#BUT there is something to be said about how objectively cruel it is to keep up the butler routine while caring for a 8 year old orphan

[lovelylonelymoonlight]

something something Bruce feels more maternal and alfred feels more paternal something something it’s always the mothers fault something making fun of your mother with your farther knowing your next something ginger snaps they would’ve blamed me anyways something something something

[roanofarcc]

FUNNY BUSINESS

pairing. tyler owens x boone’s sister!reader

summary. boone was a laid-back guy who only really had one, long-standing rule: his sister was off-limits to the wranglers. But tyler had a bad habit of rule-breaking.

 warnings. a curse or two, fem!reader, mentions of drinking/being drunk (not reader), suggestive jokes, bed-sharing.

word count. 4k || masterlist

“You’re the worst, you know that?” Dani said, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the side of the rig alongside Tyler and Boone. She and Tyler had their sights set on you as you concentrated on the options of the vending machine, oblivious to their attention. 

Boone furrowed his brows, having just been focused on the camera in his hands. “Who?” 

“You,” Dani answered. “You brought your hot sister all of the way out here to help us, and then tell us she’s off-limits. It’s cruel and unusual punishment, if ‘ya ask me.” 

A laugh bubbled up from Tyler’s throat, earning him a glare from Boone. “It’s not my fault none of you assholes can keep it in your pants.” 

It was Tyler’s turn to glare, playfully. “I’m a gentleman, Boone. Is it a crime to get to know her, you know, considering she’s a part of the team now?” 

With a sigh, Boone shook his head. “Just no funny business.” 

Tyler mock saluted. “Scouts honor.” 

Tyler was a gentleman; his momma had raised him as such. And despite his teasing, he did want to respect Boone’s words. But at the same time, you were the newest member of the Wranglers, and Tyler did want to get to know you since you’d be hanging around for at least that season. 

Boone had suggested to bring you on to help with the charity aspect of their storm-chasing. The t-shirt and other sales they made from their online audience went mostly to help victims of the storms they chased, and the rest went back into making the merchandise to sell. Boone said you’d be a good addition to help out with the business side of things, and he’d been right from what Tyler had seen so far. You were smart and quick, and were able to keep up with the rest of Wranglers as if you’d been a part of the team since the start. Tyler was impressed. 

But what really impressed him, was how caring you were. It was the first time you’d come along with them to help out a neighborhood that was hit hard by a tornado. Houses were leveled and the devastation was thick in the air from the moment they arrived. 

The Wrangler quickly got to work. Lily and Dexter started making sandwiches. Dani started walking around and passing out water bottles. Boone helped the injured to the ambulances that arrived. Tyler started making rounds, helping families find their missing pets or important objects in the rubble. But as he did so, he couldn’t help but watch you interact with the victims as well. 

A couple of kids from the neighborhood sat together in a clear patch of grass while their parents tried to salvage some of their belongings and figure out what to do next. They all looked teary-eyed, and faces pulled in frowns as they sat quietly, clutching stuffed animals or picking at the wet grass to distract themselves. You approached them, sitting down in the little circle they formed. 

Tyler couldn’t hear what you were saying to them, but your started to look more and more animated and the kids cracked small smiles. After a couple more moments, the kids’ moods looked to shift into something lighter despite the devastation around them. The somber air slowly became filled with giggles and kids’ voices overlapping excitedly. 

Tyler found himself smiling softly at the sight before he ventured over. “How’s it going over here?” he asked, earning your attention. 

“David here is telling us a very interesting story about a space alien,” you said, earning an enthusiastic nod from one of the younger boys in the circle. “You guys keep telling stories and I’m gonna go make sure no one else needs help, okay?” 

The kids all shared a series of ‘okays’ and ‘thank yous’ before you moved to stand up. Tyler outstretched his hand toward you, and you took it with a smile, letting him help you to your feet. Once you stood directly in front of him, he felt himself clam up slightly. He and Dani had made jokes in hopes of irritating Boone in regards to how attractive you were, but seeing you that close, in the after-storm sunlight, Tyler’s breath hitched in his throat. 

“Thanks,” you said, dropping your hand back at your side and gazing around at what else there was to be done in the neighborhood. 

He cleared his throat. “That was smart, keepin’ their minds off of…” he vaguely gestured around them, feeling a knot in his gut of pity for the poor families affected. 

You smiled sadly. “My parents used to do that with Boone and I. When we’d have to wait in the cellar, we’d all tell stories until the storm passed. The more outrageous the better,” you explained. 

“It seemed to work,” Tyler said, glancing at the circle of kids all sharing outrageous stories with laughter and smiles instead of the frowns they held a couple minutes ago. 

“Yeah, at least a little bit,” you said. There was a beat where Tyler didn’t know what else to say. Something over his shoulder caught your eye before you looked back to him and said, “I’m gonna go help Boone.” You sidestepped Tyler and left him in a slight daze. 

He whispered a string of curses under his breath once he was out of earshot of the kids, and hurried back to the camper where the Wranglers were handing out food. 

“I’ve got a problem,” he muttered to his friends. 

Lily handed out another sandwich before eyeing him oddly. “A problem-problem or a you-problem?” 

“A me-problem.” 

“Ah,” she said. “Shoot, cowboy.” 

“It’s Boone’s sister,” he whispered, ensuring that only Lily, Dexter, and Dani heard him. “She’s…”

“Attractive? Yeah, I thought we already established that?” Dani said, opening another case of water. 

Tyler rubbed his forehead, an odd feeling twisting around inside his stomach. “It’s not just that,” he said. “She’s pretty, sure, but-” 

Lily cut him off with slightly wide eyes. “Oh no,” she said. 

Dexter furrowed his brows. “Oh no? Oh no, what?” 

“Tyler only, and I mean only, calls women ‘pretty’ when he has a crush on them. Some ole’ woman at a bar that’s makin’ eyes at him, he’ll call her ‘attractive’ or ‘easy on the eyes’ never ‘pretty.’ Pretty he saves for the ones he’s got a big fat school-boy crush on. And normally that’s all fine and dandy, but this is Boone’s sister we’re talking about, Tyler.” 

He hated how well Lily knew him. She read him like a book. 

Dexter whistled lowly. “That’s unfortunate.” 

“What’s unfortunate?” Boone said, approaching the group with you beside him. All of the Wranglers, aside from you two, looked at Tyler, which was anything but helpful. 

Boone was one of Tyler’s best friends, and he knew it was the right thing to listen to him. Besides, Tyler hadn’t known you long so maybe his ‘school-boy crush,’ as Lily had put it, would fade once he got used to having you around. 

Clearing his throat, Tyler shook his head. “Nothin’ important,” he said. “Let’s pass the rest of this food out before we head out for the night.” 

You adored your brother’s friends more than you thought you would. You’d watch the Wranglers’ livestreams, but it was different being around them in person. Their passion for storm chasing was admirable and how they helped those affected by the very storms they were in awe of was amazing. 

When Boone asked you to help out, you jumped at the opportunity. You certainly didn’t regret your decision, but you greatly underestimated the charm of Tyler Owens. You’d read the comments online, all ogling at the storm chaser, but it wasn’t just his looks that made him incredibly attractive. Tyler’s charm entered everything he did and said, but it was especially enticing when he talked about storms. When he got particularly excited, he spoke with his hands, lips pulled in a grin that was ridiculously mesmerizing. You could have listened to him talk about the weather forever, which was a problem. 

It felt foolish on your part; not only was Tyler one of your brother’s best friends, but you thought he was miles out of your league. He had people practically drooling over him in the comments of his videos and making eyes the second he stepped into a building. He was a personality, wild and loud, but with a sweet side to make him even more likable. You told yourself the little crush would pass, but you worried that if Tyler kept being so damn nice to you, it’d be years before that happened. 

“So, this is how storm chasers spend their off time?” you said, propping your elbows up on the bar before something sticky touched your skin. You recoiled in a grimace. 

A chuckle sounded from Tyler as he handed you a napkin. “Here,” he said. “And yeah, it’s the perfect way to unwind. Though, word of caution, don’t drink too much. Storm chasing hung-over is a different kind of hell.” 

You wiped someone’s spilled drink from your elbows and nodded. “Noted.” There was still a lot you had to learn about the ins and outs of storm chasing, but you were excited to learn. A silence passed between you two, the space filled with the bar chatter. The place was busy for it being in the middle of nowhere; the Wranglers said it was because most people were either dedicated locals or fellow storm chasers looking to relax a little. 

Your brother and the rest of the team were at the old-timey jukebox, picking out songs that they then danced to, loud and rowdy as ever. But Tyler didn’t join them. Instead, he sat at the bar nursing a beer. Before you arrived, he was talking to an old man on the other side of him, cracking jokes like he’d known the stranger for years. 

It was like each minute you were there with them, you uncovered something else about Tyler. And maybe it was a couple of sips of alcohol that were already affecting your system but felt like he should know that. 

“You know, you’re a little different than I thought you’d be,” you admitted. 

He studied for a moment with a gaze that made you nervous, but not in a bad way. “Oh yeah? How’d you think I was gonna be?” 

You shrugged. “I watch the lives, mostly to make sure Boone is okay, but online you seemed…” You weren’t sure of what the right word to use was. You settled on, “More intense, I guess.” 

A smirk crept across his lips. “And I am not intense enough for ‘ya?” 

Your face felt hot, and the busy bar wasn’t helping. You adverted your eyes down to your drink and tried to laugh off your fluster. “I just mean, I thought you’d be like all of the time. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up and you’d all think I wasn’t a good fit.” 

The smirk fell from Tyler’s face and was replaced with a furrow of his brows. “Are you crazy?” he said. “We needed someone like you on our team. I know you just started, but I think you’re the best fit we could’ve picked.” 

“Careful,” you teased. “Too many compliments like that might go to my head.” Even though you were pretty sure he was just trying to make you feel better, there was something in his tone that was convincing. 

“What are y’all doin’?” Boone’s voice filled your ears and suddenly his arm was slung around both your and Tyler’s shoulders, forcing you two to lean in a little bit closer to one another, but with Boone sandwiched in the middle. Your brother’s breath smelled like beer and there was that goofy smile on his face he always got when he had one too many. “The party’s on the dance floor!” 

You glanced over at the ‘dance floor’ which was a little space the Wranglers had carved out in front of the jukebox. A couple others joined them, but it wasn’t anything too wild. 

Tyler shook his head and finished his beer. “Your ass is gonna be sorry tomorrow, Boone. I told you we’re leaving bright and early.” 

Boone patted Tyler’s cheek. “I’ll be just fine.” 

Boone was not ‘just fine’ the next morning. What he was a pain in Tyler’s ass, which resulted in him being demoted to the backseat and you prompted to the passenger seat. Maybe that wasn’t the best move for Tyler because while he was driving, he found himself slightly distracted by you. 

You sat with your attention fixed out the window, watching the plains roll by with admiration. Every so often you fiddled with the radio per Lily’s request, but other than that you were quiet, observing. 

“Can we take a pit stop?” Boone moaned. Tyler glanced at in the rearview mirror, face paled and eyes squeezed shut. 

Tyler sighed. “I swear, if you throw up in my truck, Boone…” Tyler muttered, straining his eyes down the road for any sign of a gas station, but there didn’t look to be anything close. 

“There’s not another stop for half an hour tops,” you said, searching on your phone. 

“Great, cool, yeah,” Boone said. “Then you may wanna pull over or else everyone’s about to have a real bad time in here.” 

Tyler quickly pulled off to the side of the road and Boone scrambled out, across the road to empty his stomach. 

“I don’t know how many times I’ve got to tell him,” Tyler sighed. 

“He won’t listen,” Lily said, unbuckling and sticking her face between you and Tyler. “I’ll make sure he’s all right. You two keep an eye on the weather.” She hopped out, leaving you and Tyler alone. 

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, wracking his brain for something to say to you. Normally he had no issue talking to people, but he found himself second-guessing his words when it came to you. But you beat him to the punch. 

“He’s never been too good at holding his alcohol,” you said. “I can’t tell you how many times I had to pick him up because he got sick at some friend’s bonfire back in high school. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone get hangovers so badly.” 

“All a part of his charm, I guess,” Tyler joked. “Does it run in the family?” 

You shook your head. “No, neither charm nor hangovers. Boone’s one of a kind, that’s for sure.” 

Tyler steadied himself a little, finding that thread of confidence in the back of his mind. He gazed at you, taking in the pretty features of your face. “I think you’re wrong on the charming bit.” 

You looked surprised, eyes a little wider. “Me? Charming?” You scoffed. “No way.” 

“Charming, smart, pretty…” Tyler trailed off, waiting for a reaction from you to let him know if he had swung and missed. You looked down, averting your eyes and clearing your throat. Out the windshield, he saw two figures moving in his peripheral vision and before you got the chance to say anything back, Boone and Lily reentered the car. 

“That’s my bad, you guys,” Boone said. 

You turned your head over your shoulder to look at your brother. “Feel better?” 

“Oh, yeah. Ready to chase this son of a bitch!” And you all were off again. Tyler wished Boone and Lily had held out for one more minute. He wanted some kind of response from you, even if it was one telling him he had no chance. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, and one he felt bad about having, but he couldn’t help it. You were something new, a little unknown, and unpredictable. If there was one thing Tyler was good at, it was chasing through his apprehension. But instead of a tornado, you had quickly become the storm occupying his mind. 

You knocked for the fifth time on Boone’s door and tried calling him again, but one thing about your brother was that he was one of the heaviest sleepers of anyone you’ve ever met. That paired with his hangover from the night prior left him not answering you. You cursed under your breath, ready to set up camp in one of the rickety pool lounge chairs. 

There was an unpleasant pair of cockroaches in your motel room and the thought of sleeping with them scurrying about was out of the question. Since none of the other Wranglers had left their rooms, you wondered if you were the only one to notice them or the only one who had them. Whatever the case was, you couldn’t sleep in your room and apparently, you couldn’t sleep in Boone’s either because he was fast asleep. You couldn’t remember where Dani and Lily's rooms were to ask to bunk them. 

It seemed like you were out of luck until the door next to Boone’s opened and a groggy Tyler stepped out. “What’s goin’ on?” he yawned, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. 

You hugged your arms closer to your body. “Sorry, did I wake you up?” 

“Sorta,” he answered and you felt immediately guilty. “But it’s all right. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay out here. What’re you doin’ up anyway? It’s the middle of the night.” 

“There are cockroaches in my room,” you sighed. “I was trying to see if I could crash with Boone, but he sleeps like the dead.” 

Tyler chuckled. “That he does.” There was a beat and silent contemplation. You were about to tell him you’d crash in the camper or the truck, but he nodded his head back toward his room. “Come on,” he said. 

You stood, confused for a moment. “You can crash with me. I don’t think my room has cockroaches but for both our peace of mind, I wouldn’t look around too hard.” 

You weren't sure if you were elated or embarrassed. Overall, you were tired, exhausted even, and any thought of declining fled your mind the second Tyler turned to walk back inside, assuming you were following. So, you did. 

Tyler patted the edge of the bed. “It’s all yours,” he said, gathering one of the pillows in his arms. 

“What’re you doing?” 

He tossed the pillow onto the floor. “Praying for no cockroaches for the next couple of hours.” 

“No, wait,” you rushed out. “You can’t sleep on the floor.” 

“It’s all good-” he started, but you cut him off. 

“No way. I’m not kicking you out of your bed in your room.” You glanced at the bed, feeling your face grow hot at the thought of what you were about to suggest, but you couldn’t let him spend the night on the floor. “We can just…share.” 

Tyler stared at you for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say. He shifted his gaze between the pillow on the floor and the bed before landing back on you. “Are you sure? Because I really don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure.” 

Hesitantly, you sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off your shoes, trying to ignore the shift of weight on the mattress as sat down opposite of you. It wasn’t as big of a deal as your mind was trying to tell you it was. It was just two co-workers, borderline friends, sharing a bed so no one had to face any cockroaches. That was all it was. But even in the darkness of the motel room, you couldn’t help the quick beat of your heart as you crawled under the covers, with your back facing Tyler. He did the same and before you could convince yourself what you were doing was not a big deal at all, Tyler’s soft snores filled the room. It was oddly reassuring. You fell asleep not long after him, a clear space between you but something in the air that wanted to draw you two closer. 

For a moment, when he woke up, Tyler thought the exchange he had with you in the middle of the night had been a dream. But when he rolled over to find your sleeping face inches away from his, he realized it was very much real. Your eyes were softly closed and your lips slightly parted as you slept. He found himself admiring you for just a moment, until there was a loud knock on his door, forcing him to get up. 

He threw it open without thinking much about it. Boone greeted him with a slightly worried expression pulled on his face. “Hey, man what’s-” 

“Have you seen my sister? She called me last night a bunch of times, but I didn’t hear it. And when I went to her room no one answered,” Boone said, quickly cutting Tyler off. 

“Boone?” Your voice sounded from behind Tyler and as soon as he saw the several emotions flicker across Boone’s face, he realized he may have made a mistake. 

Boone’s gaze flickered between you sleepily sitting up in Tyler’s bed and Tyler. “Dude!” he exclaimed. “What the hell is going on here?” 

It must have registered with you too how the situation looked. You hurried out of bed and stood at Tyler’s side. “Wait, hold on-” 

“What the hell are you doing?” he said to you. “I said no funny business,” he then said to Tyler. 

“It’s not like that,” Tyler rushed out. “I know that it looks like that, but it’s not. I swear.” 

“He’s right,” you added. “It’s not. I needed a place to crash because there were bugs in my room, and you wouldn’t answer your phone. Tyler offered to let me stay in his. That’s all.” 

Boone didn’t look too convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest, blowing air from his cheeks. “You two have been making googly eyes at each other since you arrived,” Boone said. Both you and Tyler tried to defend yourself, even if Tyler hadn’t been super subtle about his ‘googly’ eyes. But Boone cut you both off with a wave of his hand. “Save it. I know both of you. You,” he pointed to Tyler. “Are the least subtle person I know. And you,” he pointed at you. “Have been talking about him since I started chasing with him.” 

Your eyes widened almost comically as you sputtered over your response. “I-I have not!” 

“Look,” Boone started, taking a deep breath. “You’re both adults. But if you’re gonna get into any funny business, for the love of the Lord himself, do not do it around me. Got it?” 

“Okay,” you answered, catching Tyler off guard. He expected you to brush your brother off and force Tyler to face the reality that you had no interest in him, but you didn’t. 

Boone looked to him for his answer. “Y-Yeah.” 

“Good,” Boone said. “We’re leavin’ in fifteen.” He turned on his heel and left the two of you in the doorway. Once he was out of earshot, a laugh sounded from your lips, a sweet sound he wasn’t expecting. 

“God, that was embarrassing,” you said, still laughing at the situation. 

Tyler couldn’t help but laugh too, closing the door and leaving the two of you alone in his motel room once more. “Is that true? You talk about me?” 

You hung your head, sheepishly and shrugged. “Maybe.” The idea of you talking about him made him feel on top of the world. “Is what he said about you true? Are you really not that subtle?” 

“I did invite you to sleep with me,” he joked, taking a step closer to you. You didn’t move away but instead closed the distance between you two even more. He searched your eyes for a sign that you were thinking the same thing he was, and when your gaze flickered to his lips for only a second, he got his confirmation. 

Tyler hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head upwards just slightly as he leaned in. He kissed you slowly, sweetly as you hung your arms around his shoulders to bring him in even closer, the two of you pressed chest to chest. He felt you smile against his lips, a blissful feeling he didn’t to end.

[star-girl69]

I Can See You

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: you and clarisse work together to get revenge on a mutual enemy, but when that plan involves pretending to date clarisse, something better than revenge happens. requested by anonymous!

a/n: I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE HOLY FRICK. the beginning is so bad and just like worldbuilding but i PROMISE!!!!! keep reading!!!!!! pls ignore the fact im reusing jackie and tyla i’m attached to them anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

I Can See You - Taylor Swift

(also Dress by tay was the original title soooo…..)

warnings: not proofread, the beginning is so bad i swear it gets better, a little suggestive haha…., kissing ofc, fake dating!!!!!!!!!, JEALOUS CLARISSE JEALOUS CLARISSE I REPEAT JEALOUS CLARISSE!!!!!!!, swearing, violence, mentions of murder!, protective clarisse the loml, ALCOHOL!!!!! reader gets drunk, allusions to sex, MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT please be VERY careful, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“What the hell are you all doing?”

You had waited until nighttime for a reason, for the light of the full moon and hopefully some peace. You and your siblings looked up at the voice.

Xavier Bones was possibly the rudest and most self-centered person you had ever had the displeasure of meeting. His father was Ares, which made sense, seeing as he had a wicked temper and was strong as shit. Most of the kids from the Ares cabin could probably snap you like a stick if they wanted, but what scares you about Xavier is that he might actually do it.

He’s rude to everyone he sees, but he particularly has it out for the Aphrodite cabin. Just because Aphrodite kids didn’t have skill in battle like Ares kids, or aren’t wicked smart like Athena kids doesn’t mean they’re worthless. Xavier just didn’t understand anything except brute force.

He didn’t understand any other kind of power.

The whole reason you’re out here tonight is to finally finish the potion you’ve been making. Amokinesis was strictly a spoken sort of magic, and it was hard to do it to more than one person. But, you and your siblings had decided that maybe you could try and follow in the steps of sorceresses like Medea and Circe, using spelled objects and potions to execute your power. You had been collaborating with a Hecate kid for weeks now, learning everything you could about potion making until you were finally ready to try and make a simple truth potion- love and desire also opened the door to truth.

Aster, the daughter of Hecate who had been helping you, said it was a relatively easy first timer potion and hopefully with your Amokinesis it would come together.

You look up at Xavier, watching as he smiles in disbelief.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re trying to make some sort of love potion, huh?” He sits down at the picnic table, curiously leaning in to look at it.

“Get back,” Jackie, your sibling, hisses waving her hand at him so he’ll back up.

“Okay, okay,” he smiles, some glint in his eyes. He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re wasting all this time, seeing as it probably won’t work.”

“Shut up, Xavier,” you sighed. You needed this bad. You needed to prove to everyone that love wasn’t a stupid power. You were so sick of Xavier, of everyone and their treatment of the Aphrodite cabin. Jackie wanted so desperately to learn how to use a spear, but no one would pay enough attention to her.

You need this.

“I thought you guys were supposed to be nice?”

You opt to ignore him.

“Hm, okay, definitely not nice. Good thing I’m not either.”

He spits his gum out and drops it straight into the cauldron.

“Fucking bitch!” Jackie screams, Tyla looks like she’s about to cry, and the wooden spoon you’re holding in your hands is about to crack under the pressure.

The potion changes an odd color, a murky brown.

“Oops,” he says.

He laughs and walks away, and you faintly wonder what happened to him to make him so cruel.

—-

The next morning you’re all stewing silently at breakfast. Jackie is glaring daggers at the Ares table, Tyla is ranting about how you need to get all the ingredients again, and you’re trying to listen and join Jackie at staring maliciously.

“I’m gonna murder him, I think.”

“I’ll help,” you murmur, favoring staring at your hands instead of being caught staring at him.

“Do you think Clarisse will let me borrow her spear? How much would that sting, getting killed by one of your Dad’s weapons, huh?”

“She probably would,” Tyla mumbles. “She hates him too, ever since he beat her sparring.”

You resist the urge to scoff. You were there that day, and Xavier had played dirty.

They were sparring, she was winning, when he suddenly pointed behind her and shouted that Ares was there. Of course, everyone had turned to look, and he had disarmed her and kicked her down while she was distracted.

Of course, the next day he was walking around sporting a black eye, but Clarisse had never lived that day down. Xavier had never lived that down, either, exactly why they’re sitting on opposite ends of the table now.

Jackie stares off into the distance. She lets out a small laugh.

“I have a horrible idea.”

“What if we make Xavier fall in love with one of us, right?”

You and Tyla both gag.

“Wait, wait! But then we just lead him on, and maybe Clarisse will do us a favor and pretend to date-”

Tyla snorts. “She would never do that.”

You remember seeing the anger on her face that day. The rage, really, the betrayal. But you remember seeing the sadness too. A part of her had really thought Ares was gonna be there. You remember feeling so, so bad for her.

No one should deserve to feel like that, but it comes with the territory of being a demigod.

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?”

Tyla and Jackie stare at you like you’ve just cursed out Hades.

“I’ll do it. Tyla, no offense, but I think you’d crack under the pressure. And Jacks, you would just start punching him.”

“Yeah,” Tyla murmurs.

“I would,” Jackie agrees.

“I mean, it might actually work.”

—-

You corner her the next day.

She’s outside her cabin, practicing some spear forms when you walk over to her. This is all moving so fast, but you can’t help the fact that revenge is so fun. Why wait when you can get it now?

Revenge is supposed to be served best cold, but you’ve always been a little too handsy, a little too greedy for your own good. You want revenge and you want it now.

“Clarisse, hi.” You smile, she spares you a glance and doesn’t say anything. “I’m Y/N, you don’t know me but I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

The spear stops in mid air. She moves from a offensive position to a standing position, and she looks you up and down so painfully slow that you think your organs are gonna burst.

“What?”

“So, you know Xavier?” you sit down on the picnic bench behind you. “I’m sure you know him, and I’m sure you know that he’s an asshole. He ruined something me and my siblings were doing, and he’s been so rude to all Aphrodite kids for so long so, we just wanna get him back.

She squints at you. “How?”

“We’re gonna use our amokinesis to make him fall in love with me, then maybe, hopefully, we can fake date to make him lose his mind.”

She stares at you blankly for a second. Your heart drops, oh, Gods, you never should have done this.

You’re gonna be the laughingstock of camp.

“‘Cause, you know, you both hate each others guts. And if he’s in love with me, but then he sees you and me together- it was this whole thing about making him see the power of love, you know, ‘cause like-”

She grabs you by your cheeks, pinching your face together, your lips puffing out.

“You can stop rambling, now.” She smiles in a demeaning way, and you would feel insulted if the way she wasn’t gripping your face right now wasn’t addicting. “I actually think it’s a pretty great plan. Surprising, but, whatever.”

You ignore that.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“When are you gonna spell him?”

“As soon as possible, tonight, at the bonfire.”

“Okay,” she nods, thinking to herself. “Come meet me before you do it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Clarisse La Rue touched your face. Clarisse touched your face, and you really fucking liked it.

—-

The three of you sit by the edge of the bonfire. You locked eyes with Clarisse a few minutes ago, letting her know you’re here.

Tyla fusses with your hair, even though you all spent an hour making everything about you perfect. It would be nice to look hot if you were gonna make him fall in love with you.

You watch as she makes her way towards the bathrooms.

Her golden skin shines in the light of the fire, she adjusts her shirt, and you swear you see her abs just under the orange fabric-

“Clarisse is pretty, isn’t she?” Tyla says. “I mean, I almost wish I was the one fake dating her.”

And she is. She is so painfully pretty.

“I’ll tell you all about it,” you wink.

When you step into the bathroom, Clarisse locks the door behind you. You turn around and she’s there. She looks you up and down. You can’t make out the look on her face.

“You’re really trying to impress him, huh?” she smirks. You ignore that.

The ceiling is low in here, so you walk to the corner and reach up at the loose board. You slide it over, reaching inside and grabbing the small bag.

Aphrodite kid secret- makeup is hidden everywhere around camp.

She stares at you. “Has that always been up there?”

You go to the mirror, taking out the mascara and applying another layer.

“Uh… yeah.”

She leans against the wall next to the mirror, watching you with such an intensity it’s like you’re the one beautiful thing in some bloody war she can’t take her eyes away from.

“We should probably set some ground rules,” you say. She hums. “This will probably only be for a month or so.”

“That’s fine.”

You stare pointedly at yourself in the mirror. You, Jacks and Tyla had dumped almost all of your plates into the offerings fire at lunch, hoping for good luck from Aphrodite. With the way your skin seems to glow, your makeup flawless, it seems she’s pleased by your offerings.

Maybe her and Ares are having a fight up on Olympus, and she’s itching to see him knocked down a peg, however vicariously through someone else.

“Well, you can do whatever you want to me.”

“I- what?” you blink, staring at Clarisse like she just turned into a cyclops.

“You can kiss me, hug me, whatever. I mean, we should really do this if we’re gonna do it. Sell it, or whatever.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, I guess you can do whatever too.”

Clarisse can touch you wherever she wants.

You look up discreetly. Please, Mom, you think. Don’t let me fall in love with Clarisse La Rue.

It’s fine to admit to yourself that you’d like to jump on top of her, but she’s still an Ares kid. She’s a bully, if you’re being honest. But can you say that you’re not one too after this?

Love can burn down cities, love can start wars, love can end them. Love is always there from the beginning of your life to your beginning. The doctor who delivered you loves their career. The woman who makes flower arrangement for your funeral loves flowers, even if she hates making them for funerals.

Love is always there, and when it’s used as a weapon you know it is one of the deadliest things.

But you’re too deep in this now.

She walks around so she’s standing behind you, adjusting her hair in the mirror.

She puts her hand on your hip. You take a deep breath, you pretend. You pretend so hard it might become real.

She smiles brightly in the mirror. “See you out there, baby.”

—-

You pull your top down. That’s the easiest way to get a man to look at you. Pull your top down. You get a few looks as you move through the tree trunk benches, careful that you don’t accidentally trip, because that would completely fuck up the plan.

There’s a part of you that comes from your mother. The part that some may call vain, but how is it your fault to enjoy the attention that other people are giving you? It’s not your fault they’re looking. It’s not your fault you look like your mother’s daughter.

You walk a little longer, finally setting your eyes on Xavier, sitting across the fire from Clarisse and her group. You eyes meet hers. She pretends to itch her nose, but you can see the laugh she’s hiding. You take one more deep breath, say one more please to your mother.

“Xavier,” you say. “Can I sit?”

He already seems a little shocked that you’re talking to him on purpose, but he quickly recovers and pushes his friend down the trunk.

You sit, your thigh touching his, folding your hands over your legs.

“I just wanted to say, Xavier, that you were right. The other night… the potion would have failed anyways. Thank you so much for ruining it when you did. Who knows what could have happened? It could have exploded everywhere.”

You laugh, putting your hand on his arm. He looks up at you, mouth slightly parted.

You said his name twice and he’s already sucked in.

“Really, Xavier, thank you.” You smile softly, looking at his lips before back up to his eyes.

His hand lands on your knee.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

You watch Jackie walk by. He doesn’t hear her whisper. But you see it in his eyes.

You pretend to blush, brushing your hand down his arm before it lands back in your own lap. He leans in closer, until his lips are brushing your ear.

“Why don’t I give you some more things to be thankful for?”

Tyla walks by. He doesn’t hear her whisper either.

“Oh, I should really get back to Clarisse. Sorry, Xavier,”

His hand tightens on your knee and he pulls back.

“C-Clarisse? What would you be doing with her?”

You feign innocence. “Well, she’s my girlfriend. I do a lot of things with her,” you giggle. “I just wanted to thank you, but I should get going. Bye, Xavier!”

You blow him a kiss as you stand up, and you can practically see the hearts in his eyes right along with the blazing rage. You can feel him stare as you walk away, hips swaying.

Clarisse is still trying to hide her laugh when you start walking over to her. The tree trunk around her is all full of people, and a few more are even on the ground.

You stand in front of her, smiling softly.

“Are you not gonna let your girlfriend sit down?”

“Of course I am.”

She leans back and pats her knee. She draws you forward by wrapping her big hand around your hip. When you sit down, she rests her hand flat against your stomach, pressing you right to her. Her other hand rests on your thigh.

Please, Mom, don’t let me fall in love with Clarisse La Rue. Don’t let me like her touching me like this.

Everyone is staring.

It’s exhilarating.

You twist your face into something serious, trying not to break out into a fit of embarrassing giggles.

Her breath tickles your neck.

“I gotta admit, you little witch, that was impressive.”

You smile and place your hand over hers.

“I know.”

—-

The day after the bonfire, everybody at camp is talking about you and Clarisse.

How long have they been dating? Why did they decide to become public now? I swear I saw Y/N and Xavier getting close, though, what happened?

You’ve been trying not to break out laughing all morning. During breakfast you blew Clarisse a kiss and heard one of your siblings gasp dramatically and mumble about how sweet young love is.

Jackie and Tyla made paper hearts for you during arts n’ crafts, talking loudly about how you were such a lovesick little thing. You know Xavier heard about all of those things, because he stares at you every chance he gets and glares at Clarisse at the same time.

You keep exchanging subtle glances with her, small smiles, secrets in between your gazes. It’s nice to have something like this.

After dinner, the two of you go to the woods to pretend like you’re having a secret date. Clarisse brings her spear and you bring a blanket.

You’ve been laying there comfortably for a while, arms under your head like a pillow.

“I wanna know how you did it,” she says, turning her spear in her hands. You open one eye to look at her.

“I say his name a bunch of times. With, like, a lot of intention. Then Jackie and Tyla came by and whispered “you’re in love with the girl in front of you” and other stuff like that. It’s hard to explain. It’s just, like, this power.”

“I was imagining, like, one of those mortal movies, you know? A potion, or something.”

“Oh, we’re trying that too. Medea used her amokinesis in the form of potions and spelled objects, so me, Jackie, and Tyla have been talking to Aster, who’s a child of Hecate, and we tried to make a truth potion.” You laugh, thinking of that night. “That’s why we’re doing this, actually. Xavier found us and stuck his gum in it, so… completely ruined. We have to wait for the next full moon and get all the ingredients. It sucks, whatever, I guess.”

She listened intently the entire time you were talking. Aphrodite kids are always jumping from one thing to another. Clarisse is so focused and single-minded. It feels good to be the center of just one person’s attention. Not having people look at you, but just one person look at you.

“Every time I see him I think about stabbing him 20 times. Now I’ll think about sticking gum in his ear, too.” She turns to you and smiles.

None of that stupid smirking shit she always does, or those over-exaggerated demeaning smiles, she really smiles at you.

Her smile is really pretty.

You laugh along with her after a second.

“I would love to see that,” you murmur, propping yourself up on your forearms. “What really made you agree to do this? I mean, I know you guys surface level hate each other but, come on, I was just rambling and you were all ‘let’s do it’.”

“I hate him,” she shrugs. “Why do you care, anyways? You got what you wanted. Enjoy my beautiful self while it lasts.”

“Yeah, okay,” you chuckle.

You don’t leave until the stars come out.

—-

The second day after the bonfire, Clarisse invites you to sit with her at lunch. Usually, you’re supposed to stay at your cabin tables, but Chiron is busy all day and no one would snitch on Clarisse.

You walk over with your tray in hand, watching as she whispers something to her siblings. You smile at them before she pats the seat next to her.

“Hey,” the boy next to you greets. “I’m Matty.”

He points to the girl across from him. “That’s Marjorie,” he points to the other boy with dark skin across from Clarisse, “That’s Daniel,” and finally your eyes land on the blonde girl sitting across from you.

“I’m Sarah,” she smiles. She seems nice, at least. So does Matty. The rest just seem sort of standoffish. There’s a scuffle under the table, then Daniel glares at Clarisse.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

Matty is sickly sweet nice, handsome too, and you almost wonder if he’s really a child of Ares. But he’s got that same focus like Clarisse.

He asks you questions and listens to your answers.

He had the bad stroke of fate in accidentally getting you going about your experiments in potions and amokinesis, and you find yourself shuffling closer to him.

“Sorry,” you laugh. “I’ll stop torturing you now.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I love a passionate person.”

You weren’t sure if he meant that to be flirting.

Usually you’re good at picking up these things, all Aphrodite kids have a knack for it, but you think he’s just really nice.

You stare at him, tilting your head to the side when Clarisse suddenly grabs your waist and pulls you closer to her. Her breath tickles your neck, just like the bonfire.

“You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, not his,” she whispers, her chin resting against your shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Am I not allowed to have a conversation?”

“Not when he’s looking.” You spare a quick glance. Xavier is looking at you, a mix between glaring and starting longingly.

“He looks like a cross-eyed dog,” you giggle.

And to your surprise, Clarisse presses her face into your shoulder to muffle her laugh.

—-

All the time you spend with Clarisse is like some stupid board game you play with Tyla and Jackie when there’s nothing else to do. Jenga. That one where you crack the ice and try not to make the polar ball fall.

The games where you chip it away slowly, one by one, wondering if this time will be the time that it falls, if you’ll be the one to lose the game.

You push a little more each time with Clarisse. Each conversation, you learn a little more, you chip away a few of her walls.

It’s addicting to open her up slowly, to get to know her like this. And when it’s just you and her alone, when Xavier isn’t around to torture, you swear it doesn’t feel fake.

—-

The eighth day after the bonfire, you skip arts n’ crafts to follow Clarisse to the archery range.

While the Apollo kids have all that effortless, natural skill with archery, Ares kids are still deadly. You faintly remember seeing Clarisse shoot once. Even though it’s not her weapon of choice, her aim was deadly and she didn’t miss one shot.

You’re okay with a bow.

Clarisse sees the perfect opportunity to flaunt in front of Xavier.

As soon as you crest the hill, your eyes find his, and he beelines towards you.

“Y/N, sweetheart, what can I do for you?”

It’s easy to switch on that stereotypical persona. You twist your fingers into your shirt.

“Yeah, can you help me?” you look up at him, trying to be as disgustingly sweet as you can,

“What’d you need?” he takes a step closer, about to cage you in between him and the cart full of bows and arrows.

“Can you help me pick out a bow? I don’t know what one would be right for me, I don’t know anything about archery. Please?”

He reaches past you, coming close so your back hits the wooden cart. You can’t help the way your eyes widen. He’s bold, you’ll give him that. Everyone reacts differently under the spell, but their true personalities still shine through.

He picks one up, running his hand up and down the curved wood. He plucks at the string, nodding to himself.

“This one’s fit for a lady.”

You take it, fingertips brushing his. “Oh, thank you so much, Xavier.” You give him a small side hug as you run past him, eager to get away from him.

You just need to find Clarisse.

“Hey, don’t you need some help shooting?” you glance over your shoulder, watching him advance.

Where the hell is Clarisse?

You’re about to say you’re fine when you suddenly slide into someone’s arms. You would have slammed into her, if not for the way Clarisse softly reached out to touch your arm, and Gods, you recognize the feel of her skin.

You knew she was there and you gratefully walked forward, your chests touching, her arm around your shoulders.

“I’ll take it from here, Xavier.”

You look up at her. She’s smiling in that same demeaning way.

You’ve grown to like it.

He doesn’t say anything else. You hear him stomp off.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. When you open your eyes after a moment, you realize how close you are.

You’re so close it’s just one move and that’s it. One move and you both know that’ll change it all.

You think she just worked out. You can feel the muscles of her arm against you, you can see the sweat on her hairline, you can see her breathing heavily.

You could just press your ear to her chest and feel everything.

The way her brown eyes reflect the sunshine is mesmerizing. You’ve been looking at her for so long, but it’s like you’re looking into the surface of a lake you swear you recognize, slightly green murky waters, but there was a whole world under the surface if you cared to look.

But you didn’t care to look for the Clarisse under the surface. You don’t care. You don’t want to.

She clears her throat and let’s go of you.

You back up.

“Put that thing down, he probably fucking poisoned it.”

You turn the bow in your hands, but when you look up, she’s already walking towards the far end of the field.

“Wait, wait, what am I gonna use then?”

“Mine, obviously.” You drop the bow.

—-

After taking a few deep breaths, and Clarisse going over the basics again, you filled your mind with images of a bow and arrow and not of her eyes. Not of her lips.

Clarisse La Rue hates Aphrodite kids too, just not as much as Xavier, and not enough to resist revenge.

You focus on that. That’s why you’re here. Revenge.

Revenge for every fucked up thing he’s said, revenge for every time he’s come too hard at you during capture the flag, revenge for all of your siblings and everyone he’s ever tortured.

“Ok, there, that’s a good stance.” She’s raking her eyes up and down your body. But you’re here for revenge. She glanced over her shoulder. “Except for…”

She presses her body to yours from behind, molding against you like she was made to protect you like this, her hand covering yours, her stance just a little wider. She glides her hand across your arm.

“Up, up, just a little.” She’s whispering right into your ear. You let her hands guide you. Your mouth feels dry. “Then let go.”

And how badly you want to let go. You want to let go of these feelings rolling around in your stomach like stones, you want to let go and let them become butterflies and fall into Clarisse.

You prayed to your mother not to fall in love with her, but maybe you should trust your mom. Maybe you should let go.

But you don’t.

You let go of the arrow instead, you keep your tumbling feelings inside, and to your shock you only hit a few inches from the bullseye.

The bow swings in your hand.

“Holy shit. Did I- did I just do that?”

Clarisse laughs. “You did, baby.”

You turn around and throw your arms around her neck, smiling wide and laughing hysterically. The bow was the one weapon you thought you could never master, and here you are after one lesson with Clarisse.

She wraps her arms around your waist, and even though you’ve hugged like this a million times, you both know it’s different this time. And you both ignore it.

But for one second, you’re pretending so hard it’s almost real. It’s almost a real date.

—-

On the ninth day, it all goes to shit.

Sword practice is held just after lunch, when the sun is still high in the sky. The Ares and Aphrodite cabins share the field first, and you, Jackie and Tyla take your time stretching to enjoy the show.

Tyla has to turn around to hide her laugh as you bend over slowly, making sure Xavier is watching, then when you face comes up flushed you smile at him. He smiles back.

You wave to Clarisse and he glares at her.

Jackie says it will take him 5 minutes to ask her to spar. Tyla says 5 too. You say it’ll take him maybe 3 minutes.

He spars with one person, a two minute match, then marched right up to Clarisse.

“How about we go, huh? Want another chance to try and beat me?”

Clarisse was smiling before he walked over, talking to her friends. Her smile fades and is replaced by the dark mask of pure focus.

“I’d love to beat you, Xavier.”

She walks past you to grab a sword from the rack.

Her eyes meet yours. You reach out and put your hand on her face, softly pressing her lips against yours. It’s a peck. It’s barely there. At least now you can check off a box and say you’ve kissed Clarisse La Rue.

She seems so shocked that you’ve actually kissed her you swear she loses her footing for a second. You swear her cheeks are a little flushed. By she stands up taller and ignores it, just like you’ve both been doing for so long.

“Good luck, baby!” you call as she walks off to the circle marked off for sparring.

Xavier looks like he’s about to light the grass on fire.

“She’s gonna beat his ass,” Jackie whispers.

“If he loses, do you think I should comfort him after?”

“Oh, Gods, yes,” Tyla smiles. “That’s so mean. We’re so mean.” It feels too good to stop.

Kissing Clarisse almost felt too good to stop. Even that second, one more longer and you would have been sucked in. You decide not to kiss her for however long this goes on.

Once you start kissing her, you’re scared you’ll never stop.

Revenge feels to good, and you need this.

As soon as they face each other Xavier springs out with a million offensive attacks, slightly sloppy- you can see his anger. Everyone knows you can’t let your emotion get in the way of battle.

Clarisse is calm and counters all his attacks. She even smiles, which makes your stomach flip in a way that isn’t fake.

Her sword flicks along his cheek. It’s a paper cut, barely.

“Oh no,” Clarisse fake frets. “You need me to walk you to the nurse?”

He grunts and launches an attack that’s just plain stupid. It’s messy. He swings too wide. She knocks his sword out of his hand.

He goes to dive for it but her sword is already at his neck.

He breathes heavily, staring at her, and it’s suddenly dead quiet. No more talking, no more swords clanging.

Your eyes are flicking in between them like a ball bouncing up and down. But they linger on Clarisse. Of course they linger on Clarisse.

It’s so quiet you swear you can hear her heartbeat.

“Daddy’s behind you,” he whispers.

She whips around, taking her sword with her, but no one is there. Of course no one is there.

Xavier runs away laughing, and Clarisse turns around. Her cheeks are flushed, she’s gripping the hand of the sword so tight you’re surprised it hasn’t broken off.

Clarisse is not your girlfriend. Clarisse is not even your friend.

But she’s someone, she’s someone to you, and you can’t stand to see her like this.

You walk forward and put your hand on her wrist, taking the sword from her. You’re not even in control of your arms and legs.

She stares pointedly at the distance.

“Let’s go,” you whisper, giving her no choice and pulling her along. You throw the sword at the rack.

—-

You end up in Clarisse’s cabin, door clicking shut behind you as you press your back to it. She stays silent for a moment, until she screams and throws someone’s pillow at the wall. You don’t say anything.

You don’t say anything but you follow her to her bed.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, watching as she sits down, fists clenched so tight you hope she isn’t bleeding. “I’m so sorry, Clarisse.”

“You weren’t the one who fell for it. You weren’t the one who fell for that stupid, stupid, childish trick. I did.”

“You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for us and our plan. If it wasn’t for me.”

You sit down on the bed next to hers.

“Why are you even here? We’re not actually dating, dummy. You can go.”

“I know,” you murmur. You know. You know you aren’t dating. You know you shouldn’t be here. “But you’re still something, Clarisse.”

She slips off her armor.

“I’m not something to you.”

She wants someone else to hurt like she does. She wants someone else to take the fall, to be embarrassed and the center of everyone’s attention so she doesn’t have to.

“I’ll never be something to you, Y/N, just- just go away. This is over, I’m not doing it anymore.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mutter. There’s something wet in your eyes and your throat tightens up. “That’s fine.”

You leave silently and you cry in the woods.

—-

When you finally make your way back to your cabin at nightfall, everyone is fussing around you. Your hair’s messy, mascara streams down your face, your shirt is wet with tears.

“Where have you been?” one of your brothers asks, and the rest of your siblings echo the sentiment.

Tyla doesn’t say anything when she sees you. She just wraps her arms around you. Jackie stands just behind her, eyes locking with yours. She knows. She doesn’t move. She can see it on your face, she can see it in your eyes.

Aphrodite children are predisposed to fall in love fast and hard. You’ve all gathered around your siblings time and time again when their hearts inevitably got broken.

No one wants to date an Aphrodite kid. Not really.

They all think you’re vain and self-centered. They all think you’re weak and useless.

When it comes down to it, that’s what you are.

How can you claim to wield the power of love when it brings you to your knees too?

You thought Clarisse was hot. You thought you could leave it at that. You thought you could pretend, you thought you could ignore it.

But the more you think about it, the more tears fall down your face, the more you realize you were ignoring the wrong thing. You spent so much time trying not to want Clarisse you forgot that she doesn’t even want you. It stings, like a knife in the chest, it hurts to know you’re making it all up.

But it was always pretend. It was always fake. That’s what fake dating is. The Aphrodite side of you just forgot that you couldn’t find comfort in her arms, you couldn’t memorize the feel of her skin, you couldn’t hear the sound of her heartbeat and pretended it beat for you.

You look up at the sky and you want to curse your mother. You want to know why she has abandoned you. But in your heart, you know she hasn’t abandoned you. The Goddess of Love is right next to you, and this is what it feels like.

Knives in your heart. Memories of heartbeats, memories of skin, memories of soft voices and secrets and the feeling that something was yours, something was quiet and shared.

“Y/N,” Jackie breathes.

The words hurt. You say them anyways.

“I fucked up,” you sob. “I fucked up, Jackie. She doesn’t- she won’t, she never will-”

“Y/N,” Tyla coos.

“I fell in love. I fell in love, and it’s over.”

—-

You give up on wearing makeup. The sadness still seeps through your face, and you end up crying most of it off anyways. A few of your hoodies are just permanently stained with mascara with how much you cried. The tears stream down your face and carry the little black specks with it.

You try to visualize everything you feel leaving with the black specks. The love, the anger, the sadness, the regret. But it doesn’t leave, and you’re too tired of trying to hide from it.

Everyone thinks you miserably broke up, and it’s mortifying to know that Clarisse knows you’re like this, she knows you’re absolutely ruined over this- and it was never even real.

You keep telling yourself that. It was fake. It was never real.

But it feels real, the memories feel real. You know they happened, you know Clarisse touched you so often it’s like you’re burned with it. You say she had to have felt it to, because the more you remember the more you remember the electricity, the charge in the air.

But you might just be making that up.

Lunch is the worst time. She’s always so happy at lunch, her and her table laughing loudly. She mentioned to you once, one of those fake star-studded dates in the woods, that she’s always to tired by dinner time because she trains so hard for most of the day.

You stare at her when no one’s looking, and everyone can see you better in the bright light of day- and you can’t look away.

Tyla mumbles that they’re gonna get up to make their offerings, she doesn’t ask if you’re gonna come. You’re probably not even going to eat more than a few bites again.

You’re alone at the stone table.

Xavier sees that as an opportunity.

Love spells are best to break on a full moon. You thought it would go on longer than this, and he’s only become more emboldened by what everyone sees as a breakup.

He sits down next to you, smiling sadly. You prop your head up in your hand.

“Y/N, you sad angel.” His hand grazes your shoulder, you can’t be bothered to tell him to stop. He places a flower in front of you. “To cheer you up.”

“Thanks, Xavier,” you mutter. He stares at you for a moment longer. Jackie comes back, slamming her tray down onto the table.

“Go away, Xavier,” she says, the same thing she says every day. Jackie has this look in her eyes that lets you know she’s ready to jump on you if she has to.

You think he would stop trying, but he can’t. He can’t because of this stupid love spell that ruined everything. And you can’t even take it off of him, not until the full moon.

You wouldn’t feel like this if it wasn’t for that love spell.

—-

There is one a day a year that Chiron turns a blind eye to parties. The summer solstice all of the cabin leaders come together to throw a huge party, mostly centered around the bonfire, food and drinks and even music. It’s the one night a year where you’re allowed to be teenagers, and it’s not taken lightly.

It even makes you feel a little excited.

“So what if all that shit happened?” Tyla asked. “We’re gonna make sure you look as hell at this party, and then you’re gonna go find someone and make out with them in a dark corner. Don’t even look who it is. Just grab the first random person and kiss them.”

“Okay, well, I’m not doing that, but I will do something of the sort. There is definitively some making out on my list tonight.”

“Oh, as long as it’s not with Xavier,” Tyla frets.

Jackie kicks her. “If Y/N makes out with Xavier, I will personally pay Chiron a million dollars to feed both of them to some horrible monster.”

“Supportive,” you muse.

Jackie gasps. “I forgot about this dress.”

“For which one of us?” Tyla asks.

Jackie turns around, holding up the back dress. It’s sparkly, a slit up the side, going just to your knees. It’s ruffled at the chest, thin spaghetti straps for the top. You can’t wear it. It’s too much, too revealing.

You look around the room.

Most of your siblings are wearing worse.

And you need to get your mind off her.

“I’m wearing that.”

Tyla squeals and Jackie lays it out on your bed.

You’ll forget about her tonight, you promise yourself.

—-

The bonfire burns high and bright, and even 20 feet away from it the feeling is burning. It’s so hot you’re glad you wore this barely there grass, it frees up your skin to touch the cool summer air.

You, Tyla and Jackie had gratefully taken a few too many sips of the alcohol someone had managed to sneak in and was now passing around.

Everything is so funny in the firelight.

Tyla’s tall heels keep sinking into the grass, and you keep giggling when your own do the same. You’re all holding onto each other, barely able to stand.

There was more nail polish fumes in the cabin than usual, and you’ll swear on your life that it gets to your head.

“Noooooo,” Tyla moans, sinking yet again into the grass. She gasps, pointing at the logs currently abandoned. “I’ll just walk on those!”

Your heels sink into the dirt.

“Me too,” you say, smiling as you grab Tyla’s hand and begin your ascent. Jackie ran off with an Apollo boy a minute ago, the first of your group to leave.

You grab onto each other, laughing boisterously as you keep almost falling.

“I-I can bare-barely stand!” you shout, giggling as you throw your arms to the sides.

“Me either!” Tyla shouts back. She jumps off, walking between the end of that one to the beginning of the next log.

“Hey, do you think I can jump and make it?”

Tyla judges the maybe 4 foot jump.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m gonna try,” you giggle. “I’m gonna jump!”

“Whoooo!” Tyla shouts, laughing too. This entire night is just about you and your friends and laughter. She starts clapping. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,”

You jump, eyes screwed shut, slamming into something mid air and being brought to the ground.

“Wh-” you mumble, and Tyla let’s out a gasp.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Clarisse scolds, her hands quickly falling from your waist.

And, of course, the first instinct of your intoxicated brain is to start screaming.

Clarisse grabs your arm and drags you off, past the light of the fire and into a space between the cabins. She slaps her hand over your mouth and you shut up.

“Are you going to stop being such a baby now?”

She lets go of your face and you immediately stumble forward so she has to catch you, pressing your finger into her chest.

“You, demon, are not my mother! So, I don’t know what you’re doing.”

She laughs, holding you up.

“Oh, you’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” you correct. “As I was saying, don’t you remember, Clarisse, we will never be something to each other.” You push her away from you, heels sinking into the ground and keeping you upright.

Her face falls.

It’s so dark in here but you’re so close to her you can tell.

“Y/N, I-”

You can’t listen to her talk so softly. Being away from the heat of the fire clears up your brain.

“Where’s Tyla?” her hands fall from your hips. “Tyla?!” you dig you heels out of the mud, finding her sitting on the log, talking animatedly to Matty about something. “Oh,” you mumble.

They’re both so absorbed in each other they don’t hear you. And suddenly, you’re the last one left.

You head to a nearby table and chug a bottle of water, shoving a cupcake into your mouth.

“I’m not gonna be alone tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You look up at the almost full moon. You eyes scan the crowd. Xavier isn’t exactly bad looking, and you just need someone tonight. You need anything.

You don’t know where Clarisse is. You tell yourself you don’t care.

You move through the crowd, adjusting your hair, breathing in and out. You won’t be alone tonight. You won’t.

You spot him sitting off to the side with his friends, the group of them sharing a bottle just like you did.

“Xavier!” you shout. His eyes turn to you immediately. He shoves the bottle into his friends hands, standing up and walking over to you like it was his entire purpose to.

“Y/N,” he eyes you up and down. “You look- you look fucking hot.”

“Thank you. Now, dance with me.”

He follows you, his arm gripped in your hand, you can feel him staring at your ass and you don’t care, dragging him towards the music, towards the dance floor.

His hand is all over your ass, your thigh, your hips, drawing you closer to him as you spin and his other winds it’s way around your face.

He’s not her. You can’t bring yourself to feel guilty about imagining her hands on you.

You put your arms around his neck, dancing in a way that would probably make your mother blush.

When you open your eyes, they’re locked with hers.

She seems to have made her way back to her friends, sitting on a log, leaning against her arm and staring at you. Her hands are clenched the same way they were that day. You can see her, you can see her perfectly and she can see you perfectly. She can see you and him.

Good.

You smile at her, waving the way you would have done to Xavier, except now the roles are reversed. He gets to have you, and she has to watch.

His mouth finds your neck. You laugh, throwing your head back, you don’t imagine her lips there. You just sink into the moment.

When your lips crash against his, there’s nothing except hot, hot desire. Like a blue flame, you’re all teeth and tongue, clashing together in a way that is purely carnal.

His hands are everywhere and you love it. It’s like a game, trying to guess where he’ll go next, and it keeps you so wonderfully distracted.

He tugs at the slit of your dress. You pull away for air.

“N-not here. Not yet.”

His greedy hand remains where it is until you shove it down, laughing lightly.

“Maybe later,” you whisper.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles into your neck. “Just let me…” he spins you two around, his hand slips under your dress, against your bare ass.

“Xavier-” you push at his greedy hand again.

“So, so beautiful, like you’re a witch-”

He’s ripped away from you.

You watch in horror as Clarisse grabs him by the front of his shirt and punches him square in the face.

You start screaming obscenities at the top of your lungs.

Xavier only seems to find it funny.

“You fuckin’ jealous, Clarisse?” he laughs. “Fuckin’ jealous, wonder if he’d be proud of you now, beating up his own son for a daughter of Aphrodite?”

She punches him again. Again.

“Fuckin’ jealous?” he says again, laughing, spitting out blood. “Are you fucking jealous?”

One of her siblings finally grabs her and pulls her away. She shoves them off of her.

“I’ll kill you,” she whispers to him. He doesn’t seem scared at all. You stand there and watch, stupidly, feeling like a bird from the skies watching it all unfold, unable to do anything. “Stay away from her. Stay the fuck away from her.”

She looks at you, you faintly realize the music’s stopped.

“Clarisse-”

“She’s not yours!” Xavier laughs from the ground. “The weak Aphrodite girl doesn’t belong to you, that’s gotta sting, Clarisse-”

A love spell only change’s one’s emotions towards a person. Their personalities are the same. They way they behave under a love spell is the same way they’d behave in a regular relationship, except with a lasting relentlessness.

“Shut up, Xavier!” you shout. You’re so sick of him. Sick of his bullshit. He can’t even make out with you without thinking about the next step.

You see it fade from his eyes.

It shouldn’t be.

You watch in horror as the spell falls, you realize this all wasn’t supposed to happen. You were never supposed to actually kiss him.

“Witch,” he mumbles. He was just moaning that against your cheek a minute ago.

He holds his hands to his already red face.

“You’re a fucking witch.”

Everyone is looking at you, for once in your life, you hate it.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you whisper.

Your eyes meet Clarisse’s. You can’t tell what’s on her face. You walk away.

—-

She finds you under the stars. Of course she does. You didn’t know where else to go. Cabin too stuffy. The lake is too far. The only place left is the woods, the spots where you would go with her.

She stands behind you. You can hear her breathing.

“Do you need something?” you mutter.

“I was selfish,” she starts.

You snort. Clarisse La Rue is a lot of things, you’ll be here all night.

“And I was hurt. So I took it out on you, which I really, really regret. You didn’t deserve that and it wasn’t true.”

It wasn’t true.

“Um, I was scared. So I made a decision for the both of us. But I’m not scared anymore.”

You place your hand on the grass next to you.

She sits, you don’t look at each other.

“That was all I had planned, but more has happened, so… uh, I was watching you the entire night, I guess. Not in a creepy way. I mean, you look, that dress… I couldn’t take my eyes away. Then you almost killed yourself on the logs.”

You smile.

“And I touched you again and I just, it was so much. Then you were on the dance floor, and he was all over you and- I was jealous. I was so jealous, like, I was actually about to go insane. And I saw you push his hand away, I saw him do it again, and I…”

“Went insane, berserk, crazy? Lost all proprietary?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “All of that. I’m not gonna apologize for punching the shit out of him. But I am sorry for the things I said.”

“Did you mean it?”

She just seems grateful you’re talking to her.

“Mean what?”

“That it wasn’t true.”

“It wasn’t true.”

You finally look at her. It feels so good to let go. To finally look at her, finally see her.

“I-I was just angry, and I-”

You’re sick of hearing her talk.

It’s nothing like the kiss with Xavier.

Its slow and sweet, heady like syrup, and you feel like you’re sinking beneath the current of some river. Your hands are on her face, she rests hers on your neck.

The kiss was Xavier was pure passion, no love, just bodies and bodies and no thoughts between them. This is all care, this is all slowness, this is all appreciation. It’s faces and faces, singular focus, one intent.

You pull away.

“I was so jealous,” she breathes, like it’s an explanation for the way she grabs you closer, harder, more, kissing you like Xavier did except it’s all erased. You can’t even remember what it feels like for someone else to touch you, let alone kiss you.

It just feels like her. It all feels like her, before her and after her.

When she finally starts to kiss down your neck, it’s so slow again, it’s like she can’t believe you’re in her arms, it’s like she can’t believe she’s got your hands on you. You grab her shoulders, you have her.

You look up towards the sky. Sorry I ever doubted you. Thanks, Mom.

You could see her across from you, you could see her on the dance floor, but now you can see her.

—-

y/n, talking to matty: yes i’m like about to slay amokinesis in a way it has never been slayed before

clarisse, who is NOT catching feelings: what the hell is this bitch doing to my girl

clarisse: ykw… im just gonna…. take her back thank you oh wdym no he’s looking we gotta fake date obvi (clarisse does not care if he’s looking)

—-

y/n, about to fucking die: i’m a bird! i’m jumping!

clarisse: no the fuck you’re not!

—-

clarisse when y/n is dancing in THE DRESS: oh i’m bricked up

—-

clarisse: if this bitch doesn’t get OFF my girl i’m gonna KILL SOMEONE

literally everyone: YOUR girl????

clarisse: nvm i’m just gonna fight him

everyone: not a logical solution???

—-

shoutout to jackie, tyla, and matty the loves of my life COULD NOT DO THIS WITHOUT THEM

also the tyla and matty agenda WILL be pushed

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

No good deed goes unpunished

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie apocalypse (I like how I lied to both myself and y’all that there was ever gonna be a chance of it being another type of apocalypse), both John and Love are a little crazy which is to be expected re: zombie!au, more nausea, more pregnancy related discourse, zombie world building and the ramifications/implications of being pregnant in the apocalypse, the author is currently having A Thing about pepperoncinis, strong hints to the events that lead to Love being abandoned, etc etc etc

First/Previous Chapter Here | Next Chapter

Captain John Price of the SAS, it seems, has decided to keep you.

As a child your neighbors had an Australian Cattle Dog.

He reminds you of that dog. Keyed in on your every move, herding you about as he sees fit throughout the day.

Gets irritated just like that dog used to, if he finds you somewhere he thinks you shouldn’t be.

Being alone with a man you do not know goes against everything you were taught growing up. You, however, are not exactly spoiled for choice where company is concerned and are in no position to bite the hand willing to feed you. Especially when the hand in question hasn’t done anything untoward.

John provides security and stability, even if he fusses at you incessantly.

“Need to be eating more than that.”

Objectively you know he’s correct, but there’s fuck all to be done about it.

“I can’t. I’ll throw up.”

You learn the nausea card will stay his hand, not that you’re even overplaying it. The child you’re carrying likes to alternate between sitting on your bladder and your stomach between bouts of playing soccer with your ribcage. Not exactly making it easy on you to get (or keep down) the food you need to grow a liver or a pair of lungs, or whatever it is that you’re cooking in the final stretch of your pregnancy.

For the most part he leaves you be about the food if he sees you picking at something over the duration of the day.

You circle each other cautiously; circumstance and loneliness making you unwilling to avoid him, but also still having the good sense to be aware you’re dealing with a stranger for less than a full day.

He’s brash, obviously used to getting his way. You don’t know a ton about the military and can only assume that it comes with the territory. He’s used to barking orders and commanding a space. You’re not exactly in a position to buck against his hand- and it’s not like you really want to, anyway.

He gives you first pick of the food, your cravings deciding your meal for you.

Cravings in an apocalypse blow, by the way. It’s not like you can get the tandoori chicken from your favorite Indian place at 2 am just because the mood strikes.

“I would kill for a jar of pepperoncinis,” you mumble, mostly to yourself one night as you pick at your dinner. God you could fuck a jar of them up with how your mouth is watering just at the thought of them.

In fact, had the world not gone to hell in a handbasket you’d probably be doing something cruel and inhumane to a pile of them. Like dipping them into nutella. Wasn’t one of the joys of pregnancy appeasing your cravings with absolutely abominable food combinations?

You’re not exactly in fight or flight at this exact moment, but you are in survival mode. No luxury of door dashing random items.

“How much longer do you think you’ve got?” The captain asks one night over dinner.

“I’m not sure. I think any day now at this point.”

You feel like you’re all belly, something that’s compounded by his follow up question of “Only got the one in there?” which is honestly fair.

“Yes. The midwife said he just has an Olympic sized swimming pool to float around in.”

“Midwife would be handy to have given your state.”

The question is buried between the lines. Why are you here and not with her?

“She’s dead.”

That’s what started this whole mess, isn’t it? It’s not your fault she’s dead but her absence was the catalyst of your group abandoning you.

He pauses his own meal, looking at you momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”

You don’t know what to say in reply.

It feels disingenuous to pretend her death impacted you more than it actually did. While you two had spent more time together as your pregnancy progressed, the conversations had stayed staunchly about the baby and changes to your body.

You weren’t friends. But she was kind and compassionate and seemed knowledgeable about what was happening to you.

It does make you nervous, though. Women have had babies unassisted for millenium, but women have also died in childbirth since the dawn of time. Certain cultures regarded a successful birth in the same vein as warriors returning home from battle.

Since he asked- in a roundabout way- about your group, you feel bold enough to ask about his.

“How’d you get separated from your group?”

“Got caught with our trousers down by a herd wandering through this area. We were overwhelmed and I ended up going through a window. Did a number on my leg, that seems to finally be healing.”

Herds is such a funny way to describe a roaming group of the undead.

Herds usually contain deer, or horses, or sheep. Something soft and doe eyed that you can pet. Something that has teeth, yes, but typically not interested in hurting you.

Packs would be the better descriptor in your opinion- but then no one had asked you, had they?

“Do you think they’re still in the area?”

“Not if they’ve got any fucking sense,” he grouses. “There’s a group of survivors up north we’ve been taking care of. Safe zone so to speak- about as safe as anything can be, at least. Came down for supplies as the area looked clear, but the truck broke down. Herd came through and mucked everything up.”

The prospect of another community- a safe zone- enraptures you.

You’re not stupid, even if a lapse of judgment and a too long dry spell breaking has landed you in your current predicament. You understand that you’re a bit of a ticking time bomb.

You live in a world where safety is no longer a guarantee. That too much noise, and too much attention drawn can be a death sentence.

So having a baby is a far riskier move these days than it was in the past. There’s so much that can go wrong. You can’t tell a baby to be quiet because a herd is passing through and if any of them hear, then you’ve signed everyone’s death warrant.

And that’s if you and your child don’t die in labor.

So you were understandably devastated but yielded to the group consensus to leave you behind.

But a safe zone?

You’ve been floating around in limbo since parting from your group. Understanding that your death is written on the walls, but unwilling to lay down and die without trying.

You feel something akin to hope fluttering in your belly- that maybe you and your child will survive. That there’s not a blade waiting to descend on you when your water breaks.

“Can you take me there? Are you trying to go back?”

John regards you for a moment, and you try to not squirm in apprehension.

“Would be a whole lot easier if I had a working vehicle,” he states. “Between my leg and your,” he pauses, spearing a bite of his food and making a vague gesture at you as he chews, “current condition, walking that far isn’t a good idea.”

Right. Because you’re a ticking time bomb who might pop in the next hour, next week, or next day and there’s absolutely no way to know until it happens. Hence why you were trolling through a neighborhood looking for somewhere safe to bed down until you have your baby.

Talk about caught with your pants down if your water breaks trying to traverse a substantial distance. But then traveling with a newborn puts another target on your back, doesn’t it? How long until you’re comfortable with how fussy your baby is and you become confident you can read his cues? That’s a hell of a dice to roll.

“If I can find a working radio I can call my team. Or something I can drive.”

“I’m good with tech,” you volunteer. “Even if the radio doesn’t work- maybe I can make it work.”

You’ve always been someone who takes pride in your work, but working in tech in a post-collapse society has rendered your knowledge useless when traveling with a nomadic group just trying to make things work day by day.

So you’ve been feeling like a bit of a lame duck lately, even though you know logically that’s not being particularly fair to your circumstances. You’ve been forced to learn more pragmatic skills (at least, for the zombie apocalypse) but having to learn them on the fly with threats constantly looming over you doesn’t exactly provide a safe place to fail while you get over a learning curve.

Obviously close combat isn’t ideal in your situation. Guns draw too much attention with the noise. Maybe you can find a bow and practice with it.

So you jump at the opportunity to show that you might be able to pull your own weight. That you’re more than a fragile time bomb waiting for the counter to hit zero.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I find a broken one, then,” he appeases, although you can’t get enough of a read on him to know if he’s just placating you.

It’s a bit after dinner and the sun setting that John decides it’s time to herd you up to bed. “Right then, time to get you back upstairs.”

It’s only been two days now but it doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s got a thing about you and the stairs.

Someone like him is likely used to preparing for the worst case scenario in every situation. Lord knows what sort of horrors he’s thought up of you losing your balance going up or down, but he’d chewed on you pretty good earlier in the day when you’d tried to go up them without him to get something out of your bag.

Lesson learned- no traversing the stairs unattended.

Given that you are perpetually exhausted at this point, you can’t see the value in arguing that you don’t need your sleep schedule dictated to you. Left to your own devices you likely would have begun nodding off on the couch.

Even with your group, while there’d be assigned watch times, there wasn’t an enforced bedtime. Everyone’s adults- you were expected to handle your shit and be ready to move when it’s time to go.

So you nod along and let him guide you up.

John is magnanimous about the resources in the house, letting you be uncontested for the bathroom upstairs. You don’t understand how plumbing works but you can’t even bring yourself to complain about the cold water as you clean yourself.

There is a chair in “your” room, and the first night you placed it under the doorknob so that should John get any suspicious ideas, at least you’d be awake for your grizzy demise.

The doorknob never so much as turned, and you’ve been at his mercy long enough you decide if he was going to do anything unhinged, he’d have done it by now.

You are snuggled into your bed- which might as well be a luxurious thing with a 600 thread count for all you can care right now, even though it’s most assuredly not- and hear the sound of John’s door closing across the hall, and are out like a light before you can even process the noise and assume that he’s down for the count for tonight just like you are.

Come morning- after you’re finished in the bathroom and are greeted in the hall by John waiting for you- you realize that John was not squirreled away in his own room last night. He leads you down the stairs- insists on being between you and the bottom of the stairwell.

There’s a jar of pepperoncini peppers, a container of prenatal vitamins, and a pack of preggie pops which claims to be a pregnancy safe anti nausea candy.

The logical side of your brain should be floored that this veritable stranger has paid more attention to your needs (and yes you’re going to go ahead and count the pepperoncinis down as a need) in a day and a half than certain exes had during the entire run of your relationships with them.

A thank you would be appropriate given the situation.

Unfortunately, however, your hormone addled “I've been fending for myself after being abandoned, and I'm still emotionally fried” brain has been the one calling the shots lately, so instead what comes out is “You left me last night.”

[chloe-caulfield94]

The theme of sexual violence in Life is Strange S1

A very important theme of Season 1, present in the Dark Room plot, is the theme of sexual violence and of women being objectified, turned into inanimate objects by cruel men. This is what Jefferson and Nathan did to their victims - quite literally deprived them of all agency and posed their bodies for their own pleasure.

Chloe was also a victim of the Dark Room. Nathan lured her into his dorm, slipped her date rape drugs and attempted to assault her. She barely escaped before he began his photo session of her, which likely would've ended the same way as it did for Rachel, with Nathan overdosing his model.

By the way, this shows that the remorse expressed by Nathan over Rachel’s death and his complicity in Jefferson’s crimes in his voice mail to Max was completely phoney. Because after he had already murdered Rachel with an overdose, he attempted to perform a “photo session” on Chloe, clearly not minding the possibility of overdosing yet another girl. But why would he mind it? This time it wouldn’t be a friend of his, just some “whore”.

Nathan: “That whore in the bathroom!”

Chloe: “He dosed my drink with some shit ...”

Chloe: “I know I passed out on the floor. I woke up and that perv was smiling, crawling towards me with a camera ...”

When you first heard Chloe describe her encounter with Nathan, how he invited her to his dorm room and roofied her, how he stood over her with a camera when she regained consciousness, what was your reaction? What did you assume Nathan wanted to do to Chloe?

Kate: “I swear to God I had one sip of red wine. I remember ... I remember getting sick and dizzy ... Then Nathan Prescott said he would take me to the hospital ... All I recall is driving for a long time ... then I woke up in a room ... I don't know what happened ... I woke up outside my dorm room the next day. I felt gross”.

When you first heard Kate describe her encounter with Nathan, how she immediately felt drowsy after tasting her drink, how Nathan removed her from the party under the pretext of helping her but instead he took her to some secluded place where he did something to her, what was your reaction?

At that point, was there any reasonable explanation for Nathan’s behaviour apart from him being a date rapist? Spiking a girl’s drink, removing her from the party to a secluded place, taking pictures to keep as souvenirs and to blackmail the victim into silence – that’s textbook date rapist MO.

The sexual undertone of the violence perpetrated by Jefferson and Nathan against their unwilling models is obvious. Explaining his “art” to Max, Jefferson said he’s obsessed with “the moment innocence turns into corruption”. He also said that all his models have “the same doe-eyed look” once they realize what is about to happen to them.

Jefferson: “I’m obsessed with the idea of capturing that moment innocence evolves into corruption”.

Jefferson: “You all have the same doe-eyed look when you wake up here, replaced by fear as you realize what’s about to happen”.

But Jefferson’s usual MO didn’t involve him murdering his victims. He murdered Chloe and possibly Victoria as well as attempted to murder Max, because they were witnesses that needed to be removed. He usually dumped his unconscious victims somewhere after performing a photo session on them, still alive. So if the thing that made his victims supposedly lose innocence wasn’t impending death, what was it? Mark Jefferson strikes me as the kind of person who holds the reprehensible belief that being subjected to certain kinds of violence can cause a person to lose their innocence and become “corrupted”. That is of course not true. The only way a person can become corrupted is by embracing evil with their heart. Suffering violence at someone else’s hands can never deprive you of your innocence or corrupt you. But it seems that obvious truth was lost on Mark Jefferson.

When you first heard Chloe and Kate describe their encounters with Nathan, when you first heard Jefferson, a grown man, talk how he is obsessed with taking away the innocence and corrupting the teenage girls he kidnaps, weren’t the implications of what they did to their victims obvious? I think the writers wanted to leave what exactly happened to victims of the Dark Room ambiguous, but when all the voice lines for Episode 5 had already been recorded, they realized that the fate of the victims was anything but ambiguous, so they decided to add a newspaper clipping Max can find in the San Fransisco timeline, which states that no signs of violence going beyond drugging, kidnapping and posing of the victims was found. I am deeply grateful that they decided to add this bit of information, because I am very fond of all the characters who had the misfortune to be subjected to Jefferson’s and Nathan’s violence – Rachel, Kate, Chloe, Max. But even after we learn that the perpetrators “only” posed their victims and took their pictures, I still maintain that what Jefferson and Nathan did was sexual assault. They drugged their victims unconscious. They at least partially undressed them. On the pictures Max finds in the Dark Room, Rachel is missing her shoes and Kate is missing her black jacket, which they would've been wearing the moment they were kidnapped. And those were just the first photos in their respective albums. Thankfully, we weren’t shown the rest. Jefferson and Nathan exercised complete control over their victims’ limp bodies, posing them in ways they found pleasing.

In her diary, Max describes that some of the photographs of Kate and Rachel she saw in the Dark Room portrayed them posed with Nathan. Rachel’s photographs depicted her “all over” Nathan. This goes to show that the photo sessions done by Jefferson and Nathan involved a lot more physical contact than simply needed to pose the unconscious models and that Nathan got particularly handsy with his victims, both during photo sessions he performed with Jefferson and during those he performed alone.

And why did they only target pretty teenage girls? If Jefferson and Nathan wanted to capture the moment “innocence turns into corruption”, why not target young boys as well? Why go through all the trouble of kidnapping students from an expensive private school that would be searched for if they went missing? Why not target people that nobody would come looking for, like the homeless, or truckers on long hauls? Because they lusted for a very specific type of innocence and a very specific type of corruption. Finally, notice how they talked about their victims. Nathan kept calling Chloe a “whore”.

When Max lamented Chloe’s murder, Jefferson responded by saying she had to be silenced because she knew too much but he wasn’t interested in Chloe as a model because he’d already had his fill of faux punk sluts like that in his Seattle days.

Jefferson: “And don’t get me started on your late partner. I had enough of those faux punk sluts in my Seattle days”.

This is such a bizarre answer. Jefferson, when accused of murdering Chloe, felt the need to clarify that he was not interested in her, because he’d already had numerous flings with girls similar to her in the past. Why say that? If his lack of interest in Chloe stemmed from the fact that he’d had relations with similar girls in the past, then that clearly implies that the interest in his models was at least partially sexual in nature, even if he “only” satiated his desire by taking photographs. Talking about his “art”, Jefferson felt the need to bring up his taste in girls, explaining that he’d had enough of sluts and he was now after pure girls from good homes that he could corrupt to his evil heart’s desire.

Later, Jefferson said that Rachel and Chloe are fucking in heaven.

Max: “Chloe and Rachel! You killed both of them!”

Jefferson: “They’re fucking together in heaven right now. Is that what you want to hear?”

This is a grown man talking about high school kids using language like that – sluts, fucking. All that proves that Jefferson’s and Nathan’s disgusting crimes had a sexual dimension to them.

Look at it from Chloe’s perspective. Nathan lured her into a secluded location and slipped her date rape drugs. She barely escaped whatever he wanted to do to her. If this happened to you or someone you cared about, what would you assume? The only reasonable assumption would be that it was an attempted date rape. And the reality of Nathan’s photo sessions, seeing how they sometimes ended with the model suffering a deadly overdose, while different, was no better than that.

Chloe knew she would never get justice by going to the cops. Her word against the word of the local oligarch’s son? The Arcadia Bay Police Department was so notoriously corrupt that its members would openly admit to taking bribes from the Prescotts to teenage girls they just met for the first time.

Max: “I heard a rumour you were working for the Prescott family on the side”.

ABPD cop: “Look, sometimes I check up on the Prescott family to make sure they’re doing alright. Nathan included”.

Chloe figured that the only way for her to get any semblance of justice was to confront the boy who attempted to assault her and demand compensation. Now, riddle me this. Which ending concludes the theme of sexual violence and objectification of women in a better way? The victim being murdered by her would-be assaulter upon confronting him? Or the victim getting away alive? Murder is the ultimate form of objectification. It turns you into an inanimate object, forever. Should the story of the Dark Room end with it claiming one more victim, objectified irreversibly? Or with the victim reclaiming her agency, breaking free from the objectification and remaining animated?

[mothwingwritings]

Animal Magnetism

F!Reader X Yujiro Hanma (Omegaverse AU)

Well folks, here is my first ever attempt at a true Omegaverse fic. I wanted to start out with something little to get a feel for it, but since I don’t know how to chill it ended up being a bit longer than anticipated. ^^; I’m still getting the hang of it all, but I hope you enjoy it regardless! Thank you so much for reading!!!

Also, I have a rather busy end of May-June coming up, so I’m not sure how much I will be able to write and update during that time. I apologize in advance. That being said, I wrote this pretty fast and edited it even faster so that I could get it out before I get swamped, so I apologize if it reads a bit rushed. (シ_ _)シ

THIS FIC IS NSFW, SO 18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!

WARNINGS: Noncon/dubcon, yandere vibes, ABO/Omegaverse AU (reader is the omega ofc), death, strangulation, brief mentions of stalking, reader is degraded and treated like an object by Yujiro Hanma. You know how it is. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯"

You considered yourself lucky to have found the love of your life.

That wasn’t always the case for Omegas. Since your childhood, you’d heard countless horror stories from your parents and friends, tragedies and cautionary tales of the horrors Omega’s faced when looking for a mate. Many of your kind faced dismal futures as breeding factories or were forgotten and neglected by their partners whenever they weren’t in heat. It was a lonely, painful, and unfulfilling existence, but a sad reality that many Omega’s endured nonetheless.

Because of this your parents sheltered you, doing their best to keep you from the cruel power imbalance of the outside world. Your father made sure he was the only alpha allowed near you on the property, the rest of your friends and acquaintances consisting of either other Omega’s or Beta’s. Not that you much minded, after all the negativity you heard surrounding Alpha’s you figured this was for the best. You weren’t missing out on anything, and as long as you took your suppressors accordingly, you were sure you could live out the rest of your life just fine without Alpha influence and still feel completely fulfilled.

That was to say, until a certain bodyguard was hired as the family escort, specifically YOUR escort. You had heard he was an Alpha and were quite shocked that your father would allow such a person so close to you, especially with all his previous warnings. But as time passed and your curiosity grew, you would eventually introduce yourself to the man of your own accord, excited and nervous to see what manner of individual he truly was. At the time, you would have never ended up guessing that one meeting would end up turning your entire world on its head, bringing more joy to your life than you could have ever imagined.

You were smitten the moment your hands joined in the initial shake, taken in by his easy smile and sparkling eyes. He had respectfully kept his distance from you at your father’s request, but you could tell he was elated to finally speak with you, a small blush gracing his cheeks as soon as you said ‘hello’. He was a kindly man, mild mannered and soft spoken, but strong where it mattered and protective to a fault. Were it not for the unmistakable scent that exuded from him, you wouldn’t guess he was an Alpha at all, or at least he certainly didn’t fit the description of most of the Alpha’s your father warned you about-all full of machismo and brutality, ready at a moment’s notice to tear you apart to satisfy their own base urges.

This man was the opposite of that, and when you fell for him, you fell hard.

Years past in a whirlwind, from the initial awkward first dates, to buying your own place together, to his heartfelt proposal to you. Through it all he always remained respectful, giving you all the space and time you needed to adjust to your life with him, never pushing his boundaries or showing any untoward aggression or advances.  Because of this, even after spending years together, you were able to remain pure, saving yourself for the day the two of you would join as one, marking each other to truly solidify your union.

And so time marched on, moving so fast that on more than one occasion you wished you could stop the clock altogether, just to steal a few more moments with him.

But now, you would never enjoy his company ever again.

His corpse had been tossed aside, discarded several feet from where you lay. It was so bloodied and broken you could barely recognize it as human, let alone as someone you once loved. Your chest rose and fell with erratic breaths punctuated by fear, the desire welling inside of you momentarily quelled by this sudden nightmare.

Minutes ago he was atop you, peeling the clothing from your aching, hot body. Moving painfully slow, he took his time enjoying your first heat with him, no longer constrained by the suppressors you had taken your whole life. You were scared of the process, worried about losing control of yourself and becoming mindless, driven by only your base needs. Not to mention the pain it would entail, the endless torture of emptiness, and the desperation you would experience relying solely on him for release from your torment.

But he had been patient and understanding through the whole process, explaining how it would all go down and how he would help you through it, alleviating any rogue fears that still remained. He even went so far as to help you prepare your nest, purchasing you any and everything you may need to make it comforting and inviting for when the time finally arrived. Meticulously helping you arrange everything while gushing about how excited he was, how lucky he felt having you as his mate, the one he would be eternally bonded too. He seemed more into the prep work than even you did.

Now, the nest that was to be used to consummate your love was stained in crimson, his blood splashing across it in vibrant streaks the moment he was knocked off you, flung across the room like a rag doll. No matter how badly you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the lifeless body that used to be your beloved. Everything that had made him shine had been stolen in the blink of an eye, leaving only a husk remaining.

Above him stood his murderer, Yujiro Hanma, looming with a bestial sort of feral energy as he stared at the carcass by his feet.  Before this moment, you had never interacted with the man they called ‘The Ogre’, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know all about him. It was hard not to-the strongest man in the world was a celebrity in his own right, renowned the world over for his ferocity and ruthless nature. He had started and ended wars by simply existing, going wherever he pleased and doing whatever he wanted because there was no one who could stop him. He ruled countries from the shadows, amassed wealth and respect from the most influential men in the world. Truly, he was not a person to be reckoned with.

All that aside, you knew him best as the man your father despised the most. A once respected comrade from your father’s military days, you were aware that Yujiro had done something unspeakable to your father in the past, therefore disgracing him from your entire family. Your father had always been an amicable and fair man, someone that you couldn’t imagine having any enemies (even with his military background), let alone ones that used to be dear friends. And while the mystery of what Yujiro may have done to your father to receive this treatment gnawed incessantly at your brain, you kept your questions to yourself, not wanting to open any old wounds that may hurt him in the process.

Now you wished you had pressed the issue more, maybe then you would have a clue as to why this mythical family villain had abruptly entered the scene, irrevocably changing your life in the process.

The slaughter happened so quickly that Yujiro didn’t even break a sweat. Not that he would have anyway-the differences in ability were clear as day, you didn’t need any fighting prowess to realize that. Your mate never stood a chance.

The ogre’s fiery hair danced wildly around his head like a halo as he turned his attention your way, his figure both terrifying and awe inspiring as he took his time stalking towards your vulnerable form. There was no need for him to rush- the power of his presence alone was enough to root you in place.

Splayed out in your nest, you were completely exposed. Your nude chest heaving as a thin layer of sweat coated you, anxiety and confusion mingling with the raging heat your body was going through. Even after watching the execution of your mate before your very eyes, your body was still yearning, causing a horrible, all-encompassing burning that scalded you from the inside out. It made you desperate for release as your mate was in the process of marking you, taking his time exploring the body of the woman with whom he was destined to spend the rest of his life with before carrying out the duty.

And while his drawn out advance was driving you to the point of madness, amplifying the throbbing ache in your core with each teasing touch of his hands and sensual kiss of his lips, you knew the sluggish pace was for your benefit-to prepare you properly. It was your first time, the start of your forever with him. He wanted to make it special, for your pleasure to be immeasurable when he finally entered you, making you feel so good that when he bit down to mark you as his, the pain would be nothing in comparison, if felt at all. You had a life time of love ahead of you, but that was no excuse for him to give in to his desire and rush your first union.

But he was gone now, and his kindness had left you feverish and wanting-so desperately wanting- release. Craving your alpha, needing him so badly you could barely stand it, you writhed pathetically on the ground, whimpering in agony at the absence of fulfillment. Unable to control yourself, your hand traveled to your privates, tears flooding your eyes when stuffing your fingers deep inside of yourself only seemed to hurt you more. It was hollow and empty, not what you needed, not what you craved.

Were you in your normal mindset, revulsion would have washed over you at your actions-the love of your life had just been slain and here you were making a sorry attempt at masturbation while his body lay decomposing beside you. What kind of woman does that? How could you live with yourself after this? How could you tell yourself you truly love him, when now that he’s gone the only feeling your addled brain can conjure is disappointment over the fact that you won’t get the fucking you have become so desperate for?

How had you become so disgusting? You lightly shook your head, trying to dispel the thoughts of self-loathing. Perhaps the blame did not lie fully on your shoulders, but to another culprit, one who was stalking his way closer and closer to you with each passing moment, hunting you as a wolf does livestock.

In any other scenario, this heart-rending moment would have been enough to crack the shell of haze your heat had left you in, no matter how worked up you had become. But the man who was now standing above you, Yujiro Hanma, was dangerous in ways you hadn’t even begun to fathom. His smell of his musk was so overbearing you nearly choked on it, the lust it sent coursing through your body turning you into something unrecognizable. You honed in on Yujiros scent long before his arrival, at first mistaking it for your own mate’s scent that had been amplified by your combined heats. And while it disgusted you to admit it, this new, intoxicating scent excited you far more than your own lover’s ever had, turning your mind to mush the longer you inhaled its aroma.

Yujiro’s cruel eyes bore down upon you, a look of mild amusement displayed on his face as he took in your weakened state. The smirk he wore as he killed your lover began to grow, his lips spreading into a full on smile, baring his teeth in a look that could only be considered as malicious.

“Well what do we have here,” he leered, the mere sound of his husky voice enough to make you moan, “Feeling a bit neglected, are we?”

He bent down on his knee, kneeling beside you as his eyes flicked across your body. After a brief once over, his large hand reached out towards your head, thick fingers knotting themselves into a fist as they gripped your hair. Roughly he yanked you up, dangling you mere inches from his face as he continued to stare at you with his horrible, ravenous eyes.

You scrambled to get your bearings, perching yourself on your knees to help alleviate the pressure on your scalp. Positioned so closely to him, his pheromones became even more intense, slick starting to seep from inside you from the proximity alone. Bright red bloomed across your body, a mixture of extreme arousal and embarrassment, as you wriggled in his hold.

Yujiro scoffed, “Look at you, I haven’t even touched you and you’re already leaking,” He swiped his fingers briskly against your weeping pussy, making you cry out as he gathered the evidence of your intoxication on his hand. Holding the glistening fingers up to your face, his smile returned as he goaded you.  “Bet your little boyfriend lacked the power to make that happen, didn’t he?”

Any anger that may have welled inside you over the slight against your beloved was instantly quelled, eaten by the tumultuous feeling of frustration the situation ensnared you in. All you could do was stare at Yujiro with pleading eyes, any words you attempted to speak dying out the moment you tried to voice them, becoming little more than whiny, petulant mewlings. Rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to create friction, you prayed he would show an ounce of mercy and grant you release soon, fretting over how much longer your body could handle waiting.

Yujiro sighed, chuckling softly under his breath, “Your father is a damned fool, you know that? I told that stubborn bastard that his cute little Omega daughter was meant to be mine, knew it the moment I saw you. I warned him that he could try and pair you off with some other lesser Alpha, but it would be a waste of time. You were fated to be mine- made to take my cock. Trying to make you anything other than my bitch was both asinine and disgraceful.”

He shot you another wicked smile, “Idiots like him may not realize what a fucking honor it is to be my cumdump, but surely you do, right sweetheart?”

You squeaked as he tugged you closer, his breath fanning your face while he stared down his nose at you, “Or maybe you don’t, given the situation I found you in. Looks like my ravenous little whore just couldn’t contain herself, could she?”

His lips curled into a snarl, his booming voice reverberating through your bones as he continued to address your misdemeanor. “Nesting with some weak piece of shit like that, have you no pride in yourself? I’m embarrassed you even gave him the time of day, let alone bared yourself to him. Who do you think you are, trying to fuck basic trash when you belong to me?”

Without giving you a chance to respond, he released his grip on your hair, shoving you roughly to the ground in the process. Hearing him move behind you, you attempted to push your feeble body into a sitting position, trying to reacclimate yourself. However before you could achieve this simple goal, his hand latched to the back of your head, shoving it down until it was smothered in the soft blankets beneath you. His free hand yanked your legs out from under you, pulling your ass up in the process. Though you couldn’t see him, the power radiating from him was immense, his aura so domineering you felt as if it alone was steadily crushing you. Were you in any sane frame of mind you would fear for your life, struggle and fight against the oppressive hardness that slotted itself against your dripping entrance.

But the slave you had become welcomed the intrusion, and as he tightened his hold on you, growling in your ear like the wild animal he had proved himself to be, you couldn’t stop your body from shuddering in anticipation of what was to come.

“It’s time for some corrective action.”

He entered you violently, his thick cock impossibly hot as he sheathed himself inside of you. The initial pain tore a scream from your throat, your vision dotting as you felt blood trail steadily down your shaking legs. He gave you no time to adjust, continuing his brutal assault as he pounded into you, uncaring of the damage he was inflicting upon you. The smack of his skin against your was punctuated by your cries, at first full of pain, but slowly morphing into expulsions of pleasure.

When the abruptness of his entrance fully subsided, you began to focus on the feel of him inside of you. Each slam of his hips ignited you, creating a feverish frenzy within that blocked out all other sensations and judgment. He filled you so completely, easily reaching all the spots that your fingers tried so desperately to reach just moments ago, satisfying all the areas that had been so urgently in need of attention with each stroke of his cock. You wanted more, needed more, moving in time with him as you chased after your pleasure. Wanton moans spilled from your lips, muffled by the bedding that was being shoved into your mouth with each thrust.

Even in the uncomfortable position he had locked you in, unable to breathe properly or escape from his grasp, all you could find yourself caring about was the alpha behind you and how he was making you feel- a strange sense of pride bubbled inside you the longer he went at you. The most powerful man in the world was doing little more than using you, and yet it was the fact that he chose you to begin with that filled you with flattery. A nobody like you being sought out by an alpha like him... Isn’t that what all Omegas dreamed of? To be desired by a dominant Alpha, having the honor of bringing them pleasure and receiving pleasure in turn, wasn’t that your only purpose, your reason for being?

You never dreamed you would feel that way before, but now you were finally starting to understand. The delirium of your desire had launched you into a state of inescapable euphoria, rebirthing you as nothing more than a shell of a woman who had finally realized her purpose, completely giving herself over to her unquenchable cravings while her Alpha’s assault molded her destiny.

Yujiro was a monster. Any man who did what they had done to the love of your life, any man whom your father had hated to the point of excommunication, any man who would violate you in such a way without so much as batting an eye, was an abomination-the remaining rational part of your mind understood this.

Yet as this demon, deserving of nothing but your scorn and hatred, spilled himself inside of you all you could feel was thankful. Thankful that the ungodly heat was starting to subside, happy that the pain the experience had brought you was alleviated, and blissed out over the feel of him nestled deeply inside of you, convulsing as the twitch of his cumming cock rained pleasure down upon you.

Finally, you felt complete.

After pumping you full of his hefty load, he hoisted you up in his arms, repositioning you so that you were facing him, straddling his lap. Gasping the moment you gained access to fresh air, a distressed groan croaked from your throat as his incisors latched to your neck, sinking deep into your scent gland. Your body shuddered at the sensation, fresh waves of pain and rapture coursing through you as he marked you decisively as his.

The cock that was still stuffed inside of you remained rigid, showing no signs of softening as your walls fluttered around it, the next round of your heat coming far sooner than you had anticipated. His hand wrapped securely around your throat, replacing where his lips had just been. He clamped down hard, pain pulsating from the open wound your scent gland had become, struggling once more to breath. His other hand grasped your hip, both limbs working in unison to bounce you on his dick-using you as if you were a human fleshlight.

“Don’t forget your place again,” he grunted, pulling you down on his cock so harshly, you saw stars, “You’re mine now.”

[selfloverrrrrr]

Can you do Sukuna? I want to request him having a favorite maid who gets special privileges, but she has to fuck him in order for those privileges to remain special. For example, she gets better pay than the other maids who work for him. And then he falls in love with her later, making her his wife.

The Bonding

Warning: smut, heavy smut, unprotected sex, teasing, nipple play, edging....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Masterlist

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Sukuna was a wealthy and powerful man from heian era. He's well known for his cruel and calculating nature. He employed many maids to tend to his large estate, but there was one in particular who held a special place. I received special privileges, such as better pay and more comfortable living conditions, but these privileges came at a price.

In order to keep my special status, I was required to submit to Sukuna's sexual desires. He would often summon me to his chambers late at night, demanding me to service him in any way he wants. At first, I was repulsed by the idea of sleeping with him, but over time I grew to accept it as a necessary evil. I told myself that as long as I continue to please Sukuna, I would be able to keep my privileged position.

As the months passed, however, something unexpected happened. Sukuna began to develop genuine feelings for me. He found himself thinking about me all the time, and he grew to cherish the time they spent together. He even started to treat me with kindness and respect, rather than just as a sexual object.

One day, Sukuna decided to make his feelings known. He called me to his private room. I thought it was just like the other days. But when we were alone he took my hand and looked deep into my eyes, telling me how much he loved and valued me. I was shocked by the sudden declaration. but I loved him too. I never told it to anyone but I do love him too much. I couldn't deny the feelings that had been growing inside me as well. I told Sukuna that she loved him too.

He sits on the bed and I was sitting on his lap. We broke the kiss. Sukuna looked at me "should I?" He asked. "Please" I whispered. He pushed me on the bed and climbed over me. I was laying on the bed and Sukuna was laying on me. He looked at me and asked " do you want it?". "Yes..." I whispered. He smirked " Say it clearly please ". "Yes... yes please" I said. "Please what?" He asked still with that smirk on his face. " Please fuck me already..... I want you to fuck me.... please" I begged him and he gave me back a smirk and took off my top and bra. He looked at me and started sucking my boobs, squeezing it, playing with it as he want. I was a moaning mess. I took off his shirt. He got up and unbuckled his pant and underwear. His huge dick sprang out. I was starting at it without even noticing. My lust was increasing just seeing it. He smirked at me. He took off my bottoms and once again lay on top of me. He kissed me roughly. He lined himself with my entrance. Then smirk at me and pushed his whole length slowly. I scremed when it was fully inside. " it's okey... it's fine." He said and kissed my forehead. He started thursting in and out.

I was moaning his name. He was giving me pleasure. The pleasure I was hunting from months. His thurst became harder and harder. Faster and faster. One of his hand reached for my clit. Rubbing it. My legs were shaking. I was screaming, moaning with pleasure. In moment I came. Finally. Finally got my satisfaction. With a few more thursts he came inside me. He threw himself beside me.

From that day on, Sukuna and me were inseparable. We spent our days exploring the estate and our nights making love in Sukuna's luxurious bed. We would often engage in dirty talk and playful spanking, driving each other wild with desire.

As husband and wife, Sukuna and me were happier than we had ever been. We had found true love in each other's arms, and we knew that nothing would ever tear us apart. And as we lay in each other's arms, we knew that we would never again have to worry about the special privileges that I had once fought so hard to keep. We had become a true couple, and we would face the challenges of our lives together, hand in hand.

Give me your requests guys...

I love when you give me your requests 💕

[rebelliousstories]

Old Wound

Relationship: Cooper Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Death, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 1,167

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: She was supposed to be dead. He held her while she died in his arms. How is she here?

“You ever think about what’s gonna happen when we’re dead, cowpoke?” She asked.

It was a cool night, probably winter now if Cooper was remembering right. It had been so long since he felt a proper winter that he was not sure after all these years. He turned his head to the woman that was resting on his chest as they huddled around a fire to keep away the chill.

“You on drugs or somethin’?” Cooper’s serious tone made the woman burst out with laughter. She pushed herself up so that she was level with his face to look into his beautiful ocean blue eyes.

“No but, you’ve survived centuries. I may get a few decades if I’m lucky. I was just wondering if you’ve ever thought about what’ll happen when we die.” Her repeated question did not even make The Ghoul miss a beat.

“We’re gonna become food for someone or somethin’ else. That’s what’s gonna happen.” He stated, trying to get the woman to lay back down.

“I meant the afterlife, baby. Like do you think that there’s the pearly gates, or just nothingness?” She laid back down and let the man run his ungloved hand over her head, and through her hair.

“I hope there’s an afterlife, but if there is anything these last couple centuries have taught me is that God is cruel. So whatever is waiting for us, we take it as it comes.” Howard pressed a kiss in the wake of his hand and felt the woman relax into him. That answer seemed to pacify her as they settled in for the night and went to bed.

If only he could ask her what was waiting for them on the other side of death’s embrace. It had only been a couple weeks and the sting was still fresh, but you know cowpokes. They take it as it comes. Cooper had been traveling alone this entire time with a chip on his shoulder, and saddened eyes.

Walking into Filly, there was a vacancy in his pouch where his chems would be. The thought alone made him want to shoot something. She always got his chems for him because they would give the pretty girl a discount, but the ghoul behind her would get nothing. He had not needed to get his own since she began traveling with him a couple of years ago.

A sign on the door pointed him to where he needed to go. His spurs clinked against the wooden floors as he went inside the little apothecary. There was a bell that he ringed, and soon a man stepped out from behind a curtain.

“Sixty chems.” The Ghoul left no room for small talk, and set the necessary caps on the counter between them. Without a word, the man disappeared and retrieved the items for the mutant. Each man pocketed their own items and said nothing as they turned to go back to what they were doing before.

As soon as Cooper stepped out, gasps and shouts were heard through the downtown area. At first he thought it was him; ghouls were not exactly welcomed in many parts, especially him. But it was not. A woman in distressed clothing was walking around and looking for someone or something with desperation in her eyes. Looking at her from underneath the lip of his hat, The Ghoul thought that her clothing was remarkably familiar.

“Get lost, Ghoul. You ain’t welcome round here.” One of the shopkeepers shouted at the woman, who was clearly very lost. She said nothing as she kept looking around and did not even respond to the man. However she did respond when someone threw something at her. Trying to protect herself, she reached for something on her hip, only for that object to not be there. It was not until she turned around the Cooper felt his breath catch and his heart stop.

It was her. His little spitfire girl was right in front of him. There was no way though. She had bled out in his arms. She died in his arms. He felt the last breath leave her body, and her pulse stop. And yet, here she was. Standing in front of him as if nothing had happened. The sound of a gun cocking caught his attention, as well as the end of a barrel trained on the woman. In an instant, Howard shot the assailant first before he had time to harm the woman. She did not flinch, but rather calmly looked to where he stood and gasped out his name in a hushed whisper.

Cooper marched right up to her, and observed. Not a hair was different from the last time he had seen her. He did not even allow for another moment to pass as he grabbed her arm and began to drag her from the market. Once they were in a quiet part, he let go and could not hold his tongue.

“Who the hell are you? Why are you wearin’ her clothes?” Cooper demanded, holding his gun out to point at the woman.

“What- what are you talking about. Coop, it’s me. This isn’t funny.” She pleaded, feeling afraid as this was the first time in years that she had been at the end of his gun.

“Prove it,” he breathed, “what did you tell me you hoped was waiting for us in death?”

“I never told you.” She whispered. “But you told me that no matter what, we cowpokes take it as it comes, so it didn’t matter. Please Coop. Just put the gun down.”

With a deep breath in and out, he did as she asked. Cooper rushed forward and took in another deep breath, this time with the scent of her. But there was something off about her scent. It smelt much more… ghoulish. Pulling away, he saw her same eyes staring back at him. Those same eyes that he begged to open just one more time a few weeks ago.

“How?” Cooper asked, running his hands everywhere he could.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I am, or what happened that I came back. All I know is that one minute I’m in your arms, and the next I’m picking myself up off the ground and all alone.” She repeated the process of running her hands everywhere she could as her lover was doing to her.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I think you’re a little like me. Who the hell knows with all the radiation bullshit.” He whispered, chuckling lightly at the face she pulled when he proposed his theory.

“I guess there are worse things to be. I’m just glad I found you again.” Cooper was brought into a tight embrace, as she buried her face into his chest and breathed in his scent.

“Me too, darlin’. Me too.” He whispered back, pressing kisses to her hair as he was glad to just hold her in his arms again.

[idliketobeatree]

dead boy detectives characters as art objects and sculptures; extended ---

hello, i remembered i made some subjective explanations and notes on few of my choices for this post, and i thought some folks might enjoy it. soo let's get into it.

1.

monty finch

author: anders krisár

pretty self-explanatory; it's a moulded male torso with visible inprints on its skin.

anders krisár’ artistry explores the themes of loss, separation, and the condition of the psyche through the lens of a human body in duality: perfectionism meets unsettlement, skin meets marble and bronze and polyester, to create sculptures spanning geological time far beyond the living's capabilities.

monty's creation by esther was already stripped of any human agency. "he was made a boy, not a person", small, almost doll-sized, with a singular purpose: to seduce and entice the chosen dead boy into their doom. the naked skin and specifically the position of its arms are mildly erotic, but in a way that makes your skin crawl. the imprints are intimate, placed possesive; notice the thumbs digging close to especially sensitive areas like nipples and the belly button.

the latter seems to connect the "creator" to the subject, the navel here as a symbol of cruel, invasive motherhood. the fact that the torso is cut off in the middle and at the neck furthers the uncanny valley feeling of a young male body, but then again. this is a realistic portrayal. so was it ever a person? what does it have inside to make dents so profound? how deep you can press until it breaks?

--- i'm leaving out crystal and edwin (for now?), but @nicheoverhere brilliantly noticed that it was the same author for both. that was intentional! because glen martin taylor is all about taking kintsugi, which is a beautiful art form of repairing fine china and generally delicate things with veins of precious metals, but with materials like— nails. scissors. barbed wire. all ugly. the repair after a great shattering is seldom pretty after all, they really are similar in this regard. ---

2.

charles rowland

author: robert hudson

okay, strap in. this funky dreamy world belongs to robert hudson, and i picked it for charles rowland because it's all first impressions. the colours? the composition? they give you the 80s vibes, almost; like something a kid would design if you asked them what a time machine would look like. it could probably move in several ways. the pieces seem mismatched, but hold themselves together surprisingly well. or maybe you underestimate it?

it's neither big nor small. you can't tell its size at all. it's a bit overwhelming to look at, at first, and at second, and after a while, but it carries that comfortable familiarity and nostalgia for— well, nothing in particular, because the longer you look, the sadder its past seems. the bold pops of contrasting colour are fighting for your attention. they want you to like it! and yet, the major material seems to be just. rusted steel. made from tools.

and look at that botched up sphere, it wants so badly to be a perfect sphere and it knows it'll never be one. fine!! perhaps it could be a football ball instead! or maybe a head. if you close your eyes, that is. and this facing-up horseshoe? a lucky charm, made to collect good luck and keep it from falling out cause god, it needs it.

---

3.

niko sasaki

author: justin cloud

---

niko sasaki, now how do i describe her? let's start by saying— she's cleary a her. this one is a she. and there's something to be said about blooming, and femininity, and delicacy, because pink is a hopeful girly colour and a surprise and a delight.

what are you doing in a gallery, little flower, shouldn't you be at home? in a field? look how pretty you are! mind you, of course there's something wrong with her as well, but you're not sure if that is because someone messed it up, or because of a different entity alltogether. was it always half-electric? its elegance seems purposeful— the iridescent metal fits all too well with the white-pink petals— but also uncanny. and oh suddenly you can't stop looking at the stigma from which a pollen should release aaany time now.

when i look at her, at her black artificial stem and the small leaves imitating the real ones, i wonder if she doesn't want to lure me into a trap. is it her fault?

the beautiful petals seem like the only thing left real of the flower. whichever way she turns, it will probably mean— death. and flowers are ephemeral. what is a flower mounted to a wall, fortified with steel, connected with cables and enfused with electrical energy, then?

i think she's a self-preserving survivor. ---

4.

the night nurse

author: elizabeth turk

---

now. the night nurse.

of course it's the only piece in the collection where the background needed to be dark. no one here is older than her. there is no inoffensive, fading-into-background white for this absolute pillar of truth. or maybe something like a totem, quite protective in nature. and it's terrifying, 'cause you're immediately hit with the feeling that you're looking at something out of this realm, something you're not supposed to witness. the perspective is all wrong. is it downwards or upwards? why does it seem unstable when the pieces are so perfectly centered and seemingly well-balanced? child, you should calm down, it's not like you will destroy it with a stronger puff of air. will you?

this sculpture is called "tipping point — echoes of extinction", and it's actually a mix of technology and sculpture and sound, with elegant visualizations of the lost voices of birds and sea mammals. the author said it "was conceived in reverence to the astounding lives the species which envelop humans have lived and the mysterious ways they have contributed to our well-being. the shadows of their memory, whether a shape or a sound, have inspired this project." so the piece deals with death. moreover, it deals with murder. it records the harsh reality and makes sure the ones that suffered horribly at the hands of humans are, in a way, celebrated. but also— categorised. like epitaphs. the birdsong, once a living sign, is only visually represented by the lines of varying lenghts in 3D, and you can do nothing about it anymore, right, you can't bring back the dead, you can't help the innocent dying in any way other than— stacking them on top of each other and moving on.

---

so that's for now, i might someday write more if anyone's curious. :")

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Yan!Chain Headcannons

Wild and Warriors

part 1

part 2

Tw: Yandarism and it’s accessories, violence, obsession, manipulation, unhealthy power dynamics (?)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Wild

It took him a while to fully trust you. Well, he recognised that he trusted long before he realised just how much of himself he wanted you to know. It took him longer to remember just how important you were on his journey, how you stuck by his side through rainy days and sunny skies. He knew you wouldn’t mind the blood on his hands.

He suppressed the memory of your guidance after you left, not wanting to admit that he’d lost another friend on his assignment of saving Hyrule. Perhaps it was his guilt that did it, blotting out your face and forgetting your warmth on his skin. Or perhaps it was others, like Impa and Zelda, neither of which saw you. Neither of which believed him, even as he wracked with sobs at the loss of you.

Main love languages are physical touch and acts of service. He will stick to your side as Hyrule burns now he has you back. Especially since they neglected to realise your importance, your utter divinity. How gracious you were to forgive them. But he was taught to be ruthless. And the wilds only coaxed it out of him farther. He’d never leave your side, doing whatever it was you asked. Cook food? He is the chef afterall. Fetch something? You shouldn’t need to tire yourself on something he could do for you. Protect you? What he was trained to do, and you’re far more worthy of his attention. Kill a man? His only question is how you’d like it done. Anything for his angel. Anything.

He loves being close to you. Having you there. Sure, he loves being wrapped around you, keeping you safe from the cruel world. But there’s something about having you hold him as if he’s precious that just makes him swoon. He’s at your beck and call already, but he dreams of having your hands in his hair and being between your legs arms.

He is a downright fool. Just in general, but especially for you. Anything you want done and he’s already running to do it, even if there’s no plan in his mind. Lord forbid you’re ever harmed or taken though. Don’t get me wrong, the others are just as seething and prepared to scorch the earth until you are returned, but Wild won’t wait. No. He’ll slaughter armies. If he could take on all of the champions and hold his own, he can take them all. Especially if it’s in your name, or for your hand.

Or, Better yet, it’s one of the few times he does plan. He’s so eerily still and quiet as he mulls over every detail of how to save you, how to avenge you. That’s the Wild the world needs to worry about. Sure, the feral one is scary. But when he’s pissed and planning? Terrifying.

Would probably ask to marry you. He already has a house, title, land and favour of the crown, all he needs is a wife and kids. And he knows there’s no one else that could fill that role. You protect him, even when it’s not your job. You make him happier than anything. You calm him from his night terrors and patiently wait for him to stop clawing at his scars. You bandage his wounds, you help him cook, you bless him to stand at your side. He couldn’t live without you. Please don’t leave again.

He wouldn’t necessarily kidnap you. But don’t be surprised if a portal drags you back to his universe after everything is said and done.

Preferred nicknames for you: (my) Love, Dear(est), my flower, honey

Bonus: Feral. He is absolutely and utterly feral. Not to your face, no, he’s the goofy champion you knew him to be. But to the men who look at you as if you were an object, to the women that glared at you as if you were filth, he was unhinged.

Warriors

He’s chivalrous, albeit a little bit of a flirt when you first met. Sure, he’s a little more hesitant, given how familiar you are and how his heart fluttered, but he’s just as much as a flirt as we all agree he is. That is, until he remembered you. Then he can’t even bring himself to utter your name without his face turning red.

Man is whipped.

Utterly done for.

He usually didn’t miss the loud boasting of his old comrades. The knights were not usually the type of comfort he seemed out, despite their familiarity. But now, he wished he had their advice. He’d finally found a person to faun over and yet he’s stumbling over his own words.

His feelings derail into obsession after seeing you so easily speaking with the others. How he wished he could have you at his side and his side only. But he kept his ambitions to himself, playing lovesick fool to the others so they wouldn’t expect his knife.

He’d consider dealing with the others. Weather or not he goes through with it varies on a lot of things, but the thought has passed through his mind.

He doesn’t have a love language that he expresses, more just finding whatever makes you the most flustered and sticking to that. Praises and flattery? He’ll write ballads, poems, letters, whatever it is you wish. He’d hold you for hours if it what made you happy, having an arm always strewn around your soulders or waist. He’d do whatever it is you wanted to do, keeping you save and enjoying the happiness you excerpted.

He, however, absolutely adores quality time with you. It doesn’t need to be much, or anything at all. Just so long as you’re near and content with him, he’s head over heels.

Another one to court you traditionally. Flowers, love letters, fancy dates, fancier gifts, whatever your heart desired of him. He does this because it’s the only way of romance he’s familiar with, courtesy of the novels he’s read, but also to silently show off to the others that you’re his. Not something that’s shared. If you shatter a vase and share the peices, it’s just a shard. Not a vase. He doesn’t want just a fraction of your love, a shard of your heart. He wants all of it.

He’d kidnap you. 100%. He’d flaunt off his new spouse too, so everyone knows who to return them to if ever you ran away. You’d be safe, albeit not the normal definition of free. You have everything you desire. But he’d definitely play white knight, putting you through danger to save you from it. Just to remind you how much safer it his to be with him.

Favourite nicknames for you: My love, My dear, Dearest, Darling, My heart, My soul, Maybe just Mine on occasion.

Bonus: He kissed your hand when he met you. Got on one knee and everything.

[chihoshisai]

Nothing Twisted

Sukuna x Reader

warnings : masochist reader implied, choking, power imbalance // wc : 1,057

“What do you want from me?” Sukuna inquired, his voice devoid of emotions yet not without a hint of arrogance. 

You gulped, having always found Sukuna both menacing and enticing — from the cold layer that glazed his eyes, the markings that adorned his rugged body and the manner in which he regarded people as even lower than insects. To think that such a being could exist alongside your insignificant self fascinated you.  

Eyes inches away from the ground as you kneeled per his earlier command, you fixated your gaze upon your hands, cold sweat dripping from every inch of your body like a waterfall. As you watched your bodily fluid drip from your nose to form a poodle upon the tiles of his mansion — in which he had allowed you to work as a servant — the thought that he might sever your head for the simple act of soiling his floor increased the fearful reaction of your body. 

Until today, tirelessly working your limbs, you relinquished in every opportunity granted to admire him from afar like a shy maiden — too afraid to speak or interact with the object of your infatuation as it would be deemed improper. And because your head would roll if the tiniest sound ever escaped your lips unprompted. 

You were not to speak unless spoken to.  

With that in mind, you pondered over your answer — what would be appropriate for the most horrifying curse user of the Heian Era to allow you to keep the measly life you had been granted thus far ? Countless times you had imagined what a conversation with such a being would be, and many times did you perceive it unfolding under the deluded impression that there was even an ounce of kindness in the man. 

But reality was cruel, and so was Sukuna. Your heart had gotten ahead of itself, being blinded by his undeniable beauty. Now that you pitifully were about to kiss the ground, your fight or flight system manifested how foolish those feelings had been, frivolous even, almost bringing you to tears. Despite all that, his voice sounded like honey to your ears, enticing, inviting, leaving you wondering whether something had awakened in you due to the fear or if your mind had already lost it.

Enough dwelling, your thoughts screamed throughout your body, accelerating your heart and further increasing your erratic breathing. Remaining silent for too long would also spell your doom.

“I want nothing,” you answered with a clear voice, lips shaking as you distracted yourself by the sight of your soiled fingernails. 

“Do you think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been secretly looking at me?” He insisted. 

Clenching your teeth in embarrassment after hearing that you’ve been found out, you lowered your head furthermore. “I want nothing,” you repeated.

“How boring,” Sukuna said, his tone unchanging. 

It was enough to convince yourself that you were safe, from death, from him — though temporarily — from danger as a whole. But, as you had been facing the ground all this time, you hadn’t taken notice of his change of movement, how without a sound, he got closer to you almost like snow falling on the ground. Until the moment his lean fingers nestled on your cheek, making their way to your chin and raising it up so you could face him. The unforeseen contact, foreign to your skin and somewhat threatening froze you. His eyes, the color of blood, deprived of any emotions alongside his placid smile made you realize how far gone he was from being human. 

The proximity didn’t stop your ridiculous heart from skipping a beat, and you felt thankful that your sweat filled face didn’t seem to visibly bother him. 

“I’ll keep you alive because you do your job well,” Sukuna spoke arrogantly, his fingers slightly tilting your head up. His remark reduced the rate of your heartbeat, and your tensed up muscles relaxed feeling that the worst had passed. But the man was twisted — he grinned, somewhat ominously and your eyes widened in fear as though they had just beared witness to all the evil in the world. 

“Humans feel more motivated when they are rewarded and praised for their work,” Sukuna began, his fingers sliding down your throat, “I’ll reward you so you can keep going a bit longer.” 

The feeling of your breath being caught at your throat, almost unable to exit your parted lips surprisingly rejoiced your body. Even your heart accelerated in anticipation whilst your very being hung on Sukuna’s last word, awaiting for him to act. 

There were many things that you had come to learn after serving under Sukuna, and one of them was to instinctively let your arms limp by your side — fighting the urge to grip him, to feel more of him — as there was no forgiving any attempt at touching this otherworldly being. 

The sight Sukuna saw must have pleased him, since he brought your trapped neck close enough to land an aggressive kiss. Ruthlessly. That’s how he treated you, firming his grip on your neck and restraining your ability to breathe even more whilst biting your lips to the point the iron taste of blood filled your mouth. He devoured you. 

Dizzy, but still maintaining control over your body, you fought desperately to refrain from trying to rip apart the fingers that obstructed your throat. The many daydreams you had throughout the past did include one too many kisses exchanged with Sukuna, but this was far beyond your imagination. Life was dwindling out of you, and with cloudy thoughts, it was impossible to tell whether you enjoyed it or not. Simply, you consoled yourself with the idea that at the very least, his touch would remain on your body for a while. A memento from a sadistic moment shared together.

Blood dripped from the corner of your mouth, mingled with saliva as Sukuna pulled back to allow air to flow in your lungs. Once again, the ground filled your vision, as your body dropped to the floor, coughing erratically.       

“Now go back to work,” his commanding words echoed through your mind. Keeping your crouched position, you promptly exited the room without so much as uttering a single word, let alone tempt a glance in the direction of the man who would continue to be the source of your twisted infatuation.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

good omens mascot here: why i relate to crowley

Okay I know I've only watched the first season and there's a lot I don't know about season two But. I have a lot of feelings about Crowley and I'm trying to figure out why and this is what I've got. I'm sure at least some of you relate to some of these. I'm using he/him for him this post.

One. He's so disillusioned with almost everything (I say almost on purpose). Heaven? He lost faith in heaven when he fell, maybe before he fell, maybe he fell because he lost faith in it. He's so frustrated with Aziraphale's belief in the goodness of heaven, but he still respects that belief and even admires Aziraphale for it, only really showing how upset he is when Aziraphale lets that blind faith guide decisions. Crowley always says things that imply being an angel is a good trait, but that facade breaks when Aziraphale is fucking up, because he doesn't want Aziraphale to get hurt or this world to end. As for hell? He certainly doesn't have faith in hell, and doesn't belong in it. Mankind? Nope, he frequently points out how flawed and cruel humans are. Himself? Crowley doesn't have faith in himself, really, either.

And I relate to that feeling of... losing faith in all the things that are supposed to be Right and Good, like society and family, parents and friends, lovers and yourself, government and laws.

Two. I said almost, and that's because Aziraphale. He has such relentless faith in the fact that they are friends, they are best friends, they are lovers. 6000 years, and he keeps reading beneath the lines, continues to stand by Azi even when Aziraphale reminds him that he is a demon, that they are on opposing sides, that Aziraphale does not like him, that they are not friends, that Aziraphale couldn't care less about him. Crowley knows Aziraphale doesn't mean it, just like we know. And we're so used to seeing romances where one character says something they don't mean and the rift goes on forever and we get frustrated because idiots, he didn't mean it. But Crowley knows Aziraphale doesn't mean it. He doesn't stop saying they are best friends. That they are more. He calls out Aziraphale on his bullshit and points out that Aziraphale does love him. And he does it without pushing, just lines dropped over millennia, a reminder to Aziraphale that Crowley feels the same, that he knows, he understands. It's such a relentless, powerful optimism from a demon who has lost faith in everything else.

And I know how that feels, to believe in a love so strongly that you can take blow after blow to that belief and have it remain unshattered. To give gentle reminders that you see through the lies, and that you are there and you know they didn't want to hurt you.

Three. Another caveat, though. How much can that belief withstand? Yes, Crowley knows that Aziraphale is his lover and best friend. But how many doubts have crept in over those thousands of years? When Aziraphale said he didn't like Crowley, and the demon replied with you do, how much of it was posturing? When Crowley has been cast out from heaven and persecuted by hell, found no friends in humankind, it must have shattered his sense of self-worth. He calls Aziraphale his only friend, his best friend. Imagine your only friend repeatedly insisting you aren't friends. Yes, you know it is because to be friends is to put both of you in danger, that Aziraphale does not mean it and has shown time and again that he loves Crowley and that's why he's lying to protect him, but still. It must hurt. It must chip away at logic and rationality, bit by bit.

And I know how that feels, too, to begin to doubt that you are loved, because that objective knowledge that yes, you are loved gets broken and eroded by so many instances of being hurt, dismissed, ignored, betrayed.

Four. No one seems to be putting Crowley first. Not heaven, certainly, heaven threw him out millennia ago. As for hell, Satan and the demons only tolerate him, willing to kill him as soon as he betrays the slightest hint of goodness. Humans are too fleeting, gone before you can blink, and they have never paid any regard to the individual over the 'greater good', certainly not to a lonely demon who can't get close to them because they die too soon. And Aziraphale chooses heaven, chooses being good over Crowley every single time. Some of the time, he is right. But imagine being Crowley. Given the choice between salvation and Aziraphale, happiness and Aziraphale, anything and Aziraphale, he would choose Aziraphale. And he has to watch, time and again, as Aziraphale chooses other things over him, finally pulling back from the kiss and choosing the heaven he doesn't even like over what Crowley offers him. Crowley, as far as he can see, is no one's first choice, no one's first priority. It may not be true. But it does feel like that.

And that feeling is so real, to know that the people you would die for would not do the same for you. The people you put first wouldn't put you first. That you are giving knowing that you cannot take. It may be real, or it may not be, but the fact is it often looks that way to me and Crowley and a lot of us, and that hurts.

These aren't all, of course, there's the relentless questioning, the needing to be good, the needing to be bad, the horrible urges and battling them, the kinder impulses and figuring out how to fit them into an awful world, the consequences for being good, whether they are worth it, just everything about Crowley. But the four above I wanted to elaborate on.

I'm fucked, I love a fictional character again. Again, I might be wrong about a lot of things, so there's that. Aren't we all.

[rambyol]

You know what doesn't sit right with me? The fact that in E4C4 [<-spoilers:] when Bruce finds John in Harley's old room there's the option to Slap John (while he has a Bruise and Tears around his eyes) or Yell at him, but never an option to actually COMFORT (hug) the guy? What kind of conclusions are we meant to draw from that? (Are we meant to believe Bruce is just... more likely to be insensitive or cruel... towards John?... ;-;)

I completely agree with that sentiment. There really should have been an option to comfort John more, however I understand why there wasn’t and what we can dissect from that scene. So let’s jump in!

Now I like a healthy balance between canon, subtextual, and subjective interpretation. So I think it’s important to start with the context behind that scene. Here’s what we know; The Interrogation with John takes place Post-Bodhi Spa/Lab scene. The stakes are very high because Harley has the virus, Riddler’s body has been ruined and is no longer preserved meaning there’s no chance to get a cure, and Avesta and Bruce noticed makeshift bombs around the hideout.

So their main objective is to find Harley. And they were anticipating that the person inside Harley’s office would be Harley. They weren’t expecting John, since he’d disappeared after the agency raided the Lab.

John is the closest and only chance they have to find and stop Harley, so everything that Bruce did in that scene was done under stress and a sense of urgency. And if you play Bruce as a good person in that scene he exhibits a reasonable balance of empathy and compassion whilst also keeping grounded in their situation;

Joker: “There’s no point. It’s over. The Pact. The dream. Us.”

Bruce: “Not yet it’s not she’s still out there. With a deadly virus in a city full of innocent people.”

Without the luxury of time, Bruce comforts John in the only ways he could’ve. Remember, John is supposedly drunk, being erratic, and at times wielding a gun whilst stating he doesn’t care about the deadly situation they’re in. So it’s not extreme to suggest that Bruce, or anyone in such a situation would act cautiously. I mean Avesta is on guard that entire scene because of how erratically John acts.

The alternative to the slap option is the hand on the shoulder gesture that Bruce does, in a way it’s the closest physically intimate act he did which was a step or two removed from a hug. In my ‘The Stab�� post, I mention how physical contact between John and Bruce is gradually built up throughout the narrative, so I guess since John hugs Bruce in the Carnival Bro’s scene, we could interpret Bruce’s touch to John’s shoulder as a moment that anticipates a bigger act of physical intimacy.

There’s definitely something to be said about the lack of acknowledgment towards John’s black eye. He’s just told them that he was physically hit by Harley and there’s no attempt to console him or show concern. Now again, this could be due to the high stakes at play, but of course there’s a broader discussion to be had about male victims of abuse not being treated/taken seriously. (I’m saving my thoughts on this for a future post)

Lastly, I wanted to bring your attention to this moment.

(and I don’t want this to discredit the point about male victims of abuse but rather relate to John’s character and his dynamic with Bruce)

No matter what choice we pick for Bruce, John has the exact same response. I think that, John may have been ‘milking’ this time with Bruce.

He has Bruce’s complete attention (albeit not for the reason one would hope) and spends the majority of the scene venting about how Harley and Bruce let him down whilst also ignoring Bruce and Avesta’s pleas for help only to suddenly change his mind at the end. I think that moment serves as a reminder that John’s intentions and emotions are ambiguous.

And Bruce understands this which is why he doesn’t tolerate any of John’s ambiguity when you select the harsher/objective choices, which can come off as cruel.

I hope that gives you some new ideas or reaffirm ones you had! I’ve been meaning to analyse that scene more but I think all my ideas come under separate topics so we’ll see if I get around to that sometime!

[toomanyfandoms-notenoughfics]

Celestial Beings

Chapter Two: Talking it Out

Characters: Reader, Molly Weasley, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black

Summary: After many, many days of dealing with Moody's visits, (y/n) get two new visitors, who seem to be much much nicer.

Word Count: 2,285

Warnings: Torture Mention, SA Mention (it's mostly glossed over, no major details), Child Abuse Mention

A/N: Just in case I forgot to mention previously, this is not completely canon-compliant. I also have made Moody more of an a-hole, if anyone wants to know my thought process on that matter go ahead in send in a quick ask. Actually, feel free to send in an ask about anything, I would love to answer! I'm enjoying writing this, and I hope that at least some people are enjoying reading this.

Torture and pain were nothing new to (y/n), actually, it rather reminded her of home. She wasn’t sure how long she had been in the small room, nor how many times she’d had her “visits” with Moody. They rarely lasted longer than a few hours. The longest time, from what little sense of it she had, was somewhere around 8 hours.

Speaking of home, she missed it quite a bit. Malfoy Manor was a lot more cruel on the inside than most people could even guess. Not particularly any fault of Mrs. Malfoy or Draco, but rather Lucius. The head of the household, and loyal follower of her father, obeyed any and every command given. Of course, most of those orders were on how to best “raise and properly train” (y/n), which typically involved some form of torture.

(Y/n) of course, followed along as well, it was easier than dealing with the consequences. Out of everything, waterboarding was the worst. Followed closely behind spending any nights with a few perverted men, less as a consequence, more so as a reward for their loyalty to You-Know-Who. She had the scars to prove the ordeals she went through, as much as she would prefer to forget.

Even though she acted nonchalant about it all, she was still a person. She just couldn’t afford to be seen that way. In her opinion, it was better to be seen as an object or a weapon, a mere pawn on a chessboard. Then at least she herself could pretend to have no weaknesses, no breaking point. She preferred that people believed the rumors and lies, that she was as deadly as her father and as crazed as Bellatrix Lestrange.

Mrs.Weasley opened the cell door, a tired look on her face and a plate in hand. She gave (y/n) a sad smile as she set it down near the entrance.

“Couldn’t you just give him something to go off of?” Mrs. Weasley pleaded with her. “Anything so you could have a break from it all? You look downright awful, I’m worried for you.”

“What could I give him that he would believe?” (Y/n) asked, slowly grabbing the sandwich from the plate and taking a bite. “After all, I imagine it’s been at least a few weeks if not a month or so? I haven’t uttered a single thing he’s believed, including that his curses and beatings won’t work. I’m used to it, it’s what I’ve been molded to be.”

“What about something small, something that no one knows about, well You-Know-Who?” Mrs. Weasley tries, leaning against the door frame. “From what I’ve gathered he hasn’t exactly been the most caring of-”

“Don’t.” (Y/n) said flatly, meeting the older woman’s eyes. “Truly don’t go there. He cares, just in his own way.”

Mrs. Weasley is quiet after that, unsure as to what to say. She sighs, picking up the plate and turning to leave. Once the door was shut (y/n) sits back against the cold wall, no longer having the appetite for her sandwich.

“He does care. I just don’t know if it’s about me or the results I give him.” she gathers up the blanket, draping it over her legs. “No, he cares about me, what father wouldn’t care about their children? Even Lucius cares about Draco, and he doesn’t care about much else than impressing my father.” (Y/n) sat in the dark, with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company and the occasional bug scurrying across the floor.

This time when the door opened it was someone (y/n) had not seen before. Or rather two someones she hadn’t seen. Both men were tall, one with dark, long curly hair and the other with light brown, short-combed hair. (Y/n) recognized one of them as Sirius Black, the first person to escape Azkaban prison. The other took her a few seconds to place, it wasn’t until the light hit his face, revealing the scars that she knew it was Remus Lupin, a werewolf known to be heavily against her father.

“Well, isn’t this a treat?” She said, slowly getting to her feet. “A blood-traitor and a half-breed? What did I do to have you grace my presence?” Remus flinched at the mention of half-breed.

“I came down here to see who could possibly have Moody stumped,” Sirius growled, stepping in front of Remus ever so slightly. “Imagine my surprise when I see you’re nothing more than another idiot, too stubborn and ignorant for your own good.”

“I’m the idiot?” (Y/n) laughed. “Am I the one torturing the same person the same 20 ways over and over in the hopes something will give? No, I’m the one who is with-standing it because the consequences of giving in are worse than dealing with a little more pain.”

“What could be worse than everything Moody has put you through?” Remus mused. “He’s told us some of what he’s done, none of which we agreed with. The real reason we’re down here is because we took a vote.”

“A vote?” She took a step back, unsure now of the situation she was in. “A vote for what? Who gets first dibs?”

“What?” Sirius looked taken aback, holding up his hands innocently. “No, we took a vote over if Moody should be down here with you anymore.”

“We decided against it. You don’t have to deal with him anymore.” Remus conjured up a lantern and hung it on the ceiling. “From now on we’re just going to talk.”

“So we’ve moved on from physical torture to psychological, understood.” (Y/n)’s shoulder relaxed slightly. “I can handle that too.”

“No, no, no. I think you’re still not understanding.” Remus smiled, looking at Sirius. “That’s all we’re going to do from now on. Sirius has enlightened us on what you’ve probably grown used to growing up.”

“Enlightened? What would he know about any of that?” she sneered, feeling even more vulnerable than before. Somehow talking seemed more daunting than hours of Cruciatous curses and water-boarding.

“You’re forgetting what family I, regrettably, belong to,” Sirius grumbled, shutting the door. “I have a feeling your upbringing was at least somewhat similar to my own, if not worse. Your father seems to pay you the same amount of care my mother gave me, which is to say nothing unless you are their perfect doll.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly be-”

“Don’t lie, it doesn’t suit you.” Sirius glared at her, arms crossed. “Besides, you can give everyone else the whole “He cares for me, just in a different way” b.s. like you gave Molly, but it won’t work on me. I tried that too, now I realize how bloody wrong I was.”

“Sirius, we came to talk, not to therapise,” Remus warned, putting his hand on Sirius’s chest. “How about we start small, like cornish pixie small?” he glanced at (y/n) almost asking her for permission.

“Right, apologies.” Sirius took a deep breath. “Let’s just start small, right?” Remus dropped his hand and turned back to (y/n).

“I don’t see what actual choice I have,” (Y/n) sat down on top of her sleeping bag, bringing her knees to her chest. “What’s the rules then?”

“No rules, just talk.” Remus once again said, conjuring up some wooden chairs. “Would you like a chair as well, or are you okay there?”

“I’m fine.” (Y/n) watched as the two men sat down. “So, what would you like to talk about? The weather? To me, it seems the same every day to me.”

“Funny,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “But, to be completely honest I haven’t a clue.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Remus asks. “I prefer blue myself.”

“I like gold a lot,” Sirius mutters, still seemingly uninterested in the conversation. “It’s one of the few colors I can see both in my animagus form and human form.”

“It may seem cliche, but I like green.” (Y/n) admits after sitting in silence for a moment. “Not any green though, I enjoy deep greens, phthalo green is a good one, and so is forest green, and juniper.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about different shades of greens, is there any particular reason?” Sirius asked, sitting up more in his chair.

“Not really, it just comes in handy when it comes to potions and herbology.” she shrugged. The three of them were silent for a moment. “So, did either of you ever, um, I don’t know, did either of you ever find a way to sneak into the headmaster’s quarters? Because I did, plenty of times.”

“And you never tried to kill him for your dad?” Sirius seemed confused. “I feel like if you wanted his approval as bad as you seem to, you would’ve, well you know.”

“Answer my question first and then I’ll answer yours.” (Y/n) responded. “Have either of you snuck into Dumbledore’s quarters?”

“I, well, I tried to once, but not while I was still at the school,” Sirius smiled to himself. “It was after I escaped prison. I snuck into the castle looking for Peter and saw a rat head that way. Turned out to be a normal rat.”

“I never really even thought of the idea. I mean, he’s someone I imagine has a lot of security and spells cast around him to protect him from that sort of thing.” Remus admitted. “Your turn, answer Sirius’s question.”

“No, I never tried to kill him.” (Y/n) smirks. “The idea is quite intriguing though. Could you imagine how funny it’d be, if the daughter of the all and powerful Dark Lord, age 13, manages to murder the one person he fears above all else? Besides I liked school.”

“Why did you sneak in then?” Remus prodded, leaning forwards, studying her as she toyed with her fingers. “If not to kill Dumbledore, why bother?”

“To be completely and totally honest? I wanted to be the best at potions, and Dumbledore just so happened to be very close friends with a certain Nicholas Flammel. In order to be able to make a Philosopher’s Stone one would have to excel in both alchemy and potion-making.” she stood up, leaning against the wall. “He had a portrait of him in there, I would sneak in, ask him a million and one questions about potions, and then by the next time I came back I had tested and confirmed what he told me. I took great joy in Snape watching me get better at his own craft than he was.”

Sirius let out a gruff chuckle, which soon became a hollering laugh. Even Remus couldn’t contain himself, joining in with his own chorus of giggles. (Y/n) didn’t quite understand what was so funny, but watching the two of them laugh as hard as they were made her let out a giggle or two. The three of them talked, just talked for a time.

When the knock came at the door (y/n) stiffened, eyeing Sirius as he opened it. Much to her relief, it was Mrs. Weasley bringing dinner along with a small pillow. Sirius thanked her, taking the food from her arms and holding it out to (y/n), offering it to her. She cautiously took it, careful to not get too close as she retreated to her corner of the cell. Mrs. Weasley smiled and held up the pillow.

“It’s not much, but it’s better than what Alastor was giving you.” The older woman set it next to the door. “Whenever you’re ready for it you can grab it. No rush, dear.”

(Y/n) nodded, whispering a small thank you under her breath as Mrs.Weasley left. The soup and bread she had been given more than filled her up. Remus and Sirius continued talking to one another as she ate, everyone now slightly more comfortable with each other.

“I have to admit, she makes good food. Great food actually, Mrs. Malfoy has never been adept in the kitchen department, nor has anyone she’s hired either.” (Y/n) told them, licking the sides of the bowl as she finished her soup. “And as enjoyable as this has been today, I do have a serious question to pose.”

“What question?” Remus asked, stiffening in his seat. Sirius’s eyes seemed to darken as he looked at her as if he was ready to pounce if needed.

“Well, if I’m not to be tortured or forced to divulge any information, what do you expect to do with me then?” setting down the bowl she met their eyes. “You can’t possibly keep me in here forever, but you also can’t just let me out of here either. Which leaves very little option other than killing me or me somehow escaping and taking as many of you with me as I can.”

The men look both shocked and hurt, perhaps a dash of anger in Sirius’s eyes. Neither of them says a thing as they stand up and walk towards the door. (Y/n) smiles at them, pushing their now empty plate and bowl towards them.

“It’s only a matter of time as to which happens first. Personally, I’ve accepted dying in here. No resources will be wasted on a rescue for me, nor will there be anyone to mourn me. I suggest you make the decision soon before I find a way to slaughter the lot of you in your sleep.” she threatens, meeting Remus’s gaze. “Because you were right, Dumbledore does have plenty of security in his quarters, much more so than the barrier spells that get weaker day by day in here.”

~~{𝘌𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘸𝘰}~~

[sundownpromises]

The Beauty in The Last of Us Part II's Ending

I just want to take a minute to ramble about the ending of TLOU2 because it is one of the most beautiful endings to a game ever.

It’s so easy to watch the ending and feel nothing but sadness for Ellie. Her worst fear came true – ending up alone. But something that I love about this ending is the renewed sense of hope that you feel. Or that I felt, at least.

After the final cutscene with Joel, when we see Ellie’s face, she seems at peace. To me, I see the face of someone who has finally learned to forgive. I think this moment is the moment we finally see Ellie silently realize that the only way to truly heal is to accept what has happened and to let it go. She will never forget everything that happened; that much is clear. Trauma is not something that one can forget, and even if she could, the physical scars and her missing fingers will remain a constant reminder of all that she’s lost and has endured. But now we see Ellie finally reach the point in her journey where she is able to outgrow that trauma. Her trauma, which was once a heavy ball of lead tied around her ankle, has now become small enough that she can walk without the weight. 

And then, of course, we see her leave the guitar behind. I’ve always believed that this symbolizes not leaving Joel behind, but instead no longer resenting him, understanding him, and learning to move on. Sure, she can no longer play the guitar in the same way she used to, and that’s heart-breaking. The guitar was such a clear connection between Joel and Ellie, and it has been said that now that she can no longer play that that connection is broken. But what if that’s not such an awful thing? I believe that there is a silver lining; she will always have other things to remember him by because Joel is always to her. She’s got the pin he gave her for her birthday. She’s got drawings of him in her journal (now that she can finally imagine him not in pain but in tranquility), and most importantly, memories. Yes, she has lost a lot, so much, including the one physical object that directly tied her to Joel -- but what is grief, if not love persevering?

 And when we see her walk into the forestry, she walks with determined steps. It is unclear where she is going – but I think at this point, after all Ellie has been through, she sees the futility in unnecessary violence. In a world that is so unforgiving and cruel, what is truly lacking is love and compassion. Ellie is capable of giving and receiving both of those things. She doesn’t have a violent heart; it’s just that the world that she grew up in has shown her nothing but pain and loss. Her circumstances have caused her to react in the only way that she saw fit (further proving that the world Ellie lives in is the true villain of this game, but that is for another post). But we see it with Dina, we see it with Joel, Maria, Tommy, Jesse, and we see it in her survivor’s guilt that she feels toward Tess, Riley, and Sam. We have seen the love and compassion that she has felt for all of these people no matter how short lived the relationship.

This point brings me to a particular line of dialogue from the first game that I absolutely love. It is a line that Joel says to Ellie at the very end:

You keep finding something to fight for.

Is that not what survival is all about? Is that not what enduring is all about? To survive is to find meaning in that survival. When I see Ellie walk off at the end of Part 2, I like to believe that she is going to find meaning elsewhere – whatever that may look like. Personally, I could see her running into another group of survivors who take her in, and she helps them and she cares for them because she knows that that’s how she should be living her life – doing good by other people (or perhaps she truly does go back to Jackson, which I could also envision). She knows that that’s what Joel would want for her. 

The Last of Us Part II is a game full of so much tragedy and despair and yet… there is hope to be found. Some people don’t like the ending because it is so open-ended and ambiguous. But personally that’s why I find it so profound and beautiful. I don’t have all the answers but instead I am left with a feeling; a feeling of hope. A renewed sense of faith. That is enough for me. To be teased with that silver lining and to be left alone with my own thoughts, to come up with my own conclusions, is an extremely impactful way to end a game. Wherever Ellie is, I just hope she’s happy. That’s what she deserves.

I think as people who consume media (movies, TV shows, books, games, etc), we're so used to seeing endings that feel truly resolved. In other words, endings that answer all of our pressing questions. But the fact that TLOU2's ending just leaves you with a feeling is so beautiful to me. Ellie's new journey is just beginning, and we as players are not going on that journey with her (at least not until Part 3). It is bittersweet in a way. We can only hope.

[olrinarts]

so this was originally a mini-essay i spared a poor commenter on constancy must transpose when they mentioned liking an aspect of Narinder's characterisation in that, but i did like it, so i want to go more in-depth about it over here. much, much more in-depth (can you tell I went to college for English/Lit. Criticisms)

it has now become an entirely too long essay(ish) below the cut on why Narinder has an option to be softer that he rarely takes in other universes but does take in CMT, and why I stuck him with the Ivory Crown and the domains of Life and Resurrection (extensive use of in-game dialogue ahoy lmao)

So i do sincerely believe that Narinder has a capacity for a softer characterisation that doesn't conflict with his canon interactions, mostly because of how i've read those interactions with the Lamb over the course of the game, going purely by text dialogue and scenes, etc (if the devs have said something about his characterisation, I haven't heard it and I prefer working via canon rather than word of god, anyway.)

Part of the 'for want of a nail' re: his characterisation in CMT, and ultimately for why and how the Ivory Crown has the opportunity to emerge, is that he's more willing to acknowledge the soft spot he has for the Lamb. I'd argue that soft spot is very textual:

When the Lamb dies, a crueller god would be much angrier, and an ambivalent god wouldn't bother to speak to them about it. Narinder chooses to reassure the Lamb outright instead, telling them to 'Continue on, undaunted. Each time you are brought down, you rise again stronger.', among other dialogue. Though others insist he's a cruel, untrustworthy god (Leshy and Heket say the Lamb shouldn't trust the One Who Waits and call TOWW a monster, respectively), he sure doesn't punish them for when they've arguably failed.

He repeatedly compliments them on their progress, calling them worthy, saying he chose wisely to make them his vessel, along with comments like 'Your merciless crusade against the Old Faith warms my cold, unbeating heart.'

He flat out says the Lamb wore the Crown almost as well as he does. From someone who believes himself the only truly worthy bearer, I feel like that's actually a pretty big compliment.

There's other examples, but I'll keep it to that, I feel that successfully conveys why I think it's textual. Someone could make the argument that it's all feigned to lull the Lamb into believing, and I think that's a perfectly valid interpretation - but his progression in the post-game implies that it wasn't. From the musing about the materials of his siblings' realms and his reactions to the Lamb bringing them back, the steady progression from frustration to the silence from Shamura's mission, there's a tone of reconciliation, not an entirely new soft spot.

It becomes an explicit reconciliation if you've chosen the Resurrection tenet (which in CMT the Lamb did not, nor was it made available) - part of Narinder's response being 'I cannot begrudge supplantation by one such as yourself''. This is accompanied by sincere laughter and enjoyment of watching the Lamb defy the domain that he both wielded with an iron fist and resented for its iron binds, as dialogue from Haro and Shamura implies and outright states, respectively.

'Truly peculiar, 'twould then seem, his appetency to invite the novel and the new... ...Doubt tears faith asunder.' -Haro

'...he grew discontent with his role. He began to question.' -Shamura

All of this to say that in canon, despite knowing he would sacrifice the Lamb in the end, Narinder was still personally invested in the Lamb as a person, not merely a tool. There's a companion to constancy must transpose that'll go up, chimes of bone, which starts from a similar if not the same universe, but the sacrifice goes ahead successfully.

The reason I'm establishing all of this as the canon interpretation I have is so that I can make the 'argument' for Narinder's objectively softer characterisation in CMT, which contrasts with a lot of popular interpretations I've seen. No one is arguing with me, it's just the way of literary analysis to argue with your own basic premise.

So there are a few points that differ from the canon events (that aren't just worldbuilding or headcanons) that make CMT's characterisation (hell, the story itself) possible:

Narinder was willing to acknowledge to himself that he had an investment in the Lamb.

The Lamb did not have the Resurrection tenet made available at any point in-game for Reasons.

The Lamb was aware from much earlier on, if not the beginning, that they would give their life at the end of the arrangement (why this wasn't an issue but a freely accepted condition is a whole other separate essay lmao)

And at the heart of it is the question: 'what if they're all tired of this endless, exhausting cycle?'

Narinder and the rest of the Bishops are people, after all. The Bishops all explicitly express fear, regret, anger, and grief in their own ways, which is (again) a separate essay. And what I've found in general, and what serves as both interesting progression and conflict in terms of plot, is that people are drawn towards trying to heal their injuries, whether those are physical or otherwise. That isn't always something a person wants to accept consciously, and the struggle between wanting to heal and wanting to stay injured for whatever reason a character might have, is a good stepping stone in not only the plot but the overall story.

The reason in terms of story construction, not plot, that Narinder has the domains of Life and Resurrection, is because he's the nexus of the injuries dealt throughout the rest of the players. That isn't to say he's at fault, only that he's the central point of the hurts everyone, including himself, have been dealt. The sheep were all killed to prevent his escape. He was the one suffocating from the domain of Death, wholly unsuited to his own nature (differing from personality in that the latter is the characterisation and the former is the motivation.) He was the one to discover how to reverse that domain, terrifying the other Bishops for varying reasons. He was the one to wound them, in retaliation for their profound betrayal. He was the one imprisoned Below for a thousand years, deserved or undeserved depending on whose side is the point of view (and even then it's a bit more complicated on the 'deserved' side than a black and white view.) It's from Narinder that all of the current injuries and hurts have rippled out, not from fault but from the injuries dealt to him.

Therefore, if anyone would be suited to the domain of Life - and his specific expression of it, the flesh and the struggle, the defiance of one's end until there isn't a scrap left to resist - it would be Narinder. Resurrection is his and will remain so, as well as the rule over souls in flux rather than the souls that move on, which are the Lamb's to care for and guide. That is made possible by the Life domain that's been suppressed by the weight of Death, so inherent to his nature that the Crown to rule it emerges from his own body (appropriately, the crown of his head specifically.) 'Here did Death no longer wish to wait', said the statue of the Red Crown, and freedom from waiting has its own issues, but is infinitely better than that suffocating weight of Death.

This - the defiance and the violent struggle of bodily Life, the expression of time moving forward and refusing to bow to it - is precisely why Narinder is able to be softer. This Narinder has come into possession of a domain far more suited to him, but he's done so in the presence of a new god determined to keep him as himself even before the Ivory Crown emerges. The Lamb refuses to let him diminish, for reasons described in-story (as no one will read this far, and quite rightfully so, spoilers are safe: the accidental moment of fear that resulted in their 'betrayal' was never intentional.) Whether he's willing to trust it or accept it in the early chapters is irrelevant: it will remain there, and it will remain a path out, and the Lamb will be damned and obliterated before they close that path to the god they never stopped revering.

That insistence on guarding his path out does come back to bite them in the ass, but it was always offered in sincerity, and it's the Lamb. For the last century, they were devoted: they trusted him and did as he commanded without fail, even if it took many deaths to accomplish. He'd given them a chance to avenge their people, to change things, to give the world something new in the time they had because he chose to command them to run his cult, instead of some other, less authoritative use. In return, whether intentional or not, Narinder came to trust them. They were his key out then, before the 'betrayal': the first scrap of true hope in a millennium, a distant flicker of light in the long dark of a possibly eternal wait. Even he, the One Who Waits, betrayed by his family for the sin of seeking any relief from the domain that had been chaining him in place long before he was cast down, found himself trusting them.

Once they handle the misunderstanding from hell, then, he's left in a vulnerable position that he quite reasonably despises after millennia of godhood - and for all their flaws (the Lamb has many of them, as does he), they still refused to let him go. They continue to have faith in him, despite being a god themself and before he's a god once more. There is an option to be softer, an afterwards that isn't necessarily a bitter end (which is itself a theme over on the Lamb side of things.) That's where the freedom from the inevitability he's carried since the Red Crown chose him truly comes into play. The heart of the story itself emerges and remains, no matter where the plot goes.

'What if they're all tired of this endless, exhausting cycle?'

Narinder's no longer locked into the role of the One Who Waits. He's now the One Who Waited, and Waits No Longer. He can choose to be new, he can choose to be different, and in CMT he chooses to do both of those things. In that decision is the crux of the softness and the drawing in of the people connected to the nexus of his place at the centre of the story: the Lamb coming to terms with the Crown they've have taken, and maybe were always meant to have, anyway. The Bishops in ways individual to each: Leshy's the only one in the story so far, at the time of this... jfc, incredibly long 'essay' (ch. 21). Seeing the option for softness (or enmity), reunion (or alienation), for a chance at something he can't predict, it's kind of unsurprising that the former god of Chaos barrels into the unknown. Not immediately changing, but he'd be uninterested if it was instantaneous, in my opinion.

In the end, CMT really rests on two events: the Lamb's accidental betrayal from fear (other essay that I pray will not happen), and Narinder's choice to reject inevitability and the chains he's worn for most of his existence to forgive them for it. After, the relationship progresses (it's a ship story as well, after all), and that itself gives him chances to be soft with the Lamb in ways he previously would've chosen to gargle liquid glass over doing. Part of it is sincere feeling, obviously, but a lot of it is the novelty of getting to choose it. His nature is inherently curious, and wants new things. Curiosity chained the cat, but the Lamb's devotion brought him back.

There's other factors and interpretations, but this is already an entirely too long analysis of my own damn writing and by god that's pretentious enough for me to know when to set it down, thanks for coming to my TED Talk