#as well as acknowledge some of the things the games fail to

[niiwa-angel]

Help! I'm thinking about how the Full Moon meeting was doomed to fail and I'm weak!! There were a lot of forces at play here and all of them contributed to how things went down in the end and I want to discuss them.

1) Stolas scheduled their talk on the Full Moon. This would ultimately lead to failure, because the arrangement specified that the Full Moon would be a night where "You return the book to me, followed by a night of passionate fornication" (Murder Family) so Blitz arrived prepared for that. Stolas might have been prepared for a different turn of events but he didn't communicate that to Blitz.

2) their past sexual exploits. We know from the various toys we've seen on screen, as well as things mentioned, that Blitz and Stolas might roleplay or do some games in the bedroom. "You're keeping quiet or I'm using those bear traps" (Truth-Seekers) "I just had a chemical peel, so you'll need to find somebody else's face to plant that feathered ass" (Loo Loo Land) "It's quite striking to see you on the Job Blitzy" (Loo Loo Land) as well as various comments from Stolas about how sexy Blitz is or what he wants to do in the bedroom. Coupled with the above mentioned scheduling detail, of course Blitz thought Stolas pouring his heart out was the initiation to a roleplay, he had no reason to think otherwise.

3) understanding of their relationship. This falls on in both of them, in their own ways. Blitz clearly has feelings but is deep in denial about it. It's just sex and that's all "It's a transactional fucking" (Harvest Moon) while Stolas is more willing to acknowledge his own feelings but he only expresses them to Blitz in a sexual way. While others around them may understand that both of them want to be in a relationship, they aren't able to do that. So while Stolas got to the point where he was ready to ask for something more committed than a transactional fucking, Blitz didn't. It came out of left field for him.

4) the Grimoir. The initiation of their relationship was based on that book, Blitz fucks Stolas's brains out once a month and he gets to keep the book for the month. That book is needed for Blitz's livelihood, he needs it to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. Some force removing the book puts him in a situation where he can't sustain himself anymore. Stolas made a crucial blunder in initiating the conversation about furthering their relationship, "I need (the book) back. Permeantly" (Full Moon) and that immediately sent Blitz into a panic. Already, he's running off negative emotions, he's in a situation where, from his perspective, he just lost the ability to put food in his stomach and a roof over his head. Stolas knows and we the audience know that Stolas has a crystal that will allow him to continue doing his job, he isn't leaving Blitz out to dry, but Blitz doesn't. That negative tone set at the beginning influenced how Blitz perceived the rest of the conversation. (This is not Stolas's fault. I'm not blaming him for this, I'm just pointing out that this emotional shift for Blitz affected how he approached the rest of the conversation)

5) outside influence. At the start of Full Moon, Loona comments "Oh shit, he's getting bored of you" (Full Moon). I don't think she did this to be malicious, I think in her own way, she was protecting Blitz, but that's it's own post. That comment sets Blitz off in a tizzy about losing Stolas. Then, Moxxie comments that "business is actually doing well, it would be a shame to lose it" (Full Moon, abbreviated), putting further pressure on Blitz to not screw this up. From Stolas's perspective, he's thrown away the respect he once had from the rest of the Ars Goetias, his marriage, the stability of the relationship with his daughter, and his public standing, because of his feelings for Blitz. To him, Blitz turning him down in any way, real or perceived, is just a reminder that he should have stayed quiet and kept with the status quo. Asmodeous even points it out "You used to have a smoking wife, a kid, you and it all. I hope you didn't give it up so you and him could get it up. You sold your life for a thrust" (Ozzie's) And he isn't thinking clearly going into the meeting.

These weren't the only things that contributed to the blow out that was the Full Moon. There were more moving parts and I may make a part two, but for now, these are some major factors I noticed when watching the episode (for the three billionth time)

[reflectingstars]

It hit him in the middle of the chaos; as the world shook, as things went terribly wrong, as the rejection was made and a whole new level of problem was thrust upon Orochi’s stolen souls, Zhuge Dan suddenly realised something so critical and overwhelming that for a moment none of that mattered. It should have, it really should, but it didn’t, because... He remembered that Sima Shi had died. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known that. On some level he had known it keenly, sharp as a knife, cutting in deep and twisting at all times. But for some reason one could only attribute to Orochi’s power it hadn’t seemed real, or like it mattered much. A distant tale held behind the clearest of barriers that made all the strangest parts of their already strange circumstances unnoticable. How could they have failed to acknowledge it, though? That lost loved ones had come back? That those from entirely different eras of their homeland walked together again? This carried so many questions with it but they got swallowed up because Sima Shi was alive and Zhuge Dan had let his Lord down and I love you I love you not again not again I won’t let it happen again... Dam broken, swallowed up in the tide of emotion, Zhuge Dan lunged to protect his beloved Lord Sima Shi from the Something he could do nothing about and left the rest of it in the hands of Mystics.

[wonryllis]

ʬʬ. ! LAST FRIDAY NIGHT ﹙ THINK WE KISSED ﹚

𝒏o𝓉ℯs. park jongseong with fem!reader 𖥔 ݁ enemies but secretly in love and oblivious, fluff. LIB? word count `3377 warnings. lots of cursing! unedited.

JAY VER: mutual hate f2e JAKE VER. SUNGHOON VER.

"what the fuck, piggy!" you feel jay's feet against the side of the waist before his voice reaches your ears. kicked out of bed and rolled onto the floor, that's how your mornings with jay start.

"what the hell is this!" he shouts again and when you turn to look at him you find yourself questioning the same,"what the hell is that!" a litter of pretty lipstick marks all over him, collarbones to neck to jaw to face. and keyword: lips.

"you tell me! what the hell does it look like?" if it were some other time you'd have laughed your ass off at the horrified look on his face, but the very familiar shade of color on him, the one you always wear because you're quite literally obsessed with it has you horrified as well at the realization. there's no way you did that, with park jay? no no no.

"don't tell me we-"

"i have my boxers on and you're still in that ugly fucking dress so no we did not," his words are like a shower of relief to you. however to jay, it is also something else. sure he is glad you did not do anything but that dress you have on? it's not ugly, it is everything but ugly. you look so pretty in it, like a doll and he thinks it's probably the reason why he let you kiss him all up.

"you better have something to say because i don't understand how this happened," his hands rub over the marks he can see while you sit on the floor trying to remember last night. you went to a college party, and you met jay there, and having the same group of mutual friends you remember playing drinking games. a shot of tequila when you refused to kiss jay for a dare and that's where your memory fails you.

"i don't remember," you say simply, watching jay get of bed and into the bathroom.

"i don't either so let's just call it truce and forget,"

sighing in resignation, you take a look around the room, going over to the mirror to scan yourself. there under the shadow of your ear you spot something purple, a touch and it hurt. pushing your hair out of the way, you take a closer look at it. pupils dilating upon the realization that it's a hickey. with a mortified look in your eyes, you pull down at the collar of your dress to find more. a litter of it mirroring jay's kiss marks. and when you shift on your legs to inspect the other side of your neck, you feel a sting on the skin of your thighs. no way no way please no. you pray as you lift the skirt of your dress, but it's all in vain for you find bruises on the plush of your thighs, in the shapes of handprints, one on each.

you scream. you scream scream and jay is rushing out with a towel hanging low on his waist,"what! what happened!"

there's no time to feel the heat in your cheeks at sight of his naked figure, you are too traumatized by the possibilities of the events that could have happened between you two to even acknowledge the pounding of your heart on noticing the droplets of water cascading down the valley of his chest.

you show him what you had to see and in comes a scream from him.

"oh my god, fuck off before we find more things!"

"missy piggy is all dressed up," he looked you up once, coming to a halt just a step away from where you sat at the kitchen counter turned bar. he couldn't deny you looked good though, he almost lost his breath when he spotted you across the room. there were some loopholes in this weird relationship you had and he couldn't seem to accept it. he found you attractive and he was disgusted with himself for that. out of all the fishes in the sea it just had to be you. his little weakness, the pretty dress.

you wave your hand at his face,"whatever," jay doesn't like the way you just dismiss him, closing in on you blocking your view of whichever guy you were eyeing. whichever guy was hot enough to have your attention away from him.

"you wanna play some games?" his hand goes over to circle the top of your cup, noticing the orange juice in there.

"what game?"

"truth and dare, all our friends are gathering there to play," he wasn't interested to join earlier, but watching you fixated on some guys is itching him to take you away and get your ass busy.

hours later and he's in a circle, all drunk sitting right across you. 'kiss kiss kiss!" the chants go around with the bottle stopped right between your two. if he'd been sober, he would've left the second someone proposed for a kiss but with his mind all hazy right now, all he can think about is how your lips would feel on his. if the pretty shade on them would taste as sweet as they look.

to say he was disappointed when you chose to drink it out would be an understatement. jay felt no more purpose in the game, leaving as soon as you excused yourself. with your wobbly steps you sway your way to the dance floor, almost falling over yourself before jay has his hands around you, keeping you afloat.

"watch your step, pretty," he whispers into your ear.

"pretty? what happened to piggy?" there is a slight flinch in you when you whisper back, growing conscious of the proximity.

"piggies can be pretty sometimes," his hands move lower to your hips, gripping lightly as the music changes to one of sensual hues. body moving together to the sultry notes.

"we're dancing," turning to face the rather drunk boy, you trace a finger over the exposed skin of his chest. jay's sure you can feel the fast thumping of his heart under your pretty little soft tips but honestly he couldn't care less right now. the alcohol in his brain messing with his feelings. a mushy daze of everything he's ever felt for you, from middle school to college.

"together," you breathe out staring at the plump of his lips and jay feels this weird sparkling thing where his stomach twists and turns but in a good way,"apparently," all these people around, so many attractive faces he could have latched onto yet he can't imagine himself swaying away with anyone else, it just feels wrong for some reason.

"and we hate each other," the reminder is like a fresh breeze across his fuzzy mind, no matter where he looks he can't seem to feel the hatred right now,"mhm," jay reaches out with a delicate touch, watching your dazed eyes in a trance as you scan him, muzzling into his hand when he tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear in a faint caress. after that it's a silence between you two, not the one where you usually think of ripping each other's hair off but perhaps one where you're thinking to eating each other's face off. at least that's all jay can think about.

you were drunk and he should have seen it coming. at some point you leave him hanging in the middle of the floor only for him to find you amidst a crowd of screams, letting it all loose on an elevated platform with a pole, right towards the front. twerking your ass off and instead of being embarrassed out of his wits jay rather feels this warm fluffy feeling. a conjured up image of a sober him driving to bars and clubs to pick up a drunk you as you shout 'baby' while running into his arms.

no what the fuck, what am i thinking. he is baffled at his own imagination. enemies to lovers trope is so not his thing. it should never be his thing. right?

"come on you need some fresh air," spotting a few guys eyeing you in the wrong way, jay is quite literally picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder before walking out the house into the backyard.

"i was having so much fun there! why did you bring me out here!" you shout, still feeling the loud music ringing in your ears.

"you were having too much fun, you needed to touch some grass," he tries shushing you, flicking lightly at your forehead.

you ignore him, too tired and used to, to bicker back,"there's a pool here?" the excitement in your voice makes him laugh, y'all have probably been sitting here for five minutes, and you've only noticed the big ass pool now. but well, with the amount of alcohol you both have in your system right now it's a miracle you're still conscious and otherwise a little sane.

"why, you wanna skinny dip?" he knows that's exactly what you would want to do, if you could. he hasn't known you for ten years for just nothing. all those fights and bickerings and make ups, he's sure he knows you more than your friends and more than you know yourself. and he's always followed you whenever you weren't following him. doing everything you did just to get a chance at annoying you.

"can we go in there?" no.

tonight he'd like to stay dry and cozy.

"it's cold, i ain't doing this," he reprimands, squinting his eyes in the distance, a look away from you to tell you he's not having it.

however it's not like you listen anyway, at least not to him.

it's like second nature at this point, running after you. be it to get on your nerves or to secretly protect you,"piggy!" he snaps up at once at the sound of you skipping down the patio. albeit almost slipping and cracking your head open on the way. jay doesn't know if he should be worried more about ending up in the hospital or getting in there with you all wet and close.

he's been in the pool with girls before but he's not been in the pool with you since you were like eleven and friends and not hit by puberty yet, in your ugly loose swim shirts and pants, hair all over in a mess with no idea about romance.

"slow down will you, i can't be bothered to drive you to medics if you break a leg or something," he whines, feeling the water soaking up the clothes against his skin as he carefully walks down the stairs leading into the pool. two steps behind with his hand reaching out to steady you incase you decide to slip again.

"try to catch me!" you yell, putting in all efforts to move as far from him as you could.

"do i look like i need to try?" his hands loop around your wrists in a moment, pulling you against his chest is a low splash. arms going around the waist as he locks eyes with yours. the palm of your hands find refuge on his chest playing with the undone buttons when the hard pounding of his heart reverberates against your skin. you're nervous, he's nervous.

"why do you hate me?" he asks.

"because you do," you answer and jay's confused. what?

"why do you hate me?" you ask him. and as expected,"because you do,"

realizing it's all a big misunderstanding, jay can't help but feel his heart race faster if that is even possible,"i don't really hate you," the pout on your lips falters his gaze, looking down to avoid his breath stopping right there and then. "neither do i," a low whisper, softly adjusting the fallen strap of your dress. he scans you over once, his little weakness, the pretty dress. no, it's you, you always know what to wear have him weak in the knees.

"your lipstick is pretty-" you look so damn pretty he wants to say, brown orbs lingering on the shine radiating off your lips.

you're both drunk, and it's probably the only time he'll be able to say it. i can do it! jay swears.

however before he can even utter a syllable, the slippery gloss of your cherry lipstick slide against his lips. feeling the plush of your lips pressing onto his own, like a step into heaven. eyes open and motionless, taking a hard time to let it sink in while you're there moving your lips, catching his bottom lip between in a gentle bite.

"pi- piggy-" when you pull away for a split second only to jump onto him, his hands immediately grabbing the back of your thighs resting them around him, trembling at the tension he feels to dive right back in to a kiss.

"shut up," you begin leaving a trail of marks starting at his neck—

that's where you scream, pulling jay out of the flashbacks. he sits on his bed, tracing his lips in a trance after you've left. he had no idea how to face you after remembering all that while you still seemed to have no clue. how he knows your lipstick tastes sweet and bitter and how you don't know that he knows that.

he takes out his phone, a faint memory of a picture. searching through his gallery is not even necessary, on the top in a grand glory he finds the photo of you perched on his lap on his bed, head tucked into his neck where one can definitely catch glimpse of your fluttering kisses.

he can't seem to recall about the hickeys on your neck, and how you got to his room. but he's sure he will in a few days. hoping you'd too until then.

for now he'll post this. there's nothing better than getting under your skin. figuratively and literally.

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly

[horrorartsworld]

𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹

gamer boyfriend vox/f!reader

warnings: nsfw 18+ beware!!, oral (m receiving) , praise + dirty talk, hair pulling, manhandling?, face fucking

a/n: this has been in my drafts since i started writing 😭😭 i’m so glad i finally got around to it, hope my little voxie luvs enjoy!!

You huff out of boredom as you sat behind your overlord boyfriend, Vox, while he tapped and fingered away at his keyboard in front of him.

One of his giant monitors flashed with different multicolored graphics of a recent video game that had dropped this week that seemed to take up all of his time. His eyes never leaving the sight of it and to be quite frank it was making you rather jealous of not being the center of attention for once.

“Voxie..i’m bored,” You sigh shifting in your little rolly chair behind him, the back of his flat screened face starting to irritate you as it was the only thing you saw of you boyfriend anymore.

Vox doesn’t even flinch when you talk to him, let alone even acknowledging the fact you were trying to. His fingers still steadily tapping away and occasionally shifting his mouse.

You took it upon yourself to get up from where you were seated and stood next to him lightly shaking his shoulder, “Baby?”, you now pout putting on a bit of a whine to your voice for theatrics.

“What’s up doll?” He shifts his gaze to you for a split second before it turns to the screen once more.

Your brows furrow not seeing his eyes on you like you wanted them to, “I’m bored..play with me,” you say lightly squeezing his shoulder with a hint of want dancing around in your voice with a certain arousal that was currently building between your thighs, causing you to squeeze them in hopes to emphasize the urgency in your need for his attention.

“I’ll play with you in a second sweet thing let me just finish…right there..” He trails off a bit more husky then you’d like, making you fidget with your skirt at how just that simple act effected you, but you weren’t just gonna give up and wait another minute that would turn into hours for him to get off. Oh no it was time you took this into your own hands.

You crawl under his desk as quietly as you can, sitting on your knees in the space between his legs that were already spread. You hands beginning to trail up his thighs causing him to jolt at the sudden unexpected contact.

“Fuck..what’re you doing down there?” His breath catches in his throat, his cock jumping a little in excitement at the sight of you on your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your pretty eyelashes.

You couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips as he visibly was getting hard, “I’m just playing sir..”

Vox knowing damn well what you were doing.

“Doll…” He tries to warn authoritatively which only failed when he saw you making quick work of his belt and involuntarily lifting his hips when you started to pull down his dress pants along with his boxers.

His length free and throbbing with need as precum pools at the slit making your mouth water at the sight.

Vox then gets in position, not giving a single fuck about the game anymore, claws tangling themselves in your hair as his breathing becomes more heavy and ragged. Trying with everything in his power to keep his composure, but you working him up like this made him feel like he was on the brink of coming undone, especially with how slowly you were going with your feathery touches and small wet kisses up his legs.

Till finally you start giving his cock some attention with little kitten licks over the slit and the main vein wrapping around his length before completely letting his tip go into the warmth of your mouth.

“Stop fuckin’ teasing me before I shove you down on it myself..” Vox growls, pushing your head a little down onto his cock earning a gag from you.

Pulling off you give him the meanest stink eye that makes him chuckle, then you continue at your work giving a nice harsh suck before taking it completely in your mouth once more.

“Atta girl…use that pretty mouth of yours around my cock..” He then pushed your head down once more, this time letting him so you could take him deeper down your throat.

Humming once it fills your throat completely, the vibrations making Vox absolutely stir crazy causing his tv head to buffer. Though his hand still guides your head down, bobbing it till your nose brushes against his skin, so deep that it had you grasping for his thighs to control your breathing.

“Mmm…fuck doll..all this for my attention..you’re so fucking cute…” He then feels you lick up his shaft before you’re swallowing around it, almost gagging once more when he starts thrusting upward into your mouth.

Which only lead to him thrusting up more faster and with much force, burying his cock deep inside your throat, getting lost in the pleasure as your gasps were silenced with his thick cock.

"That's it... Choke on it with that sweet tight throat of yours..fuck you’re so good.." he pants heavily with his voice coming out gruff.

As if his thrusts couldn’t get any harder, his cock is sliding in and out of your throat, unable to resist the feeling any longer. The sound of electric crackling loudly in the air as he starts to lose control over his power getting closer to his orgasm.

His grip gets tighter with his claws scratching against your scalp when he begins to loose his steady rhythm.

“Shit…Shit! I’m close doll…” Vox groans his head falling back against his chair as his hips suddenly begin bucking wildly.

One of your hands taking a moment to rub at his balls letting your saliva coat them while it slid down your chin and the corners of your mouth.

You then manage to pull off of him taking the moment to get a good breath in, making him look down at you in curiosity. “What’re you doing?”

“Beg for it..” You smirk up at him, thinking you had the upper hand since he was practically putty in your hands.

“What did you just say to me?” His eyes flickering from stunned to ‘you really wanna do this’

“You heard me.”

In one quick movement he grabs your hair again and tugs you up so he can come face to face with you, an almost malicious smirk on his face. He mumbles against your lips, asking you to repeat yourself again.

"Be-" before you can finish your sentence Vox is pushing you back down to sit on your heels. He growls pulling your mouth back down onto his leaking cock, making you moan with the feeling of him back in your mouth again, slurping up any precum that escaped his slit in those last few minutes.

"You wanna be a little brat?" He groans as he holds your head down on his dick, his hips bucking wildly once more with a stutter. “I’ll fucking treat you like one…”

His grip on your heading almost brusing as he babbles out curses.

“G-gonna cum in this slutty mouth baby..” He then growls once more when he finally releases his hot sticky load down your throat.

Vox’s chest heaves, watching with heavy eyes as you gulp down every last drop and pull his cock out of your mouth.

A soft moan escaping your lips when you clean him up, kissing his tip before sticking your tongue out. His hand wrapping around your chin inspecting it seeing how widely you smiled while he did.

“Mmm..such a pretty girl you are..c’mere..” He coos, tucking his length back into his pants before he pulls you up into his lap. Giving you a loving yet deep kiss, tasting himself on your lips as he did.

“Now will you pay attention to me Voxie..” She says all pouty playing with the ends of his bow tie.

Vox chuckles before he speaks with a smirk, “Shit doll, I might not just to get this type of treatment from you..”

You playfully hit his chest with a huff though you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

He nuzzles his big head into your neck giving it a kiss.

“Oh sweet girl you haven’t seen terrible yet..”

[jwanniie]

ik hanni's so soft, but can you make a fic like I kinda wanna see her as a fuck girl 😭 liek girlie be fuckin girls left and right

And she's like a bball/foot ball player and ur like innocent and ofc a VIRGIN

Mean gp hanni please, and also take ur time 😓

Pairings: G!p Fuck girl basketball player Hanni x fem reader!

Word count: 1,4

Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your Willy), use of aphrodisiac, manipulation, corruption kink, p in v, fuck girl hanni, virgin reader, reader gets called kitty, little bit of teasing, not proofread, and just filthy smut!!

Jwans note: I managed to make this kinda soft🫣🤷‍♀️

—————————————————————————

You hated basketball, and you hated Hanni. Or maybe you hated basketball because of hanni?

Hanni was one of the most popular basketball players in your whole school, and the most arrogant one. She had girls literally flooding her house everyday or all over her in the school cafeteria.

You’ve heard some of the nastiest rumors about her, from the same girls that she has fucked dumb and threw away the next day, it got to the point that there were no more girls to fuck in your school, she had to “re-fuck” and that was one of the things that she hated. She wanted something new and different, not something she already got to have her fun with. She got bored easily and that’s just her habit.🤷‍♀️

You hated her because of her mean attitude and the way she treated the girls after she got to have her fun with them. Well hate is a big word, dislike is more like it.

You never hanged out with type of people like Hanni. She was way out of your league and you liked your own small group of friends. You guys weren’t nerd but you weren’t popular, you guys just had your grades on the top of the list. You cared for your future and career. So after the cute kindergarten crush and date you had, you never went out nor had some kind of hook up in some available room in those frat parties like most people your age did.

You heard the unnecessary rumor in your school, about your friend group being a pack of losers and virgins. You have no idea who spread that information, but there was nothing to deny except the losers part. You honestly didn’t know what was wrong with being a virgin or not having much experience. But still you had to torment the laughing of the mean girls and the laughing of the fuck girls.

Hanni found the thing, quite alluring actually. The idea of fucking a virgin pussy and virgin mouth, didn’t fail to make blood pressure in her cock and also she’d put you in the list of the girls she has already fucked, so it’s a win win situation for her.

But the real question is…How will she get you under her spell?! You were a hard person to impress or to make a move on, so if she acted nice and kind around you, that won’t impress you.She need more smart and easy way to blind you under the sheets.

The teacher has been nagging about her needing a tutor because of the constant basketball practice and the basketball games. So she have been missing out on lots. Hanni recommended you as her tutor, you were shocked that she even acknowledged you, you were gonna deny but the wide smile the teacher gave and the loud “Good choice” she muttered made you change your mind and accept being her tutor. What is the worse that could happen?

Days come and go as fast as wind, and here you are in front of her door, the first tutoring session. Bringing your hand to knock on the wooden surface. You gave two soft knocks, and not long after, a figure stood tall in front of you. She was wearing grey sweatpants and her teams basketball shirt.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes travel down to her crotch, the visible little bump in there. She saw how you eyed her length she gave a little dirty chuckle. “Shall we go inside?”

You gulped before meeting her lust filled eyes and nodded hurriedly. The little look she had on her face, made anticipation burn right under your belly button.

You sat down on her black leather couch crossing your legs and she stood in front of you.

“Do you want coffee, tee or juice?” She asked you heading towards her kitchen, you registered what she said. “Juice is fine!” You answered politely.

You waited for her patiently, your bag on your lap, playing with all of the cool zippers and pockets before her figure came with a tray of what you think is Orange Juice and heart chocolates. You honestly don’t know about this combo of Orange juice and chocolate, but you are here as a guest so you must be grateful for what she offers you.

You took the glass of juice from the tray and took a little sip, she offered you heart chocolates with a little smirk. Your heart told you to not take it but your brain shouted otherwise and you obviously went with your brain.

“Taste these new chocolates, I bought them from a cool shop near here!”

You mumbled a low ‘thank you’ and took a bite from the heart chocolate. “It’s good!” You said with a warm smile on your face. “I know” she smiled back at you, or not a smile, it was more like a grin.

You started the tutoring session, it was going peacefully and perfectly, before you felt your panties soaked, you were so wet that you swore that there is a probably a stain on her couch. But what confused you was,why were you aroused? There was no particular reason for you to be this wet.

You felt that your clit was ten times more sensitive and you felt like a horny rabbit, even the slightest touches of her hand on your burning form was enough to make the most sinful noises come out. She saw how you were biting your lip or stuttering when her knee brushed against yours. The drug finally did it work and she loved seeing you in this vulnerable state.

You tried rubbing your soaked pussy against the couch, but soon stopped due to the noises that threatened to fall. She wrapped her hand on your thigh, dangerously close to your heat.

She started groping and rubbing the soft flesh. And you couldn’t help yourself and you let out a moan, your hand immediately found it way on top of your mouth, your eyes wide at the sound you just let out.

She gave once again one of her dirty chuckles “if you want me to touch you this badly you could just tell me kitty!” Her index and middle finger found it way over your clothed clit and started rubbing it.

“Fuck- baby you have a waterfall down here” your breath hitched, your brain too occupied with pleasure and the feeling of wanting more that you are not processing what she said. She took off your pants and started toying with your soaked pussy, playing with your folds, thrusting her knuckles in then pulling immediately out, or pinching your sensitive pearl.

And suddenly all of her touches were gone. Her sweats were getting too uncomfortable and suffocating for her, with one swift motions her clothing was discarded on the same pile as your pants.

She aligned herself with your walls before pushing in, your virgin pussy suffocating her cock in the most delicious way ever.

“Fuck kitty, your pussy is hugging me so tight.” Her eyes were shut close and yours were too. Your sobs echoed through the room walls, you were desperate for more. Her hips started rocking against yours gently, the head of her cock discovering places nobody has ever visited. She gripped on your waist like she could just collapse any moment, the grip so tight that you are sure there is now a red or purple marks there

“I’m the first and only one who is going to run this pussy” she muttered before her face leaned against yours, her lips swallowing your high pitched moans.

Her pace started being desperate, hammering her hips against yours, sweaty skin slapping sounds echoing, moans and groans the only thing your brain processing. Her lips captured yours, the kiss messy and sloppy, exchanging saliva and her tongues sucking on yours.

Your pussy was now swallowing her length even tighter, “Hanni I-I’m close” you uttered, it was more like a moan but she could understand you.

“M-me too kitty m-me too!” She groaned. Her tips continued abuse made you clench once more around her before your orgasm washed over you, leaving you exhausted. Your first ever orgasm.

You felt your insides being flooded with warm sticky liquid and you realized that she came. She snuggled onto you, her hands wrapping around your exhausted form. And your hands around her neck. You knew that you had to take a shower soon, but you want to enjoy this moment for now.

[anyaharveyii]

there was a period of time during which the members of the Batfamily would only communicate with each other during superhero shit.

somewhere around the time where angst was just high on all ends.

Jason was going through another bout of feeling like a man out of time.

Tim's abandonment issues were kicking up again.

Dick felt even more pressure to always keep the smile on his face.

Damian was struggling with being allowed to just be a kid for the first time.

Steph kept biting off more than she can chew in an effort to prove her worth.

Cass kept having to drag herself out of a constant state of auto-pilot and being on high-alert 24/7.

Duke still felt hesitant about exploring his powers freely, especially in front of his family members.

Bruce was struggling to get through to any of his kids while also failing to acknowledge that he himself had his own shit to work through.

and poor Alfred was just trying to hold it all together.

and, as usually happens when you're going through shit, each member of the family felt so overwhelmed and suffocated by their own struggles that they failed to notice that the person down the hall, across the dinner table, or sitting beside them on the couch was also suffering in silence.

then, there was a massive breakout from Arkham, or some extraterrestrial bullshit, or some new hotshot who thinks they're going to be the one to finally destroy Gotham.

either way, for the first time, the ENTIRE family went out.

and the thing about fighting villains is that even after years of training, it still requires almost all of your focus and concentration.

so yes, Dick and Jason were too focused on kicking ass to notice that they'd fallen back into their old banter patterns from years ago.

and yes, Damian and Cass—the two kids trained from birth to be a weapon—made a game out of trying to one-up each other, combining their discipline and competitiveness into entertainment.

and you know Steph and Tim were absolute menaces, feeding off of each other's energy and bouncing jokes and ideas off of each other that got every person on coms to crack at one point or another.

as for Duke, well ... let's just say he was surprised by how much Bruce asked him to take the lead with his abilities.

for all of Gotham's faults, it had a few redeemable qualities, Alfred admitted to himself the next morning, while he served breakfast to a tired but satisfied family.

[yuurei20]

Sorry if this was asked/addressed before, but do you consider the Twisted Wonderland Novels to be canon compliant, canon divergent, or maybe a little bit of both? Thank you so much!

Hello hello! ^^ Thank you for this question!

The Twst novels are fascinating, and seem to be accomplishing a multitude of things at once: we get insight into things that are barely hinted at in the game, like the scorn Riddle suffers post-overblot, the respect he holds for Leona and how he wants to learn from Malleus.

・Riddle and the consequences of overblot ・Riddle's confession ・Riddle on Malleus

We also get complete changes to things established in the game, such as the retconning of our introductions to Leona, Vil and Azul. ・Meeting Leona ・Meeting Pomefiore (pt1)) ・Meeting Azul (pt1)

And, most interesting of all, we get a lot more detail into things that also might be happening in the game, but we were just not told about it due to the limitations of the visual novel medium:

・Yuuya's First Class The prefect is not exactly welcomed by the students of NRC, with no one but Ace and Deuce willing to acknowledge them. ・Yuuya Fails After being supported by Ace, the prefect fails to support him in return ・The Classroom Tensions between Savanaclaw and Diasomnia students ・Riddle and Unique Magics Information on how unique magics manifest. ・The Overblot Battle Ruggie and Jack work together to defeat Leona ・Post-Overblot Leona (the flashback monologue) Leona's fear of giving up. ・Trusting Riddle Ace and Deuce's relationship to Riddle.

Due to how some things are being completely changed I think it is safer to consider the novels as a different canon unto themselves, but they are also a great frame of reference to apply to the game!

→ What language is being spoken in Twst? It is never specified in the game, but we know the language at novel-NRC is not Japanese!

→ What is the roommate situation at NRC? While we have a few hints in the game, the novel has explicitly explained the rooming situations!

→ How many students are there at NRC? Again we have a few hints here and there in the game, but the novel has given us a solid number :>

While things like the above three points might not apply to the game at all they are a useful reference for fanfic purposes, for example, until such a time that they are confirmed or denied by game canon.

And there might be times when the novels are even making corrections to in-game oversights 👀

In Book 1, for example, Ace is unable to repeat Chenya's full name after hearing it for the first time.

The problem: Ace is well known for being talented at mimicry, imitating tongue-click sounds he learns from Rook on his first try in order to communicate with hedgehogs.

The solution: Both the novel and the manga corrected this scene by having Deuce, not Ace, be the one who struggles to repeat Chenya's name.

Did they realize at some point that Ace not being able to mimic Chenya goes against an important character point, which they then corrected in the other two mediums? 👀

As the novels are coming out after the game, this could mean that there is a possibility that they are actually more accurate to the characters in some ways, as the creators have had a chance to review previously established points and make adjustments accordingly ^^

(The author for the novels, Hioki Jun, is both one of the original writers of the game's events and vignettes along with Yana, and a member of Yana's personal studio, D-6th!)

While maybe not canon to each other, both the novels and the game are most enjoyable, and I highly recommend them both!

English-language translation of the first novel coming out this August! 🥳

[vcill]

Heya 🫰🏻

Could I request something like "What the brothers would say to you to get you into the mood"?

I love your writing and am very curious about your ideas 👀

Thanks for requesting!

Lucifer:

He's the devil for a reason.

Would act the complete opposite then how he's usually does in bed.

If you have a praise kink, time to go crazy!!

Starts off innocent, probably asks you to sit on his lap and tell him about your day.

Will listen to every word, if you say you did well on test he'll tell you how proud he is to be able to be with someone so smart and pretty/handsome.

If it's the opposite, and you ended up failing, instead of one of his many lectures, he tells you it's okay and he'll give you extra help next time.

Slowly starts to rub your thigh or back as you continue giving you kisses here and there.

Hums in acknowledgment as you continue on about your day. Probably moves you from his desk towards his bed.

Lays you down on your stomach and will tells you it's a massage but the slick bastard won't say what kind.

You'll definitely find out once his cold his slip down in to your clothes and start toying with you .

Tells you to keep talking as he continues, if you asked what he's done the only response is: "Don't worry about it sweet thing, why don't you continue where you left off, hm?"

Next thing you know, he's pounding into you like there's no tomorrow while still making you tell him about your day, if you stop, he stops.

If you ended up not doing too well in the school day, its a slap on the ass for each thing that you told him.

Pretty much is just comforting then uses it against you.

This is pretty much one of the "softer" ways he gets you in the mood, even if you somehow don't catch on right away.

Mammon:

Once again, Mammon did something to get in trouble. If it wasn't with Lucifer, then probably the witches, or his brothers- maybe even Diavalo.

Regardless, this is probably the right time this week and it wasn't even Wednesday day.

Even Lucifer was shocked how much trouble the second one was being.

After another lecture, Mammon showed up to your room still in a pouty mood from earlier.

The least he wanted was another lecture, which is why before you could even start, he cut you off.

"How 'bout we make a deal, yeah?"

Now you know better then to make deals with him, considering all the other times he made one with that had you ended up being stuffed full and exhausted.

But if it could stop his behavior, then so be it.

For the next 7 days, he acted like an angel. Being nice to his brothers, paying off some debt. Even studying. (Everyone was shocked, even you)

But the real action was when he was with you.

"Ya like it when I'm a good boy, right?"

Acts so submissive and even asks and begs you to do things that he would never had done before.

"Promise I'll be good, I'll always be good for ya, I'm your little mambaby ain't I?"

If you're into it, he'll add a bit of mommy/daddy kink into the mix.

But of course with him m acting like this, how could you not want to treat him let me a good boy?

Always asks if you want him touch, lick , suck or bite a certain part of you, and when you say yes, you think you see Simeon in the purgatory hall.

Of course he totally wasn't trying to plan this. Totally.

Leviathan:

Roleplay all the way with this man.

I feel like this is the only time where he REALLY feels confident.

Starts off with something corny, probably from a video game like "The mighty prince Leviathan, has once again slain the dragon. Now to find the princess/princess!"

You'll be laying on his bed, striking a dramatic pose "Thank you thy knight! For saving me, you shall receive a special award."

"I am glad my great efforts receive such praise, I'll do my best to serve your highness"

Honestly you two being very silly and goofy but turned on nonetheless.

While giggling, he kissing your neck while le giving you a few special marks, calls them protection stamps. (IDK what to call them just something goofy 😭)

Puts you before him, will kiss every part of you and go down, while he does he describes every part of you in such great detail.

"Your majesty brings me such bliss."

"Will the knight let me sit on my throne?''

"You own everything in this kingdom my prince/princess, take what's yours."

The confidence surge in him would be so hot, he's making sure you are definitely treated as a royal should be. Maybe even more then Barbatos treats Diavolo.

Other roleplays could as be a masquerade ball where you two fuck as strangers but turns out you know each other all along.

Forbidden lovers, needing to stay quiet to not get caught.

Or as if you were trapped in a video game, and new to fuck to get out. (This one might actually happen knowing him).

He's a silly stinky otaku but we love him 💕

Satan:

A little similar to Levi.

Maybe after reading a spicy/romance book he gets into the mood.

Starts off quoting after certain books he's read to see if you remember.

When you repeat the other half correctly, he gets so turned on for some reason. If you don't remember he still will but not in the same way. (Sadistic and Satan both start with a S for a reason.)

Depending on if you answer, he'll continue on, the part he's reciting most likely from a smut.

"They lay there, with not a care in the world, unknowing of what the creature lurking might do."

Even if you are getting fucked mercilessly, you still have lines to say!!

"They moaned the creature fucking Them better then any human could."

(Spoiler alert: They love the monster 🤭)

If not roleplay, he'll have your read the book instead, making sure to exactly get to the spicy part.

While you read it aloud, he starts touching you. Slowly rubbing up and down your area, may even go down on you while you read it.

Better yet does the same thing you describe in the book. If the creature is throat fucking the MC, get prepared.

Every single position you also find yourself in, some of these you never knew even existed, but can't help but to moan like a fucking animal.

If the book had pictures, you would match it completely once you were done reading.

He'll continue reading until he gets to another smutty part, in which it's your turn to read.

And mostly likey get your brains fucked out. 👌🏾

Asmodeus:

Ooo boy

When is he not trying to turn you on?

Asmo has a very very high sex drive, which is obvious with how many past partners he's had.

Cause of this, y'all are pretty much fucking 24/7.

Isn't afraid to hide when he wants you, you could be sitting at the dinner table and he'll make direct eye contact while licking a spoon a little to lewdly.

Moans a little too hard when eating a dish and saying it's good. Leans over over gives you a bite too, making sure it gets on your cheek for him to lick away.

If you decide to tease him back, his horniness go up 100x.

After dinner pretend not to remember what happened at the dinner table and go to his room as normal only to get pinned to the wall in a second.

"Mc, I'm so hungry, maybe even hungrier then beel"

Go ahead and let him get that desert, extra cream too please!

Switches and you'll be sucking him off messily. drool and slobber everywhere and loud sucking noise filling the room.

"Mc, your so nasty I love it."

Cums on your face, with some getting on his torso, will look at you with the most innocent eyes and ask you to clean him up.

Whines so much whenever you ride him, gripping onto your hips hard, begging for you to go faster.

He'll sound like he just came out of a hentai, saying things that surprisingly, you only got to hear.

But never ever neglect him for too long, as bold as he is, he'll get even bolder.

In a meeting with Diavolo instead of being with him? Don't worry, he'll tell a good excuse on why you should be with him instead. Maybe even invites the demon prince.

(100% think he talks dirty to you in other languages, whatever language it is, is your choice!)

Beezlebub:

Innocent baby that doesn't realize he's a complete beast in bed. (He does a lil)

Food play doesn't always have to come in here, a lot of times it's whenever you guys are alone together.

Can be very blunt. Just makes eye contact with you and asks "Can I fuck you?"

Or if he wants to be more romantic, he'll get on his knees and rest on your thighs, purring against them. Leaves a few hickies too.

Sucks you off/eats you out always talking about how good you feel.

Now this is where food play can come in. Maybe gets some honey, chocolate syrup, icing. (Icing works best for clean-up imo.)

Licks and slurps it off so messily, moans in delight when he taste your cum in the mix.

"m'still hungry mc, spread it a little more, please?''

Pulls your legs as far as they can to keep licking down there, his tongue can also get longer as he please, so definitely hits all those spots.

When he puts his dick into you, it's a messy make out session. Left over syrup falling from both of your lips, drool dripping down your chins, beel has never felt so full before.

"Mc, you got something on your chest, don't worry, I'll get it for you."

He gets it all right, maybe even does a little bit of a deep clean too.

Tbh, all he needs to do is look at you with those pleading, seemingly innocent eyes and you'll be gone in seconds.

Belphegor:

Since he sleeps a lot, his sex drive won't be high but that doesn't mean he ain't needy.

Ironically, when you're the one sleeping, he's horny.

Can do dream manipulation imo. goes into whatever dream you're having and changes it up a bit to have him in there.

It's a weird one, you're back in the human world in your room about to take a nap, until Belphie comes from under it and grab onto your legs.

"You're not tired yet, are you?"

"It's not fair if you're sleeping and not me, help fall asleep too?"

Slowly you start to wake up as Belphie moves inside of you. Moaning into your ear. You're gonna help him, right?

While he thrusts, you mumble sleepy the words "I'll help you" over and over.

When you cum, he complains," it's not fair that I didn't get to cum yet, so why should you sleep?"

Overstimulates you like crazy, when you start to get a little loud he ask how is he supposed to fall asleep with all the noise.

If you're too quiet, he says he can't call asleep without a little noise in the room.

"m'getting tired, you go on top so I can rest."

Will sit back and seemingly fall asleep while you do the work bouncing up and down.

If you try to stop thinking he's sleep, he thrusts up telling you he isn't done yet and to continue.

"Belphie, I'm tried, can we please continue later?"

"We have school in the morning, mc. I can't go to school without sleep, can I?"

Younger sibling brattiness sure is kicking in right now.

"If you don't want to help anymore, I'll just get beel to help you."

Last time that happened, you couldn't even go to RAD in the morning, to tired and numb to walk.

So go ahead and help little Belphie sleep, okay? It's better when you both fall asleep anyway.

[joannasteez]

stay, please

pairing: roman reigns x blackreader warning: ANGST.. smut . explicit descriptions! so minors please do not interact! word count: 10k ... now that we found love, what are we gonna do, with it? ...

all that time ago, when you'd first met him, your acknowledgement of roman was flimsy, a shell of nothing, but the simple words and pretty smiles made him run warm all the same. "my tribal chief", you'd say, airy and teasing, void of awe. he was big and strong, hubris making him this mountain of a man, but he was just that, nothing more than a man, and you'd seen enough men to know that they did not differ much. they groaned in time with their irritations, made their problems yours. lusted wild and unapologetically. they demanded everything, in their time, in their way, and gave what little that they wanted. and roman reigns, the tribal chief, was no different. 

his eyes, suggestive and sharp, had taken to the fit of your ring gear easily. the shaping of the fabrics in places and in others, the lack thereof, pulling his interest till his fixations melted something warm and devious into your skin. he'd approach you wolf like, this stalking pace as if to circle prey. grinning amused. "i think you can do better than that for me. a little more enthusiasm".

and he was a tower then, still is now, strides long, full of leisure. your eyes peered from under the fan of your lashes, indulging the domineer of his presence with the coyness of good prey. you'd done well to make the game, the chase, or whatever this was for him, at least somewhat entertaining if not completely so. 

you'd indulged. leaned into the mass of him, one small step forward after another till the air had no choice but to be shared between the both of you. a finger lifting to trace faint over the lettering of his shirt. and it'd taken everything not to fall then, not to give in to the pull of him, like some small wayward celestial object fighting against the orbit of a great star. the heady note of his smell, the strong comfort of his warmth, the height of him, the sure soft ways his eyes drifted over you, like he'd just known without complete expression of words or deeds that you were his. 

your touch had turned more firm then, from one finger to your palm, slipping down till it played at his abs. and a grin had curled, amused now too, feeling the rushing in his blood. "i can be a whole lot better for you, you gotta earn that though".

but your words, so teasing and strong then, built firm and made off your tongue to last, were not as reliable as you'd thought they'd be, for the gravity of him was this overwhelming thing. and before the rush of it could settle, before the excitement of lust could wane, you found yourself with him at every corner or surface available. your legs wrapped in his, your lips wet and your tongue tangled, pushing and licking to taste him. your breaths caught forever, short and desperate as they fought to be full. he felt good and the heat of him melted the worry in your bones, until it didn't. 

until the fun of it became dense, so much so that it was unbearable. his touch becoming more nailed into the skin of you, and his words fixing quiet, each more vulnerable than the ones before them. these heavy sinking whispers in the night, your bodies laying sated and damp, thighs aching and your blood rushing smooth just after release. arousal still sticky between your legs where his hands and mouth had been. from him came these words, forming to sound like something similar to forever. but by then it was too late, to stop, to take back, to slip away from under him. 

and in the midst of fighting and failing to keep away from his body, and his quiet bed time passions, creatives of the smackdown brand championed the idea of a more feminine edge to the bloodline. someone who could rough and tough it, take a bump and bounce back for more. someone who could smile and charm and manipulate. someone who could, in the blink of an eye turn vicious if need be. a character that had draw, that could have the crowd eating from their palm. and though yes, roman was not starved of womanly support by way of the viewership, the faction was in sore need still of a lighter touch. something, or rather someone less naturally brutish, that did not wreak of ego or that larger than life self importance. and so, from a charismatic mid-carder, to the upper echelon, you rose and dominated as an entity connected to the infamous crew. 

the full silver of your ring gear slowly altered to accommodate the overwhelming red and black, his colors, till there was a more even mix. and it all spoke without words, the black and red these leading lines, binding you to the one called the tribal chief. 

a botched spot in the ring kept you away for some time. a few months of recovery, the perfect amount of time to go cold turkey from roman. 

and though he called and texted and face timed, his constant travels and your inconsistencies left him hallow. an emptiness that soon would leave his ego to pulse with a bruising pain. he thought, in the midst of all those months of your recovery, that it was just the tingling in his fingers that he needed gone, these simple bouts of lust that could be easily remedied. but it was more than that it seemed. aches in his chest and this drawing pull in his skin. a helpless sort of longing. 

he wrestled harder in those months, brutal, bordering relentless. when you wouldn't answer at all, or would only answer with few words, he pushed the fire of his anger, drove it through muscle and nerve, about the bones that built him till it was all he could feel. 

why the fuck were you dodging him?

and all that fire, that white hot anger, attempting to purge his bones of you, flared and burst wild till it could no longer. flared to consume him till it proved shallow and here you were, under his eyes again. the silver-red-black of your ring gear calling his fingers to run against it, the tips where his nerves live itching to flex and curl into your skin. the curve in there where your hip dips, the muscles in him remembering well as the feelings there form back to life with excitement. 

you look as good as you did pre-injury. maybe even a little better. 

he makes himself known, the tone of him rich, stunning. something dark amidst the allure. you'd forgotten how well it arrested you. 

"hows your arm?"

"bendable, so it's fine". 

you do little to acknowledge him, afraid of what even a little eye contact can do to the strength of already weak resolve, but you move your newly healed arm about rather flimsily, showing him just enough so he can go about his business. 

the carpet ruffles with his every step. closer and closer he gets. your heart knocking into your chest. "recovery must've been good, should've been", his breath warm and feathering along your neck. your fingers moving with a slight shake as you make to clean an already clean vanity. "had to have been", his fingers taking a small trace over your shoulders to hold you there, "cause i barely heard a thing from you". his thumbs sooth into the fabric, soft and remembering. 

your breath hitches, the tip of his nose running small at the line of your neck. and none of those months of recovery mean anything in the slightest, save for the healing of your arm. your pulse quickens and beats harsh, same as it did before, skin taking to a slight tremble as the warmth of him surrounds you here. and your own fingers, working to burrow into the hard shape of the vanity, itch to touch him too, though something nags at you to fight against him. to war with the resolute way his touch fastens to your body. 

"i didn't realize you were my keeper". 

he sighs, slightly annoyed by the way your words fight to push against his own, but it doesn't stop the straying of his lips along your skin. skimming where they please till they pull in to leave a faint kiss at your pulse. "you've been ignoring me".

"apparently not enough". 

he laughs, pulls your hips close till they flush against him, and laughs some more. his mouth parting just at the shell of your ear. "you're not convincing", his fingers flexing, a firm pulling as they make their way to play between your thighs at the fabric covering where they'd itched and feened to be. "not even a little bit". 

and how you'd gotten here, falling so fast back into him to be consumed, back into the deft maneuver of his fingers and the heat of his mouth, was not at all lost on you. just as similar as it was not all that lost on him either, to feel your skin and the faint release of your breaths. fighting on his own for months to undo you from him, all for nothing. both affected in full by the other, thirsty and bordering impatient. and when he curls in past the stretchy material to slip against the wet of your slit, your hips move with a mind all their own, seeking a harsher friction. 

heat braces your skin, head lulling forward. your hips shifting rigid, fighting to still and losing as they chase the smooth circling of his touch. "roman", breathy. urgent. 

"no, no, no, no, no", his free hand firmly at your neck. an upward motion to reveal your eyes again. "you don't run from me, not when you want it this badly". his finger slipping further to sink in knuckle deep. the push in of them lax and patient. a pace he takes to feel you throb for him. with every second, the length of it steeping in the soaked mess of you. 

you gather words, a sloppy attempt to fire back at him and it fails as you moan through it. "who said i wanted this or you". 

"you know what it is babygirl", the speed of his touch urged on by his ego. his need to prove you wrong. you want him, you want him and he knows it. if not for words then he knows it with how eager your hips grind into his fingers. the slip of your pussy easy and hungry as it pulses. so much so that it resounds into the dead air of the dressing room, the tune of it forcing his hips to rut into you. "you don't want it, you tell me and i stop". he breathes hot and hectic into your skin, into your neck, kissing between takes of air. fingers thick and glistening under harsh fluorescent lights as they curve in to fuck you deep. "c'mon, tell me how much you don't need it, how much you don't need me", eyes brown and blistered. of course you needed him, of fucking course you do how could you not? when he needed you. "c'mon sweetheart, tell me so i can leave". a tear struck the apple of your cheek, a simple roll that told of everything. your skin twitched and your muscles ached, ready to feel the draw out of release, but the cage of your chest rattled, flaming with a need to say something long unspoken.

but to do it, to say it, would be worse than breaking a bone. worse than the raw opening of slit skin. to give in to him, would be the end of it all. 

"fuck", a whimper breaking. wrecking the strength of your voice. your hips working to rut against the curl in of his fingers. your head lulls at an angle to sink into his chest. hands free from the vanity as you grab to hold onto him. "keep it there baby, please". 

"yeah?", his neck craning to take your lips with his. tongue messy and suckling. and his fingers move with vigor, arm taut and muscle bound, veins striking against his skin. something similar to lightning. "and when you come what do you say?"

your breath catches and the sharp ways of your vision blur. the coil wound up in your core bursting wild at the seams as you rut and drip against the softening thrust of roman's fingers. your lips trembling as words flow hot and feverish. "th-thankyouthankyouthankyou". 

even if the body was not made to do so, you could fly high, tumble, knock into, break at, and push over just about anything in ring. it's what made the rise from the mid-card so satisfying. it's what made the star studded rivalries so well anticipated and stunning. women of a particular caliber, head to head, their bodies and their wits and their wills stressed and strained until only one remained. at it's core, the work all by it's lonesome was easy. tiresome yes, but the pursuit of winning, that bright gold belt about the waist, was all a singleminded affair. easy. but the presence of him was, is, a storm. difficult to escape. reckless. ungovernable. and it seemed that the drifting of his eyes to find you and the remnants of his touch could not be undone. like a deep soldering under your skin, at the hard make of your bones.

he lingered, and beyond the shallow 'i don't want you's', the cut of your eyes and that cold far away disposition, something like need teemed, warm and fettered to your fingers, pressing slow into his skin, the fabric of his t-shirt, slipping into his hair. just before the quiet, when ecstasy was it's loudest, he could feel it running into him like nails, 'stay', etching red and raw into his flesh. and then a soothing kiss, more passionate, wordless but tender all the same, 'stay please'. 

your inconsistencies were nearly earsplitting. i want him, i won't. i need him, no i don't. it made even the prestige of the women's world championship lackluster. 

you'd won, your waist decorated in gold, but the true excitement of such a grand moment could not reach you beyond the loose way liquor paints your tongue. skin racing warm and control undone. the floor moving with this deep hard shudder, bass bleeding out. the air is thick from bodies, from the unintelligible roar of people. but what is clear, beyond the blur that comes for the eyes after chilly shots of espolon, is him. roman smiling in that faithful way that he does, wolf like, suggestive. clever and telling in the way that it so clearer reminds you of how small and good you can be as prey. something for him to take. to hold and guide and pull and pry at till he’s full. but that look of allure is not for you, no he'd done something fucked. he'd gone and found someone else to look at like that, some woman near the edge of the bar too oblivious and taken by the size of him to know that it was all a game. 

a game you were losing at. your lips wet from the bits of your next shot that seemed to miss your tongue. you were too loose, too hot, too lethal. it was just barely easy to play the game when it was you, denying him and tugging along that thinly wound string that tethered itself from you to him, but when he made his moves to do the same, it wrecked you well. 

tore you asunder. this deep splitting at the heart till you were left raw to the open air. 

'fuck him, you're the women's world champion', the espolon steeped so well into you that it speaks. 'say it', persistent. you turn from him, your head lulling as your mouth greets another shot of that smooth tequila taste. 'sayitsayitsayit' 

"fuck him".

but is it believable? the harsh bite and break of words as drunk lips form around them, bound to such a severity that only comes with the pain of pain. 

the harsh bass nearly breaks your ears and makes your body tremble. you would like to leave, to tear your eyes away from them, from him, but you would also like to stay. 

"you play right into his hand when you do that", a mouth near your ear persists above the noise. the well fitted dress of a button up forgotten for something sloppier and indicative of the loose, dancing, club energy. cody rhodes' face just a few ways away from beet red as he holds chilly water in one hand. 

and there are crueler things in the world, things that grind against the spirit till it's worn and faint, but nothing pricks against the heart more in this moment than that woman’s fingers lingering against romans. the charm of her smile luring him in as she mouths to him unrecognizable things. "he wants to spite me, let him". 

cody snorts, lazily throws his arm about you. "it wouldn't be anything you've never done". and you think maybe you hate the sense of his logic and his friendship. the filterless way he says things. so forthright, so readymade. 

"fuck you, wheres the loyalty". 

his cheeks pull high into the creasing corner of his baby blue eyes. fully amused. he probably thinks you're a damn joke, and maybe it's true, in the petulant ways you avoid and revert inward. 

he hands you the cup of water and you sip it willingly, wishing maybe though that its something else. 

"he'll play cat, you'll play mouse, he'll fuck you and hint at what you fear most, you'll run and we'll be right back to where we are now. so what the fuck's up with the preamble". 

you shove the cup of water into his chest, picking up one of the many shot glasses that stand still on a tray. the taste of it not so dissimilar to water. he frowns, watching on as you glare into the emptiness of the shot glass. sometimes, in these short moments, when you crave things you aim to kill, he worries. 

"didn't realize all my shit was so entertaining". you look angry, sound that way even, but the melodramatic coupling of words tell him you drift more towards a sullen pain than to anger. 

"no, entertainment isn't this boring", he quips and you jab your elbow into his stomach. just enough to make him grunt before the break into a fit of little laughs.

but then you set the glass down and turn in to face him, to nuzzle closer into where your forehead meets his collarbone. eyes forming with hints of a glassiness that lend themselves to vulnerability. 

roman's eyes take to looking about the club, instinctively, falling against the warmth of your embrace with cody. fire forms in his chest, aches with a burning. 

your voice leaves off soft into cody's ear, muffled in the fabric of his shirt. "it won't work. not in any way that matters". 

"you don't know that"

"i've been played before. i'm not new to games". 

cody rubs soothing into your shoulder, the compassion making you melt in that drunken way that leads to the welling of a tear. 

"games aren't made to last, that's why they get played, and why people play them. if it's real then it's real". 

"is this what it is now? you don't speak when you see me?" 

dead air and his own words, tired in their anger. 'how long can i go, before i break?', but the break came quickly, the silence disrupting him. he rests but not really, stands there idle as if to feign the strength of a stable man but his nerves stir with ill-control. they flip and they twitch, crashing up against the inner parts of him. you won't speak, and your eyes don't meet. and when the job forces your hand, you grow cold in this subtle way. warm still but a biting chill just like at the cusp of spring. and your lips become these masters of brevity. and he wants to say it here —where his blood rushes irate, wrought by adrenaline— that he isn't too far from hating you. your skin, your touch, your voice, your face, the pull of your lips when you smile, all the things that make him lov-

"we work together, i talk to you all the time". 

and even in all this, he couldn't not move closer to you. one foot in front the other till he was arms length. "promos and in-ring action aside, y'know what i mean". 

you fight your own urges. to meet his eyes, to touch him, to fall beyond the bounds of those drunken whispers from nights passed where you cursed his name. "it should stay like that, professional. it's cleaner this way, safer". 

he scoffs. something like a tower now the way he stands over you.

"yeah?", smirk mirthless. "and what, me fucking you out back behind an arena ain't clean? you bendin' over in a dressing room ain't safe enough anymore?" each word slightly louder than the last. 

"keep you voice down", you hiss. 

"or what?", his eyes sharp and narrowing. scrutiny burned into the brown of them. "everything you do is convenient for you". and his lips spread in that mirthless way again, bordering disgust. "you get scared so you pull away, you feel good again and come runnin' back. you ain't never fit me in for consideration, not once, unless it meant me sticking my dick in you". 

and when blood is drawn, words like venom dripping into raw split skin, isn't it only appropriate to do the same? to do him in with the violence he so easily struck with first?

"once upon a time i didn't have to consider you", meeting him with words, cold and mocking. "i paid you fucking dust and when i did acknowledge you, you were grateful for it". vexed and thrilled, you watch the silent ways his rage manifests. the flaring in his nose and the shifting in his jaw. beneath where heaps of muscle lie, just there at his chest, falters this steady beating. a deep plunging of his ego. it makes you smile, nicks pain into your heart just the same. "maybe we should revisit that and stay there, and not be so damn emotional about it".

he recedes into something like pity. "whoever he was before me, he did a number on you". 

it's this rupturing that hurts the most. the pain of it, a distant memory long remembered. this great big wound. raw and the skin so tattered still and messily undone. "you don't know me". 

"exactly", roman urges. still above it all, wanting to know something. the slightest thing. anything. 

you leave, slamming the dressing room door.

it was as if the spite of him, that which that'd already existed —a small, near idle thing, had reared it's head to tear through him again. seemingly more brutal than before. whether cruel or not, whether it worked or not, he'd made the effort, against his better judgement to see you bend. not to break no, but to see something other than the usual push and pull that became the mainstay of whatever this thing was between the two of you. that night at the club—his own go at drawing up some jealousy, an attempt at cracking your little shell of resistance, to see if you even cared, but still he didn't know. not for sure anyways. so here he was, needy, spiteful, and a short ways away from brutal as sweat broke from his brows and a frustrated groan from his lips. hips swinging in lethal, teeth gritting, and the core of him coiling tight. 

he couldn't remember her name, no, but she was too similar to pass on. she ran just parallel enough to you that it could work. similar skin tone, the nonchalance, the coy silence of the eyes, sly slim touches that roughed into something harsh—near skin splitting. but when she spoke, the puzzle piece couldn't quite fit. her pitch too bright, not bitty enough. it didn't wreck through him the same, didn't rush in to him or thrum his blood but he couldn't complain about it, not when the chase of his release was so close. just palpable enough to satisfy. 

roman took a mild shifting, hiking up a leg to leave the other bent, his foot nailing further into the hotel bed sheets, all to work his hips deeper. 

her face ran into the sheets, mascara smudging dark into the clean white. "mhmm- fuck! i-", her hips fluid, rolling against the swing of roman's. words nearly undone, breaths close to finishing. "pleasepleaseplease".

she pulsed about him, hips rocking to chase the burning in her limbs, the harsh twist up of her core. and where he dug into her she fought to keep him there, soaked and clenching but it just barely came close. she hugged him for dear life, fucked on him till she couldn't take him to the hilt anymore. attempted to possess him even, with sultry moans and the allure of whispered begging. everything he liked, everything he wanted but it didn't quite fit. everything lacked by only half of a half step but it all mattered. and it was evident you made the difference. 

the lazy trace of your lips, the delirium you took—even in rare bouts of aggression—the burn of your touch like a piercing in his skin. the dulling of your eyes, till they rolled overwhelmed and undone. the shivers in your skin and the submission of your body, the skin and bones of you left for him to form back together. 

he missed you, and yes of course he wanted to fuck you, completely break you in that faithful way that he did in times past, where you'd rush in dainty, words like feathers, thankyouthankyouthankyou, but he also wanted to hold you. wanted to mold himself to you till he was unsure of where he ended and you began. he wanted breath stealing kisses that rolled lazy and thick. he wanted to still the shivers in your body, wanted to caress you through the burden of release and even after, he wanted to keep you there. safe in the strength of him. 

and it was here, in these thoughts, where he found the feeling. the pulling in his gut strong and subduing, tugging away from the wet mess of her to release. thick ropes against her skin as he groaned. 

"fuck......".  

your name slipping through. unabashed and clear as day. 

roman winces, feels the recoil of it in his flesh. this awkward reversion where his body fights not to cave in on itself out of embarrassment.

why the fuck would he do that? 

but she's moving before he can do anything, cleaning herself till she's rid of him. and damn it, why can't he remember her name? his back flopping into the sheets, an arm thrown over his eyes. he's tired and ill feeling, somewhat ashamed. 

the woman saunters in, some ways from disgust. such a beautiful man, so obviously successful, and seemingly hung up on a woman who cares less than a fuck about him. thats what she can gather anyways. her fingers helping her slip her clothes back on. she grows curious. 

"who is she?"

roman looks to her, realizing just how much she doesn't look like you at all. beautiful but not you. 

"what?"

her eyes roll. that small sliver of curiosity done away with as she shuffles to adjust her heels."if your'e gonna finish all over me, the least you can do is remember my name". 

she makes for the bedroom door of the luxury suite, leaving roman to fall deeper into his own silence. her voice carries, sweet and mocking. 

"your little nda is signed. thanks for making me come". 

roman grunts in response. feeling the slight rattle of the slammed door. 

from the chill of new york city winter weather, to the warmth of one of the city's many luxurious hotels, came a firm dulling of the nights mixture of cocktails and whatever other light liquor your dear friend cody rhodes had decided was good enough for you. and what a dear friend indeed, always so caring, so righteous and so fucking motherly. his every word soft and urbane — "slow down, take this water, no more of that drink"—and his every look one of knowing and pity, until his glassy blue eyes and lisp-y mouth became resolute, even when in their own drunkenness, going as far as to putting you in a car and shipping you back to where you were now, at the hotel. "you're not even having fun, go sleep", his lips pulling into a gentle pout. his arms a warm embrace till they were gone, and you were ducking sullenly into an SUV. 

he was all you could think about.

...whoever he was before me, he did a number on you... 

and with so little said, roman had done you in to a silent sort of suffering. this shoddily made shell of something —your heart— playing at nonchalance, completely destroyed. stripped now, naked and fearful of whatever is to follow. the possibility, whether with or without him, the unknown, left you stunned, ill even. 

...should you call?... fingers itching to reach, to slip against his contact ...but would he answer?... or would he, and rightfully so, do you the quieted sort of violence you'd done to him, time and time again?... those brutal ways your lips refused to speak, and when they did their words like daggers. your eyes never meeting, and when they came upon him, they bore over him icy and displeasured. like he was a nuisance, or even worse, a stranger. and the desertion of your touch, once upon a time, when the drive of lust and adoration was new in him, seemed that it would never leave. yes, you'd understand, but fuck if it wouldn't hurt, wouldn't pierce the greater parts of you, where strength of the ego and desire lives. 

but its only when the phone rings that all hesitancy of the moment breathes hard. knocks unceremoniously against free inhibitions till you're wishing for him to ignore you. maybe, right here, right now, making the effort is enough, maybe it's all you need to say ...i did it, i tried... and nothing else. your whispers rushed and a bit scared and waiting. "don't answer, don't answer don't answer".

the ringing stops. he answers. 

your breathing is soft, but present, the only thing that sings amongst the silence of him. what is this? after the callousness, the hardy stones you'd thrown into the glass of his resolve in an attempt to break him. 

he's tired but not really. done but not really. he sighs, fingers roughing through his beard. "yeah?"

you giggle, breathy. a bit unnerved. your words rolling off, slightly slurred still. "thought i'd get your voicemail", you wonder how he looks, if his heart threatens to beat beyond the cage of his chest the way it does yours. "didn't think you'd answer".

he's quiet. breathing. "why'd you call?"

"you sound nice". the little thats left of the tequila pouring over your tongue into words. even in his tiredness he sounded beautiful. rich and dark and alluring. "did i wake you?" 

"no". but he can't help himself, in being curious, in caring. "you alright?" 

"i'mfine, ijust...i-"

"you sound drunk". 

"tipsy". 

"how much did you have?", a question but more so a command. the authority threaded in his voice lulling you in. it makes you shiver with need. makes you want to touch him. 

"mhmm idon'tknow rome". and he can hear your shifting over the sheets, as you shift over answers to give him, that would satisfy him. you wanted so badly, despite your fears, to satisfy him. "a shot, a drink or two". 

"lightweight for real", he chuckles. "who were you with?"

"cody. he got my uber". 

is it so bad?, when the hour is late?, to think of seeing you, even if the thought is little and fleeting and ways away from dangerous? "you here at the hotel?" 

"damn", and you're laughing. giddy at the way he worries. reeling with sarcasm "you want me to share my location?" 

"watch yourself".

"yes sir". 

and here the air is hesitant, forming fragile and ill-informed of whats to come. it shapes about the both of you wearily and groans even in it's stillness of how ill-suited it is at holding the ambivalence of this... love, lust, longing or whatever it is twisting about the both of you. it yearns for something new, for something unweighted and free and sweet. 

roman asks you again. curiosity breaking a heaviness into the weight of him. "why'd you call?" 

your bed sheets pinch and ruffle between your fingers, taking on the burden of your anxieties. "i figured if i went out...i'd-i'd get a little courage yknow? a drink or two and then i could call you, could hear your voice". 

"hear my voice huh?", his jaw clenching. tone one of full mocking and scrutiny. after everything, all that was said, something like venom off your tongue in a means to poison his resolve, and now you wanted to hear from him? "and all that big talk, all that mouth and bravado, paying me dust and keepin it how it used to be", smiling mirthless. "what happened to that? where'd that go?"

you shiver, cold despite the warmth of the room. "i don't know roman". 

"you don't?"

"i don't wanna argue with you". 

"what do you want then? tell me so i know". 

"it doesn't matter", something like a grin running through your lips, sullen and wistful. formed only by the sweet safety of what if's and what could be's, because those were always easier. "you'd leave". a single tear slips against your cheek. "you'd get bored after a while and you'd leave". 

...but he isn't him, whoever that other man was, or could be, the one that'd seemingly broken you...

he sighs. "you're afraid of somethin that ain't happen".

"yet", you add. 

"it's not going to".

"you don't know that". 

"you don't either". and of course the fight is natural, this insistent war where true desires of the heart are subdued to the will of something comfortable and simple, because love, even at its easiest, proved always to be tedious and demanding. "i don't make it a habit of getting played".

"i don't make it a habit of playin", sincerity filling him whole. "how i've felt... how i feel still, about you? it's always been real sweetheart". 

another tear and then another, till your skin is warm and nerves flustered. your chest tightening as your mouth trembles. "don't fault me for being scared, please?" 

"clean slate. we can start over". 

"ok". 

and that restless buzzing, the harsh rushing  of the city — cars and trains and people— works easy to overcome the natural fall of silence. breaths passing, his and then yours, one after the other and then together, in waiting, eager but unsure. 

the emptiness is unsettling. makes you restless. urges the drive in his muscles to move. 

your hand splays against a pillow, fingers curling in soft, your voice even softer. "what side of the bed are you laying on?"

"left side". 

you hum. imagining him. hair splayed, long and gentle. "i hate the left side".

"i know", he smiles, small like and imaginative. thinking of older memories, where your legs find themselves curling against his own. 

"it's empty, my left side".

"yeah?"

"yeah".

possibility, this mighty rushing in his blood. 

"whats your room number?" 

there was nothing flimsy about this, the gentle pull of his lips, tongue slipping cautioned but ready all the same, his fingers and palms seemingly made to do and withstand the brute force of many things but taking the time instead to hold you dearly. to savor with his touch what his lips cannot. but when the well of patience in him fills to the brim, when it overflows and floods him unsparingly, his persistence has no choice but to do the same. and your knees threaten to buckle, threaten to kill your resolve, as he cradles your head with one hand and the other anchored firm at your jaw —thumb and pointer— his kiss growing wetter, tongue sharper. because the time away —where neither of you could do more than fight and throw stones and break and avert, gazes and words and touches and thoughts and feelings— felt like forever. and then came the standstill, the white flag. clear air and even clearer intentions, over a phone call of all things. with simple words of the heart. 

roman figured if anything, he was making up for lost time. your palms taking to his beard, thumbing over his cheeks, mouth forming soft over his. 

you felt good, he felt good, but not so much that it couldn't be true.  

and here, where you feel the abandon of his control grow, you break from his mouth, trying and failing to grab for something on a nearby shelf. but he's faster, reaches to grab the outstretch of your arm, flying it over his shoulder. his breath warm and enticing, rushing a thrumming in your blood as he nips the skin there. teasing. 

your nails take this tender clawing into his nape, dipping into silky hair. "i thought we were taking it easy?"

his words mix between the twist of his lips. "we are. your clothes are still on". kissing along your neck.

but he doesn't loom here, statuesque in his anger. doesn't suffer your resolve to threaten a breaking or diminishing to fold under the weight of a harsh truth. knowing whether or not if his words would split you raw for a vicious bout of bloodletting. no he doesn't loom here, but his standing is firm all the same. gentle minded and secure. immovable in the way that it refuses to let you go. 

you wonder if jimmy and jey and solo and naomi can hear him in the pantry from where they are in the living room. hear his groaning, and the smack of his lips as he takes yours. hear his lust and his love and his longing. 

you hum against him in bliss. "you make it very obvious that you want to eat me alive when you look at me like that in front of everybody". 

"am i supposed to feel bad about that? because i don't". 

"being lowkey goes a long way sometimes". 

"yeah a little too long". 

but that night had only been one of the first nights of this mending, this slow cautious maneuver of putting back together the broken pieces of whatever this thing was that had been brewing for sometime. and it isn't until you're sitting in a shared comfortable silence, sipping wine and tasting sweet deserts that the realization comes to you. that this —the sex and the passion and the strife— has only ever been a thing, something ill formed and without definite shape. uncategorized and hesitantly spoken of. it had all been rushed with hushed pleasures and secrecy, rendezvous and an inherent longing that would not, for fear of realer things, be spoken of.

but it was very clear now, as he dipped a spoon into tiramisu, that you needed him. 

and the pace here is easy, as waiters and other patrons breeze by your table without rest, without wait, his eyes and his stillness forming well over the hold you have as you touch him idly. your palm at his knee, raising to take his hand in yours, fingers folding in, shy and feathered and bursting with a wordless affection. 

from where you are, just a short lean in from his lips, his features are not so intimidating, not so all consuming in that daunting way he's perfected. his cheeks are freckled and round and the brown of his eyes are bright. 

you kiss him, take that short lean in and meld your lips till he hums and thumbs your chin. because he isn't him if he doesn't touch you. doesn't hold fast to your warmth. 

and even after you part, the intimacy laced in the air breathes slow and lingering. "thank you for being so patient with me, with everything". your fingers fiddle and caress over his. "i know i haven't made it easy for you". 

"when it's something i want, i wait". 

and wait he did, with a statues patience. but even the strength of statues fail, worn and weathered if left to stand against time and their own stillness. eventually they all crumble, some in such a poetic fashion that its destruction means more than its birth, and other's with a simple, unceremonious falling. but the undoing of roman's patience is fierce and alluring. and as you breathe short, in between the firm pull of his lips, water hot and raining against your skin, you feel the chipping away of that patience as well. and it isn't just the pouring in of the shower and the sweet warmth of soaps and candles, but the influence of him as well, melting underneath flesh and bone.

6:17 PM

the steam forms something amorous. thickens the anticipation and lulls your resolve into a surrendering. and the tight feeding of his fingers into your thigh doesn't help any, nailing sharp and greedy as they have your leg hooked about his waist, his tongue licking against yours. and here in the kiss his lust grows slow and exacting, in a means to savor. making you moan and forcing your hips to grind mindless. his body hard and wet and safe. 

your fingers curl into the hair just at his nape, tugging to pull, to break his lips from yours, but he's fast and wanting, rushing in for another sweet assailment. groaning in time with his pleasures as his hips rut at your soft skin. you try again to break from him, to breathe even if the air suffocates you so, and he gives in. settles for fastening himself to you elsewhere, to supple skin, and to grinding his hard dick at you. his mouth roaming about your neck, nipping with his teeth and kissing gentle. a meager attempt to reigning himself in. 

your touch wanders further into his soaked hair, mouth moving to trace his, to tease him. "we have a reservation for 9", you kiss him lightly. "i don't wanna be late".

he hums, rests his forehead to yours. taut fingers working your hips to a slow grind against his dick. working what nerves lay dormant in you to life. 

"the restaurant is a 30 minute drive", his nose and mouth nestling into the plains of skin where your neck ends and your shoulder begins. drinking in the small breaking off of your moans. "plenty of time". 

7:29 PM 

and the minutes wandered away fast and teasing, forcing in an urgency as you fought hard to slip away from him and the heaviness of his desires. and it took much control, to part from his warmth and the heavy lust of his eyes. from the way his touch and his mouth maneuvered —with seductive method— and the heat of his cock laying at your skin, so terribly close to where you need him. but how odd the fear is here, after the pulling away of all that nasty pettiness and the settling of it, no longer scared of how much he would love you, or how well he could etch himself to the inside of you —with touches and deep words filled with passion— but now, weary of just how unbearable you would be. because it seemed now that he was stuck with you, and that if he would continue his affections with such an intensity, that you would have no choice but to return it. and even in this, your fears, your weariness of this love and lust and longing, were not so frightening at all. but exciting. 

you're excited. 

"tie or no tie?"

the bulk of his arm, where tattoos paint the skin, slip through a white button up. fingers deft as they take the time to do in each button. 

"no tie".

your hands soothing over your skin with a warm smelling body butter. eyes trailing to his as he watches your hands work over your skin. 

"and the jacket, yes? no?" 

"yes to the jacket", but your answer barely registers, and how could it possibly do so clearly enough when the fabrics of your underwear form over your body the way that it does. everything about you soft and inviting to the touch as you approach him. your fingers undoing the top most buttons. the intricate designs of tattoos here at the curve of his pec peaking through. "and just leave this open a little". your palms smoothening away at the rest of his shirt, over his shoulders to adjust the already adjusted collar, fingers slipping against already buttoned buttons, and when the smallest wrinkle catches your eyes, you're already flattening it to straighten. and here he takes you in, arresting with silence and a never ending depth to his eyes that leaves you without words.

his mouth close enough, breaths are shared. and there is no other word to describe the scent of him other than divine. 

you want to fall into him, as free as air and without hesitation. 

his lips smile. "you're staring". 

but it is justified, because shouldn't all beautiful things be looked upon with awe and a speechless sort of appreciation? shouldn't they be touched, the way you touch him, your palms possessing him to hold as you kiss him greedily and without wait. your tongue lashing through firm and without the mind to yield. moaning gentle into him and if not for his own strength he would fall to his knees. is this not how beautiful things should be treated? should they not be adored and reverenced? should he not pry at your skin the way that he does? dull nails sinking in to remember the forms they take as they go. your leg found slipping around his waist again as his fingers move swiftly to claw their way down till your panties push away helpless. 

and he groans, lips parting only to find yours again, finding you warm and wet as his touch slips through the mess of your slit. and he wonders how long you've been like this, stewing in your own desires. his blood rushing hot and fast, feeling the heavy throb your body takes as he plays a teasing touch at your opening. something whiny and dainty tumbling off your tongue as you fight to reign in that wild burst of lust so loosely falling off your skin.

"roman", you warn. so small it nears a whisper. 

"shhhh, relax", his finger dipping in to feel the heat of your pussy. a neediness to see you break bursting in the cage of his chest, his heart hammering at the sweet daze in your eyes. "just a little bit baby". 

"we're gonna be late". you fight.

and you want to say how much you hate him, how much you hate the ease of his touch—such a terrible gentleness— and you hate how it makes you swoon, and throb harder, feeling the depth of his artful handlings. you fucking hate it, hate him, fuck, and your breath labors harsher than before, feeling the seam of his lips as they sit to hover above yours, and shit, his fingers stroking firmer than before, a slighter urgency in the pace that catches your breath and his eyes dim low but they hypnotize you, and no you don't, but, well yes you do hate him, but you don't, a moan stretching in sync from him and from you, and damnit you love him. love his touch and the proof of his lust, how naturally it is born from his love and his longings. 

he can see the prickling in your eyes, the glassiness just before the burning brown of them. and you ruffle your face into his chest, into the balminess of his skin but he does not relent. and the sound your arousal makes as it coats his long fingers is lewd but it brushes over you warm and inviting. drives your waist to grind into his every stroke till release is sweet and so close. 

the undoing is palpable, a licking flame against the skin. short tremors starting in your legs as you call to him. little whispers that beg, "please...please...please", hushed and slurred. 

and just when it's there, it isn't, his fingers slipping out of you slow, wet still and gripping your ass to stop the mindless grinding your hips take. 

"roman, no, what are you-", his lips kissing yours to stop the words and the worry. but he's kilt weeks, hell, months of such a lengthy build up, and your body rushes confused and unsatisfied. you pull from him, just enough to speak, feeling his palm caress into where he holds you. "what are you doing?" 

"its almost eight", his body forsaking yours to step out of the bedroom. "need you to clean up and finish getting ready". 

8:18

at your wrist

at the bend of your inner knees, your elbows

the skin of your neck just behind your ears

and just where your ankles roll inward. 

his dress shoes click back into the bedroom to be met with an immediate assailment. but this violence is no violence at all, but rather a sweet, sultry thing. enticing. and he holds his wrist forward to check the time. 8:20. fuck the reservation, he thinks, stepping till he's behind you. eyes peering through the mirror, watching the delicate way you curl a thin brush over your eyelashes. a dark mascara that thickens and pulls the length and when you check the fruits of such minuscule labor, beautiful and satisfied, the crotch of his pants prove too thin, and uncomfortable. and as he dips his nose into your neck and molds his fingers to your hips, flushing you against him easy, you work into your nerves an air of dispassion. cleaning the dresser of miscellaneous things, fighting the urge to let him do whatever he wants with you. 

and here, just behind your ear, the perfume proves to be intoxicating. his grip nailing in, curling to bring you impossibly closer. but his eyes never break. they hold, piercing hot and mischievous through the mirror. 

in the silence you both suspend, weighing the importance of your plans. 

he nestles into you. the fabric of your dress raising as his fingers pull. 

and his voice makes you weak. thrums your blood. 

"how important is this dress?". 

"important enough", you hold against the balling his fist takes. "i paid money for it".

roman eases to his knees. undoes the neat knot he's made of his hair. he knows just how much you adore the feel of it. he pushes the fabric to rest above the curve of your hips. taps your right leg. 

you lift it, angling it to rest your knee on the dresser. breathing labored. excited. 

his own breath is warm at your skin, "and if we miss the reservation?" the sweet spice of your perfume meets him here too. his thumbs spreading you in a leisure manner. 

anticipation consumes you. voice ragged. "it's not important". 

he hums, delighted, his tongue lapping soft. testing and teasing. and your body leans forward, sensitive and longing, hips shifting away at such an intimate touch. but he holds firm, slipping wet through your slit again, continuously, his thumbs caressing where his grip tightens into your skin. and now that he's here, his patience to leave you undone forms new. bleeds a vigor about his every muscle and bone. your senses growing pliant above him, resolve melting as your hips shift to brush along the wet sweep of his tongue. and why he takes to such a leisure pace, you have no idea, but the pleasure simmering, fighting its way up the slope of your spine, grieves. wishing for something harsher. something less controlled. 

the silence is remedied with a tender "please". teeth taking your lips to bite. 

his mouth kissing, lingering, and you feel it spread. a smile. his mischief slipping into your skin before the inevitable pulling in, your clit caught, pulsing and needy as he sucks, thirsty and unstopping. and you feel arousal drip slow, glistening, his tongue catching it to savor. throat groaning as he shifts back forward to taste the fat of your clit. and though you stand above him, your hips shift ill-controlled and your voice leaves you soft and broken. belly coiling tight as his ministrations grow more singleminded by the second. 

the nails of your fingers find their way to the roots of his hair, pulling him closer and running to soothe into his scalp. jaw dropped and gasping."feels so good baby". 

and the slip of roman's tongue is lewd, caresses the swell of your clit as his mouth works your pussy. and as desperation mounts your bones, your other set of fingers tighten to hold against the dresser, arousal dripping its way past the onslaught of his mouth to run through his beard. the pricks of the hair there, rubbing your inner thighs to burn raw. 

he grunts. "fuck", muffled and heated. dipping his tongue through till he's caressing the warmth of your walls. slow and reverential, savoring the tight clutch that holds him there. 

white heat blankets your skin, fingers slipping to nestle through your slit, laying a dulcet touch to your clit. his tongue wide and gentle as it fucks you. and the sensation there is terribly sweet, solders hot and binding till your legs begin to tremble above him.

"roman", you call for him. tender and broken. he feels a blooming in his chest. heat and an eagerness. " 'm coming". 

and the burden of that mounting coil shatters. pulses hard as you ride the sensation, fingers rubbing over the mess of your clit. thumb catching the soft nub to press against your pointer, trapping it to prolong that rich thrumming that flows about your skin. and roman takes to kissing you again, licking his tongue through the messiness of your release and kissing over your fingers.

8:50. the dinner reservation long forgotten.

but there are many other things forgotten besides white table cloth, wine glasses and intimately lit candles. the once so perfect button up he'd tucked into expensive slacks, now strewn about the floor, creased to hell next to the shine of abandoned shoes. and with all these things, left to be unremembered, is that mischievous sort of patience born from his teasing. where his touch was once salacious and mocking, unforgiving in the way it played well and denied pleasure better, is now just a filled shell of desperation. need running like flares of wild fire. and it shows here, as you sit atop the dresser, legs wrapped about him, the way roman aches and throbs, hot and demanding. cock thick and hard, reddened and leaking as he slips it through the stickiness of your slit.  

his tongue growing sloppy, drunkly slipping over yours, pushing in the taste he'd savored so dearly. his skin teeming with a rushing, this great throbbing in his spine and the muscles in his core as he nestles the tip of his dick through the tight clutch of your heat. groaning in time with his pleasures as he sinks in, corralling your thighs forward to control the pacing, and deeper he goes till you're taking him to the hilt. the build of him seeming to crumble before your eyes, this mountain of a man trembling and undone by the warmth of you. delirium coursing fluid over bones as he stills to feel the softness and the pulsing. everything he'd missed, finally at his finger tips again. 

and if not for the pain and the violence of it, you'd pull your nails through him. over taut skin and the great build of his muscles. not in a means to destroy, no, but in the hopes to consume him. a more permanent etching beneath his flesh where blood flows, just as he's done to you. 

you hiss, breaths stuttered. mouth falling where the freckles at his cheeks live, balmy and heavy, attempting to find his mouth amongst the fall of his hair. to kiss him as he stretches you to take him. your fingers combing over the strays and flyaways, roughing your legs tighter to deepen the weight of him inside you. 

you moan. something feathery and gentle. the fullness of him threatening to split your ears. and when his hips slip forward, fluid and strong, your fist knocks against the marble of the dresser. pain in your hand turning to pleasure else where. 

"mhmgmh", his groan dark, feeling it rough up your body. and the carved marble of the dresser becomes more tainted by the second, the drag of him against the pulse and flutter of your heat so terribly charming. a soothing take to your pussy thats rigid enough to leave you breathless. and when your spine curls forward, head lulling to kiss the mirror, he leads with tongue to kiss your skin. "that's it right there huh?", but he needs no answer. pure evidence here, his dick rutting forward through the mess of you. 

"yesss", stressed and drawn out. 

the gentle pull of you, flexing wet and tight, a cureless addiction. his words slightly slurred, lips at your cheek, trailing to your neck, over your shoulder, plush and kiss swollen. "so soft babygirl". the draw in of him singleminded, throbbing and rutting. groaning as dazed eyes catch the feed in of his cock, a deep burying that shudders his skin. "love when you let me touch you like this", driving his fingers to form further up over your hips, dull nails curling at your back. "when you let me fuck you good", his hips pressing in as he stills, grinding slow, for you to feel him there, where he belongs. "how you need it". 

you cry, a tear staining your cheek. the tremble of your lips forming over his as you kiss him. body molding to him, the go of his thrusts mindful as they work to fill you. and here, he slips in easy, steady still but with a gentler purpose. and his fingers, even in their dullness, don't run as brutal and the deftness of him proves with a tender rocking of his hips. arousal soaking him sweet as it sounds above the silence. 

and the shock of everything takes hold. the ways you fought so terribly against him, to suffer in what you thought would be some less harsher fate than to live lovingly with him. 

your voice stretches out delicately. into the safety of him. "don't leave me", quivering as you feel the building pressure in your body. "stay please".

"not going anywhere sweetheart", a hand at your cheek, thumb caressing there, "i'm right here", and the other pulling you impossibly closer by the thigh. lips over yours, sharing breaths. "you feel me? i'm right here", words whispered and groaning, the stroke of him deep and easy still. 

and as he'd wanted since the beginning, your resolve crumbles as he holds you in his hands. 

your heart heavy. fearful, excited. "....love you....", trembling as you come undone. "i love you". 

he twitches, releasing thick and warm in you. pulling your lips in, passionate and relieved, tongue rolling to taste the words he'd waited to hear from forever ago, when everything about your attitude towards him was flimsy and hollow. and the bursting in his chest is undeniable, a smile slipping across his lips as the heat of the air sits easy about the both of you. 

he kisses you again, lingering, with love and lust and longing. 

"i love you too". 

[five-one-two-station]

Everybody should have their own fun, and this isn't trying to harsh anybody's buzz, but I find the impulse to make your own cutesy/badass Replika oc doing funny or heroic or badass things a little odd. Like, that character you designed as a super badass soldier, or well-armed and armored steely eyed cop type... who would they have been built to fight or police exactly? Remember who all those guns and weapons were intended for use on?

I know we're all sick of discourse over who "gets" the game, and I'm by no means scolding anybody for something that harmless, but what's interesting to me is the sense that designing overtly "cool" Replika personas and OCs, complete with the propaganda poster style imagery, feels a little...

I mean, bluntly, it's like the in-world propaganda worked, unironically, on some level, for many people. Kolibris aren't scary, they're whimsical and fun! Storches aren't notably cruel enforcers and chain gang drivers, they're Protektors! Falke isn't a camp commandant, she's a beautiful angel!

The Replikas aren't cool and heroic figures in the reality of the game. They're the carefully crafted organs of a system of control so dreadful it could do what it did to Elster and Ariane. They're victims to that system themselves too, sure - and humanising them is a nuanced and valuable observation of how totalitarian regimes maintain themselves - but that doesn't negate the fact they're also the ones who operate, enforce and perpetuate it, a big part of what the game knows and communicates about such societies. It's notable that the game makes it clear few, if any, of the Replikas actually buy into the Nation as an ideal at all - they enforce it no less pitilessly anyway, incapable or unsafe to imagine anything else.

Their affectations, pasttimes, trinkets, and even affections for each other, all serve to draw a stark contrast to how callously they regard the gestalts they keep suppressed. Their disposability is something they're conscious and fearful of themselves, but fail to recognise as a commonality with the people they brutalise every day, their business as usual. The only grief, tragedy or suffering they acknowledge is their own - they have no regard for any such things in the humans they have... well, dehumanised.

But S-23 Sierpinski was such a hellhole for most of its denizens under "normal" conditions that the nightmare it becomes is arguably an improvement; if only because there are fewer people left now to suffer it. There's a dark poetry here - because the place's banal cruelty is "off camera" to us, it's very naturally less real to us than the grief of the crying Eule. It's only natural, too, to forget how grim the Replikas' purposes are when you don't have to see anyone endure the brunt of it.

And isn't that the very same effect a state like the Nation is seeking in the first place, by disappearing people away to such dark little corners to have it done? In our world, no less than that one.

That works like a kind of propaganda too, not being able to see it - a propaganda of hidden things, as powerful as any poster. A space that's been intentionally left blank.

Kolibris are literal thought police; they intrude on people's very minds, interrogating them to death as a matter of course, with hardly a care either way. The various Protektor classes are functionally concentration camp guards and slave drivers. Falke and Adler are overseeing what amounts to a gulag, one so unimaginably awful Ariane preferred to spend years of her life alone in space to the prospect of being sent there, and inevitably worked to death, far underground.

I think there's a reason we never see one of those posters for LSTRs in game. How could we be asked to forgive our own if we ever did?

[yuri-is-online]

I feel like Octavinelle would all respond pretty well to you being lonely tbh

Azul: Bullied, lonely child? Only two friends made because he was "fun" enough and felt at risk of losing them? If you talk about being lonely he MIGHT bring up a contract, but I could also see your honesty being met by the most clumsy olive branch of him stammering that HE could be your friend... since hes so generous, of course (liar he wants a friend too)

Floyd: What?! That's no fun! Being lonely almost as bad as being bored! He kind of thrives on attention/entertainment so I feel like his solution is just to drag you wherever he goes. YOU have to be the one to say that no, you have to go to your own class not his.

Jade: While I do think he would be most manipulative if you told him you're lonely, I think it would be tame - akin to "hey eat this weird mushroom" or dragging you on a hike you are NOT experienced enough for as his "requirements" for companionship. He wouldn't stop hanging out if you refused, he really just likes seeing your reactions. I also don't think he'd ever kick you out of a room he's in, and he'd do his own thing while you do yours

I'm so glad you sent this because I was just thinking while I was settling to sleep that I had a lot more to say but was worried a separate post might be too much.

All Three

If there is one thing Twisted Wonderland does really well it's acknowledging the inhuman aspects of its characters. Malleus has so much magic he fails to solve problems without it, Ruggie has really sensitive hearing, Leona talks about smell a lot etc.

Point being the trio has a bunch of things they find weird about life on land. They're not really going to make fun of Yuu for feeling out of place. Assuming they don't trip and fall a whole bunch, that's just too easy.

They're technically new up here too yeah? Let them show you the ropes.

Azul

He's surprisingly soft with Yuu during events. Especially if you pick dialogue options that show intelligence or planning.

^ this happens if you get why he's selling salad cups I think?

^ and this one is if you assume you'll be using the bell of salvation to destroy the flowers

My one amendment to your idea is that I don't think he'd be shy about it at all. He'd be putting forward a show of confidence because of how he was slighted in the past. He would think your friendship was the most natural conclusion in the whole world.

Your smart. He's smarter. Together you could make some real magic! And maybe play some board games. He could use some time to relax.

Floyd

Completely right. I already talked a lot about him in my original answer, but I do think he enjoys hanging out with Yuu when he's in the mood to be social.

He's got all of that extrovert energy Idia's so afraid of, and if you start indulging him, you won't get to stop. I think he'd be really happy to have someone go along with what it is he wants to do no matter how outlandish it gets. Even better if you look like you're having fun!

I could see him say that you "owe him" for hanging out with you when he wants some of your food though.

Jade

Oh? You're lonely? What a shame. How horrible. Terrible really.

That must mean you'll have no problem signing up for his club right? Because that's very much what I could see him doing. He really wants another member to order arou- I mean enjoy the mountains with.

^ If you tell Epel you will be "Here for whatever [the team] needs." When he asks you to help run the Pit Stop, Jade immediately decides this means you will commit a crime for him. Which to be fair-

I would object to the bit about taking you on a hike you're unqualified for though. He tells you not to try climbing Mount Moln until you've done an easier one first.

Obviously I agree about the sketchy mushrooms. If he's brave enough to walk into the Culinary Crucible with them, what's Ramshackle?

Him coming to the Ramshackle guest room to sit quietly while you both do your own thing is something he'd really enjoy. You make much more interesting faces when he gives you a break from his teasing.

[ghcstao3]

Ghost goes to the bar to drink to Soap's memory where he finds... Soap? Only he is there to drink in the memory of Ghost. Neither of them have any idea of how and why, but they aren't protesting. It's nice to see a familiar face as they mourn together.

cw for unhealthy coping mechanisms

it’s also just kind of. sad 🧍‍♀️my fault for writing memory loss

-

Ghost knows it isn’t a healthy decision but it’s… about the only way he can stand thinking about it. Thinking about Soap.

Because really, drinking is a barrier. It’s said it removes inhibitions, and sure, that’s true—but it also provides a filter for his grief whether or not he runs his tongue, and that obstacle before a feeling such as mourning is all he needs. It’s all Ghost craves, in a sense.

There’s no world worth existing in peace without Soap.

As per a new and frowned-upon routine by Price, Ghost seeks out a new bar or pub to drown nagging thoughts and lingering memories until it’s time to go home and fail to fall asleep sober yet again. Ghost isn’t proud of himself in the slightest, knows he’s ruining everything Soap had rekindled in him, but it’s too late to care.

He’s alone again. He’s nothing more than the shell of a man again.

But then, maybe three or four drinks in (Ghost doesn’t know, he’s long since stopped counting during his outings), someone slips into the stool beside him and flags down the bartender. This isn’t a major revelation or anything, it’s just… strange. No one has ever dared be in close proximity with Ghost in his time mourning.

Ghost can’t find it in himself to care, though. Not until this new person speaks, and it feels as if the haze of alcohol over Ghost’s mind evaporates in an instant.

He snaps his gaze to the man beside him, wondering if he’d just been imagining things, but no—it’s Soap, somehow. The very man Ghost came here to forget. To remember.

Before Ghost gets the chance to say something, Soap seems to catch his eye and turns to face him. He offers a bright smile, though it’s nothing quite as blinding as it had once been.

Soap’s grown out his beard and his skin’s a little sallow, and not to mention the grisly scar at his temple—but it’s still Soap. Certainly not healthy, but… alive.

“What brings you here, handsome?” Soap is asking, gently nudging Ghost’s shoulder.

Ghost wants to scoff. He wants to both tease and scold Soap for flirting with him just as Ghost is only learning that Soap isn’t dead, but he doesn’t.

Instead, Ghost treads warily. He plays into whatever game this is supposed to be.

“I’m grieving,” Ghost tells him flatly.

“Oh.” Soap’s face falls. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Ghost shrugs, though his heart is in his throat. Is this some kind of a joke?

The bartender delivers Soap’s drink, and Soap doesn’t offer more than a nod of acknowledgement.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Soap says, slowly tracing the rim of his glass, “I’m… also grieving.”

At this, Ghost cocks an eyebrow. Something feels… off, about what Soap is saying, but inebriated, Ghost just can’t quite put a finger on it.

“…well, maybe grieving is the wrong word,” Soap mumbles. “I don’t… I don’t know if he’s dead, but I—I don’t remember him. I don’t remember him, but I know he was important to me, so… it only feels right.”

And isn’t that bitter.

Here Ghost mourns a man he loved, and when he learns said man is still alive—he doesn’t even remember Ghost.

But Ghost has already dug his grave. He’s already miserable. So all he can do is torture himself further.

“Tell me about him,” Ghost suggests. “What you think you know.”

Soap looks at him in a way that hurts, but Ghost listens anyway when he begins talking. When he begins recounting the tiniest details, vague memories that seem too foggy to have been truly lived by himself. Soap orders a second drink at some point, and Ghost his fourth (or fifth).

That’s when Soap suddenly cuts himself off, completely angling himself toward Ghost. Ghost acts like he doesn’t notice Soap almost reaching out to set a hand on his forearm.

“—you know what… you look really familiar.” Soap is frowning, brows furrowed like he’s trying to piece something together. “Have we met before?”

And because Ghost is a cruel man, he just shakes his head. Offers nothing more than a curt, “No, we haven’t.”

Soap sighs, almost disappointed. “Well, in that case—I’m John.”

Ghost peers down at the hand Soap holds out to be shaken, but he can’t budge from his spot to hold it. He’s almost… afraid of the touch, like the contact might reveal to him that Soap isn’t really here at all.

Soap gets the hint eventually, though he isn’t at all deterred. Especially not when Ghost supplies him, “Simon.”

“Simon,” Soap echoes, expression drifting far away for just a moment. Nearly reminiscing. “I like that.”

Ghost huffs, something that could be interpreted as a laugh by a certain someone, once upon a time.

Soap clinks his glass against Ghost’s before downing the rest of his drink. He bumps Ghost with his elbow, teasing.

“To mourning,” Soap explains.

Ghost nods. Hums, “To mourning indeed, Johnny.”

He pretends not to notice the curious look that crosses Soap’s face at the use of the nickname.

Ghost already has more than enough to process first.

[daydreaming-away-reality]

One Step Back

Jack Frost x Reader | ☁️ + ☔ + 🌠 | 7.7k | Grim Reaper!Reader

Warning: mentions of death, lots of angst

You quietly sat there, staring at the chess pieces deep in thought. The occasional breeze caused the slight creaking noises from the metal décor in the dimly lit space.

Something about the silence brought you a sense of a comfort. Compared to the cries of despair that had recently filled your ears, sitting in front of a very slow strategy game was something you preferred.

“Going to just stare at the pieces all day?”

The deep voice caused you to look up at the yellow coloured eyes that pierced into your own (E/C) eyes, you merely shrugged.

“Perhaps.”

“Not all of us have time to spare,” he responded.

“Time is irrelevant when you’re immortal,” you commented. You rested your chin on your palm as you looked straight into his eyes. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have the time.”

Pitch let out a hum of acknowledgement but made no further comment. As your chess partner, you knew he had grown use to your slow pacing. What you lacked in speed made up for in strategy though - it was enough to keep you and Pitch to play chess ever since the two of you had met. 

Sliding a piece across the board, you let out your breath as you leaned back in your chair. 

“Good game,” you softly said.

Pitch frowned as he leaned forward to check your move. As the results dawned on him, he gave a small nod.

“Good game,” he echoed.

The King of Nightmares turned his attention to you, looking at you as if he were trying to figure something out. 

“Something on your mind?”

Your constant poker face was a difficult expression to read, but somehow Pitch had a way of telling when there was something on your mind. As a grim reaper, your life was pretty monotonous. You learn about the next soul put under your care and you bring them to the afterlife when the time comes. When that was done, the cycle would repeat itself.

From serial killers to the rare newborn infant, you had seen souls at every stage of their life leave this world. 

You lived your life among humans, even though you had not been human for the past couple hundred years. Many people who lived around you didn’t see you unless you chose to be seen, letting you live your peaceful life of solitude easier. 

After having this role for so many years, you thought that things would get easier. To live with humans, watch them experience grief and pain.

From the few social gatherings with other grim reapers you had attended, you had soon realized you were softer than the others. Your job records were beautiful, but something always stuck with you.

It wasn’t easy experiencing death all the time.

It never got easier.

While this was a common experience for many new grim reapers that would eventually be accustomed, you still found yourself struggling sometimes.

“You’re too kind, (Y/N). All we need to do is make sure their soul moves on. We’re not doing anything bad.”

Even though all of that was true, the fear in the eyes of some people you were assigned to made you wonder how terrifying you were. What you resembled clearly brought a myriad of emotions, but fear was the most common one. 

“Nothing new,” you finally replied. 

Pitch gave you a look of inquiry but didn’t push any further.

He stood up, walking over to the globe in his lair. Little lights glittered across the world, showing the children of the world who believed in the Guardians.

“If the balance of the world were to change, would you be on my side?” Pitch asked.

Tilting your head, you let his words simmer in your head. 

You had never met any of the Guardians, but you recognized their role in the world. From knowing Pitch, you also knew he had a role to play in the world as well. While some saw fear as a bad thing, you recognized that some people grew stronger from their fears. Not everyone, but some rare cases.

Having heard about the last time Pitch had challenged the Guardians and failed, you knew there was bad blood between the Guardians and the Boogeyman.

If you had a to pick a side though...

You knew your role was one that would be forever bound to your duties. Wars could be fought and whatever decision you made would be insignificant.

“Death takes no sides, Pitch,” you answered with resolve. “So, I would not choose a side either.”

“Is that so?”

Even though he didn’t turn around to look at you, you gave him an uncertain small nod. Some things were inevitable, whether you desired so or not.

Sitting down on your couch and peering out the window with a warm cup of tea in your hand, you watched the rain pour down from the sky. Snuggled into your blankets, you listened to the pattering of raindrops against the glass.

Today was one of those dreary days - one that brought out sad emotions among people. The kind of day that had people mourning their lost ones.

Luckily for you, you had the day off. Or at least, you thought you could afford the day off. 

A letter appeared on the coffee table before you brought a sigh to your lips.

Setting your cup down, you lifted the letter up carefully and checked the name. 

Amber Miller.

Carefully inscribed under the name were the date of when they were born and the death.

Noting the death date, you paused. Doing some quick calculations, you realized that Amber was still young - a child. A frown appeared on your face as you stared at the simple card. 

Most of the time, you received names of those who experienced life longer than this. Chewing on your lip, you wondered if it was a good idea to go check in on this young girl now. Usually you appeared a few days before their death to see if you should make contact with the person, but with younger ones... You tried to spend more time with them so they wouldn’t be scared when time came for them.

When your eyes flickered back to the world outside your window, you noticed the rain had become little snowflakes dancing their way around the sky. 

Weather permitting or not, perhaps it would be good to step out of your house to do a check in. Amber had a week to live.

Pulling on your closet open, you stared at the various dark coloured pieces of clothing staring back at you. Like other grim reapers, your clothing mostly consisted of black, to be respectful to the dead, to not draw attention to yourself and follow the policies in place for grim reapers.

Slipping into a simple black knit sweater and skirt, you made yourself presentable. Finishing off the look with some boots, you grabbed a jacket just in case. Having gone through the process of getting ready to meet your next assignment so many times before, you weren’t too concerned.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your bedroom door and walked out of the bus shelter. The power to transport yourself through doors was one that all grim reapers had. No one around you noticed you, making everything go smoothly.

Following your instincts, you walked towards the nearby hospital. Walking past the receptionists and other patients, you immediately recognized the young brunette who was pressed up against the glass staring at the snow in awe.

Something about her soul seemed familiar to you, but you weren’t sure why. 

She was dressed in the typical patient attire with a paper wristband on, confirming your suspicions around why you were here. Amber was sick.

Walking over until you were standing next to her, you turned to watch the snow with her.

“I wish I could go outside and feel the snow,” she commented.

With no one else around, you decided to check your suspicions. 

“Would you like to step outside with me for a bit?” you asked quietly.

Amber’s brown eyes looked up at you with excitement. “Really?”

You nodded, offering your hand out to her. “Really, we’ll only be out for a moment, so nobody will even notice we’re gone.”

The enthusiastic nod and hand now in yours confirmed things. She could see you. While most grim reapers didn’t like showing themselves before it was time, the fear of growing emotional attachments was common, you made the effort.

“I’m Amber. What’s your name?”

“I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you.”

Walking down a quieter hallway, you lead the two of you towards the small outdoor space on the side of this hospital wing. No one would step out in this weather, so it’d make it easier for the two of you. Taking Amber outside, you shrugged off your jacket and slipped it around her shoulders the moment you two were outside.

“Will you be cold?” she asked, eyes wide as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

You shook your head. “I’ll be okay.”

The oversized jacket on her made you smile as she excitedly tried to catch snowflakes on her tongue. The sight of someone who was still so hopeful towards life, you could feel a deep sense of sadness within you. As you looked up at the sky, the sound of another voice surprised you.

“You don’t look dressed for the winter weather.”

Attention immediately moving towards the source, you found yourself staring at a boy with beautiful blue eyes and silvery white hair. An amused quirk of a smile graced his lips as he held onto a wooden staff in his hands.

“Jack!” Amber excitedly called out as she threw herself his way. “You made it snow!”

“Ahaha, I did. I’m glad you have the chance to step outside to see it today.” Jack responded, ruffling her hair.

Your brain raced to figure out an explanation for what was happening. Amber called this newcomer Jack and associated him with the snow. Somehow this sounded familiar. As your brain tried to make a connection between the information you just received with what you knew, Jack turned his attention to you once more.

He looked you over, taking in your black attire. 

“Who this with you, Amber?”

You straightened up. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Oh, so you can see me,” Jack said with a surprised tone. He held out his hand to you. “Nice to meet you.”

You hesitated but shook his hand.

Sensing something happening inside the hospital, you pushed the door back open. “I think we should head back inside, Amber. Make sure no one noticed us sneaking away.”

“Oh, okay!” The brunette jumped up and hurried to your side. She turned around to wave at Jack. “Bye Jack!”

You looked at Jack once more, information finally clicking in place.

Jack Frost - the Guardian of Fun. 

Ducking your head, you let the door shut behind you before escorting Amber back to her room. The energetic girl was about to pull off your jacket, but you stopped her.

“Keep it,” you encouraged. “It looks better on you than it does on me.”

“Thank you!” she responded gleefully. As she sat down on her bed, she looked up at you.

“Is there anything you want to do this week, Amber?” you asked, sitting down next to her.

The young girl thought about your words and responded with a small shrug.

“I’m not sure.” Her honest words brought a small smile to your face. “Will I see you again, (Y/N)?”

You nodded. “I’ll come by and visit again tomorrow, how does that sound?”

Amber nodded. “Okay.”

Getting up, you gently pet her head. “Be a good girl for the nurses, okay?”

“I always am!”

You smiled. Slipping out of the room, you glanced back once before moving to leave the hospital.

As you stepped out of the hospital, you weren’t paying attention to the person rushing towards the doors and didn’t have any time to react. Shutting your eyes, you felt a breeze as they ran through you.

It was moments like these when you were reminded of your place in the world.

Not alive but living as if you were.

Just as you walked away from the hospital, a cool breeze ruffled your hair and someone fell into step beside you.

“So you’re a spirit as well,” Jack commented.

You looked at him. “Is... there something I can help you with?”

Surprised by your question, Jack shook his head.

“No, it’s just, we haven’t met before and I was curious about you.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turned to face him. Eyes shifting to meet his, you could see the confusion on his face.

“I’m a grim reaper.”

This new information startled him. 

Walking away, you spotted the same bus shelter and headed towards it. Having met Amber now, you had a lot on your thoughts and wanted to go home. It took a moment, but you heard Jack hurrying to catch up to you.

“Really?”

“Most people don’t want to interact with me when they know that,” you said, stopping by the bus shelter door.

“Well, you’re the first grim reaper I’ve met,” Jack responded. He paused and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Amber... there’s a reason you’re visiting her, isn’t there?”

You nodded. 

Hoping to end the conversation there, you pulled open the bus shelter door and stepped through. 

“Wait - !”

As you appeared back in your own house, Jack appeared from behind, coming through the same door you had.

The surprise the two of you shared came from very different reasons. 

You had no idea anyone could follow you through the doors. Meanwhile, Jack had no idea where you had transported the two of you to. 

“Where are we...?” Jack asked, speaking up first.

“Home. My home,” you clarified as you pulled your boots off and put them aside. Letting out a sigh, you sat down on your couch before deciding to address Jack. “Amber has one week left - I don’t plan on taking her until her time ends.”

“Why did you visit her today then?” Jack moved to sit on the armchair perpendicular to you. His tone was genuine - encouraging you to speak.

You curled up, wrapping your arms around your legs. Trying to make yourself smaller, you tried your best to pull your words together. “Life’s... not fair and death doesn’t discriminate. She’s so young... I want to make sure her last days go well at least.”

There was a blanket of silence that fell over you two. As Jack took in your words, you blankly stared at the envelope that rested on your coffee table. With how many letters you had received over the years, you had lost track of how many cases you had dealt with. 

“Maybe I can help?”

Jack’s offer caused you to look up. 

“I’m not sure what I can do, but I want to try to help,” Jack elaborated. 

“That’s nice of you, but... are you sure?” You could tell he had good intentions behind his words but you knew the choice he was making was one with difficulties that he wouldn’t realize until the pain weighed down on him. 

You were too familiar with that feeling to wish it upon anyone.

Death took a toll not only on the person who experienced it, but everyone around them as well. 

The confused look on Jack’s face indicated that he didn’t know about these effects.

“Losing someone isn’t easy,” you explained. “Do you really want to put yourself through that kind of pain?”

Your words seemed to reach him in some way as Jack’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at the ground. His silence filled the air, and you didn’t know what to do or say. 

“I know, I’ve lost people in my life before,” Jack softly responded, his words coming out slowly as he formulated his thoughts. You could tell what he experienced weighed down on him. 

It made you wonder if he had what it took to be grim reaper.

Honestly, you weren’t sure you were cut out for this line of work either. Yet here you were, a couple hundred years in and still going with no end in sight. 

“If I can do something about it and make a difference, I think it’s worth the pain.” 

His optimistic answer had you turning your gaze back outside to watching the snow fall outside the window.

“If that’s what you wish, I cannot stop you.”

“I look forward to working with you then, (Y/N).”

When you had tried to sleep that night, the sound of crying from your past kept you up.

“Time to go,” you softly urged the crying soul. 

They looked up at you, tears still streaming down their face. In the brief moments of realizing their own death, they still carried the burdens of life they experienced.

“There were still things I wanted to do. It isn’t fair,” they wailed. “Can’t I.... Can’t you do anything about it?”

Regrets. 

Almost every soul had them.

You waited. It was difficult to communicate with anyone when they were this emotional. Once the crying had been reduced to sniffles, you finally responded.

You shook your head, looking over at the unfortunate accident that left them lifeless. “You are no longer part of this world, don’t worry about things like that.”

“A little more time... I wish I had a little more time to do the things I wanted to do...”

The clear skies above held promise of a good day ahead. You stifled back a yawn as you made your way to the hospital. Restless nights were common but it never affected your work.

Once you arrived, you paused by the reception. When the receptionist looked up, their eyes met yours.

“I’m here to visit Amber Miller,” you said. “I’ll be taking her out a bit.”

"Alright,” the receptionist spoke in a trance. There was a cloudy look to their eyes. 

When you turned away, you could hear them resuming to their work as if the encounter between the two of you never happened. 

Walking into Amber’s room, you could see her face light up when she saw you.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Amber,” you greeted. “You ready to go?”

She bobbed her head enthusiastically. After you reminded her to dress for the weather, she quickly bundled up before standing in front of you. 

Taking her hand, the two of you walked through the hallways unnoticed and made your way outside.

A figure showed up with a chilly gust before the two of you.

“Jack!” Amber exclaimed.

“Sorry for running late,” Jack said with a smile. His blue eyes flickered over to yours, trying to get a read of your placid expression but unable to do so. He turned back to Amber. “The snow is perfect for building snowmen, you up for it?”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s go then.” You acknowledged Jack. With him leading the way, your (E/C) eyes wandered back, noticing another grim reaper leading a soul away. 

Hospitals were always a busy place for grim reapers. 

“Here we are!” Jack cheered as you all arrived an untouched patch of snow. “The perfect spot, if I do say so myself.”

“(Y/N),” Amber said with a tug on your hand. “Can you help me build a snow bear?”

“A snow bear?” you asked, a smile on your face. “It’s been a while since I’ve built anything in the snow, but sure!”

“Yay! Let’s build a super big one! You and Jack are in charge of the head then.”

You exchanged a look with Jack as Amber scurried off to start her snowball. 

“You heard her,” you said, tilting your head at Amber. Pulling out gloves from your pocket, you slipped them on. “I’m going to need your expert help if we’re going to make this the best snow bear.”

“Alright, let’s do this.” 

After letting Jack start off the snowball (he had made the bold claim that yours wasn’t good enough and that was thrown at him with a feigned cry of offense), the two of you worked together in creating a head for Amber’s snow bear.

With a lot of playing in the snow between you, Jack and Amber, the day passed by quickly. Letting Jack do the heavy lifting, the snow bear was nearing its completion. 

Watching Amber giddily bounce around the two of you, you couldn’t help but smile. 

“We’re still missing the face,” you commented.

“I got it!” Amber exclaimed, holding out some rocks. 

You crouched down and held your arms out to Amber. Her eyes lit up when she realized what you were offering. Moving into your arms, you lifted her up so she could have a better reach of adding the face to her snow bear. 

As she added the final touches, your (E/C) eyes met a pair of blue ones. Jack had moved to stand next to you without you noticing. While it had not startled, you were suddenly aware of how things were feeling like an intimate family moment.

“Ta-da!” Amber cheered as she put on the final rock.

You and Jack let out some cheers as well. Considering the fact that you had never made a snow bear before, this one was pretty cute. 

“Looks amazing.” Jack commented.

You nodded in agreement. “It does. Great work, Amber.”

Amber turned so she could look at the two of you. “Thanks for helping!”

“Nah, you did most of the work,” Jack modestly said.

Noticing rosy cheeks, you bopped Amber’s nose. “You look like you’re getting cold.” Before the girl could protest, you offered her a smile. “Shall we grab some hot cocoa and head back?”

Your proposition immediately brought a bright smile to her face.

It was moments like these that you weren’t sure whether or not that you should be happy or sad. 

Almost as if he sensed your uncertainty, Jack clapped his hands. 

“Let’s go.”

“(Y/N)! Jack!” 

Amber’s delighted cheer greeted the two of you as you arrived the next day. 

“Hi Amber,” you greeted. 

“Hey,” Jack chimed in.

Amber climbed out of her bed and gave you both a bright smile. “Are we going to do something fun again today?”

You nodded. “Can you go get ready? There’s somewhere cool that I want to show you today.”

She excitedly nodded and hurried around the room to get ready. 

Meanwhile, you turned to look at the winter spirit standing next to you.

“Did you know I was coming now?” you teasingly asked Jack. “I don’t remember telling you when I was coming by again today.”

Jack gave you a charming smile. “I had a feeling. Looks like I was right though.”

He took the time to look around the room, but he found himself watching you in the end. Adorned in all black again, Jack still thought that there was certain aura about you that made you less scary and more caring. He wouldn’t have pinned you as a grim reaper with your personality. 

“What are the plans for today?” Jack asked, lowering his voice so Amber wouldn’t hear.

You pretended to zip your lips. 

“Aw, no hint at all?”

You laughed. “I can give you one hint.” 

Walking over to Amber’s bed, you straightened up a few of her animal plushies and gave a pointed look to Jack.

“That’s all you’re getting.”

Jack made a face at you. “You’re terrible at giving hints. That could mean so many things.”

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him.

“I’m ready!” Amber called out, pulling on an oversized black jacket. 

“Let’s go then,” you said. 

As you went to open the door and lead your trio out on a trip, Jack took a moment to chat with Amber. 

“The jacket looks a little big on you,” he commented.

Amber nodded. “It’s from (Y/N)! She let me have it.”

Jack let out a hum of understanding as he walked beside Amber towards the door. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of appreciation towards you, even if he wasn’t the one who was receiving the kindness from you. 

You were someone special, Jack could feel it.

Once you all went through the door, Amber let out a squeal when she realized where you all had been transported to. There were animals and families everywhere, the air filled with chatter of all the living beings. 

“I know you like animals, so I brought you to a petting zoo,” you explained to Amber. Your (E/C) eyes noticed the bright smile on Jack’s face as well. Looks like the Guardian of Fun approved of this trip. “Ready to meet some animals?”

Amber clapped her hands happily. “Ready!”  

Taking the time to see all the animals, you heard Jack chuckle when you guys approached the bunny enclosure. When he noticed your curious gaze, Jack smiled.

“They remind me of a certain spirit I know,” he explained.

“The Easter Bunny?” you guessed.

“Yeah, although, he seems more kangaroo than bunny sometimes.”

You giggled at his comment. “I would love to see him one day.”

“You’ve never seen him?” Jack asked, surprised.

“You don’t get to meet many other spirits in my line of work.”

“Ah.”

You waved your hand to brush off his comment. Sometimes, as much as you felt alive and hopeful, deep down you knew that being a grim reaper was part of who you were now. Getting to spend time like this with others and Jack... you would cherish this. 

After you dropped Amber back off at the hospital and had her settled back down, you and Jack lingered around for a bit. Amber had been so happy today, it was hard to believe that this little girl only had a numbered amount of days left to live. 

You turned to Jack to say something, but the sound of approaching voices made you stop. You thought about leaving, but something kept you in place. One of the voices belonged to Amber’s nurse. The others... sounds familiar.

“She’s been fine lately.”

“Is there a chance her condition will improve?”

“The chance of that happening is rare - young patients like her in our long term care unit with her conditions...”

You completely tuned out the nurse when the sight of a tired looking couple walked towards you and Jack. Looking at the couple intensely, you then turned back to catch a glimpse of Amber. 

That feeling from before. 

The familiarity of Amber’s soul.

Everything seems to click for you when you saw her parents. You’ve seen them before.

“(Y/N)?” Jack called out to you as you stepped back in almost a retreating manner.

“I...” 

The memory of a blank letter page held in your hands brought you a sense of uncertainty.

“I should go,” you decided. “Thank you for spending the time with me and Amber today, Jack.”

With that, you turned and disappeared through a door before the Guardian of Fun could do anything to decipher your stranger behaviour.

When you got back home, a memory from a few years ago vividly resurfaced. 

Having just finished delivering one soul, you had found another letter waiting for you to deal with. Work had been relentless for you for the last few days. While there was always work to do, this week in particular had been non stop work.

After glancing at the name in the letter, you turned back around to deal with the soul left in your care. 

They were expected to leave today. 

Finding yourself in the hospital, you let out a sigh as you looked around. Your eyes paused as you looked at the couple, presumably the parents of the soul you were here to take. They sat outside the operation room and looked anxious. 

Understandable. 

You moved on, moving closer to the operation room. Sounds of the doctors and nurses working relentlessly, trying their best to help the young girl in the room reached your ears. You could sense her soul hanging onto life.

Human life in situations like this always felt so fragile.

The heartbeat monitor let out a shrill noise and the energy in the room grew frantic. Although you were supposed to get ready to seek out the soul you were here for, something felt off. 

There was an unshakable feeling that something wasn’t right. 

Pulling out the letter, you checked it once more.

Only to find the page blank.

Your (E/C) eyes narrowed as you flipped the page over to make sure you weren’t seeing things. 

Still blank.

Listening carefully once more, you could hear the regular beeping of the heartbeat monitor again. 

A miracle. 

It was extremely rare, but sometimes the letters were wrong if something miraculous happened and the soul was not ready to leave. 

This meant more paperwork for you to do, but the girl would live for now.

Turning away from the operation room, you left.

The girl that you had originally meant take a few years ago.

Fate had you back again for your unfinished work.

You took a few hours to let yourself process the new found information and rest but then pushed yourself to get back to it.

If Amber only had a limited amount of time, you wanted to have her spend days well. Seeing her again the next day without Jack, you had brought her to the hospital cafeteria and let her enjoy her favourite foods.

Perhaps it was because of your strange visiting hours, but you tried not to bump into Jack. Sure, he was understanding the first time you when you explained your line of work to him. But what if he found out that you were here a second time for this young girl? What would he think then? Would he still want to hang around you? He would probably be like everyone else and believe that you were the indirect cause to her death.

Regardless, from what you heard from Amber, Jack still made the time to visit despite you not being there.

It only took another day or two before you started noticing the signs of fear and worry from Amber.

“(Y/N)?” Amber called out to you as the two of you sat by the window in her room. You turned to look at her, watching her wide eyes stare at you as she clutched her stuffed toy tightly. “I’m scared.”

“What’s scaring you?” you asked quietly. 

“Mommy and daddy seemed worried... a lot more than usual.” The sadness in the young girl’s voice broke your heart. “They keep talking to the nurses and doctors... I think they know something about me that’s making them sad.”

You let her words sink in as you tried to find the right words to say to comfort her.

“Adults are always worried about things. Amber, it’s okay to feel the way you feel, but I hope you remember that you can also make your parents the happiest.”

Later that night, Amber had fallen asleep listening to a story you were telling her. As you stood nearby watching her sleep, you couldn’t believe how fast time was moving by. 

There wasn’t much time left now.

It was like an unspoken truth that everyone including Amber seemed to know.

“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

The deep voice startled you. 

Coming out from the shadows of the room was Pitch, his eyes gleaming on the little light that came from the night light in the room. 

“Pitch,” you greeted. “What are you doing here?”

“I sensed fear,” Pitch responded, moving closer to the bed. He looked at Amber, then his eyes flickered back to you. “I’m sure you sense it too.”

You nodded. Pitch knew your profession, he would know exactly why you were here. 

Although the two of you had not played chess in a while due to his choice in actions, the strange relationship between the two of you still existed. Neither of you would cease to exist as you were both immortal.

“Her nightmares would be powerful,” Pitch commented.

You immediately frowned and defensively moved towards him. “No.”

“Do you intend to stop me?” 

“For her, I’d do anything to stop you right now.”

Pitch stepped back, then took a few steps around the room. “I thought you said you wouldn’t take sides.” He moved closer to you, fingers touching your chin and tilting your head back to stare into your (E/C) eyes. “What is happening now, little miss grim reaper?”

The door to the room opened slightly and someone slipped in. 

Turning to see who it was, you immediately froze.

“Pitch! And... (Y/N)?”

Jack looked at the two of you with a mix of emotions. It was clear enough that he was in disbelief though.

“Ah, the Guardian of Fun,” snarled Pitch. “Did you come here to play?”

Hearing this, Jack immediately raised his staff and pointed it at Pitch. It wavered though, when he realized how close to Pitch you were.

Regardless, it didn’t stop the rough tone of his voice when he directed his words to you.

“(Y/N), you know Pitch?”

“Know me? Of course she does,” Pitch responded. “We’ve known each other for hundreds of years.”

Jack’s eyes questioned you, waiting for your response. 

You didn’t want to lie, but the truth was probably one he didn’t want to hear.

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” you acknowledged. 

Betrayal flickered on Jack’s face and Pitch seemed to notice that. 

“Ah, I see you must of have met (Y/N) just recently,” Pitch commented. He moved towards Jack despite the staff being point his way. “Death and fear, what a combination, am I right?”

“Leave. Now.” Jack demanded.

The sound of frost crackling on the windows seemed to remind Pitch that he wasn’t as strong as the Guardian before him. His yellow eyes met yours and he could tell that he had no advantage here. 

Wordlessly, he disappeared back into the shadows, leaving you and Jack behind.

“Jack - “

“You should leave too,” Jack coldly said. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

His words hurt. But you knew that now wasn’t the time to explain yourself. The enemy he had fought a few years ago with a girl he met only days ago who was a grim reaper. Even you knew it was a strange sight. You didn’t owe Jack any explanation, but you wanted to explain things to him later on. 

Ducking your head, you moved around him towards the door. 

“She only has two days left,” you said as you reached the door. “I will be back, whether you like it or not. I have a job to do.”

With that, you opened the door and went through.

Amber’s condition was getting worse. 

When you had the chance, you would pop by and check up on her. At this stage, you could not take her out to go out and play anymore. But you made the effort to bring her surprises and chat with her.

Time was running out.

You still had a job to do.

During those next two days, you didn’t see Jack at all. After the encounter with him and Pitch, you weren’t sure what more you could say to the Guardian of Fun. You had told him almost every from the beginning. 

What did he expect? 

Hopefully, he would have taken some time to realize that death did not take sides. It was simply a part of life. To live and to die. The chance of you taking sides with Pitch was never going to be a reality.

Regardless, you tried not to bump into him if you could. 

It seemed like the two of you needed space.

But that evening of the second day, you had a strong feeling that things were drawing to a close and you stuck around. If Jack showed up, then so be it. 

He wasn’t going to stop you from doing your job.

He couldn’t, even if he tried.

“(Y/N)?”

You turned look at Amber, reaching out to hold her outstretched hand. 

“Are you and Jack fighting?” she asked. “How come you two don’t visit me together?”

You gave her a bitter smile. Children. They always sensed when things were different much sooner than adults. They caught onto emotions so easily. They were always the most innocent when it came to death. 

Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, you pat her head.

“We just had a misunderstanding, Amber.”

“Do you need to talk to him?”

“I probably should.”

Amber pointed to the space behind you. “Maybe you should talk to him now then.”

Turning, you spotted the Guardian of Fun. His blue hoodie pulled up as he stood there, leaning against the wall and watching the two of you. You weren’t sure how long he had been there, but you knew Amber had a point. 

It was now or never.

If you let this chance pass you by, you might let this misunderstanding stay between the two of you forever.

The sound of voices outside in the hallways made you tilt your head slightly, trying to better listen to who it was. Recognizing them as the doctors and Amber’s parents, you knew this was your best chance to step aside.

“Yeah, I’ll go do that.” You leaned in closer to Amber. “Make sure you take the time now to say what you want to mom and dad, okay?”

“I’m running out of time, aren’t I?” Amber asked, voice quivering.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Every part of you knew that these would be her last moments. She deserved to know.

“I’m sorry,” you softly whispered back. “I’ll be here to guide you when it is time though, okay?”

Amber nodded. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

She opened her arms out to you for a hug. While you were holding onto her embrace, you felt another set of arms wrap around the two of you. The cool presence you recognized had to belong to the only other spirit in the room. 

Once the group hug was done, Amber shooed you and Jack out to talk just as her parents made their way inside her room.

“Let’s go this way,” you said, leading the way to a quieter hallway. Jack silently followed behind you.

Standing in the empty hallway, you and Jack stood there for a moment before you knew you had say something.

“Do you really think Pitch and I had something between us?” you asked, gauging for a reaction.

“It sounds like the two of you have known each other for a long time,” Jack pointed out. 

“We have,” you agreed. ��We play chess together sometimes. But that’s about it.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

Jack paused, but could only nod his head. “Fair enough.”

You fidgeted with the bracelet on your wrist as you gathered your thoughts. You didn’t need to tell Jack everything, but you felt like you should. You had grown to care and perhaps even like the Guardian of Fun, you didn’t want to lose him over something that felt as trivial as this.

“Not many people would ever befriend a grim reaper,” you explained, voice quiet. “It’s a lonely existence. Even among other grim reapers, its hard to fit in when I carry the weight of every soul I take like someone who was turned recently when I’m one of the most experienced reapers out there. Most of the other grim reapers have grown numb to the task, but that’s something I just can’t do.”

“(Y/N)…” Jack reached out to you.

When his fingers brushed up against your cheek, you looked up at him and Jack could see your glassy (E/C) eyes. You carried a lot more than what you were willing to show. 

“Death takes no sides,” you recited. “What Pitch was implying... Its not something that could ever happen.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, pulling his hood down and taking a step closer to you. “I...”

Before he could finish forming his thought, there was a commotion from the direction of Amber’s room. 

You knew immediately what was happening having experienced it so many times before. It never got any easier. Wiping at the unfallen tears in your eyes, you straightened up and brushed your clothes down with your hands. Hopefully you looked presentable enough.

“It’s Amber, isn’t it?” Jack asked, worry evident on his face. 

“It’s time,” you murmured just loud enough for him to catch. 

Walking towards the room, you stood a short distance away from the door. Jack had followed you, hovering nearby. He reminded you of the new grim reapers that you mentored a long time ago. Nervous and scared. 

A light figure of a soul stepped out of the room. When her eyes caught sight of the two of you, a smile appeared on her face as she approached.

“(Y/N)! Jack! Did you get the chance to talk?” Amber asked.

You nodded, crouching down to her height. “We did. Did you get the chance to tell mom and dad everything?”

“Not everything...” Amber said, looking back at the room. The muffled sound of crying came from the closed door. “Do you think they know?”

“Of course,” Jack reassured her. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Moms and dads always have a way to know what you can’t say.”

This brought a smile to Amber’s face. 

For someone who never had to experience this, Jack was doing fine. Seeing them interact made the bubble of sadness inside you grow. Now was not the time to show how you felt. You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out the letter. It fluttered out of your hand and landed on the door at the end of the hall. 

A light glow emitted from the other side of the closed door.

You held your hand out to Amber. “It’s time for us to go.”

“Bye, Jack,” Amber said as she took your hand. 

Jack gave her a small wave. “Bye, Amber.”

Giving Amber one last moment to linger, you led her towards the door. Like every child that you were responsible for, you hoped that if Amber had another chance at life, may she live a long, healthy and happy life.

Opening the door, you took a deep breath, looked down at the little girl you were with and stepped through it together.

The next few days were quiet for you luckily. After Amber, it was like the someone knew you needed time to recover and gave you a break.

You took the chance to hole up at home, hiding under blankets as you tried your best to manage your sadness. 

Your tears had dried up, your heart still felt heavy, but you were still here. 

Being a grim reaper was tough.

The sound of knocking on your front door was what dragged you off your couch. Cracking the door open, you were surprised to see a magical snow bunny dance in front of you before turning into a small shower of sparkling snowflakes.

“Surprised?” 

You turned to see Jack watching you from the side, casually leaning against his staff.

“Jack,” you said, looking at him. “How’d you find me?”

“I came by one time, remember?” Jack approached you. At the sight of your still swollen eyes from these last few days, his expression softened. “Mind if I come in?”

You nodded, letting him inside. 

Jack left his staff by your entrance, propped up against the wall.

He came into your place with a bit of familiarity, yet still looked around as if this were his first time here. His eyes settled on the pile of blankets on your couch. 

As you trailed after him, you were startled when he turned around and swept you into a hug. Despite being the bringer of winter and cold, Jack’s hug felt warm and comforting. His breath tickled your ears as he held you close.

“I’m not very good at saying the right things to comfort people,” he admitted softly. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, snuggling into his embrace. Your response drew a relieved sigh out of Jack as he pulled you in closer. He gently pet your hair as he let you hang onto the much needed comfort you needed the last few days. There were no more tears left inside of you to cry and having someone here for you was more than enough.

After some time, you shyly stepped back from Jack. He was reluctant to let you go though, hands still placed on your shoulders.

“Thank you. For being here with me.” You mull of your thoughts for a moment before ultimately deciding to voice them to the man in front of you. Meeting his eyes, you try your best to not let any emotions show in your words. “Jack, perhaps you shouldn’t spend any more time with me.”

Confusion settled on his face. “(Y/N)...”

“Being a grim reaper is like being surrounded by sadness and death. No spirits like interacting with us. Humans think we’re a bad omen. It just comes with the profession - we’re not meant to get attached to anyone.”

“That’s not true,” Jack gently protested. His hand caressed your cheek, causing heat to rise to your face as he looked down at you. “I see you, (Y/N). After everything we’ve been through this last while, I have a pretty good understanding of who you are. You can’t let your job define you.” 

He gazed into your eyes, checking for any signs of rebuttal or conflict. It was the glimmer of hope he saw from you that gave him the confidence. 

Jack leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Give yourself a chance,” he murmured as he leaned his forehead against yours. “And if you feel the same way as I do, give me a chance too.”

While his confession surprised you a little, you knew deep down, you had felt the same connection he was feeling.

Raising a hand, you touch Jack’s cheek. It felt as warm as how your own were feeling. 

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as you help me along the way.”

“For you, anything.”

[ladyluscinia]

There are obviously some people not taking Edward's S2 arc very well. Or - more often - twisting it to fit into absolutely wild takes and then pretending they are taking it well while everyone else is wrong and problematic for beliefs like "S2 clearly establishes Edward was harming his entire crew in his depressive spiral and he's still in the process of making that right." One of them wrote this section from a post that I found absolutely fascinating (if also wildly off base) in the way it buys into Edward's clearly faulty POV without hesitation...

...and I really want to talk about Knife Parade now.

Because I don't think that's what's going on here, obviously.

Edward has internalized some very fucked up shit in his piracy career, a lot of it probably going back to his time with Calico Jack (and others? Fang was with him for 20 years, and Izzy "all his fucking life"?) under Captain Hornigold, aka the man who killed Felix the cabin boy by feeding him a live crab. Edward didn't really emulate Hornigold until Kraken Era because he hated the man, but we can see from how he and Jack act in 1x08 that he still developed a very skewed understanding of violence and social bonding.

And, as unpleasant as it makes him, the Edward of the past was absolutely the kind of guy to "fuck with his crew like that for shits and giggles."

Like - hold the defensiveness because this is not a one-to-one comparison - Edward describing chasing Fang around screaming and terrified as just a fun game sounds like how someone's childhood bullies would describe tormenting them. Bullies often feel like they were just joking around or just playing a game, even when the other party was clearly not having a good time. The show even invokes this with Nigel and Stede in the first episode.

And the reason bullies typically feel this way is because the social environment that they are in treats their behavior as acceptable (or fails to treat it as unacceptable because adults/other children are consciously or subconsciously designating the bullied kids as fair targets).

Edward thought chasing after Fang with a knife and shouting "come here you little fucker" was okay because he grew into adulthood in a culture where that and way worse was normal. Maybe he even got the idea watching an adult do it to someone (for likely non-playful reasons). He was probably older and/or higher ranked than Fang, in a culture where rank entirely out-ranks obligations to give a shit about someone else's feelings.

Just think about how he describes being Captain:

"Oh fuck no. Apologizing? Nah. Didn't apologize for jack shit."

The idea Edward didn't want to hurt Fang is not even on the table, because he didn't pay enough mind to the people below him to register hurting them was even a thing his "fun" actions could do. He's entirely rewritten the events in his mind.

And, again, this is a funny joke and a very understandable mindset to develop that literally no one has ever pushed back on until this moment, so good for Edward thinking back and going "oh fuck I guess Knife Parade was less Yardies and more Torturing Felix" and then immediately acknowledging that Fang has justifiable basis for beef with him. That's pretty big of him. Growth.

But "didn't care about Fang being terrified to the point he legit forgot because peer-accepted behavior" is still not quite the same thing as "genuinely didn't realize Fang was terrified" lol

[monicahar]

—guide on how to fluster the wanderer in four simple steps!

ever wanted your mean lil gremlin of a lover to blush before your very eyes? well, well, you've come the right person!

gn! reader, crack & fluff, dark humor cuz obv i will never miss a chance to bully scara, gets suggestive at the end cause why not djsjsjdjdj idk what im doing i have 26 drafts collecting dust and this is the first thing i finished 💀 help me

# i. choose the appropriate time to strike.

this is the most essential factor in making your huffy lover get embarrassed and not accidentally behead you in a fit.

(he'd never do such a thing on purpose, atleast.)

failing to follow in accordance to this particular step will certainly lead to unwanted consequences such as;

ignoring you the whole day(😦), blasting you off onto another nation(😨), a slight chance of having your head not intact by the end of the day(😰), no warm huggie wuggies from your pretty boyfie(😫) and the ever-dreaded deprivation of authority over his hat(😱)—you couldn't bear to not wear it for a bare minimum of 10 minutes a day!

but if it all comes to shove and you successfully select the perfect timing to initiate your relentless attack on his pride and ego, you might as well prepare your fragile heart for a blessing of a sight such as reddened cheeks present on his fair face as everything from now will be considered smooth sailing! not that hard now, is it?

“you've been gawking at me for a while. what do you want?” you don't flinch a bit when he abruptly closes the book he was previously reading, turning his head to meet your staring eyes with a bothered glare of his own.

ignoring his rather harsh acknowledgement of your silent yearning for his attention to be woven towards you instead of that book he's holding, you blink to yourself as something hits you. he raises a brow at your silence and the seemingly fleeting moment of enlightenment that crosses your blank expression.

the quietude and solitary peace of the room and its atmosphere along with him not throwing his book at you from staring at him basically the whole time he was engorging himself in the piece literature he's holding strongly suggested he was in a good mood.

a perfect moment to strike arises!

# ii. formulate the right approach.

whether your attack should be mild/teasing or rather heated/steamy—it heavily depends on the situation you've chosen and deemed as the appropriate time to strike.

take note of some his small actions to concur what he's feeling at the moment—is he feeling a tad bit annoyed? is he currently in one his clingy moods? does he look like he wants to murder you? or is he just neutral, awaiting for something to interrupt the usual streak of normalcy and growing boredom in his day?

but right now, in your current time—he was just reading his book before he finally picked up and confronted your lengthened staring burning the side of his face.

so something a bit more on the light teasing side would fit. if you brought up some type of dirty joke right now amidst the very normal and quiet day you both are having, he'd probably stand up, approach you with his light footsteps, and backhandedly slap you across the face for being such a horndog.

(that was a joke, for legal reasons. he's more likely to just squint his eyes at you weirdly and continue on reading his book, resulting into the failure of your plan to see him get embarrassed. game over.)

choosing to be a clever dog just this once, you coordinate your attack to match up along with your reply to his earlier question—barking back with the intention to strike at one of his weak points only open to his lover; his perfected features that make up his beautiful face.

raising a hand to your cheek as to feign shyness from being caught red-handed by staring at him, you let out a hearty giggle to soothe his nerves—his frown immediately dissipating from the sound of your laughter. his last defensive barrier: shattered. shutting your eyes knowingly as you raise a cup of bitter tea to your lips, you already know you've won.

“hehe, my bad. you just look a bit more handsome today.”

“...”

a beat of silence overcomes the short exchange of words.

it might seem light or weak to others, heck, even you see it as a bit pathetic, but to the complete virgin former harbinger, he views it totally differently from how others would have expected.

a small push filled with sincerity and truth is his breaking point a hundred percent of the time.

lifting your eyelids as you place your teacup down, your heart clenches at the sight before you.

# iii. relish in the rare moment of weakness.

soak it all up as much as you can. but don't let greed take over you at the taste of victory.

moments such as these aren't anywhere near common at all. your excitement is nearly overflowing but you have to keep yourself still as to not ruin it for yourself.

you're so used to being shut down and ending in utter failure when trying to pry a positive reaction from him—that you could probably just burst from happiness alone when he finally concedes relents to your teasing.

you'd have to hold yourself down from pouncing on him from the display of sheer cuteness he's currently presenting to you, albeit you were quite annoyed with how he's trying hard to hide the rosy cheeks and ears you adored underneath the shadow of his hat.

why is he wearing his hat inside your shared inn? you don't know.

pushing yourself off from your seat, you quietly approach the man sitting across from you, cautious in your movements as to not startle and scare him away at this small window of vulnerability—already well-informed of his past experiences regarding it.

gently lifting his hat up and discarding it onto a nearby tabletop, he stares at you with wide eyes as you quickly swoop down to peck his forehead, and then down to his lips before pulling away just as hastily.

the caught-off-guard look on his face makes you coo at the sight in the back of your mind.

eyeing his flushed state, you can't help but let out a soft sigh as you seat yourself on his lap, wrapping your hands around him to pull him closer, chests against each other's as he remains stiffened underneath your loving hold.

cute.

“handsome.” you mutter, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. “my handsome boy.”

# iv. now, freestyle. 😼

do you want to cut the moment short, play hard to get and leave him wanting for more? or do you want to prolong the playful mood—and quite possibly, lead it into something more?

if you've started something, then you're surely going to finish it, right?

the wanderer, after all—dislikes people when they're all bark and no bite.

“you said that just to tease me, didn't you?” his clammy hands that were suspended in the air for so long out of surprise finally made themselves home to your hips, his hold on it nearly bruising as he desperately tries to calm down his erratic emotions. “always think you're so funny, huh.” he mutters.

“i supposed so, initially. it still held truth in the end though. i like your cute reactions.” you admit with a lop-sided smile, cupping his burning cheek as you slight lean away to look at him wholly. “a very handsome boyfriend, indeed.” you nod in affirmation, making him narrow his eyes.

his blush is now non-existent as he's now back to his normal self, having gained composure as quickly as it left the moment you sat yourself on his lap. he was cute earlier, avoiding your gaze and all that, but this side of him was undoubtedly way more attractive. his exuding confidence always never fails to drive you crazy.

a shiver makes it way down your spine when an all-knowing smirk makes its way to his lips.

“alright then, [name].” he leans back on his chair, his hands not leaving your hips to keep you anchored atop of him, the expanse of his lean body now a lot more visible to you. “what's your next course of action? are you going to stand up and disappoint me? ...or are you going to live up to the hinted suggestions of your less-than-friendly touches just now?”

there it was. that daring gaze of his.

are you going to continue upholding the streak of normalcy you didn't know you were both capable of, or will you give in to your desires?

and then nahida barges in, slaps both of you with an overgrown radish and everyone starts behaving like proper educated adults 🥰 the end.

[sunshine-jesse]

In defense of Andrew Graves: Facing Yourself​

Alt title: Andrew Graves: The Will to Plow Her

I think my analysis of Andrew is one of the best essays I've written so far. But since then, I think I've expanded my understanding of his character in a way that urges me to add on to my prior essay. What I intend on doing is further fleshing out my reading of Burial, and going deeper in detail on why I think Decay ends up panning out the way it does. This essay will end up sharing a lot of text with my prior one, but will add enough scattered throughout that I think it merits a complete reread instead of just scrolling down and seeing what's new.

I've focused a lot on Ashley in my past writings. She's my favorite character in the story (and depending on how episode 3 pans out, maybe ever) and I'm pretty mortified by how some parts of the fandom have reacted towards her, so I pretty much made it my life's mission to push back against that. From highlighting the ways Andrew mistreats her, to coming up with justifications for her behavior that aren't just being a manipulative bitch, I really wanted to prove that a more favorable picture of her could be painted than most were willing to.

But in doing so, I've left Andrew in the dust.

In highlighting his flaws and the ways he mistreats Ashley, I think I've implied a level of intentionality to his actions that I don't believe he has. When I say that Ashley did nothing wrong, it's in direct response to the idea that she holds the most responsibility and agency in how their dynamic plays out, when in reality, I believe she has very little. Most of her actions in-story are in reaction to a variety of stimuli that come directly from Andrew, that he has control over and are aware of how Ashley feels about. His refusal to use clear and direct language to deny her most toxic tendencies causes her more and more stress as time goes on, and instead of giving her clear answers he opts to be catty, passive-aggressive, or, at his worst, threatening. Never direct and never clear, except when establishing boundaries over his name after the choking scene. Andrew fails to help Ashley be better in some frankly depressing ways throughout the whole story, especially in their childhoods, so we never get to see where she'd fall short if given a better influence.

...

Kind of. More on that later!

In mentioning his thing about preferring to be called Andrew instead of Andy, I also implicitly mention one of the places where Ashley falls short in their dynamic and could stand to do better: recognition.

This scene says a lot. It's the most heartbreaking scene in the game, if you ask me, and probably the single most profound and well-written moment in the entire story. I could write a whole 2000 word essay on it alone, but I've already said most of what I have to say about it through what I've said in other essays, so I'll spare you all that. Instead, I'll use it to highlight something:

"I had fun."

Their dysfunction is fun to her. She's so used to abuse and alienation that even the most awful, stressful (as far as we know) route of the game is still fun to her. And that's not a sign of her being a secret evil sociopath or whatever; that's actually not abnormal behavior to develop for a lifelong victim of abuse. Those highs and lows, those strong emotional highs and lows are -addicting-. They're -fun.- Part of why abuse victims get into so many abusive relationships is because it's easy to pick up on those patterns of thought and take advantage of them, and the cycle of abuse is often furthered when a victim of abuse tries to draw out mutually abusive behaviors in someone with no interest in having that kind of dynamic.

This is where I'm willing to acknowledge Ashley's manipulative tendencies. Not just as a matter of controlling Andrew for its own sake, purely out of jealousy or possessiveness, but as a matter of trying to further the only dynamic she's ever known in her life. Better the devil you know, right?

That push and pull- that emotional rollercoaster- is all many of us know. And it's all Ashley knows. This dynamic is something she's so used to that she reacts incredibly harshly to any attempt to change it, because she doesn't know that things can be better. Because of this, she refuses to engage with who Andrew really is, and tells herself- and him- that she *hates* Andrew:

This scene is almost as heartbreaking as the above one in a lot of ways.

Andrew putting his foot down about the Andy/Andrew name dichotomy wasn't arbitrary and it wasn't just about his comfort. It was about Andrew giving a clear indication about what needs to happen for their relationship to improve. He's recognizing the cycle between them and wants to put a stop to it, because he's confident that things between them CAN get better and evolve into something healthier. Ashley, not understanding that their dynamic can get better, because their "fun" little push and pull of abuse is all she knows, rejects that. She rejects the unknown, and says- in Andrew's mind at least- that she'll never accept that new dynamic, nor will she accept who he really is.

Ouch. No wonder he looks so sad in that screenshot.

They have a conflict of understanding here, and I think it's fair to pin most of the responsibility on Ashley. Andrew was clear in what he wanted, and Ashley just... Didn't. She didn't see the importance of it ("...whatever that means in practice") and didn't really ask. This gap in communication, perfectly displayed in this scene, is likely what causes the Decay ending. He wants things to be better, and wants to treat Ashley better, and whether or not he understands the ways in which she communicates with him is in part what determines what he sees her as.

But there's a lot of evidence that he always wanted things to be better, that he always wanted to treat her better. But external factors have made it very, very difficult, and I think there are two key points in which he started to shed the importance of those external factors and seek that better relationship, both of which happening in the apartment: The killing of the warden and the 302 lady. In the first case, he was forced to do it to protect Ashley in a way he hadn't done before, or depending on how you look at it, since the death of Nina. But the intentionality was the key point here. After this point, he calls Ashley Leyley, which may or may not seem important at this point, but it's something I'll draw attention to later, so keep that in mind.

Next is the killing of the 302 lady, which is the much, much bigger point. We don't learn much about it until later on- as at first he just gives an excuse about the nail gun that doesn't line up with what we see on the map- but during the dream, it's revealed it was a calculated, intentional killing that he did to make sure there was no evidence left behind, and because Ashley (supposedly) would've wanted him to do it anyway. I say supposedly because Ashley herself doesn't seem to ever want Andrew to kill for her past Nina's death, because he only ever kills for her to defend one or both of them. If you want more evidence that violence for violence's sake isn't something she wants, look at this part in the final dream:

A knife isn't what opens the door, despite it being placed on the ground in that very map. While it seems obvious that the knife (violence) would be the key to solving the puzzle, it's put there explicitly to show you that it isn't. It's not what she wants; what she wants is a flower.

So, why is this important? Why am I centering Ashley- again- when this essay is supposed to be about Andrew?

It's because these two killings are when Andrew's self-delusion over who he really is starts to break down. It's still there, mind, as he still relies upon Ashley as an excuse to justify it, but, as well as what I've said before, the name ultimatum is an implicit confession that the normalcy he finds comfort in is starting to lose its grasp on him. There's a lot that's been said about Andy being something close to a "moral impulse" for Andrew, given his child self's reaction to Nina's death being the only thing he does that approximates a normal moral response to his and Ashley's actions, but if you do think that- which I think is a reasonable thing to think even if I don't necessarily agree- there's something you must also keep in mind:

-He- is the one who doesn't want to be called that anymore. -He- is the one who wants to let that moral impulse go, and Ashley is the one making it difficult.

That reading is assuming that Andy is a moral impulse, which I think is... either wrong or too simplistic. Every time I see that reading, it's from someone who's trying to paint him too sympathetically and absolve him of most moral responsibility. I also find it infantilizing to equate morality with childhood in such a way? But that's another tangent that I didn't sign up to talk about. What I do think, however, is that it's a useful framing device to display his own relationship with morality; the allegory to his child self doesn't have to be there for the general pattern to exist.

When Ashley starts to grill Andrew over the killing of the 302 lady, he gets mad. Very mad. Ashley sees it as pointless, as him covering his own ass, but he genuinely did it for her sake, because he thought that's what she wanted, and that it'd make her happy. But what makes her happy isn't violence- or any similarly extreme action for that matter- it's attention and validation. Something he's always reluctant to give her, despite the fact that he always chose her over the alternatives. But despite making that choice, it's always empty and meaningless, because in Ashley's mind, he never did it for her sake.

And hoo boy, does he not like it being framed like this.

He is perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to keep them happy and safe... but only for her sake. It has to be for her sake. He still needs that traditional role, and he still needs to have a narrative in which he's the good guy- a protector. Because it can't be for his sake. It can't be because that's what he wants. He has to uphold that romantic (in the literary tradition sense) ideal. His darkly romantic idealistic streak colors many of his actions and beliefs. This is most plainly visible in his quip about a double suicide being romantic, but it's also visible within the symbolism present within his dream, such as how he can only pave his own path in blood unless Ashley lights the way. It's visible within his appreciation for poetry, and it's visible with how the cultist within the dream speaks in Shakespearean English.

But the transient nature of this ideal is also revealed within this dream, because there's never a cohesive, guided path, even with Ashley there to light it up. Contrary to Ashley's dream, where you literally have maps showing you where to go, Andrew's dream has many more dead ends and no map to guide him. The symbolic role he acts out gives him no clarity, and there's no overarching narrative; merely a bunch of disconnected symbols.

This is contrasted with Ashley's dream, which has narratives so clear that the story literally gives the dream an episode title.

In a sense, he wants to view himself as an actor acting out a role in a story. He wants his life to be poetic, to represent something greater, and to have a cohesive narrative. This is why he's so disconnected from his true desires: He's more concerned with acting as a representative of an ideal than a person with agency. But every time the mask drops, every time he stops acting, his true self becomes visible. He naturally settles into being comfortable around Ashley, in treating her with warmth and kindness, and their banter becomes much less toxic. As intent as he is on acting out his role, it does nothing for him, and as his dream sequence shows, it doesn't even form a cohesive narrative, because he can't act one out. It's too contrary to who he really is, and what he really wants. But that idealization doesn't just apply to himself, it also applies to Ashley. Specifically, who Ashley is, vs who he wants her to be.

In his unique dream sequence, he sees two versions of Ashley; the child version of her- Leyley- and the adult version of her- Ashley. And the differences in the ways he interacts with the two of them are stunning. Leyley is an obstinate, annoying child. She's the one he NEEDS to take care of, and he hates that. He hates Leyley for what she did for his childhood. He hates that he needs to provide for her. He has the option of trying to kill her, even, over something as small as a candle!

But in the room with all the murders, the gilded cage, he sees Ashley as an adult. This version of Ashley is stuck in a closet that he himself has to open- and to choose to see. Their interactions are calm and friendly. She teases him a bit, sure, but she's still helpful, and they have fun together. He doesn't need her, and she doesn't need him. He needed Leyley- needed the candle- but here, there are other limbs strewn about for him to take. And, crucially, he doesn't even have the option to kill this Ashley for one of the limbs.

And during the choking scene, he lets her go the moment she acknowledges that he doesn't need her anymore. This is the first time we know of that he seems comfortable enough to set a clear boundary, which is acknowledging that their prior dynamic is dead and that they're now Andrew and Ashley, not Andy and Leyley. It's a bit late to express a clear boundary -after- literally acting like he was going to kill someone, but it's the first time we know of that he sets a clear standard for what, in his mind, would improve his relationship with Ashley.

After all, what he wants is to want her, not need her. He wants Ashley for Ashley's sake. Not for what she can provide him. He doesn't even need her for sleep, he just wants her. But Ashley has trouble acknowledging this, because he's never before shown that WANT. Only a NEED. She keeps trying to find ways to make him need her, because she's never seen what his desire for her is really like. She's only ever seen him desiring someone else, someone other than her.

She's only ever seen him as Andy, because she's never truly seen Andrew, only the violence he can inflict on others. But Andrew can see both:

He can see Leyley, the needy, bratty child who always needs his attention, that he needs to provide for. The one he hates and wants to get rid of. The one he kills for to protect.

And he can see Ashley, the one who engages in friendly and cute banter with him. Who comforts and shows him physical affection. The one he loves. The one he kills for to make happy.

He just can't choose which one he wants to see. Every outside influence- from his parents, to Julia, to Nina- makes him see her as Leyley. Ashley herself makes him see her as Leyley too, whenever she brings up all the things he did for her, and calls him Andy, his child self, instead of Andrew, his current self. And as long as he sees that child, he feels like one too, and can never give Ashley anything that comes from the heart.

But he really, really wants to see Ashley as an adult. He wants to take pride in her, how much she's grown, and how driven and competent she really is.

But god damn, does that bitch ever make it hard, because there IS no real difference between Ashley and Leyley. She's grown and changed over time, taking more adult (and stereotypically feminine) responsibility upon herself, but the fact that her temperament and personality hasn't changed much obfuscates that growth. When you talk to Ashley in the closet during the dream after getting the limb, Andrew asks Ashley to come out of the closet, but she refuses to come out because he won't invite Leyley over to play, which is a pretty strong metaphor for how he interfaces with different aspects of Ashley's personality and refuses to accept others. But the reality is that he needs to accept both, or rather, see her whole self as Ashley, rather than just the parts he likes.

In the end, it's him who has to make the choice how to see her. Ashley can only see what she's been shown, but Andrew can choose.

And in the basement scene, he makes that choice.

If Ashley refuses to leave him alone with their parents, that's it. In one of the most critical and important moments of his life, she couldn't give him the space needed to make up his own mind. She couldn't treat him as an adult. She couldn't see him as Andrew. If she does give him that choice, she chooses to acknowledge that Andrew is an adult who can be trusted to make his own decisions, even though she (perhaps foolishly) believes that this choice lines up with her own interests. And frankly it does either way, but in accepting their mom's offer, her chooses to see her as Leyley once and for all. He chooses not to reciprocate what Ashley showed him. He does it because he needs to, not because he wants to. Because it's his duty, not his desire.

This is what results in the Decay ending. Through his inability to see Ashley as an adult, he surrenders his agency and views all of his actions as an extension of his responsibilities, his role, which he no longer wishes to uphold. He dissociates fully from who he really is, acting in accordance with that disconnected, barely-cohesive narrative that exists only within his mind. The game starts to resemble the heartwrenching tragedy that many seem to take for granted that it is, as their dynamic fully doubles down on its painful toxicity. And, in an example of a poetic book end, Ashley's dream shows a double suicide, closing the book on their tragic tale.

It's tragic. It's heartwrenching. It's poetic. It's beautiful.

...Except it's not. Not at all.

It's actually fucking stupid, pointless, and brutal, and Burial shows us that. When we view their spiral as beautiful, we project the same darkly romantic ideal that Andrew possesses onto the story.

But the actual reality is horrifying.

Ashley spends most of Decay terrified of Andrew, the one person she found comfort in. He acts cold, distant, and aggressive towards her, showing pointless cruelty instead of any warmth. All she wants is comfort; all she wants is to not die. She doesn't want to engage in this death spiral at all, and, in her dream sequence, shows none of the same willingness to die alongside Andrew that Andrew does with her. The moment we stop focusing on the end of the Decay dream sequence, which has very striking imagery, and if you choose not to shoot, one of the most beautiful scenes in the game, we can see it for what it really is:

A scared animal running away from a predator.

The moment you see Decay through Ashley's eyes, and not the perspective of some romantic ideal, Decay becomes terrifying, tense, and painful. There is no catharsis to be had in this tragedy. It's easily avoidable as long as Andrew chooses to engage with reality, and not the empty promises of his mother and incoherent narrative of his ideal.

Finding beauty and meaning in tragedy is how we cope with the harshness of reality. But there is no coherent narrative to the tragedies we experience, just like there's no coherent narrative to the ideal Andrew wishes to uphold. It's something we create- that he creates- but it's not something that actually exists.

And when Andrew casts aside his desire for that ideal, and the responsibilities it shackles him to, it grants him clarity that he never had before. He sees the world for how it really is, and acknowledges that nobody- the least of which their mother- is as different from Ashley as they pretend to be.

They're no better than her, and he's tired of people pretending that they are. People are all the same, no matter what ideals they try to uphold and represent. They still sacrifice others in the name of advancing themselves, still punch down whenever they can, and still lay blame on those beneath them rather than try to take control of their lives. They just use those ideals to justify themselves, but Ashley, and now Andrew, reject even the need for that justification.

This is why I believe the story is nihilistic. Not in that it asserts the inherent meaninglessness of life, but in that it grapples with the ideals we uphold and how they obfuscate the reality of the world we live in. The story, intentionally or not, highlights how ideals are often but a pretense we use to justify what we were likely going to do regardless, and how holding to them too strongly can lead to our ruin- and how monstrous they make us look to those who do not share them.

Consequently, this is how I view the part of the fanbase who thinks Decay is a good ending.

(the characters themselves represent existentialism rather than nihilism but i couldn't really fit that analysis in here without it feeling forced so i might cover that another time)

From that point on, their relationship becomes a lot more friendly, lighthearted, and playful. They ironically start acting more like children, but to quote CS Lewis:

"Critics who treat adult as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence."

He's not ashamed of being playful with Ashley, or showing affection towards her. He's grown up. He finally sees her, and himself, as an adult- although he still doesn't show that in full until much later on (more or that later). But in Decay, he still sees her as a child, and to an extent, probably himself. Let's compare the ways in which he reacts to being called Andy. In Decay, he lashes out at Ashley and gets angry, even threatening her. But in Questionable Burial, he calmly says that Andy is dead and doesn't need Ashley's comfort, but still tries to reassure her that she's still needed. He's not ashamed of or hostile towards their prior dynamic, because he's grown past it. He still acknowledges Ashley's need to feel needed, but here, he recognizes its importance to her, whereas he was hostile towards it before.

It's a display of respect towards her feelings.

This interaction doesn't happen in the Sane ending, however. He doesn't play games with her and is just a lot less fun to be around all together. Why is that? Because he still hasn't yet shaken viewing Ashley as Leyley there. He still views her as a burden, as someone who needs taking care of. He's calmly accepted that, too, mind you, but he lacks respect for her because she's still a child, in his mind. But in Questionable?

The vision did more than just make him extremely embarrassed and lay his deepest desires bare. It forced him to recognize Ashley as an adult. When choosing between "Never" and "Never say never," if Never is chosen, the burden of thought is lifted off of him. But if Ashley chooses "Never say never!", he has to reckon with the fact that Ashley is an adult, someone who can consent to those kinds of things. Someone who MIGHT. Someone who has agency, and can make her own decisions. And more importantly… someone who can trust him to make his own.

Whether he desires sex or not is secondary; he's always had those feelings and has always been ashamed of them. But now that the part of him where that shame came from is dead and buried, there's no childish impulse to grow up. There's no attachment to the hate and bitterness he had before. Look at what he worries about when he picks up that she's uncertain or confused about who he is now:

​

It's her feelings.

He wants to be fun to be around. He wants to make Ashley happy. He loves her, and not as a romantic interest or even as a sibling. He loves her independent of all that baggage.

He loves her as a person.

Their relationship runs contrary to societal ideals in some pretty huge ways. So contrary, in fact, that it's hard for some to accept it as anything good, that it can ever be best for the people involved. It's incestuous. It involves them killing and eating their parents. It involves them distancing themselves so much from society that it's hard to believe they'll ever fit in it again. It's chaotic, it's messy, it's codependent, and maybe even toxic. And yet, here they are. They're coexisting. They're happy. They're healing. They're navigating the world in the only way they can: together.

Meanwhile, in Decay, Andrew refuses to allow himself to get closer to Ashley. He surrenders all agency to her, buys into his own narrative, drinks his own Kool-Aid, and may or may not condemn one or both of them to death in the process. Like it or not, the only path where Andrew takes ownership of his life is the one where he's closest to his sister. It's the one where he decides where they will go next, the one where he decides his own feelings matter, and acts in accordance with what he wants instead of how he thinks he should act.

His agency, his freedom, and his growth don't happen in spite of his codependency; they're happen because of it. They can't grow alone. They can't heal alone.

In reading the story, one must interrogate how important those societal ideals are in the face of the realities of what makes people happy. Are those ideals worth upholding in spite of this? Can we really allow people to fall through the cracks in the name of social norms? Can we blame people for taking rash actions when the social contract has failed them?

Or are we so blinded by those ideals that we can't see that people can be happy while blatantly disregarding them?

All I know is that in Burial, Andrew, having cast aside normalcy, now appears to be truly happy for the first time in his life.

Who are we to take that from him?