi orders him to leave, and no one takes him seriously.

to bring it full circle, utsugi is the one who holds the power and authority to act on solutions to minoru’s concerns. he also has all the information and understanding that minoru lacks on multiple people close to him, including hajime, utsugi himself, and his family. he stands as the archbishop of EHRI and the main executor of hajime’s will, so it is utsugi who is pushing EHRI chiefly along its dark path. for the most part hajime takes the role of a passive observer, minoru is an outsider, and all the other bishops answer to utsugi, who answers to the sponsors.

to further explore how that difference in status and authority shapes their dynamic, minoru’s status as an outsider establishes him as more equal to utsugi than anyone else in the game. the previously talked through mutual jealousy and give-and-take relationship between them supports this, putting them on the equal level of both having things of value to each other.

in thinking through utsugi’s other close relationships, it's obvious to think of hajime first. of course, utsugi is revealed to never have bought into hajime’s status as a savior. but even then he treats hajime with a carefulness and fragility that keeps their relationship from being one of mutual reliance and equal footing. he doesn't feel he can tell hajime of his struggles due to his devotion to appearing as an infallible support for hajime.

hajime aside, most everyone else in EHRI (excluding seodore, minoru, and some of the other sponsors/stakeholders) sees utsugi in the highest position of power and authority. he builds a powerful persona, and gradually we see the other members of EHRI call him ‘utsugi-sama’ more so than ‘utsugi-kun,’ showing his evolution into someone who is no longer equal and approachable to the others. meanwhile, minoru never changes the honorific, and even wishes to drop it entirely, but utsugi insists on it due to his upbringing.

that minoru has neither bought into utsugi's persona (perhaps because he remembers how utsugi was when they first met: awkward, unconfident, reticent,) nor is a worshiper that utsugi has direct power over, nor a sponsor with direct influence over utsugi means he sees things more clearly. he exists somewhere completely outside the power structure of EHRI, where he can see utsugi for who he is.

many of the other researchers we see (the enomotos, rai) don’t seem to quite be unaware of how utsugi is deteriorating, but they do seem to not have the mental capacity to do anything when their own problems are consuming them. rai in particular explicitly struggles with feeling the need to please utsugi, which places them in an unequal, vertical relationship where she cannot speak her true mind or ask him to depend on her.

1c. love languages

they invert each other in ways of taking action and expressing themselves: utsugi’s motivations and care are impactful, but quite silent and unsaid, while minoru talks loudly without being able to back it up with action.

minoru calls out that utsugi cared for those around him when he could (when it didn’t conflict with hajime’s will) and with a little investigating, the viewer can also pick up on this notion. subtle things like utsugi allowing noa to blame him for killing rai, when the clear culprits of rai’s death were always seodore and noa herself. or that utsugi tried to create an exit for the isoi family both by proposing the plan of a second child and by using haruki to research the reversal of cells. and most pertinently to this post: that utsugi is so jealous and angry of minoru’s constant ignorance, but refrains from harming him, even purposely keeping him in the darkness for minoru’s own happiness.

utsugi only ties his own hands when caring for others would directly interfere with hajime’s wishes, which gives rise to things like haruki’s original existence as an experiment (as a note, even then hajime’s regret of this situation may have played into utsugi’s willingness to reverse it.)

but even then, he does his best to play around the lines and shows reluctance in carrying out harm. this is illustrated best by how, in one of his dlc monologues, he wanted haruki to have a negative reaction to the cells. this puts EHRI out a potential experiment, arguably hurting hajime’s dream. but a negative reaction would keep utsugi from having to navigate the potential situation of a positive reaction, which would surely be difficult for the isoi family. in most, if not all of these situations, utsugi's thoughts and actions are not seen as mercies by anyone involved. utsugi never presents them this way, nor does he ever asks for gratitude from the people he helps.

we can similarly see utsugi’s silent affection for and remembrance of minoru persist until modern day, with several hints in the base game about their relationship. utsugi holds onto minoru’s books, keeping them in a backroom without disposing of them. the room behind utsugi’s statue is also minoru’s old room from before he was married, and not only does utsugi preserve it, but he blocks it off so no one would enter it. it can be confirmed as minoru's room when hajime reads a note from minoru in the room in a flashback in the base game, as well as the shape and set-up being the same when it appears in minoru's dlc. the furniture in it is likely different from minoru’s room in the flashbacks because he took his furniture with him after he moved out with the isoi family, but it has not been repurposed.

utsugi also clearly remembers many things about minoru– his demeanor, how his sign feels, his appearance– and uses all these to easily identify reiji and haruki as his sons. when he’s blinded in his boss fight, he remembers how minoru’s sign ‘feels’ enough to believe that he is fighting him (when it is in actuality his sons.) with utsugi’s deteriorating mental state after 1999, it would’ve been natural for utsugi to forget minoru inadvertently or on purpose, but it seems like he makes a conscious effort to remember his friend after their split.

to compare their mindsets, utsugi is extremely private and single-minded. he decides on things with little hesitation, and never ruminates on what could have been or what went wrong until everything is over and done. this is best illustrated in how we never see him breathe a negative word of hajime until they both lay dying.

he also insists on having no regrets, even when the only audience to his words is his own self. this is clearly contradicted when he shows clear distress and desire to start over multiple times, most clearly in his second fight with minoru in 1999 and in the reference room scene. but in asserting to himself that he has no regret, he can better stay focused on what really matters instead of wallowing in the past.

minoru is the opposite, being someone who talks a lot about what is wrong and what he wants to do, but either can’t or won’t take action. he is unable to commit to the same decisive choices as utsugi.

in the case of can’t take action, his status as an outsider keeps him from enacting real change in EHRI, even as he points out its flaws repeatedly and loudly. he has no real power and thus his words are all he has.

in the case of won’t, it is shown best in the reference room scene with utsugi. minoru is angrily insistent that utsugi confide further in him and help him understand his situation and struggles, but he only maintains this sentiment up to a point. utsugi pushes back hard, feeling that minoru’s words are useless and would not help him. ironically, this proves true as minoru swiftly backs down from his previous words after utsugi starts choking him. of course, it’s understandable to be afraid or want to escape this situation, but it shows a clear line where minoru will go back upon his word when pushed past.

in contrast, utsugi lacks this same bottom line. he is subjected to many counts of violence and pain while fulfilling his promise to hajime, but doesn’t ever think of giving up on their promise. utsugi avoids lying to others in the beginning (possibly as a side effect from the pain of being accused of being a liar in his youth when he was telling the truth) and he prefers silence over promising anything he cannot.

he becomes much more comfortable lying and acting a role as time goes on, but in the 70’s and 80’s his word is trustable. one solid example is how, in 1999 in the train station, he refuses to promise anyone’s safety to noa besides hajime’s, despite her pleas. as someone who tried to treat others well, it would make sense to lie to her to put her fears to rest, but utsugi refuses to speak untrue promises.

this difference in conviction is also what respectively saves and dooms them. it’s merely possible that if minoru had committed to taking action and causing change that he could have saved his friends and family at EHRI; however, it is unmistakable and undeniable that his ability to walk away is what actually saves him. utsugi similarly is capable/able of walking out, especially in 1999 when the organization is in shambles, but his intense conviction and loyalty to hajime holds him back and ultimately takes him to his ruin.

in a game very centrally about the power of ‘will’ this feels significant and should be a good thing, but under a different lens it can also be seen as a passive role. utsugi never tries to re-assess his and hajime’s wishes and change his path to fit a more accurate dream. he never has the courage to abandon his doomed love to pursue a new one, whereas you can say that minoru does find that courage, to great success in ultimately finding his place with LDL.

part two: the one who understood me the best

while minoru and utsugi’s relationship is not free of the facades, misunderstandings, and miscommunications that color so many relationships in this series, there is a deep understanding between them. perhaps brought about by the clarity of existing as equals.

utsugi explicitly calls out that minoru understood him the most in the end, and even as their relationship was in tatters, minoru is the only character utsugi confides in of his own free will. all other confessions of truth and struggles we get from utsugi are either done privately or inadvertently. he willingly tells seodore of his devotion to hajime, but it lacks the same desperation and vulnerability as utsugi hasn't had to kill and experiment on others yet.

utsugi’s understanding of minoru in turn is a less clear cut subject, due to the fact that minoru is more of an open book in general, and more characters know his pain. the position of understanding utsugi is a unique one, but multiple people empathize with minoru.

minoru speaks sardonically to cover up his stress and puts on a happy facade a lot of the time, but it’s still far from how deep utsugi has isolated himself. minoru at the least confides in multiple people and is more willing to confront issues directly in order to draw out a solution.

their understanding of each other is not a perfect understanding, and this series shows well how difficult it is to achieve a perfect understanding while possessing all the natural baggage of communicating and existing. so these two inevitably misunderstand several key things about each other. their relationship is one of two people who understand each other the 'most', but this understanding still falls quite short of perfection.

utsugi himself seems to fall for minoru’s apparent happy/care-free facade, as discussed earlier. utsugi isn’t ignorant to the issues of the isoi family, considering how much he does behind the scenes to patch things up for them (getting rai to have a second kid and leave, wanting haruki to have a negative reaction are two solid ones, and there are more actions that can be debatably attributed to the same motive) but he still doesn’t think minoru understands the gravity of his and utsugi’s situations. it’s true, in a sense, that minoru has deeply false impressions of/has been withheld information of characters like hajime, utsugi, and rai. but utsugi over-emphasizes minoru’s ignorance and carefreeness, since he is seeing it in direct contrast to his own heavy burdens.

these two only begin to approach the deep and near-perfect understanding of each other when they hit bottom together in 1999.

2a. their mutual suffering

minoru gives up any sort of facade after the events of 1999, he’s lost everything and desires nothing anymore, so there’s no need to pretend. utsugi sees this and even directly brings this change about with how cruelly and falsely he presents minoru with the trashbags (representing rai and reiji’s remains, but there was nothing in them.)

in my opinion, it can be read that utsugi’s cruelty here was a rather malicious attempt to finally bring minoru to ‘reality’ and see his oblivious facade drop (except, it wasn’t a facade to utsugi) for his own reasons. reasons of disliking seeing him smiling all the time, reasons of wanting them to share in mutual misery, reasons of wanting him to understand the full situation, any of them or multiple could work here.

the end result is the same, utsugi finally gets the satisfaction of seeing minoru taking something ‘seriously.’ and he understands that minoru too is capable of pain.

their mutual understanding is high at this point; that both of them reach rock bottom at the same time is significant. they lose the people who are most important to them at the same time, and struggle with finding their new purpose and reason to live. minoru walks away, and utsugi continues with the same path as always. the consequences of this are clearly shown when minoru finds happiness and a new family but utsugi just falls deeper into his lies and violence.

they fight twice in 1999: the first time is with fists, the most human and least lethal force they possess. they do injure each other (utsugi leaving sanemitsu’s famous and enduring head scar here) but it is a deeply human scene: both of them ineffectually lashing out in their misery at someone who had little immediate causation of their pain.

the series has established that man-made things like guns and fists are ‘more human’ and ‘honorable’ (through jabuchi’s own ruminations on how he wanted to kill his coworkers and nina) whereas using empyrean abilities is ‘monstrous.’ minoru mentions this is the only time he sees utsugi use his fists, and that this is the most desperate and human he's ever seen utsugi.

but that first fight is the part where utsugi brings minoru down to ‘reality’ by presenting him with the apparent remains of his wife and only surviving son, and we don’t see the full extent of utsugi’s regret and turmoil until the second fight.

utsugi’s motives for saving, confining, and later chasing and fighting minoru in 1999 feel ambiguous, the best clues we have are a set of lines right before the conclusion of their fight. utsugi laments the state minoru has ended up in, going on to doubt his own humanity and then lament the feelings minoru left him with.

utsugi makes reference to still being human, and killing minoru while he still maintains that humanity. how i interpreted these was utsugi believing that he may lose control to the cells in the future, and wanting to kill minoru ‘as a human’ if he were to die regardless. notably, this again mirrors jabuchi’s plans, that there is honor and respect in being killed by human means. it also implies that he didn't think escape was an option for minoru, inevitably thinking he'll stay in the institute, alive or dead.

one of the most important points of the whole conflict is at the end when utsugi implies that— aside from hajime's happiness— there was one more thing he desired. he wasn't supposed to value his relationship with minoru to this extent, but he acknowledges that he did want it, even as they beat each other bloody. not even utsugi's positive feelings can stand in the way of his yearning for mutual understanding, and his cruelty towards minoru is unreserved in 1999.

to bring this back to the main point, it shows further the ill effects of misunderstanding in their relationship. minoru’s misunderstanding of utsugi’s situation sews rifts in their friendship and their ultimate split, while utsugi’s misunderstanding of minoru brings him to his lowest point in life, where even death is a preferred alternative.

to return back and cover what minoru misunderstands with utsugi, it is another thing that is laid out quite explicitly, as it leads to their falling out. minoru never puzzled out why utsugi was so insistent in the way he treated hajime as a ‘star’ and rather took it at face value that utsugi had no ulterior motive.

in reality, it was an act utsugi put on for what he believed was hajime’s own benefit, but minoru couldn’t begin to comprehend that. his own viewpoint was that it benefits hajime to think of himself as human, and he thinks of this as an obvious conclusion. there is a fundamental disconnect in both how minoru understands utsugi’s mindset here, and also in how minoru understands and treats hajime, who he similarly doesn’t understand fully.

the other key misunderstanding is that it is dubious if minoru figures out the reason utsugi’s attitude towards him changed. his theories include things like utsugi was jealous (partially true) or utsugi was upset at hajime’s poor state (partially true) or that utsugi liked rai romantically (wholly false).

it is my opinion that the (largest, but not only) reason utsugi distanced himself from minoru was because of the reveal of the existence of factors. he may have believed that furthering their relationship was ill-fated, as he was warned of on the phone by mari orie. he also may have lost faith in the authenticity of their friendship, as shown by his thoughts in 1999, where he panics that they only feel positively towards each other because of the effect of factors.

minoru both knew about factors (unclear to me as to when exactly in the timeline he understands they affect reality and weren’t just something kazaru used for fiction) and that utsugi was researching them, but it seems doubtful to me that he put it together before he leaves EHRI for good. later on, he may have belatedly understood.

2b. the understanding they reached in the end

this also is a reoccurring thought in their relationship– the belated realizations. as covered earlier, 1999 is the point where they know each other best and the last time they see each other. minoru sees utsugi’s memories by using the power of the pen, and finally understands the events that lead to this point. directly after, utsugi tells him to leave forever. things have proceeded beyond the point of intervention, and it seems that any action taken now cannot undo the massive upheaval that has already taken place.

it’s also possibly notable that the only way minoru was able to understand utsugi totally was because of the power of the pen. he had to directly see utsugi’s memories, it was never possible for the truth to come directly from utsugi’s own mouth. this adds to the broken communication between humans, where things are easily muddled by intentions and words. only when treating utsugi as a character to be ‘read’ does minoru truly understand him.

this ending may feel like it points to saying that the furthering of their understanding was all for nothing, but it comes back into play sixteen years later.

their relationship had long fallen into complete nothingness, and yet minoru is the one utsugi trusts with his final wish, a final happiness for a man meeting a pathetic end. their understanding of each other did nothing to save their relationship in life, but it leaves minoru as the only one who can remember utsugi closest to how he was in reality.

in turn, minoru is the key to how we, as the viewer, also get to understand utsugi beyond all his lies, acts, and facades. it’s heavily implied that minoru has a hand in constructing the narrative of the entire series, and especially of dlc, for which is named after him.

to give some more evidence to that point, the main support is drawn from the 'truth only i know' book by code:dante (sanemitsu) that is readable after completing S+ in a new game. in the book he refers to a 'record,' reminiscent of 'the records of sanemitsu isoi' (the title of dlc) where the truth is told. and he says that if there is something only he knows, that he can tell that truth through fiction.

the 'truth' we learn in dlc heavily depends on utsugi's arc. we learn new things about all the characters, but none of them were concealing their true self to the extent that utsugi was. they all had other people who understood the truth about them, and only utsugi could say that sanemitsu was the only person who ever fully understood him.

utsugi also directly asks sanemitsu to write his story as a final parting wish, and indeed the way his story is told follows that last wish. he is an evil villain in the base game, easy to condemn and forget, and this irredeemable and unsympathetic person is how he wanted to be remembered. in the forking paths scene, he says that it's alright to think of him as a villain and not acknowledge that he had human emotions too.

dlc contradicts this completely, so how can it still be said that sanemitsu honors his wish? the way i see it, there were plenty of people who played the base game but not dlc. the separation of these two stories ensures that some people will never see utsugi as sympathetic. sanemitsu couldn't stand to let the truth die with him, but he could leave enough breathing room so that utsugi's last wish would be fufilled somewhere, with someone.

part three: unintentional cruelty, emphasized by the narrative

tying into both the failed good intentions of their actions and whether their will or lack thereof affected their relationship, there are multiple interesting ways in which they are unintentionally cruel to each other within the confines of their own relationship.

one of the strongest examples we see is that utsugi digs up minoru’s insecurities in the process of trying to help him. starting with kazaru’s suicide note, minoru has been impressed with the idea that his very existence was a mistake, and he should not have been born. utsugi pushes him away in the end, telling him the only thing he can do for utsugi is to disappear and leave.

in a way, this is a kindness as it is an escape route for minoru from the sinking ship that is EHRI. but simultaneously, it is one of the cruelest ways utsugi can show ‘goodwill.’ it compounds upon kazaru’s original idea, directly pointing to the conclusion that minoru’s very existence is what causes utsugi distress, and thus there are no possible actions minoru can take to help utsugi besides disappearing. it doesn’t feel like a positive or honorable action due to minoru also being the root of the problem when framed like this.

the previous sections already cover how much utsugi is intentionally cruel to minoru, from specifically digging up anything he can to hurt minoru in 1999 to intentionally sabotaging their relationship without discussion. but the 'solution' that utsugi offers minoru is unique in that it doesn't seem to be aware of how much it will hurt minoru.

i’ve discussed a few times already that minoru fails utsugi in the reference room scene, but it feels particularly cruel due to the uniqueness of the situation. it’s the first and only time utsugi directly reaches out for help, possibly ever, and he has nothing to show for it. minoru’s ultimate failure to deliver in that situation only heavily reinforces to utsugi the uselessness of depending on others.

utsugi wishes for reciprocity, that he should be able to offer value to anyone else in the way that he already desires value and affection from other people. it stems from his childhood, that children naturally want love and attention from their parents. that he didn't recieve that leads him to believe that if he is 'useful' to someone (unlike how he was useless to his family) then they might love him back. his grandpa is a key example of this, loving utsugi only because of his birthday, which made him useful to rangiri's delusions.

utsugi’s final plea to minoru in the reference room is “if you’re willing to do everything for me-,” which feels reminiscent of what utsugi has already promised hajime (to stay by his side until they both die, it is all of his life, everything.) utsugi could promise everything to a stranger in distress, and he wishes (impossibly) that minoru could do the same for him.

in a sense, the sentiment of ‘save me’ in that scene already indicates that utsugi has been previously failed by hajime. the original dialogue he shares with hajime (that he clearly remembers and references even many years later) includes the idea that hajime will save everyone, and utsugi will save hajime. since utsugi still feels he needs saving, it means hajime has not been able to deliver on his side of the previous sentiment. minoru’s avoiding and diminishing of utsugi’s worries and the title of the scene being ‘the hand i failed to take’ show minoru as also clearly failing in this respect.

and yet, similarly to utsugi, minoru’s cruelty had good intentions. maybe there was no good way out of that situation, it certainly seems both that utsugi was unwilling to accept help and minoru unable to provide it. utsugi knows minoru can't help him, and he makes grand demands of minoru as a way of self-sabotage: he knows minoru will never be able to promise everything to him. minoru has a family, and utsugi will never be his first priority.

on another tragic note, utsugi directly pleads to minoru for a way out of his misery, but hasn’t minoru already been showing him the way out? if hajime accepted being human and wanted to live simply, there would be no need to continue the crimes and experiments. minoru influencess hajime to this direction but utsugi directly opposes it, showing how unamenable utsugi is to minoru’s ideas. the reference room situation had no easy or clean solution, and perhaps it saved utsugi some pain with an early disappointment.

the both of them are people who could've helped each other, but didn't have the proper communication skills or ability at the time they crossed paths. in their struggle to save their friendship, they only hurt one another more, itentionally or unintentionally.

the base game hides almost all of the kind side to their cruelty, they're barely even shown as friends. minoru's friendship innately humanizes utsugi, he's the only utsugi confesses to, fights with, takes out his stress and fears on, all these emotions he buries with anyone else. they're emotions that make him sympathetic and wholly human, and thus something that cannot be learned about utsugi until dlc.

minoru also repeatedly (undeservedly) forgives utsugi for his unkindness. utsugi is responsible for a lot of pain in minoru's life: surrendering haruki to experiments, pushing EHRI down a dark path, violently pushing him out of both EHRI and their own friendship, the list continues on for a long while. and while minoru does resent him at points for how much he's suffered at utsugi's hand, he never stops caring for utsugi.

he says things like he shouldn't have ever considered utsugi a friend, utsugi has gone mad, and they come to blows multiple times. but minoru always caves later, still showing concern for utsugi. after their big fight where minoru leaves EHRI, he asks hajime about utsugi's condition on a visit back. in 1999, after they'd just grievously injured one another, he still laments that utsugi never depended on him.

the way sanemitsu talks about utsugi after EHRI is not said to be happily, sanemitsu says bad things to reiji and reiji is certain sanemitsu believed utsugi hated him. but he doesn't allow roses in his house, and reiji says that sanemitsu seems lonely when discussing utsugi.

by all rights, sanemitsu should have no warm feelings left for utsugi. the way the narrative repeatedly highlights their pain underscores that, but neither of them can let the other go.

part four: genuine kindness, hidden by the narrative

with how much establishing i’ve done of only negative things: cruelty, failures, jealousy, disappointment, it’s easy to think utsugi and minoru had a relationship that was only negative. but, the narrative guides us through it in a rather complex timeline: we start with the middle and the consequences before we see the beginning and ending.

base game shows their relationship as something fraught with arguments, leading up to their first major falling out where minoru leaves EHRI for the first time and begins to avoid utsugi. there is little shown here that evokes that they had a complicated relationship, it feels like they were simply two people who didn’t get along.

this is somewhat due to all the flashbacks being shown through hajime’s perspective, so that we only see these two as they are around hajime and only while having conversations that concern hajime. the only clues to their relationship being composed of anything beyond two-dimensional mutual animosity is that minoru expresses concern and regret in relation to utsugi in a few brief lines.

throughout dlc, this pattern repeats, and there is no great upheaval in the viewer’s understanding until minoru’s dlc episode. the episodes leading up continue to breadcrumb their true nature, with hints like sanemitsu disliking roses in his house, sanemitsu expressing that utsugi took responsibility for everything while drunk in reiji’s episode, utsugi compliments minoru in rai’s dlc, and they have a few exchanges that are more lighthearted in tone.

minoru’s dlc finally throws the curtain back entirely, where it is fully revealed that, once upon a time, they were true and proper friends. their first meeting is amicable and remarkably normal, utsugi talking to minoru about his reporting and behaving awkwardly about a compliment paid to him. in the following scenes, we see them teasing each other and talking frankly about developments in their lives. utsugi sets up several arrangements for the isoi’s marriage and seems to seriously wish them well.

it couldn’t be more normal, save for utsugi carefully keeping his distance and drawing a line between them in the form of hajime. he seems to like being around minoru, but deflects admitting any personal attachment when questioned, using hajime’s like of minoru instead. this foreshadows just how much he will put hajime above anyone else, even those he also likes, and how he has carefully sculpted his other relationships to fit within that framework in advance.

of course, he ultimately fails in sectioning minoru out. there are a number of other characters (haruki, noa, etc.) that utsugi is kind to, but he doesn't form the same attachment to them that he does to minoru. in the end, when he's saying his goodbyes, the only people he mentions are minoru and hajime. in 1999, he mentions that minoru was the only thing he wanted in addition to hajime's life. despite his best attempts, he can never let go of his original affection for minoru.

part five: generational yaoi

one of the other biggest things revealed about the relation between minoru and utsugi in dlc is that it spanned multiple generations. the actions of their grandparents caused so many shock waves that the story now actively resists the interaction of the two families. i’ve already touched heavily on the factors of their families: they are certainly the largest reason utsugi abruptly changes, dooming the friendship between him and minoru. the series has lots of commentary on the hereditary way our family shapes us and cycles of behavior, and minoru and utsugi are no exception.

both utsugi and minoru have intense family issues, coming to shun their family name and legacy in time. but they both carry it forward, regardless.

utsugi leaves his family’s company and doesn’t pursue pharmacy or business leadership in a strict sense, but nevertheless he is a medical researcher and executive in EHRI. ironically, he could not come into his own as a confident leader under the guidance of his family, but he grows into that confidence as he takes control of EHRI. he just needed support and passion to grow into his full potential, something he lacked when his family neglected him.

similarly, minoru breaks from the family tradition of fiction writers to be a reporter. but even then, he shows in DLC that he is preparing to write novels. it fits with his character arc, where reporters passively observe reality but writers actively create it, and he himself is starting to reclaim control and power in his own life. but still, it places him among the company of the many fiction writers of the harada line. sanemitsu also has some measure of control over the narrative and way it is told, shown by his almost certain position in system n.h.. this places his actions as remarkably similar to mutei harada’s designs on manipulating characters and creating stages.

both minoru and utsugi are haunted by their childhoods, which build up to their issues that cause ruin in their interpersonal relationships. these are issues that are inflicted on them by their parents, utsugi’s parents reinforcing utsugi’s beliefs on isolation and self-dependency, and minoru’s parents showing him how to run away from love and regret being born. and naturally, these beliefs were likely initially formed in turn by how mutei and rangiri treated the next generation.

they cannot escape the influence of their respective families in that fashion, and also in that they explicitly cling to it for each other. minoru is not actually ‘minoru harada’ in the series for very long, he marries rai isoi early on to become ‘minoru isoi.’ but names are a social thing, and neither hajime nor utsugi let go of the harada surname. that both utsugi and minoru address each other by family name is important, given that they both stand as friends who can use more familiar terms of address and choose not to. their relationship is undeniably shaped by their family history though, and so these names hang over them.

their relationship is similarly cyclical, where they attempt to break out of their patterns and yet return to them in the end. minoru’s relationships are best shaped by his fear of gaining love and then losing it, thinking it better to not have loved in the first place. utsugi’s relationships are best shaped by inequality, where he is comfortable and used to loving someone more than he receives in turn.

their relationship starts out subverting this, where utsugi is hesitant in closing the distance with minoru. thus, there is no intense love or connection to be lost, just a mundane friendship with a careful distance. minoru then quickly pushes to be closer, upsetting utsugi’s status quo where he is now not the one who loves more. the lack of anything to lose gives minoru confidence to keep arguing with and pursuing utsugi, even as their mundane friendship melts into animosity, something that should usually scare minoru off.

but, in the end we see the relationship ultimately return to the form they are most familiar with. minoru runs away in 1999, abandoning utsugi and certainly being saddled with the painful regret of lost love. utsugi remains behind, having settled back into his typical unequal relationship. he remembers and thinks of minoru even sixteen years later, while minoru has left him for a new family.

part six: other allusions

aside from the clear line to how they both represent their families, there's several other allusions baked into their relationship. one of the most significant being how they tie into the divine comedy.

minoru is born on the day of dante's death, and utsugi shares a birthday with the poet virgil. minoru both is and isn't dante, he fails earlier in life to fulfil to reach any kind of enlightenment (thus the death day being his birthday) but later on he becomes "code:dante." haruki is notable also representative of dante, the whole harada line having a close tie to the author.

utsugi is tied to virgil by his birth and also by his relation to both minoru and haruki. virgil is a mentor, a guide, and a friend. he is close and intimate with dante, assisting him on his journey through hell but unable to accompany him in heaven. utsugi similarly is a figment of sanemitsu's difficult past, a valued friend who cannot accompany him in the lighter, easier parts of his life.

the utsugi line isn't all associate with virgil in the same way the harada line ties to dante, noriyuki utsugi alone is the 'guide.'

their relationship is similarly foreshadowed in the similarities it holds to nina and jabuchi's relationship. there's much to say here, but to keep it basic: jabuchi and nina start out happy, jabuchi goes down a difficult path without telling nina, nina finds out the truth too late and cannot save jabuchi, but she honors and remembers him after his death. it's a clear parallel to the way sanemitsu and utsugi's relationship develops.

part seven: conclusion

overall, i think i touched on many things i wanted to say about these two, and i still have many more words… but this was already very long and confusing, i imagine. i hope you got something out of it besides thinking i’m delusional, haha. this is solely my interpretation, after all, and i think there are room for many more.

one of the best things about the relation between utsugi and minoru to me is that it is so ambiguous. there was not merely love, and there was not merely hate, but anything in-between those black and white values can be argued. did utsugi feel more hate than love for minoru or did he feel more love than hate? who’s to say. minoru has more clear-cut regret and affection, but still mocks and curses utsugi, showing the depth to which they got under each other’s skin.

and still, they clearly love each other. they sacrifice, remember, and pray for one another. they were friends in the very beginning, and sanemitsu is the last person utsugi ever remembers. in turn, sanemitsu never lets the wounds utsugi gave him heal. it is certainly a relationship that left them both with scars.

#cell of empireo #m

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canonizzyhours · 4 months

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When I first watched OFMD like a week after the season 1 finale my feelings for Izzy were honestly just passive dislike. I hated him but I was barely thinking of him compared to everything else in the show. I also was not fond of him at all. I just didn’t care. Then I saw all these posts about how he was such a freak and needed to be put in a jar and I was like, “Oh ok I see the appeal. I still don’t really care for him but you guys have fun with your fucked up creepy and wet pathetic meow meow blorbo.”

Then as spring turned into summer there was this gradual yet very rapidly growing sentiment of “actually Izzy is sympathetic and tragic and correct about everything” and since then I have had to think about him so fucking much just to unpack why all of these takes were so fucking wrong. I remember seeing one or two dead serious “hot take: Izzy doesn’t need a redemption arc because he did nothing wrong” posts for the first time in the summer and being baffled at what a crazy fringe take that was. And then those people got louder and louder and I felt like I was losing my mind. I talked So Much about Izzy’s canon characterization and his motivations and stuff because I felt like I had to keep reminding myself of who canon Izzy was or the fandom would trick me into forgetting that he was creepy and wet. All this for a character I didn’t even care about in the first place.

And then season two came out and apparently I had been tricked into putting more effort into analyzing Izzy’s character than the actual OFMD writers???

Season two did not give us any insight into Izzy’s internal thoughts. We didn’t get any sort of backstory to explain why he was Like That last season. And his character growth from being Like That to being a normal about Ed happened off-screen, or happened entirely through symbolic rebirth after he tried to kill himself, or was written and possibly filmed but ultimately got cut for the sake of prioritizing what the show is actually about, which is obviously Ed and Stede’s romance (and that last one feels really unlikely to me just based on how Con and others talk about Izzy in season two). The writers just did not care enough about Izzy to make sure any actual character growth from Izzy happened on-screen, they just showed him doing things he wouldn’t have done last season with no real explanation for why he changed his mind and how he unlearned toxic masculinity he had so much of in the last season. They wrote Izzy doing the absolute bare minimum they needed him to do to get him to where he could make that apology to Ed on his deathbed. And there was almost nothing left of Izzy’s season one characterization, despite season one Izzy being a character so many fans allegedly fell in love with.

This is the absolute funniest possible thing that could’ve happened to me with season two coming out. I’m not even mad that I wasted so much of my energy thinking about a character I never even cared that much about to begin with, it’s worth it for the punchline that absolutely none of it mattered. Izzy was literally not important enough to the story to make that kind of in-depth character analysis necessary except for fun, and while I like analyzing characters I would have never chosen to think about Izzy so much of it wasn’t for the fandom. And I really didn’t need to be worried about disproving what half the fandom was saying when one of their core takes is “the way he said it was harsh, but Izzy was ultimately right to bully Ed back into being a pirate because that’s their livelihood and he doesn’t want them to starve,” the fact that they thought that was what writers were trying to say is absolutely insane. Izzy fans should have realized they were reading against the text. I should have realized that trying to deconstruct everything that was incorrect about an interpretation that was so clearly reading against the text wasn’t going to be worth the effort once season two came out.

It’s like if I had spent all of the break between seasons one and two tackling why “Stede’s main arc is about how he is just a spoiled rich boy who needs to learn how to toughen up, just like his dad said in the pilot” was a misinterpretation of the show. That’s how ridiculous Izzy fans sounded when they analyzed OFMD. Everything I said trying to make a solid argument against them can be summed up as, “the antagonist of the show is written to be an antagonist, actually.” It was really never any deeper than that.

#120.

#ofmd #izzy hands #canonizzyhours #fandom critical

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komorezuki · 2 months

Text

Did Lord Dagon and Howard Lovecraft know each other?

If you love Lovecraft, as much as I do, then you definitely noticed references to his universe in GO. Yeah I'm talking about Hastur and Dagon. We also can suppose, that Lovecraft existed in GOverse. And let's imagine their communication for fun and Dagon's image as we see her. Its not a full proper analysis, mostly likely I give you small excursion into mythology about Dagon and some headcanons.

Origin

Dagon in Lovecraft!verse wasn't created from scratch. It was a Canaan god of prosperity (it was started to be interpreted as a fish-god in the Middle Ages, but its just a mistake). Later Dagon is mentioned in Old Testament as head god of the Philistines.

"Then the lords of the Philistines gathered them together for to offer a great sacrifice unto Dagon their god, and to rejoice: for they said, Our god hath delivered Samson our enemy into our hand."

"And the Philistines took the ark of God, and brought it into the house of Dagon, and set it by Dagon. And when they of Ashdod arose early on the morrow, behold, Dagon was fallen upon his face to the ground before the ark of Jehovah. And they took Dagon, and set him in his place again. And when they arose early on the morrow morning, behold, Dagon was fallen upon his face to the ground before the ark of Jehovah; and the head of Dagon and both the palms of his hands (lay) cut off upon the threshold; only (the stump of) Dagon was left to him. Therefore neither the priests of Dagon, nor any that come into Dagon's house, tread on the threshold of Dagon in Ashdod, unto this day. But the hand of Jehovah was heavy upon them of Ashdod, and he destroyed them, and smote them with tumors, even Ashdod and the borders thereof. And when the men of Ashdod saw that it was so, they said, The ark of the God of Israel shall not abide with us; for his hand is sore upon us, and upon Dagon our god."

A meta about this episode could be here, but I am not good at interpretations of the Old Testament. Maybe someone else will try.

In the Middle ages humans began to interpret him as a fish-god. We call it a mistake, but what if Dagon had visited Earth and inspired someone to this plausible description? Anyway, since then Dagon is associated with sea and fish. Good job for a demon.

In the 17th century, Dagon is mentioned along with the other fallen angels in Milton's "Paradise Lost". And in addition to sacred text this mention is also based on the medieval interpretation as a fish-god, which is actually (as science says) incorrect:

Paradise Lost is a very curious poem to read for ineffable fandom (but IMO very tedious), and not only for us. It has big cultural value, and no wonder HPL was inspired by it. There is a direct mention of Paradise Lost in his short story "Dagon".

Next came one

Who mourn'd in earnest, when the Captive Ark

Maim'd his brute Image, head and hands lopt off

In his own Temple, on the grunsel edge,

Where he fell flat, and sham'd his Worshipers:

DAGON his Name, Sea Monster, upward Man

And downward Fish: yet had his Temple high

Rear'd in AZOTUS, dreaded through the Coast

Of PALESTINE, in GATH and ASCALON,

And ACCARON and GAZA's frontier bounds.

HPL's influence

Well, what can I headcanon suppose. There are some details in their stories which could be received from a demon directly.

We will take rn two HPL's stories: "Dagon" and "Shadows over Innsmouth". In "Dagon" a protagonist ends up on a strange island which is kinda like naked ocean floor and finds there a mysterious monolith with glyphs and supltures carved on it. A giantic creature comes out of sea to the monolith. Narrator escapes in his boat. Later he tries to find something out about fish-god Dagon and slowly loses his mind.

I dream of a day when they may rise above the billows to drag down in their reeking talons the remnants of puny, war-exhausted mankind—of a day when the land shall sink, and the dark ocean floor shall ascend amidst universal pandemonium.

Not that Dagon was a famous deity for the world. But somehow the narrator tells about them. Certainly, HPL was well informed about mythology and he could choose a sea of more expressive sea-gods (pun intended). But he had chosen Dagon. What if it wasn't just random? I think Dagon told him something about demons and ocean. And we know how much she does want The Armageddon. Universal pandemonium, you know.

I think she could be male-presented at that time. Of course if you can call THIS a male.

This is the illustration for "Dagon". The creature is one of the Deep Ones, fish-frog men who were an underwater nation in Lovecraft's world.

Or probably Dagon herself looked like this:

Deep Ones are described in "Shadows Over Innsmouth". They are immortal, they can control a number of fish in the sea and they wear strange jewelry (And I remember her strange necklace from here). Their leaders (probably kinda deities) were Father Dagon and Mother Hydra.

This wondeful art was created by gorgeous @birdgirl22

*fangirling sounds*

A curious detail that appears in SoI. Innsmouth is a town whose inhabitants were members of mysterious Esoteric Order of Dagon. The Order sacrificed people to Dagon and gave to the Deep Ones their women to mate with them. A whole population of Innsmouth consists of hybrids. And this kinda demonic order was in a building of local masonic lodge.

Wait what~

I will just leave here my meta about masons in GOverse. TL;DR: the Lodge in the show may be a demonic nest. What a suspicious coincidence...

After all, I can add something about most notable traits of HPL's books.

The first is an anti-anthropocentrism - an idea that humanity is not the main race in the world for everyone and not the only one. In Lovecraft!verse there are old and huge races and deities (Cthulhu, Dagon etc.). In GO!verse there are angels and demons which don't think about humans at all (except azicrow but still)

The second is that HPL's deities aren't like humans as much as demons aren't. Their mind are utterly different.

And finally the third. THE INEFFABILITY. We don't get detailed descriptions of horrors.

Well, everything written above is just my headcanon but I think it makes sense to research HPL's work and maybe I can find more innuendos. Now I just want the art of Dagon chilling with HPL.

#good omens #good omens 2 #what if #good omens demons #good omens meta #good omens hell #dagon #lord dagon #dagon good omens #good omens headcanon #good omens analysis #esoteric order of dagon #father dagon #lovecraft

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ingravinoveritas · 7 months

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maybe I'm stupid, but could you explain what "i always wanted anthony" means? Is it a refference of some kind? Innuedno?

To me it means exactly what it says, but english isn't my 1st language...🤷🏻‍♂️

Hi there! You are not stupid at all, so please don't even think such a thing.

So for those who haven't seen it, this is referring to Michael's response to a tweet from this morning. Let's get the visual up first thing:

The screenshot in the OP is cut off because of Twitter's cropping, but the trivia question being asked was, "Who plays Crowley in Good Omens?" and there were four possible answer choices given, one of which was "Anthony."

It's interesting that you've asked me what this means, because already I've seen reference on Twitter to "creepy and delusional Michael/David shippers" reading too much into what Michael meant, despite the fact that this an incredibly ambiguous statement, and in all likelihood, Michael intended it to be that way.

But what did Michael mean, exactly? We know that "Anthony" is Crowley's human name in GO, so it seems to be an obvious reference to that. A lot of people in the comments appeared to think the same, as I saw numerous comments to the effect of, "Michael, did Aziraphale possess you and make you write this" and such. Yet when we look back at last week's Thin Dark Duke comment, it's equally as ambiguous, with Michael saying "it was me" in regard to the touching of Crowley/David's chest.

Did he mean it was him touching David, or Aziraphale touching Crowley? I still don't think we know for sure. Is "I always wanted Anthony" meant to refer to Aziraphale, or is it Michael referring to David? Both of these statements very acrobatically straddle that line between fiction and reality, character and actor, and Michael being who he is, I'm betting that is by design and extremely deliberate.

My personal interpretation (as "creepy" and "delusional" as some might see it, though I really don't give a damn what anyone thinks) is that this is another in a (very long line) of little ways Michael is telling us he wants/loves David. David in any iteration, any form--whether he's Crowley, Anthony, or just his lovely, gorgeous self. I don't think it's Michael speaking as Aziraphale because Michael doesn't need to speak as Aziraphale to make what he feels plain. If anything, this seems more like a continuation of what he has already been saying and feeling for the last four years.

So yes, those are my thoughts on "I always wanted Anthony." I will never tell anyone that their interpretation is incorrect, so it rather grates my cheese to have anti-RPF folks telling me I'm reading too much into it, especially when they turn around and do the same thing with the characters. We can each think what we want to think, and that's all that really matters. Whatever Michael means--and whether he was actually just trying to rile up the fandom yet again--we may never know for sure. I hope this helps to answer your question, though. Thanks for writing in! x

#electronic-chocolate #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #i think Michael has been telling us exactly who he is for a long time now #no way he doesn't know exactly what he is doing #Michael ships himself with David more than anyone else ever could #in and out of character #truth disguised as a joke #subtext that is rapidly becoming a text #thoughts #discourse

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sincerely-sofie · 1 month

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Lore request! So, how do the Mystery Dungeons in your Au's work? Are they a 1-1 copy of the game mechanics? Are they a different interpretation of how those mechanics would work from outside of a videogame perspective? Or are they a different interpretation altogether? Are the pokemon within sentient and just extremely territorial? Or are they 'feral' as other PMD authors would say? Or are they physical illusions that act in the same vein as white blood cells in a body? Do mystery dungeons spontaneously form? How do the guilds recieve distress signals from within? Can someone wander in and be stuck without getting forcibly kicked out (as what is implied to happen in one of the early chapters of TPiaG)?

Sorry if all of the questions are overwhelming! 😅 seeing how different authors interpret the Mystery Dungeons is always one of my favorite pieces of worldbuilding and I really want to see how you go about it!

(Plus I also just, really like seeing more of the world you've crafted)

Thank you!

Thanks so much for the lovely question and kind words! Here's your answer :>

Mystery dungeons are a strange sort of natural phenomena in my AU! They spontaneously form and disappear seemingly at random, though there are some areas they form in more often and areas where they don't form at all— and some mystery dungeons establish themselves permanently after forming. Towns and the roads between them tend to only be made in areas that have little to no mystery dungeon appearances recorded.

The Guild can't receive letters requesting rescue from pokemon trapped within mystery dungeons, but there are universal distress signals used across the world that are akin to using something reflective to flash sunlight at a passing plane or using a whistle to signal an SOS. There are pokemon whose entire jobs are to watch permanent mystery dungeons and keep an eye out for distress signals. When these signals are noticed coming from a mystery dungeon, the people who spotted the signal notify the Guild, who dispatch rescue teams to retrieve the trapped pokemon.

Mystery dungeon pokemon are largely mindless, aggressive apparitions generated by the mystery dungeon itself. Some theorize that they are meant to protect the loot inside a mystery dungeon, but this has yet to be proven, and even seems incorrect when compared to established literature on mystery dungeon behavior. They disperse into puffs of hazy smoke upon being knocked out. However, outlaws like to hide in mystery dungeons thanks to the fact that they can blend in amongst the mystery dungeon pokemon. Monster house pokemon are additional apparitions, but extremely powerful and capable of coordinating attacks with each other unlike their less powerful fellows.

Mystery dungeons are known to be at least vaguely sentient— they will forcibly eject pokemon they don't like who are taking too long to pass through them. They will also increase the number of rooms someone has to travel through for unknown reasons, and seem to shorten themselves and increase the loot they generate for people they favor. What causes someone to appeal to or be disliked by a mystery dungeon is unknown.

Hope this answer is satisfactory! Thanks again for the question!

#sofie answers asks #the present is a gift au #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokémon mystery dungeon #pmd explorers #pmd eos #pmd sky #pmd2 #pmd

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theknightmarket · 1 year

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Okay uh...this is the first time I'm requesting any egos but I just have to. You're the best writer for them I've ever had the pleasure of reading from. So I'm thinking maybe some Yancy and reader (preferably if they're from Heist) pulling some shenanigans around Happy Trails and slowly Yancy realizing his feelings? The shenanigans can involve the guards, Yancy's friends, or even the warden!

"Came for the accent, stayed for the crisis."

In which Yancy and a convicted thief run their own April Fools' Day.

TW: cursing

Pages: 20 – Words: 8,500

[Requests: OPEN]

The sounds coming from the corridor may have made any outsider think this was a theme park, which, while not all that different in context, was incorrect - if only for the fact that the rollercoasters, ring-toss games, and Ferris wheel were swapped out for sticky tables, rusty metal bars, and subpar plumbing. These may not have been mutually exclusive, but in Happy Trails Penitentiary, you would have better luck tracking down a perfectly innocent prisoner than a waffle. Or, for that matter, someone who wanted to be free.

Happy Trails was notorious for being one of the only prisons in all of America that nobody wanted to leave. It wasn’t any different, there was still a fair amount of police brutality and a difficultly established hierarchy, but there was one thing that no other jail had that this one did.

And that was not a something, but a someone: a young man who went by the name Yancy.

Despite him having spent the majority of his life in a cell, nobody knew if that was his real name, or just a random thing someone had given him once. By the accent, he definitely wasn’t an Englishman, but that, too, was up to interpretation. Some said he was from Ohio, some said from Boston, but all agreed that it didn’t matter anymore. He was in Happy Trails Penitentiary, now, so who cared where he was born?

Thus, this became his home. Yancy spent his days and nights in the confines of the walls, and he cherished the moments he spent with his friends, hell, family. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t leave, nor that his choices were limited in a lot of things, because he was with the people that he loved doing the things that he loved. It was a difficult task to imagine life outside, and it only sweetened the deal when you arrived.

You knew next to nothing about prison-life when you first got kicked up the ass here, which, granted, was a lot more than he could say for your friend. You were a confusing pair, to say the least, but he wasn’t sure if you would adjust well. At first, admittedly, you didn’t; you picked fights and messed with the guards, and when your friend disappeared? Hell had no fury like you scorned. Yancy didn’t even know if you were still at the prison with how often you were chucked in solitary.

Eventually, though, you settled down. You seemed to realize that this was where you were, and there was no changing that. You chilled out, got better, tried making conversation. Yancy was the first to welcome you properly, because he’d been where you were. A freshly-sixteen high school dropout was like early Christmas for the prisoners, until he found his group and made the place more homely. There was no denying the stray convicts who could make your life hard if you got on their bad side, but the vast majority were small time criminals who just didn’t want to leave.

After your botched heist, you fit right in.

And, yeah, you might be asking how this whole origin story resulted in yourself and Yancy getting chased down the hallway by the prison’s Warden, himself adorned in a pink afro, sunglasses, and the loudest shirt on the market. You weren’t exactly sure, either, but that didn’t stop you from squeezing Yancy’s hand and pulling him through a doorway. Your state-issued shoes clacked against tile, squeaking giving you away in a heartbeat. The sleeve of your jacket whipped past the Warden’s hand, and yet, against the prospect of being caught, a smile dashed across your face. It matched the one on Yancy’s mouth, soon to be interrupted by an accented laugh.

You nearly let out a ‘woohoo’ in excitement, but you considered that too far, and you needed to catch your breath enough to get back to the Warden’s office. That thing was a fort right now, both of your faces were beet red from the running, amongst other reasons, and you were becoming awkwardly aware of your grip on Yancy’s hand. Getting caught was not an option, lest you wanted to face a month of solitary for this stunt – even though it was probably warranted.

It all began at the very start of this morning when the sun barely peaked past your barred window and the guards had yet to wake everyone else up. You treasured this period, because it was the only time you were given free reign of what to do. Sure, during free time you had things to do, but you had to be doing things, whereas now was the perfect time to lay in bed, staring up at the top bunk and be at peace. A yawn broke the silence from that very place, but you considered the source to be the only thing that made a shorter rest worth it.

“G’morning,” Yancy called sleepily. Even as early as this, his drawl was still present.

Your response was more chirpy than usual, “Good morning, Yancy.”

His eyebrow’s rose unwittingly as he swung his legs over the side of your bed. “What’s got youse all hyped up?” He couldn’t think what made this day special. It wasn’t visitation day, it wasn’t Christmas, and it definitely wasn’t your birthday – so what was he missing?

“Because,” you practically sang, strapping on your shoes and tying your jacket around your waist, “today is the first of April.”

Before Yancy’s feet could touch the ground, you secured your hands on his shoulders and grinned. He might have been scared had he not trusted you with his life, so he just returned the smile in appreciation of your mood and rolled up his own sleeves.

For a second, you were confused. You didn’t expect much, maybe a laugh or a little sound of realization, but Yancy didn’t seem to know anything about what you were talking about.

“April Fool’s Day,” you stated.

His expression only shifted into concern.

You, albeit overdramatically, gasped and moved your hands from his shoulders to cradle his jawline. “Yancy, have you never heard of April Fool’s?”

Not giving him time to respond, you assumed he hadn’t and knocked your forehead against his. With your eyes closed, you failed to notice the flush that exploded across his cheeks, the color blooming like a flower where your breath touched his skin.

“What are we going to do with you,” you muttered, and by this time, Yancy’s entire face was beet red. He could say the same to you because this was not entirely out of character for you. You always had been touchy with him after becoming friends, and five months was enough time for this to be habit.

He was stuck in this purgatory until you finally stepped back, not removing your hands however, and exclaimed, “You’re coming with me!”

Bluntly, he replied, “What?”

“You’re coming with me.” Although you didn’t expand on that idea, you still took Yancy by the elbow and tugged him towards your corner. A while ago, you had designated the two available corners of the room for personal belongings, and yours had stayed concealed by a blanket for the past week. It had worried him slightly, but the guards were unperturbed, so he thought it fine to not ask any questions. Coming towards it now, though, he wished he had.

“Prepare to be amazed,” you whispered, and you grabbed a corner of the fabric.

In one, fluid movement, you ripped it away and threw it back onto your bed, revealing below what could only be described as an armada of materials. Yancy was stunned, and he stood completely still with his arms hanging limp for the next few seconds while he took in the pile.

Multiple folded bedsheets made the foundation - some spotted, some plain, some covered in either blood or grenadine from the kitchen – followed by cans of neon paint and bags of fake moustaches on top. This, accompanied by a worrying number of handy tools, gave him pause and reason to ask, “Was’ all this for?”

Your grin grew manic in the short amount of time for you to remove a paint can without everything clattering to the ground. “This,” you lugged it to the desk, “is what we’ll need to enact the best pranks anyone could think of in a prison.” By the blank look on his face, Yancy still hadn’t a clue what you were talking about, so you started to explain.

“April Fool’s Day is celebrated by, uh, not a lot of people,” you admitted, “on the first of April every year. Nobody really knows where it came from, but that doesn’t stop it from being one of the most fun holidays in the year or me from going all out.” You removed a paintbrush from the stack of tools sitting next to the mismatched pile, and, after peeling the can open, dipped it in.

Yancy edged into view, slotting between the bunk bed and the desk, to ask, “Don’t you think we’re gonna get in trouble for dis?”

You laughed, looked at him, and he quickly found comfort in your reassuring smile. It was like a tender fire sparking in the dark, a campfire that he could curl up next to and fall asleep until the next day. This tended to happen a lot, and it’d picked up recently, like the wind warning of the future. He didn’t want it to be a bad sign, so he stuck with what he knew; it made him happy to see you smile, he liked being happy, so he liked you, and there was nothing more to it.

“We might.”

His smile wavered.

“But you don’t have to worry about that.” You bounced towards him and tapped his jaw. “I’m an expert at this.”

He had to trust you, it wasn’t as though he had a choice in the matter, anyway. A long time ago, he had decided that whatever you were doing, it would be fine in the end. Letting his shoulders and smile relax into a more natural one, he teased, “Like you were an expert at heists?”

“Hey—” you flicked neon paint onto his shirt, staining it a slight green, “—I am an expert at heists, I got that part down to a T, I just don’t know how to pilot a helicopter.”

“I think that’s part of the heist.”

“Nah,” you shrugged and did your best to reseal the paint can, mostly hitting it with your fist until it was in the rough shape it had been at the beginning but with a brush sticking through a hole.

Yancy let one last, boisterous laugh through his lips, before you started to delve into the plan.

You would admit that your plan seemed farfetched when you first brought it up to your cellmate and ironing out the details and getting the logistics down was a chore, but Yancy was quick to offer up his help. You appreciated it, trying to not let it slip that he lowered the risk of you getting caught a significant amount, and you reconstructed the plot to include the favors of his connections. Your improv skills had degraded since getting incarcerated, but that heist was a thing of beauty if you considered the need for thinking on your feet – which, you did. Half of that thing didn’t even have a plan, it was just ‘get in, get out, go home’. You faltered at the ‘go home’ part, of course, but you digressed. Your improvisation skills were needed now, and you had employed them well by the time of the breakfast bell.

Keeping maniacal giggles to a minimum, you were the one to pull Yancy towards his main table, where his group of friends met you. None of them had the full picture, except for yourself and the ringleader, so they were all giddy with anticipation. They asked questions about who the victim was, why you’d chosen them, and you tried your best to answer them without giving too much away. Yancy, meanwhile, was somewhere else.

Conducting the plan had been like a script – it was easy, efficient, and only needed muscle-memory from him to work fine – and that meant his mind was left to its own devices as his body helped you out. Every time you turned to him or asked him over your shoulder to pass him a screwdriver, he couldn’t take his eyes of you. He flailed his hand for the tool and handed it to you soon after grasping it, just so that he could watch you work. It was a reward for a duty he was unaware he had performed, but he must have done it well, because what a reward you were. Your company alone made his heart flutter, and he considered a doctor’s visit when your hands brushed. He ignored that they were breaking a lot of the prison’s rules, and, instead, the only thought at the front of his mind was that this, spending time with you… it was nice.

“You ready, Yancy?”

He blinked. Returning to the present, he waved away those feelings and moved his attention to his friends, including you, who were looking at him in excitement.

Not sure what he was agreeing to but placing all trust in you, he nodded.

Immediately, you pounced off the table, a tiger on the hunt, and everyone else watched on. Your shoes skidded against the tile as you carved a path to a particular guard. He stood alone, and, just as you had arranged, next to the breaker. Poor choice of the prison to put the box in the cafeteria of all places, but you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you nodded to the man and twisted on your heel to watch the hall.

Chatter dropped, rose, and then dropped again, as if in sync with the flickering of the lights, before it flipped on its head – the fluorescent bulbs completely cut out, but a panic swirled. Guards, prisoners, even Warden Murder-Slaughter himself came out of his office and exclaimed some southern curse. It didn’t demand all of the attention, though, because that belonged rightfully to the spider-webbed convict leaning against one of the walls, helpfully, in the center of the room.

Jimmy the Pickle was your victim, and to answer Tiny’s question, he deserved your first prank of the day for punching one of your only friends through a goddamn wall. You would have done worse, but then you’d never have met Yancy and the gang, so you had some things to thank him for. Not enough to get him completely off the hook, of course, so a little neon paint was light punishment.

A myriad of doodles and names adorned his body – more befitting of a graffitied high school yearbook – but the swirly mustache, horns and ‘nerd!’ worked here, too.

From his seat atop the plastic table, Yancy could only watch the Jimmy’s reaction, mainly of confusion and then immediate rage as he stomped off to find whoever did this to him. Luckily, it was in the opposite direction to you, who was rushing over in quick step to slide next to him. Even coated in shadows, you were unabashedly red, and, when you turned to meet Yancy’s gaze, grinning ear to ear. If you weren’t in public, you’d be laughing like a maniac. The hushed chortles were evidence of this.

“That was amazing,” you sighed, once the lights crackled to life and the restless gossip of the prisoners returned to normal.

“We doing another one?”

Yancy’s eagerness caught you off guard, as did his sudden proximity to you. You didn’t know why he was so ready to pull another prank, but you decided that, if he was having fun, who were you to put a stop to that? All he was asking was to pick up the pace, and to deny the sparkle in his shimmering eyes was to deserve the death sentence.

“Sure,” you conceded, “gimme a second to grab the blankets.” With that, you sprinted off again, almost stumbling over your own feet to get back to your cell.

His eyes trailed after you, fighting back the instinct to catch you with how many times you nearly tripped. You were worryingly similar a newborn deer – no control over your feet and even less knowledge of your surroundings. It was a strange and unfamiliar impulse that pushed him to lean forward on his seat, but a well-known pressure on his shoulder kept him down.

Sparkles McGee peeked into view on his left. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, boss,” he joked, though there was the underlying tone of not joking.

“Whady’a mean?”

“I mean, your new ‘pal’.”

Having been practically raised inside the confines of a prison, Yancy wasn’t all that good at social cues. Sarcasm was difficult for him, bluntly told jokes he had a hard time figuring out, but the jumping of Sparkles’ eyebrows and the wink upon saying ‘pal’ didn’t leave much up to interpretation. That blush from earlier returned tenfold when he realized what his friend was insinuating.

“I-It ain’t like that,” he responded quickly, but he didn’t entirely believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” Bam-Bam joined in with a poorly disguised giggle, “and you don’t look at them like a love-sick puppy.”

“I don’t!” It came out much more defensive that he had meant, but it was still the truth, wasn’t it?

Tiny’s hand came to rest on his upper arm before she whispered, “Yancy, it’s okay.”

“We’re just friends, guys,” Yancy still persisted, and he took off from the surface before they could think to stop him. Standing tall in front of his group, shoulders levelled and voice as sturdy as he could get it, he wished them a good breakfast and all but fled the cafeteria, hands tucked in his pockets and a scowl on his face.

For the better half of an hour, he took to wandering around Happy Trails. He trusted his feet to take him wherever they felt he should go, while his mind relayed the conversation. He wouldn’t lie to himself, right? What point was there to convincing himself that he didn’t have feelings for someone – there wasn’t one, so, clearly, he didn’t have any to hide in the first place. To him, that made the most sense. Of course, his stomach flipped, and his heart pounded whenever you were around, he would risk ten years of solitary to stand close to you, and he was pretty sure he saw heaven in your eyes, but that didn’t mean anything special, right? Just plain old friends.

Why did it hurt to say that?

“Hey, Yancy!”

Ordinarily, he would be annoyed at someone interrupting his brooding, but tilting on his heel revealed it was you who called his name.

Yancy let a grin spread across his mouth while you bounded up to him. If anything, you’d be the puppy in the relationship – but you weren’t, because it wasn’t like that.

Skidding to a stop, you looked out of breath. A sudden fear of you running a fever toppled him, and he brought a hand to your forehead with little forethought. You weren’t too hot, but you should have gone to the medical bay, all the same.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you huffed, one half out of fatigue and the other out of annoyance.

“Ah, sorry,” he muttered. He didn’t expand on it, and you didn’t press, so you just moved on to shoving a pile of blankets into his arms. They were surprisingly soft for being in a prison, but, then again, he hadn’t a clue where you had gotten them from.

“I took them from the Warden’s office.”

Oh. Well, that was that. It explained where you got them, but it also made fear flicker about in his mind. The Warden would surely notice they were gone, what if you were caught, taken to solitary confinement, chucked out of the prison altogether? Just the thought shocked him to his core, and he stayed completely paralyzed while his thoughts ran wild.

As if you could sense his inner turmoil, you pressed your hands against his jawline – a habit you’d long since picked up to calm him down.

“Yancy, we’ll be fine,” you promised, “it’s just a bit of fun, we’re not gonna do any serious damage to the place. It’ll all be back to normal tomorrow, so the Warden won’t have anything to be mad at us for.”

Goddamn your reassuring smile, there it was again! Saving him like a knight in shining armor in his time of need.

After taking a few deep breaths, he nodded back to you, making eye contact and avoiding biting his lip.

Another laugh from you. “There you go, Yancy!” Another knocking of your foreheads. Another blush.

There was a moment in the day when everyone was on edge. For the past few hours, a group of people were protected at all times. Now, however, nobody was safe. They’d glance up at the ceiling, waiting for the tiles to give way and unleash hell – they’d train their eyes on every exit and entrance as if daring a biblical flood to rush through – they’d mutter to themselves about who they thought the next victim would be, and send pitiful looks to the poor soul.

The blindless a thief experienced was burned into his memory, his assumed death playing heavy before he had been able to throw the bedsheets off of himself. One of the guards still stared scrutinizingly at her fellows for any sign of them actually being a prisoner in disguise, and the general consensus of treating this like an infiltrated war base had been reached after the guard dogs were released on the officers’ private quarters. Any trust between each other had crumbled to the ground due to the actions of two wayward convicts. Yancy and yourself became names to fear amongst most of the occupying forces, to the point that Yancy’s gang had been separated and sent to their cells to stop them from conspiring with you. It was havoc, and there was just one more idea bouncing around that would be the end-all-be-all of the night.

“Yancy, I have a plan—” you swung yourself up to his bunk, “—and it’s gonna be amazing.”

While you made yourself comfortable, your cellmate leaned against the wall with his arms behind his head, trying his best to appear relaxed. The events of the day took a toll on his heart rate, but that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. His first attempt in April Fools’ Day had been a raging success, not only in the pranking department, but in the, well, you department. Nearly every second had been spent with you, laughing about people’s reactions, and plotting your next mission, you leaning in just close enough that he could feel your breath on his ear as you whispered the best ideas. What made it all better was the fact that, even though you both knew you could do this alone, you had chosen to do it with him. A grin stretched across his face as he thought back on how many times that you’d asked him to do the little things, like passing him items or giving him a leg up. All those times that you could have just improvised, but you didn’t; you chose him.

However, as much as he was still trying to appear relaxed, it was becoming considerably harder to do so when you found that the comfiest place to be was slotted between his legs and looking up at him from his lap. You didn’t seem to mind the proximity, going so far as to push yourself further up him, but Yancy was certainly aware of your arms resting beside his thighs and the pressure of your head on his stomach. Now, it was a harder venture not to flush.

“So,” you began, and he was suddenly reminded of why you were in this position in the first place, “this is me spit balling, feel free to chime in with stuff, but I think we should go after the Warden.”

A grimace overtook his face. He usually loved your ideas, but the Warden? Number one, it was unimaginably dangerous, and, number two, he had his own reservations over risking his relationship with the man. It was no secret that he was the closest thing Yancy had to a father figure, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he relied on the Warden as a backbone. Take away him, and all of his confidence would go down the drain in a second. On the other hand, though, this was you. Yancy could trust you, he was certain of that, and what reason did you have to put him in the line of fire?

The internal conflict must have been visible on his face because you were quick to bring your hands to his jawline and smoothen out the stubble. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you pointed out in the softest tone you could muster, “I just think it would be nice to go out with a bang. It’s your choice.”

It was at that second that - with you staring up at him, calloused hands pressing down on his jaw, the assuring twitch of your mouth, and the gleam of rigid determination in your irises – Yancy came to a revelation. It wasn’t sudden or surprising, it was more like when you zone out in a car and then notice that an hour has passed and you’re already there. Like expected clarity.

Yancy would do anything, as long as it meant being with you.

Now, he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant in relation to anything else, but this was an undeniable truth as stark as a glistening geode surrounded by rock. If that was all it was, then it was good enough for him, but if that meant something more, he wouldn’t fight it. How could he when it was someone like you?

This conclusion settled in his mind, he leaned forward barely an inch and pecked your forehead. “Youse is gonna be the death of me.”

Despite the dusting along your cheeks, you laughed. The metal of the bunk bed almost seemed to get warmer with your unadulterated joy, and Yancy found himself unable to resist giggling along with you. His shoulders bounced, you smiled wider, and you only began to calm yourself down when you realized you hadn’t even told him the plan yet.

“First of all, we’ll probably have to haggle for the stuff, but I think putting the Warden into 80s clothing would be a great time for everyone.” It was anyone’s guess as to where you came up with this stuff, but he nodded along anyway. “We could go for a wig, those stupidly curly ones that you can stick a comb in—oh, and if we can, we should try and get a pair of roller-skates on his feet, ‘cause it’d be really funny, and—”

Your mouth was moving, and sound was coming out of it, and you were making your plan up on the spot, but Yancy paid it little mind. He was focused on the way that you shifted as you talked; your hands moved centimeters at a time, like you were subconsciously acting it out as you went, your fingertips pattering along his skin as you did so. While you spoke at a normal pace, the cogs in your head visibly spun a mile a minute behind your eyes. The determined gleam had shifted into passion, a look he’d only seen once before, and yet it was a very recent occasion.

You’d been laying side-by-side in the air duct, waiting for an unsuspecting victim to walk underneath your blanket trap, when you’d filled him in on the traditions of other holidays not widely celebrated. Guy Fawkes Day, a lot of independence days, and pancake day, which was the only self-explanatory one out of the bunch you told him. All of these, you had inane knowledge on, but the look in your eye when you ranted about them had him drifting off, just like now, only to inspect the way it danced along the black and white ridges, disappeared under your eyelashes and…

He probably should have been paying attention.

He only snapped back to reality when you were interrupted by a yawn. Your hand disappeared from his cheek, a sensation he felt his eyebrows fold in at, and covered your mouth. An attempt to continue was, again, cut off, and it only succeeded at making you more annoyed.

“Youse, uh, youse sleepy?”

You shook your head, opened your mouth, and promptly yawned again. Yancy raised an eyebrow. You huffed.

“Nope,” you replied, and he waited for another sign of your tiredness.

It came, and you were forced to accept that you may have been a bit fatigued by the day’s events.

“We can go to sleep, if you want?” he offered.

“But you don’t do pranks on the day after April Fool’s. It’s tasteless.”

“Just a nap, then?”

“Yancy,” your tone was pleading but the intent wasn’t there. It dismantled seconds after he pulled those puppy-dog eyes, a tactic you were certainly familiar with after the many times you fell to it.

And now would be no exception.

Huffing, you slouched in your makeshift seat. Yancy’s striped sweatpants were surprisingly comfy for a prison uniform – or maybe that was just him. Either way, you were content to slip into a dream then and there, completely forgetting that you were still on Yancy’s bunk and him holding you up. Not that he minded; he, too, was happy to relax into the cushion, trying to avoid jolting you too much in your slept. Technically, it wasn’t lights out just yet, but your pranking had thrown everything into disarray. It would take a week to get it all back to normal, and the guards would probably stick you in solitary next year just to save themselves the pain.

He laughed to himself, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. You were pleasantly warm against the cool air of the cell. What a panic you’d made – his little imp.

He drifted off without pausing to think.

To say that you were startled awake would be an understatement; your eyes blew wide, you fumbled in surprise, and your face almost made great friends with the concrete floor. If it hadn’t been for Yancy gripping your waist before you could fully fall out, the scheme from earlier would have all been for naught. Heart racing and breath still rapid, your gaze flitted from wall to wall, checking your supplies and wondering what the hell woke you up in the first place.

Your answer came not a minute later, when an officer came strutting down the hallway with a baton that he was helpfully clacking against the bars with. The hallway was dim, and the rest of the prison was silent in your sector – it must’ve been lights out, if the guard yelling, “Lights out!” wasn’t anything to go by.

Internally, you groaned. Had you missed your chance? God, and it would’ve been so fun, too. All people had were the memories of you two vaguely terrorizing the prison, not the big blow-out you had wanted. Your hair dusted against the wall as you flopped backwards.

“It’s too late,” you muttered, disdain evident and disappointment lacing it all.

In another scenario, Yancy would have grimaced and tried to raise your spirits. He would have told you about the songs he’d practiced, or the up-and-coming movie night the prison was planning. However, this was not another scenario.

Instead of letting you wallow, Yancy dragged you with an arm around your shoulder down the ladder and onto stable ground. You moved like a fluid, as you always did when you were annoyed, and simply watched as he got to his knees and checked underneath your own bed.

“I don’t think dust bunnies will help us,” you tried to joke, but it fell on deaf ears. Instead, Yancy was fixated on bringing forward the small lockbox he had stored down there since before you had arrived. He’d never had to use it before, leading it to be shoved right at the back. Even now he was having trouble finding it with the darkness of a sheltered hiding place.

While Yancy ran his fingertips at the edge of the wall, you inspected your stash of equipment. This plan was a spur of the moment kind of thing, so none of what you had would be helpful, but the nap would have given someone time to steal what you rightfully bartered for. A quick glance over suggested nothing was off, though you didn’t remember getting pink paint, and you checked off your mental inventory as you went.

“Ah,” Yancy mumbled, pushing himself out of the space and towing a medium sized box with him. Time must have meddled with his memory, because it felt slightly bigger in his hands than it had before. Then again, people had the poor habit of growing. Brushing the thought aside, he sat back on his haunches and clicked it open.

“Uh…”

Yancy wasn’t always this unsure, as if bravado was in his blood, but this definitely knocked him off his high horse. What should have been an unassuming lockbox with nothing but a few lighters, combs, and a jagged, old key, was, instead, full to bursting with bright clothes and accessories. If that wasn’t weird enough, it was exactly as you had described during your plotting phase; a curly wig, practically doused in pink, a flamboyant, open-chested t-shirt, and roller-skates. Sweat dripped down his back when he considered the implications, but you merely dashed forward and removed the afro.

“This is great!” you exclaimed, swiveling to Yancy and wrapping your arms around him.

Yes, you were aware this meant someone had broken into your cell while you were sleeping, and, yes, you recognised someone overheard your entire plan, but did you care? Hell no! You had all the materials you needed to pull off your best prank yet, and if you found the person who provided them, you’d probably shake their hand and spare them from future endeavors. The best clue you had was the small, bright pink mustache painted on the inside wood.

A manic grin blazed across the bottom of your face, and you squeezed slightly tighter in excitement. He patted your back, less enthusiastic but happy that you were. He was more concerned with an intruder hearing last night’s – or this night’s – moment. Lips pursing and hands coming to rest on your waist as you pulled back, he wondered why he held it so close to the chest.

“Come on,” you whispered. Your hand collected his, and, with the key in your other hand, you escaped your cell to wreak even more havoc.

A ticking of a clock pricked up the hair on his arms, the slow patter of rain outside the window tapping the inside of his ear, and every other little sound sending off warning bells in his mind. Warden Murder-Slaughter stared at the front door, as if his glare alone would keep him safe. It was the only defense he had – except for the wooden planks bolted to the windows and the dozens of locks on the single entrance. He couldn’t be blamed for his paranoia, if it could even have been considered that, as he’d seen with his own two eyes the consequences of not being vigilant, and he did not like what he saw.

So, his eyes drying from not blinking, the Warden accepted having to be awake for the night, just to see himself make it to the next day. It would be the April 2nd, then, and he would be free to wander the halls of the prison like he owned the place, which he did, and it was shameful that he was forced into hiding in his own goddamn office.

The burning embarrassment wavering in his chest didn’t stop him from flinched when knocks arose on the door. His hand twitched, he fought back blinking, and with the most confidence he could muster, the Warden called out, “Who’s there?”

A pair of shadows cast from underneath the door shifted. “Uh, just me, sir.”

The Warden wasn’t stupid; he knew that when people said ‘just me’ that it probably wasn’t just them. It did sound like one of his lackeys, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances with wayward prisoners on the loose.

“And you would be?”

They made a sound of disappointment, like most of his staff did when he didn’t recall their name, though they answered all the same. “Jacob Dalt?”

“Middle name.”

Unseen, Jacob shook his head. The Warden had never been so paranoid, and yet, there he was, cornered into his office with the fear of God in his heart. "Markus."

“First pet’s name.”

“David.”

“Social security number.”

“Sir!” The handle rattled and the door shook, but Jacob stayed behind the door. “Look, sir, if you don’t want to come out, that’s fine – but it’s getting late, and we’re all worried about you. You’ve been in there for the entire day, you haven’t even shouted at the guys upstairs for the lights, yet, and we know how much you love doing that. Just,” there was a vague fist hitting the door, “are you okay?”

The Warden was pretty sure he could trust the boy, nobody could mimic the overzealous care of that guard, so he rose from his chair with a huff and dismantled all the checks and balanced he had installed to keep himself safe. It was a full minute before he swung the door open and waved him in.

“Yes, I am fine,” he replied as he re-did all of the locks, “I’m just on edge.”

“I can see that.”

Jacob flipped around with a concerned smile, while the Warden focused all of his energy on getting the door secured once more. Both of their backs were turned to the rest of the room, which meant more than a few things; the swiveling chair was unoccupied, the window was clear to the outside, and the vent above the desk was out of their view. It was flawless timing, and you didn’t even need to bribe a guard.

Encouraged by your descriptive hand gestures, Yancy dropped as subtle as he could to the worktop, hoping that his shoes wouldn’t make a sound and sprung to hide behind the fake plant in the corner. You pushed yourself out seconds after him, and, lucky for you, the clicks of metal against metal distracted the two others enough for you to hop to the ground and crouch in the leg hole. The sight of your partner was worryingly familiar to you, causing a twitch in your attention, but the spark of adrenaline burst through you in the next moment.

After gently shoving the chair further away from you, you were able to listen in to the conversation. Nothing stood out to you much – the guard was talking about the Warden’s health and that of the prisoners – until all of the security measures had been returned and the boy offered a single piece of advice. Take a nap. It was perfect, almost too perfect, really, but as said before, you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and it appeared neither would the Warden.

The man, sighed, waved the officer away, and was forced to fiddle with the locks for a fourth time when he realized he had no way out. It only worked in your favor, because he was slowly getting more pissed off at the situation you’d worked to create. Proud was swelling in you, and you tried to remind yourself where you were so you wouldn’t get swept up in it all. You were in the middle of a mission, the chance of getting caught and Yancy’s reputation on the line.

All the pieces lining up bolstered your confidence so much so that, when the Warden came to sit back in his chair, you didn’t move. Instead, you stayed flat against the wooden panel and steadied your breath as he flopped into the comfortable hold of old leather. You were tempted to grab ahold of his feet and yank, but the sane side of you told you it was beyond stupid.

Yancy, meanwhile, was panicking. You weren’t even supposed to be out of your cell, much less the Warden’s office. If he were to find you, there would be hell to pay, and sweat dripped down his neck as he thought what would become of you. Solitary was a granted, but you might get kicked out onto the streets of normal society! He couldn’t imagine anything worse – although, he also couldn’t figure out why. He liked you, he knew that, but why did the mere possibility of being separated shake him so much? He had half a mind to rush out and distract him so you could escape, and it irked him that he didn’t know why it seemed natural, like there was no other choice for him.

“Yancy,” a voice hissed at him. Heart thudding in the chest, he glared through the leaves only to see you waving at him from the side of the desk. The Warden had fallen asleep quickly, and, based on him sleeping through frequent rehearsals late at night, would continue to be until you woke him.

Doing your best not to giggle too loudly, you withdrew the pink afro and sunglasses from your shirt, a moment for which Yancy made sure not to look. There it was again, something had changed and, for some reason, even though he’d seen you get changed plenty of times right in front of him, it was awkward to spot a single inch of your collarbone. Was he sick? Had he caught something from last night’s food? His mulling over left him dazed and delirious when you snapped your fingers to get his attention.

“You okay there, Yancy?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, squatting to get on your level, “jus’ think I’m, uh, comin’ down with somin’.”

“As soon as we get back to our cell, you are sleeping for the next day and a half.”

With tentative hands, he removed the Warden’s shoes and replaced them with the pair of roller-skates. It probably should have concerned him how well they fit, but he had learned not to ask questions by now.

“And youse’d take care of me?”

“Of course.”

Once everything had been properly settled onto the still-sleeping man, the two of you stood from the ground and stashed whatever he had been wearing before into the document cabinet. Your masterpiece was complete, and, now, it was just a matter of waiting until he woke up and left the room for the entire prison to see. You could get out the way you came in, so he wouldn’t be worried by any broken locks, and the sunglasses were the same weight and shape of his reading ones. This was perfect, this was the grand finale you had wanted, and you couldn’t have done it without Yancy’s help.

You turned to him with a grin sweeping across your face. “Thank you,” you whispered, and leaned forward to lay a kiss across his cheek.

Yancy’s heart thundered, his breath caught, and he almost felt his hands shake.

But not from the kiss.

It was from the Warden’s eyes snapping open with a look furious enough to frighten a crazed bull. It was maddened, inconsolable, and pointed straight at the both of you.

Keeping the locks unbroken was thrown out in favor of bursting through the door shoulder first and flinging yourself down the hallway. It hurt like hell, sure, but the adrenaline lighting your veins told you to ignore it and just run, so you grabbed onto Yancy’s hand and did just that.

The situation was manic, a feeding frenzy in an ocean of sharks. You tripped past the kitchen and the storage room, curbed through the washroom, and soon enough, found yourselves in your wing of the prison. It was nice to see Yancy’s friends as you ran by, Sparkless calling out your names like a commentator at a racetrack, and Tiny helpfully pointing to the man gaining on you. Bam-Bam made certain gestures towards you that Yancy caught, which both made him smile and explode in a furious red.

The cafeteria was next on your hit-list, as you skidded between benches and leapt over tables. The Warden’s enraged shouts propelled you forward, though you didn’t miss yelling back remarks that only made him more annoyed. Your partner was just along for the ride, at this point, but he tugged you out of the way of a food cart as you ran. After sending him an appreciative glance, you made it out of the hall.

A few guards peeked out of the staff room when you passed, the squeaking of your shoes making it difficult to be stealthy about this, but they preferred to exchange looks than interrupt… whatever it was that you were doing. They gathered it was something to do with the pranks, but the gleams in your eyes told a different story.

With a final burst of energy, you swung Yancy into the Warden’s office and shoved the door closed behind you. The locks were useless, now, so you settled for vaulting over the desk and maneuvering it into a barricade. Yancy jumped to help, and you were quickly safe in the make-shift bunker.

Flopping into one of the chairs, you sighed. That was… more eventful than you had expected, but it was good. Great, in fact! Reliving the glory days granted you the adventure you had been missing.

From his spot leaning against the table, Yancy chuckled lightly, which turned into small laughs and then full-blown chortles. Never in his life had he imagined he’d be getting into pranking his surrogate-father, with you, no less.

“That was…” he started, only to continue with giggles.

You nodded before letting your head fall backwards. You might just join Yancy for the day and a half nap.

After a few seconds, he regained his breath and spoke again, “I, uh, really enjoyed doin’ dat with you.”

“I enjoyed it too, Yancy.”

Your head propped up, wavering side to side, that feeling returned full throttle. It was the feeling when you’d been chased, sure, but there was something different about it. The warm wasn’t from his blood running through him, but a fuzzy, comfortable feeling – it was an emotion he wasn’t familiar with, and not being able to put a name to it was, well, annoying. He wanted to tell you how he felt, but describing it would be inefficient and, he feared, inaccurate. It was like a bunch of small emotions bundled into one, messy glob. Caring, joy, a little bit of worry. It made his heart sing and his face flush and his throat swell with all of the words he wanted to say but couldn’t.

Coughing, he spoke, “And thank youse for doing it with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think dis’ is the best April Fools’ Day I’ve ever done, and youse didn’t have to take me along with it so, thank you.”

With a near-silent laugh, you made your way to sit next to him on the desk. The wood was kind of hard, but it made wrapping an arm around him that much easier. After the run, he was warm and stable.

“I should be the one thanking you,” you admitted, making Yancy look at you with confusion, “When I first came here, I was dead set on getting out. I thought that if I didn’t, then I’d be wasting away my life and betraying everything I’d worked for – and then I met you. You made it home, y’know. Now, eh, I’d much rather be here than in the outside world.”

Yancy blinked, though, really, he wanted to jump and dance with you around the room. You wanted to stay for him. Not for the songs, or the free healthcare, for him. It might’ve been April Fool’s, but he was pretty sure it doubled as Christmas for him.

“Really?” he mumbled, and his eyes met yours. They were practically pools of sincerity, so vivid that there was a sheen of vulnerability over your irises.

“Come on,” you pulled him close, “I came for the accent, stayed for the crisis.”

It was a happy moment, so, so happy, that Yancy was furious he couldn’t express it with words. His mouth dried up and his mind flurried about like birds’ wings. You weren’t talking anymore, and it looked like you were about to pull away for a second.

So, Yancy did the only thing he could think to do.

The bone of your jaw was firm, the strands of your hair were soft, and the skin of your lips was delicate. Kissing you was something he had never imagined, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder why he ever held back. Carding one hand across the nape of your neck and the other secured around your waist, he poured all of his attention into the feeling of you against him. You pushed forward, and he did, too. It might’ve been the pounding of his heart or the banging of the Warden against the door, but he didn’t care! This perfect moment surrounded by chaos nestled into his memory, added to by the feeling of you smiling against his own mouth. Yancy held back a chuckle himself, before once more becoming engrossed in dancing with your lips.

It was in this moment that Yancy put a name to the emotion that had been stirring in him since the morning. Love – and the admission only had him leaning further in.

You only broke apart because of the fatal flaw of human design – needing to breath, but even then, you went back in for another kiss milliseconds after catching air. Yancy was all but overjoyed to, not feeling bad about ignoring the Warden for the first time in his life. He had something better to attend to.

However, that stance was changed slightly when the boards that used to be covering the windows crashed to the ground in splinters, followed by a body. Just one look at the wig and jacket, and Yancy was jumping to his feet and onto the chair you had abandoned. Thankfully, you had neglected to refit the vent, meaning it was easy for him to grab your hand and lift you towards the ceiling. When you were securely inside, he brought himself up, and you latched onto his arm to pull him towards you, barely missing the Warden’s hand by an inch.

“So, again next year, then?” Yancy joked, to which you responded with a laugh and another short kiss on his lips, leaving the Warden’s southern curses to echo behind you.

[Again, sorry for the lateness – I still hope you enjoyed this and our cute lil’ boy being all confused about emotions. I’m still not over him losing to Dark in the poll. I mean, yeah, I get it, but c’mon, how could they do this to the Boston boy??]

#yancy #iswm yancy #yancy the prisoner #yancy x reader #markiplier #a heist with markiplier #markiplier egos x reader #markiplier egos #x reader #April fools #pranks #longreads #request #reader insert #the knight market #theknightmarket

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Made by @sapphirestones09

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS AUSGHSJSGDKSHSI

CRYING SHITTING SOBBING

TYSM FOR THE FANFIC, I AM FLOORED

Note: It took an embarrassingly long time to find the submission post. Cons of being tech averse. First fanfic? Yey? English isn’t exactly my first language, and some sentences may sound weird and also punctuations are my enemy. Was supposed to be just a drabble, just a take on the “The Incident” nothing too fancy. It was supposed to be straightforward and simple but then 2.7k words.

During this time the story didn’t even start and there are a lot of details that I may have missed, and plot points are not addressed directly. The fic maybe embarrassingly incorrect when it comes to the events and the interpretation of characters. I know…but I did it anyway.

This is just purely written with no certain Doctor MC in mind but gained inspiration by asking myself “What would a psychopath in “love” do in this situation?”

***

You have never been a romantic.

Although there are times that you convinced yourself you are.

People describe romance and love with words that when put together only sounded like ancient language to you. Foreign. Alien. You drowned yourself in poetry, art, songs, movies, books, you consumed all kinds of media you can get your filthy hands on that emphasizes that kind of ideas, all that work and yet the concept remained an enigma to you. Try as you might it seemed like there is a buffer in your brain causing the words to become static and incomprehensible. Like wisps of smoke and childhood bubbles that pass through your hands when you try to catch it.

People seemed to revolve themselves around it though, becoming the center of their worlds. You? You only saw yourself as an outsider when it comes to this subject. You witness the people you tolerate spinning themselves dizzy around it until they collapse, vomit, and destroy themselves in the process.

You like that. Not romance no, you like the aftermath of it. The chaos left in its wake that you can’t help but marvel. You are curious, intrigued, determined to understand the nature of it and see if you can truly bend it to your will.

How odd your interests are…

And so your experiments began, you engaged yourself for a time. The people around you were more than happy to, it’s a wonder how humans quickly drop to their knees at the sight of a pretty face. Never quite understanding the kind of wretchedness hidden beneath. You instantly learned the system, a smile there, a touch there, a wink, a reassurance, a kiss, a bite, and they are wrapped around your pretty finger.

It quickly got boring. Frustration building inside you. All this time and you still don’t understand it. Everyone says its fun, fulfilling, gratifying in a way that resembles the feeling of jumping from a skyscraper. It overcomes all types of high that you can get from pills and drugs. It’s exhilarating. Maddeningly so.

You want that. That type of feeling. You want to understand it and judge it. If it was truly as amazing as they said it is. If it was worth the wars that waged for it. The lives lost in the name of it.

You want to know the ruin. The hurt. The despair. The madness.

But alas, monsters can’t love, can they?

If that is so, then what is it that you are feeling now?

Why is it that when you look up to their face marred with insanity and tears, do you feel that your heart skip a beat. They look good with hate twisting their soft and gentle features. They look so adorable as their eyes become wet and red with tears and blood. They look so delightful when they sob and growl as they continue to bash your kneecaps.

You are supposed to be feeling pain.

There is a theory you read that when humans experience so much pain beyond their limits of tolerance the person does not feel it. Stimuli overriding the nerves and senses that the person just becomes so numb to it.

Maybe you crossed the threshold of it already as you just feel the lightheaded.

Does the theory even apply to you?

Afterall, you never even thought of yourself as one of them. You could always look beautiful enough. You could always mimic their behavior to the best. You could replicate the twinkle in their eyes and yet. There is always something wrong with you.

You’re only a mess of organs. A casket made of flesh. A jumble of limbs. All to contain nothing but raging madness. You feel it sometimes. Licking the part of your brain and whispers, tickling you with thoughts so vile you can’t even understand it half the time. But sometimes it screams and during those moments you contemplate bashing your head on a rock and watch as blood and brain viscera scatter like red fireworks.

But you don’t feel the madness right now. Pleasant numbness coating you in warmth and comfort.

You can’t really remember what happened that lead to this situation. Them above you, ramming a steel chair on your lower half. Did you even fight back? Did you injure them? Did you curse at them first or did they?

No, you don’t want to think about that, you just want to revel in this moment on how they look so lovely covered in your blood. Yours.

How beautifully tortured they look right now.

So beautiful as they look broken, so so broken by your hands.

You stare at them determined to commit the image to your memory. You will your synapses to work, embedding them to a part of your mind that not even the sickness would touch it.

They were supposed to be another pretty thing to play with. They were so cute and foolish enough to be swayed by your words and touch. Just like the rest, it was so so easy.

And yet here you are underneath them on the cold hard floor covered with your warm blood. Instead of defeat or rage, it is ecstasy that fills you. A sense of pride swells inside. This feeling so exhilarating, gratifying, making you giddy with the excitement.

Is this the love the people spoke about? Then you can understand it now, like puzzle pieces placing themselves until a sense of completion fills you.

You never felt like this before. So whole. So full.

For a moment you are not broken. You are not insane. You are not a disgusting mimicry of everything that is wrong with the world.

You want more. You need more. More...more…

More of what?

More of them.

Of their hate, their ruthlessness, their violence, their cruelty.

Give them all to me, Deziree…

I’ll take it all.

Give me everything that is wrong with you and I’ll kiss it, cherish it, nurture it.

Thank you for existing Deziree, now I don’t have to be alone.

Now, I have someone I can drag with me to the pits of hell.

A siren blares in the background. Shouts of composed terror echo outside. Loud enough to pierce through the cloud of your deliriousness. It seemed to have the same effect to Deziree too as their eyes began to shine with clarity. Horror, regret, disgust, quickly replacing the ferocity of their wrath.

No!

You will not this moment to be over yet! For the first time you felt your heart soar, you felt complete, a sense of belongingness together with them. You can’t let it be over so soon! You simply can’t.

Along with the clarity, the madness began to whisper again. Its tendrils crawling their way to consume any resemblance of sanity left from the previous moment. It offers a way to make the most out of the moment. A way to bind both of you for life. A perfect ending for this absolute freak show.

Your stomach tightens pleasantly. You felt your spine shiver in excitement. Electricity tingles down to your- oh you can’t feel your toes anymore. Nevermind.

Mustering up your strength, your bloodied hands reached over to their face.

Eyes on me.

Only me.

Their attention is now back to you. And you feel complete again.

Oh, how far have you fallen?

You give them a weak smile to which they reciprocate with a blank stare. Mind racing, rationalizing what just happened, remembering the moments that lead them here. Just how did things get this bad? The ever loving Deziree…

You can see them shivering, are they cold? You were the one who’s meant to be cold, considering the blood loss, you are certain you’re going to die if left to your own devices. Well, if that will be the end, why not have some fun.

Your hand slides down to their arms. Their muscles underneath taut with tension and through the stormy expression you can see as clear as day the gradient of emotions. Madness, rage, confusion, love, tenderness, all hues of suffering flicking from one to another. You could sit here all day and watch them in reverence.

They have never been more beautiful as they are now.

Your hands connect with theirs, your smile widening even bigger as your fingers intertwine. You’d be blushing like a fair maiden if it wasn’t for all blood gushing out of you. If your head would have been any clearer, you would question the absurdity of the situation, but its not. It’s filled with chemicals actively trying to keep you alive. The kind that makes you high in glee.

You would also have half the mind to check your own condition being on the brink of death. And you would remedy that immediately. You’re far too smart to be killed aren’t you?

But not this time.

There is nothing as important as you and him in this little corner of the world you marked with red.

His eyes track your movement with the accuracy of a hawk. Then finally, you place his hand around your throat. You’re now a willing prey, baring their most vulnerable to a bloodthirsty predator.

There was no need to wait, their hands immediately applied pressure on your neck. Their fingers that previously held warmth and care now ice cold and harsh. It squeezes your carotid veins, blocking your air until you feel yourself turn blue in seconds if it wasn’t for the blood loss. They grit their teeth even more as a small moan spilled from your lips. Did he take it as a sign of pleasure or pain? You would lick your lips if he could, but you could only manage a pained smile.

“Disgusting. Evil. Vile. Why?! I loved you! I trusted you! And you used me! Ruined me!” they sob.

There were no thoughts in your head. Not a whisper of regret or remorse. You are only staring at him, pupils blown at how beautiful he is under the alternating blues and reds from the window. You now choke and as survival instinct begins to kick in and you thrash. You dig your fingers into their wrists in an attempt to let you go.

You know this is futile and this can cause even more damage to your neck than it already has. But still your body moves in self-preservation. Your mind and body disagreeing in the most beautiful way. You are dying no doubt about that, but by the Gods do you feel so alive.

You feel the precious air being taken away from you. Your blood rushing to your head. Your life slipping away at their hands. It makes you appreciate these little things when you are on death’s door.

Your body begs them to stop, trying to pry away their hands, to push them away from you. You feel the heat of them against you. Your body screams for mercy. But you don’t and you will never want that now, don’t you?

Please don’t let go.

Please hold me.

Please kill me.

“You deserve this. I did nothing wrong! The world will be better without you. I hope you burn in hell,” they spat.

You wheeze as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The lack of oxygen and blood finally hitting you as you feel your consciousness ebb away.

A bang echoed the walls of the room from the door opening harshly, footsteps and harsh voices goes in. The weight on top of you was then pulled away, you whimpered at the loss. Practiced and efficient hands began to land on you to check on your condition and at the edge of your vision, see that they had restrained Deziree a few feet away from you.

Face planted on the red floor as they thrash against the restraints of police, their voice panicked but their bloodlust evident from the string of curses they release in your direction. The officers are successful in putting them in their place.

You are promptly carried away. The paramedics dons a concerned expression as they talk ensuring to keep your consciousness awake. You close your eyes only replying in tired hums. You don’t have to look at yourself to see that you’re all levels of bad for seasoned healers to panic.

And even though you can’t see, you feel the people’s righteous fury and sympathy for you like water. From the officers to your neighbors who watches from the sidelines parched and in need of some new gossip to talk about. You can already pinpoint their thoughts, their sadness, relief, worry at how such a young thing was already subjected to the cruelty of such a harsh world.

The human mind is truly such a wonder. People will determine who received the most injury, who is more sympathetic, unnecessary details that help them fuel their own beliefs. Twisting it to suit their own narratives. You can hear them talk words that will end up being printed by tomorrow’s newspaper. And that made you sneer in amusement inwardly.

Because they have never been so wrong than equate you to a pitiful little victim.

It was a good thing the old lady next door was fond of gossips. You made a show of yourself spilling your relationship problems acting all teary and vulnerable, not-so-subtly hinting that you may be in possible danger. So, when the crash and fight started you were sure they were the one who called the police on time.

The strangling part was seriously a last-minute plan, the blood loss making you all loopy and droopy. The police force has body cameras attached to them. Meaning that they have caught Deziree strangling a person on camera. A person who in addition, mutilated your legs you might need it amputated and end up a cripple for the rest of your life.

You shrug. You’re plenty resourceful. You can imagine the opportunity it presents.

Mutilation, strangulation, and the other deeds of Deziree will be revealed in the court. Even if they plead not guilty, the evidence will stack upon them one by one, drowning in proof that you orchestrated like an elaborate game of chess. There is such a thing we call as falsified truths.

Deziree will be hated, scrutinized, their entire being skinned and every part of him will be laid bare for others to see and judge. You mentally calculate and figured they’re going to prison for 10 years give or take. 10 years of living in hell that you personally decorated.

You can taste their pain already. Their expression falling at the verdict of the judge. People cursing their name both inside and outside the bars. And even when they are alone, they’ll never be rid of you. Making sure that their thoughts will always be haunted by the image of you. You only you. What a pretty mental cage you put them in.

There was no regret or remorse as you allowed yourself to smile.

Not one of pleasure nor pain.

It is simply a smile of victory.

Deziree came close, but it’s not enough. They’ll have to become stronger, smarter, better. You needed a drive, you needed them to improve to beat the game you have designed. They might go to prison but you’re far too smart from thinking this is all over. They’ll come back, you know they would.

You inflicted just the right amount of pain for them to persevere. Not too much that they would give up and think that this is all pointless. Not too little that they won’t grow from this. Every factor of this event, taken into account into your pretty little head, all for what?

For an elaborate game of course.

A game that will not begin until later. But you don’t worry, after all patience is truly a virtue especially in this sense. Even though you’re already achingly awaiting the moment.

The cards are dealt, the stakes are ready, and the table is prepared for all the players that will be involved.

You’re already buzzing with excitement. You wonder what they will become. What kind of monster have you created? What kind of chaos and destruction will they bring? How much will be left of you when they’re done? Or will there be any left?

How you long to see it already.

Them in their full potential to end you.

Ah, see, you can be a romantic after all.

#submission #thread's demise #li : deziree #Myrr Answers #the doctor #interactive fiction #if game #if wip #FANFIC

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