#but that was his choice - his mistake to make

[mariasont]

Give This Old Man a Heart Attack - A.H

a/n: incredibly self-indulgent per usual because i'm the biggest cry baby to ever exist

masterlist

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pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: you make a mistake that almost gets you killed and hotch has a few choice words about it

warnings: slight angst, happy endings, established relationship, you're in trouble, suggestive ending nothing crazy, hotch is a sucker and gives in way too easily to you

wc: 0.9k

You were an idiot. You were so utterly stupid, and you could feel the heat coursing through you, prickling at your fingertips and scorching your ears. You had braced yourself for this moment all day, but the sheer anger in Hotch's eyes was something no amount of bracing could shield you from.

You were quite accustomed to his eerily tranquil expression, often misleading, like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Today though, you were the focus of that discerning stare. 

"Do you understand that gravity of your actions today?"

You were fighting every urge to cry. Confrontation had always been your Achillies' heel, a fact that seemed laughable given your line of work.

You weren't talking about the type of confrontation that came with gunning down unsubs or running into burning buildings. No, it was the intimate kind, the kind that involved the disappointment in the eyes of those you cared about, those you respected, especially him.

So here you stood, tears simmering at the edges of your vision, your hands fidgeting and folding over themselves, knuckles whitening with the pressure.

Your lips parted, ready to speak, to defend yourself, but the rising lump in your throat held the words captive. Silence seemed like the better choice, so you offered a nod instead.

Hotch's hand briefly obscured his face, thumb and middle finger pressing against the bridge of his nose, as he cast a handful of documents onto his desk. They landed haphazardly, a chaotic reflection of the mistakes you made on this case.

"You could've gotten killed." Each word was forced out between clenched teeth. Never a good sign. "In fact, you were this close."

You felt his assessment was inflated, but now was definitely not the right time to point that out. You swallowed the rising retort and cautiously shifted a fraction closer to the desk, eyes flicking to the closed door behind you.

"I'm sorry, Aaron," you said softly, voice betraying the slightest fracture. "It won't happen again."

The sound of your strained syllables caused his head to jerk up. Contrarily, you recoiled, bowing your head into your chest as you feigned interested in the carpet's intricate threads. It was an interesting color. 

You failed to register him circling the desk. Not until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. The toe of his shoes just within your field of view. They were semi-brogue oxfords. His favorite.

The accumulated emotions of the week finally broke through, your shoulders trembling as you frantically brushed away the mortifying tears with your sleeve, only to feel his hands on your shoulders, drawing you into his chest.

"No, no," you protested, but the resistance in your voice was absent in your actions, as you found yourself easily giving into the warmth of his chest. "Don't feel bad for me just because I'm crying."

He said nothing, just a faint hum that filled the space, the vibrations sending ripples across your cheek. 

"You—, you were reprimanding me," you paused to sniffle, "and I deserve to be reprimanded. I know what I did was stupid."

"It was." His hand lay on your back, thumb circling lightly through your dress shirt, nearly burning through the fabric. "But I'm not going to continue to berate you when I feel as though you've learned your lesson."

"You weren't berating me," you mumble against his shirt.

"I made you cry."

When you looked up, your saw the concern etched on his face, brows pinched, a frown marring his handsome face. His hands cradled your face, thumbs gently clearing the tears as you breathed out a sigh.

"I think you know me well enough to know that it doesn't take much to make me cry."

This was true. You kept your emotions were always close to the surface, whether from happiness, sadness, or sheer frustration. 

Once you had sobbed over the unequal lengths of your shoelace bows. Morgan then proceeded to ask if you had ever been tested for autism.

"It doesn't make it any more disheartening to see," he said, shifting his hands to rest on your shoulders. He looked tired and it made you want to cry all over again.

"Would you feel that way if I was Reid?" You asked. It was a loaded question. One you peppered him with often.

You had strived to draw clear lines between your professional and personal lives, but moments like this made it very difficult. 

He didn't even bother you with a response, and he didn't need to. You knew the answer.

Another quick look over your shoulder, and you pressed a swift kiss to his lips. There was a moment of hesitation from him, the stickler for rules that he is, but soon his restraint gave way, his hand seeking you with a desperate intensity.

He drew back just enough to study your face, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory, like he was making sure you were really there.

"You really scared me today," he confessed, your foreheads resting together as your eyes locked.

"I know."

"Please don't do that again," he implored, pausing only to plant another quick kiss on your upper lip. "This old man's heart can only take so much."

You beamed at him with a cheeky smile. "I can't make any guarantees."

As you headed for the door, he sent a quick slap to your ass, drawing out a bubbly giggle that vibrated through the room.

That old man's heart definitely might give out after what you had planned for tonight.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Krill's Story I

a/n: I have... not much to say, although you should read the warnings. But I need you guys to know that this is 7.666 words long. I didn't make it this way intentionally, but if that isn't devilish, I don't know what is :')

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Nothing explicit yet just drug-induced neediness and description of a cock doing what a cock does, Size... adoration, Begging), Violence (Thrashing, Breaking of bones, fighting machines, Verbal threats, mention of medical tools, syringes), Getting drugged non-consensually, Description of being drugged up, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Mention of Slavery, Mention of Abuse, Depiction of spoiled Food and Seal Meat, Very long post

"It truly is an impressive recovery of such a valuable resource! Being able to compare the exact date from years ago with now makes for a great opportunity in our research, and now we have two of them! This is your chance to recover from your mistakes all those years ago!"

With pep in his step, your supervisor led you through the long, cagey hallway of the facility, making it almost hard to follow him with all the enthusiasm he was displaying. You, on the other hand, felt nothing but dread as you held onto the notes you had been giving about your new project, almost feeling scared to glance at the papers.

You already knew what they'd say. The mistakes they'd speak of.

Because you were already familiar with the mermen, who had recently been caught by the facility. You freed them all those years ago out of shame and sympathy. And you paid the price, your unpaid labor bordering on slavery. Your choice had been death or continuing their research, and after looking down a gun barrel once, you decided to invest in your studies instead, the company willing to further your education and allow you to continue testing and working with the poor creatures they kept here—albeit with supervision.

"Talent like yours shouldn't be wasted," your supervisor recited the words of the facility owner, but they sounded like a warning coming from him rather than encouragement. 

When he finally stopped at the door farthest down the corridor, you were appalled to see the number on it, finding it less than funny that they'd assigned the same room from years ago as your new laboratory again. All these little digs they made at you never let you forget that they were still angry about what you did to sabotage the facility—as if you could ever. These digs were just there to make you miserable and establish who your life belonged to. You were replaceable, but you wouldn't get out of this alive. If you wanted to survive and have even the slightest chance of escaping this place of horrors one day, you'd have to obey. 

"So do better this time," your supervisor said, smiling down at you smugly as he pushed the door open, the heavy metals screeching with cold, metal bitterness. Bastard, you thought, walking inside the laboratory. The grate floor spread above the large pool beneath your feet throughout the whole room, making your steps audible as you entered. The water was calm, undisturbed—suspicious.

"Oh, also, this one's been really angry ever since we brought him in. Better not let your head get bitten off! Would be a waste. You're too pretty to be a corpse just yet."

You whipped around with a glare, but all you saw was the smug grin on your supervisor's face before he shut the door with a loud bang. A mechanical lock slid into place with a whirring sound before everything became quiet around you. It was strange that they'd leave you here alone after what you did, but then again, there was no way you'd be able to recreate the mistakes you made. Even though you'd never receive any respect or sympathy from anyone in this cursed place, you couldn't help but stare at the metal door, plastered with warnings and reminders to leave equipment in the laboratory before leaving, wishing it would open again and let you out of here.

But that wouldn't happen.

It was ironic that they'd leave you alone with the merman you helped escape before, but the only way out was that door, and it needed a passcode to leave. One you didn't have. You'd eat, sleep, and work as they intended; there was no escaping this, even if the hope never left you. They didn't think you'd make it out alive unless they let you. Much less would you be able to help anyone escape again. Slowly, you turned forward, raising your head to look at the workstation on the opposite side of the room. You couldn't help from glancing downwards every few steps; caution was the only thing that kept you alive in this place.

But even as you made your way over to the station, your shadow undoubtedly making your presence known to the water, everything remained calm. The sound of machines running, keeping the pool intact, and the water bubbling from the pump were all that matched the sounds of your steps and breaths. For a "really angry" merman, this was suspicious. He must have known you were here, yet neither came to watch nor to attack you? You sighed inwardly, thinking about how much of a hassle it would be to actually get him to your examination area if you couldn't fish him out of the pool.

Once you reached the counters with the equipment, you set down the papers you had been given, spreading them out to scan over them. Even if you didn't want to interact again with these pitiful yet obscenely fascinating creatures, you knew that without any results from experimenting on them, you'd be stuck here for all eternity. The expectations were high that you'd find what everyone was looking for, even though the experiments were nothing short of cruel and disgusting. Drugs, surgery while awake, mutilations—those were just a few things you had watched the researchers do to these creatures. And for what? 

Eternal life. 

A fantasy.

How did you know? You were the one finding out that even if their life expectancy was closer to that of turtles, even the merfolks would die one day from old age. There was no such thing as living forever with the help of a mermaid's flesh, tears, or blood, and researching them brought forth interesting facts but not the results that this facility had been constructed for.

And yet, here you were, doing as you were told, trying to find anything that would be deemed interesting enough. 

You heard a splash behind you, making you whip around, trying to make out a sign of life. Even though the floor was raised a few meters above the surface and the partition was closed so nothing could fall in or jump out of the water, it was still unsettling to hear but never see the creature you were locked up with. You knew better than to show fear openly to apex predators like the mermaids, but it had been so long since they let you near one that you could feel its presence—or the lack thereof—frightening you to the bone.

But you had to keep going, no matter what. Turning back to your papers, you spread them out with shaky hands, scanning over the information the first-contact team had collected. A large species, presumably orca-related, male, mature, and chipped. The last fact had been underlined twice, emphasizing the importance of it. This merman had already been in the facility, and they tracked it back to when you had been foolish enough to think you could save them. It had been years. Yet he and another one, as you heard through the grapevine, had come back against any better judgment, making you wonder about the intelligence you knew these creatures possessed.

However, no matter how much information you could absorb through the notes, you knew you were only stalling time. The next step would be getting this creature out of the pool and proceeding with your experiments, but the fear made you hesitate. This merman had been starving for a week in preparation for his exams, and although hunger wasn't a good state for anyone to be in, it was thought it might help to be the one feeding them when you needed their cooperation. Like you'd do with an animal. Unfortunately, they were too clever to fall for these ruses most of the time.

You still had to try. 

Picking up some gloves, you went to the extensive double-doored fridge, pulling out the trays with seal meat on them. However, someone placed dead fish-heads between the pieces in varying states of decay. You took a deep breath, unwilling to give spoiled meat to the creature, even though you'd have to rely on it if you wanted to get anywhere. Picking out a slab of seal meat on the furthest corner of the tray, you just hoped it was mostly uncontaminated as you carried it over to the buttons that would part the floor into an opening from which the merman could be caught. 

You hated pushing these buttons, everything reminding you of the biggest mistake of your life. Sure, you saved three mermen from this cruelty, but look what your efforts got you. 2 of them came back, and you were nothing more than a slave. Nothing turned out to be as heroic as in the books you read.

The metal grated against itself as it parted wide enough to allow feeding. Smaller species could have stuck an arm through the gap, but you knew from the past that it didn't work for any of the large specimens. At least that meant you were safe from an attack for now, though it was debatable how long. The meat sunk further and further down into the blue, but nothing happened. You leaned forward over the gap in anticipation, waiting for any kind of appearance in the wet. However, when the water finally stirred, causing slight waves to appear, it wasn't a shadow that moved through it, and neither did it give any mind to the food. 

You jumped back in surprise, your body hitting the wall next to the buttons, when fingers lurched out of the water, gripping the ends of the partition and pushing them apart. Water splashed everywhere as the merman tried to widen the gap. The metal resisted initially, but even such a strong material bound to an even stronger machine relented under constant pressure. 

As the cool water hit your face, you finally snapped out from the shock, slamming your hand down on the buttons that would close the floor and set the machines into motion to work against the abnormal strength of a merman. The two forces rung with each other for a few seconds before the machine finally did its thing and closed the gap, but it felt like minutes of struggling, of holding your breath in anticipation. 

The merman held onto the metal for as long as possible, and you listened to the gut-wrenching sound of something breaking before he finally let go, the splashing of water dying down. The floor never fully closed, leaving a small gap not even your hand would fit through. Still, you were unsure if the merman succeeded in the end by breaking the mechanical device or if it had been his fingers that broke from the pressure. You wished you didn't have to find out. 

Sinking to your bottom, you took deep breaths, calming yourself. Heart racing and head spinning from the lack of a constant airflow, you watched the water, terror, and anticipation mingling. If the floor broke, it would at least delay your second encounter with this creature for a while. But if not, you'd have given it one more reason to be angry. You watched as his dark shadow—no, body moved through the water, his movements agitated, restless. All you felt was misery, knowing you were causing this distress to him again.

You still had no clue which one of the three it was, although the body was too large to be the smallest of the three "Lyr". Due to the experiments, he had lost a significant amount of body weight and muscles, as well as his mental stability. They would have put him down had you not freed them, as he became a risk quickly. You thought you were doing them a favor by saving them, but you had no idea if Lyr ever made it out in the wild. Judging by the quick thinking and the strength of the orca roaming below you, it was more likely to be either "Nerrocan" or "Krill". Their names were burned into your mind like silent reminders of your biggest mistake and greatest accomplishment alike. 

But the secret was quickly revealed when the merman finally seemed to calm down, swimming out into the back of the room for a moment and giving you time to collect yourself, too. You were still sitting on your ass, none the wiser, when you noticed black and white hairs emerging from further down the pool, slowly, cautiously drifting back towards you. As if on the prowl.

Surely he was waiting for another chance to wreck the floor open and try to escape. There was no reason for this creature not to be out to harm you, and you were such an easy prey, caught in this room with him. Your death wouldn't be mourned, but you also couldn't help pitying this merman, not knowing that your death would probably be his, too. Soldiers wouldn't hesitate to shoot something that was stronger, more deadly, and had too much freedom if they had to, even if it was a valuable species to study. You wondered which merman it was, and feeling a little safer with the floor closed, you leaned forward, trying to make it out.

The most brilliant of red spied out of the water the moment you looked down at it. Unmistakably, like polished rubies, these eyes followed your every move. You watched your own muscles tense and the horror in your expression as you realized which of the three mermen it was before you saw your own gaze fill with sadness in his eyes.

Krill.

The reason you risked everything.

His brows furrowed, then lifted as if surprised, too, although his body stayed submerged, tense and ready to act. There was no way he'd remember you, was there? Despite your doubts, you raised a hand, giving him a silly little wave before addressing him directly. 

"Hello… again."

He said nothing, and you realized he must have forgotten you. It was better that way for now… even if it stung after all you did to help him. 

Holding onto the wall, you got back on your feet, not wanting to be such an easy target and so close to him. He could try something again, and you'd be at a disadvantage if you couldn't even walk. "I'm sure it's uncomfortable, but I need you out of the water for a while. You remember it, right?"

You held your palm above the button that would activate The Fisher, a machine that could detect and catch unwilling mermaids by itself. But you were still close to the opening, so any reassurance from the merman would have been nice to have.

"Go ahead, open that gate again. See where that gets you," Krill threatened, and you believed him. His brows furrowed, teeth gnashing as his anger returned, and you had to realize that he was no longer like the sweet merman you once cared for. Sure, he had been drugged and broken into submission back then, but he had still treated you somewhat kindly, gifting you rocks and following you around the enclosure like a lost puppy. If you didn't know it better, you two had been somewhat close back then, having come to an understanding despite your differences. That was not the case anymore, you could see it.

"You'll see, I'll get out of here, and you'll regret capturing me again."

That hurt. It hadn't been your choice. If it had been your choice, you'd have helped all those poor souls confined inside this facility, making sure that neither merfolk nor humans suffered the consequences of the greed of some rich people. But you had no choice in this matter. You never had. 

Pressing the button, you stepped aside so The Fisher could do its wonder. You didn't want to, but you had to. Didn't want to put him through the same torture again at your hands. But Krill had been foolish enough to get captured again, and you were foolish enough to still hold on to the hope that you could make a change in your life if you obeyed. This time, the machine parting the floor stuttered, and although The Fisher descended from the ceiling, it couldn't open. 

"You are a fool if you think you can capture me with that. Force me to play your little games again, Human!"

Even though you tried to ignore him, it was hard when Krill paced around the opening, taunting you. You had to watch the machines work and fail as the floor was stuck. The Fisher was unable to move as it detected the closed floor, and you wondered how you would proceed if the location became unsuitable to work with. 

With a loud crash, Krill threw himself against the floor, and you gasped as a wave of cold water splashed over you. As you sputtered, you heard the floor grating, the sound painful to both of you, evident by Krill trying to escape it by dropping below the water. But with the sudden opening appearing, the metal claws of The Fisher snapped forward, scanning and detecting where they had to go. 

Until you saw it with your own eyes, you could have never believed such a flimsy-looking machine could restrain the apex predator of the sea, effortlessly capturing him by his wrist, neck, and the space between his fin and tail. Sure, he could throw his weight around despite being restricted, but there was little he could do to hurt you unless he broke free. However, no mermaid ever broke free from The Fisher in your years of working here. It was that effective.

You watched as The Fischer pulled Krill out of the water, shiny droplets of wet falling off of him, elevating every muscle, every toned ab on his belly. He was glistening in the unnatural lightening of the laboratory like a precious gem, and your heart clenched with sadness, knowing there was nothing you could do for this beautiful creature. You had to cover your ears as he began shrieking and cursing, most of it in a language that you never bothered to learn as you'd be incapable of ever speaking it. Siren was more of a singing rather than talking in the first place, and though you liked to sing to yourself, you'd never learn it on a level that could match the skill that his language required.

As you watched him, the first thing you noticed was his size. He had grown, although the rough weight and measurements would be taken by the machine holding him in place. The time in the ocean seemed to have done wonders for him. His fins were intact, and the tag on his tail was blinking despite being such an old model. Since then, there must have been at least seven upgrades over the years, and you'd be responsible for changing it eventually.

Once he was dragged onto the research area, he finally seemed to calm down a little, although he glared at you, fury revealing in his eyes. The Fischer restricted his head movement, but his willpower remained. "You are truly the worst," he sneered. "First, you let us go, then you capture us again. What do you think we are? Your little playthings? Is it fun to mangle us? You enjoy this?"

Testing his strength against the shackles, Krill twisted and turned in the hold, but you tried not to give his words too much attention. He was different from how he was years ago, and you had to say goodbye to the semi-good relationship you two had before, the precious image you had held onto of him. Both of you were fighting for survival, as pitiful as it was, and you had a crapload of tests to run before they'd let you get away from him and pity his fate and yourself. 

With new-found confidence as you watched him rendered immobilized, you returned to the fridge, luckily not encountering any more poor attempts at making life hard for you as you opened the drawers full of tranquilizers. There was yet one to be found that could entirely knock out these creatures, but they had a significant calming effect. And—as you hoped—pain-relieving. Because there were a lot of things you had to do to him that wouldn't be easy for both of you. 

Gathering the tranquilizer shots, various test tubes, tools, and your to-do list on a tray, you carried it over to a table closer to him, taking deep breaths to brace yourself. You were tense, your fingers growing numb from anxiety. You had been assigned to the labs for most of the years, rarely encountering a merman again after what you did. And although you trained for this, the thoughts of hurting him were twisting your stomach. 

"You might think it's fun for us humans, but I wonder what you were thinking coming back here. Maybe you enjoyed the treatment more than you let on, hm?"

Your voice was feeble, even when you tried to act superior. Bantering wouldn't magically develop a relationship between you two, but you couldn't endure the silence when no one spoke. It felt wrong—like he was going to attack you again any second. You needed to keep yourself anchored to reality, or you might have fainted. After everything you went through, you couldn't remember the confidence you had to allow yourself to do something as drastic as release three orcas from a highly secured facility like this. A shame, really. You deserved confidence as you were one of the best, after all. 

Even if you couldn't let him know, you still felt anxious about something happening. You returned to the original counters, providing you with everything you needed, put on new gloves after wiping your still-wet face from being splashed with a towel, and proceeded with a mask and apron to achieve even the smallest amount of cleanliness. You'd be unable not to hurt him at the end of this session, but you at least wanted to avoid him dying from sepsis as well as getting his blood all over yourself. 

"I do not," he snapped, watching as you prepared everything, seemingly having given up fighting the machine but not you. "I came back for Nerrocan."

"Huh…" you mumbled, intrigued by this information. So it was Nerrocan who came back here, not Lyr. Interesting. "Risking it all for your cousin?" you asked, and his eyes narrowed.

"I see you still remember us," he snarled, his lips parting in a cocky grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. Krill looked… uncomfortable almost. You couldn't blame him. This all must have been beyond uncomfortable for the merman. 

"And you, me."

Silence befell you two again as you picked up the tranquilizer, wrapping your hand around the container, surprised when you realized what you were doing. It had been so long that you thought you wouldn't remember your old habits. You used to always warm the drugs so they wouldn't be so bitterly cold when applied on the mermaids. 

Krill flapped his fin despite being restricted, and you looked up at him, catching a glimpse of worry as he looked at the syringe in your hand. "Ran out of the good stuff, eh? I remember it being purple, not that icky color," he mocked, but he didn't sound as confident anymore as he was before. 

"Should have come earlier if you wanted that. I heard this one has interesting side-effects when applied."

Rounding the table, you noticed his fin flap again pitifully, almost making you hesitate. He seemed nervous, muscles spasming in the tension of his restrictions. Stepping up to his hips, you felt his eyes follow your every step, almost making you feel reminiscent of the past. You took the integrated step upwards at the side of the research station, effectively standing above him now to see better. Everything was perfectly laid out so that your work could be done effectively. That's how you had to see it, too. This was work, nothing personal.

"You don't have to do this," Krill suddenly said, unusually calm but determined. "You're not a bad person, you saved us before."

This time, you did look directly at him, giving him your full attention for a few seconds of silence. His gaze didn't waver, didn't move away. He meant what he said. At least, that's what you were supposed to believe. Sirens were prone to lying to get what they wanted, and Krill did not want the drug in your hands, warmed up by your palm wrapped around it. But it wouldn't stop you. You gulped, inhaling deeply. It couldn't stop you.

"And now I have to save myself. Please hold still so I don't hurt you."

Diverting your attention back to his hips, you drove your hands along the slick surface of his body, trying to find any space capable of being squeezed. He jerked once when you touched him, trying to get away but ultimately pressing his hips up into your palm. Eventually, you found a soft spot, pinching the skin between your fingers. Krill shuddered, his body twisting, but The Fischer kept it in place. You'd be safe, even if you hated yourself for doing what you had to. 

The syringe punctured his flesh with only a bit of resistance, and you injected the liquid tranquilizer quickly, stepping away when you were done to watch what would happen. The medication used to be a fickle thing, sometimes agitating, sometimes drugging the mermaids out of their minds. But it usually took a while before it worked. Not this version, though. So many things changed since the last time you worked with the mermaids. But it was cruel all the same.

You listened to Krill groan in pain and relief at the same time. Pressure built, his body twisting and arching, with his spine bending uncomfortably for you as the drug spread throughout him before every muscle seemed to suddenly give out, relaxing him completely and making his body sack in his holds almost lifelessly. Worried, you stepped closer, searching for a pulse. It wasn't for another half a minute before you noticed the even rise and fall of his chest, his gills flaring even though he wasn't using them. The seemingly calm state of the merman made you bolder, although the fear of him faking something never subsided. You walked up to his face, staring into the clouded rubies of his eyes, surprised to find them moving around still, searching for something or someone, despite being slower, less alert than before. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, unsure if he could even hear you, but you felt terrible seeing what you did to him. Even if he was a creature that wouldn't hesitate to kill you, he didn't deserve to go through what the facility wanted him to. Reaching up, you brushed the hair out of his face, the strands gently gliding through your fingers without any resistance, almost as if they were a liquid defying all the physics you knew. 

Even after all this time, you remembered he used to have longer hair. It used to float above the water, coating it in strings of glossy silk. But now he sported a wolf cut that fitted him just as well. Part of his hair had turned white, with only the top remaining in the same black you were used to. You wondered if it was because of the experiments or just a natural change of color over the years when his head suddenly turned, his cheek feeling heavy as he rested it in your palm. Krill seemed as unaware of his actions as he should be after being forced into surrender by the drug, but it seemed to make the forgotten part of him that felt safe with you submerge again, the feeling almost the same as from the past. You quickly caught yourself falling back into thoughts of things long gone and got to work, cutting off both black and white strands with small scissors, hoping it wouldn't suddenly agitate him. But Krill remained unresponsive, and you pushed away your guilt to quickly store your samples.

Focusing your mind on your work, as there was so much to do, and you didn't want him to recover his strength before you had completed most of the preparations you had to make. You measured and cut down his claws, trying your best not to cause any harm to him and quickly storing the talons for further research. The size of his hands was massive, and you marveled at their humanness for a moment, driving your finger gently over the ridges and joints. Unfortunately, as expected, some of his fingertips were broken, smashed by the struggle with the floor grates. You wanted to clean and wrap them securely. But when Krill let out a long sigh, sounding almost pained just by your touching his hands, you immediately stopped, fearing his wrath upon regaining mobility.

You did further measurements on smaller areas like his hands and fins, everything that could be deducted more thoroughly by hand than by machine. Every time you came around to his head, you looked into his eyes, the guilt threatening to wash over you when they locked with yours, steadfast despite him being out of it, so you quickly moved on. 

While you were at it, you connected his chip to a reader, interested in the data that could be found on it, and removed the jewelry that hung from his body. It would only be a hindrance to your experiments, and perhaps remnants on the metal could determine where the merman was originally from. However, the weight of some of the decorations he had prided himself with—like his necklace of teeth—weighed so much that you needed to drag them over the floor, wondering how this could be efficient for a predator.

"So far, so good," you mumbled as you let the program run its course, wiping off some sweat from your forehead with your sleeve and looking at the situation for a moment. It had been too long, you couldn't really remember the exact procedure to which you should have stuck, but instead of giving your to-do list the attention to find out, your eyes fixated on something else—scars. Albeit not uncommon, there were a lot more now than you remembered, and you raised a hand to his tail, sliding your fingers over the scarred tissue, putting slight pressure on it.

Krill's body jerked immediately, and you jumped back from him, observing the merman. His head rolled forward in the restraints, tired eyes searching for you but unable to focus. 

"Not there… touch..." His speech was slurred, another effect of the new drug, but you couldn't help but smile faintly at him, seeing how he still resisted. 

"I need to count them," you explained, hoping it would soothe his mind. If he could understand it. You couldn't be sure it had any effect, but if you were in his position, you would have wanted to be told what was going on, you thought. "It won't hurt, I promise."

Measuring tape in hand, you placed your clipboard with an empty page on top of his body, moving from his fin slowly upwards and jotting down your findings. There were a lot of prominent scars standing out from his body markings, but even more smaller ones barely visible. It felt quite intimate to search his body so thoroughly, but it had to be done. Krill moved pitifully against and into your touch as if unsure where to go and unable to understand what was happening. Even if it made you lose your balance a few times, you let him, feeling bad for all you were doing. It was the slightest bit of freedom you could give him without risking your own head.

By the time you reached his chest, some clarity had returned to his eyes, and he couldn't control the sounds coming from him. You tried not to agitate him with pressure and touch, but you had to do your work. An arrangement of chirps and sighs, some grunts, and nervous jittering rang out, echoing through the rooms. Deep breaths pushed his chest out, and sighs bordering on moans shivered through his whole body. But you were content as long as he didn't throw his weight around and push you off the step and into your medical equipment. 

"Must you be so thorough," he slurred as you examined his chest, following the curve of his pectoral muscles with your fingers. You looked up at him, his head crooked to the side, still too heavy to hold up on his own despite the metal neck brace, but his eyes were clearer now, following you more intensely. 

"I have to, I'm sorry. I don't want it to be uncomfortable, but I have to document them."

Writing down your finds on your clipboard, you must have pressed it down a bit too hard on his chest because Krill's head fell back, a long groan escaping him, back arching again. "Sorry…" you repeated, the guilt beginning to eat you up, but he only rolled his head in the restraint. 

"No…" he muttered. "Not uncomfortable... I feel weird. It's hot. Make it stop."

You were unsure what to do, but there were only a few more scars before you'd have to move on to his arms and, eventually, his backside. You wanted to at least get the chest ones down before you would have to give him another shot of tranquilizer, as Krill was growing more restless every time you touched him. You wished the examination could have stopped there. That you could have released him and put him back into the cold wet, but you needed to finish this. Even when he started gnashing his teeth and twisting in his restraints again.

"What are you doing?!" he suddenly snapped, much more coherent than before, his head jerking forward, ruby-red eyes glowering at you. You tried not to let it get to you, tried to make it quick so he wouldn't have to suffer, but Krill wouldn't let it go. 

"Stop it!" he demanded as you inspected another small scar around his nipple. It was barely visible against the lighter-toned skin there, but you found it, grazing over the nub a few times while working out the details of the scar you needed. Krill was getting more aggressive with his protests, lashing out at you while many different kinds of sounds escaped him, and it was almost amusing to think that it was because of your touch. You couldn't help spreading your palm over his nipple once, letting the elastic of your gloves weigh down and rub over it, causing every muscle in his body to harden instantly. You shouldn't have abused this situation like this, but seeing him react so sharply, his breath coming out in a drawn-out hiss, was somewhat a relief. Knowing it wasn't all terrible, all cruel and painful. But you caught a grip on yourself quickly, working efficiently until you could finally step away once you had found every last scar on his chest.

"All done," you assured him, unable to keep yourself from grinning a little as he let out a strained but haughty hmpf. He was almost back to his new normal, which made you glad. The drug was awful, but it was good to know he wouldn't be broken down this easily. Your back was turned for only a second when you heard him rattling in his restraints, more clear in his mind again as it seemed. It caused you to want to tease him a little.

"I liked it better when you were quiet, Krill. You didn't react to every one of my touches as if I was trying to seduce you."

"How dare you! I can't believe I am back here with you as if you are…" The word seemed to elude him as he bit his tongue, and you turned to look at his face, so much tension in his expression that you thought he was going to burst. Krill wasn't looking at you for once, focusing on his own body. Walking up to him again, his gaze shifted from straight down back to you, a spark of something you couldn't pinpoint washing over him. Insecurity? Fear? No way. 

"Don't come closer again!" he hissed, tossing a bit more in his restraints, and you stopped in your tracks, subconsciously listening to him like an idiot. But Krill wasn't being malicious; something was wrong. Even though you two weren't on friendly terms, you could tell something was off. His gills were flared, pupils blown wide open. He looked mostly like the monster you had to believe he was, but there was a sense of panic that an apex predator shouldn't ever display unless something terrible was happening to them. And you couldn't ignore it, or him for that matter.

"Hey!" you called out, hoping your voice could ground him from whatever he was going through. Stepping closer despite his body thrashing wasn't easy. You had to be careful, but you weren't heartless enough to leave him to his own demons after you caused them. The drug could have had hallucinogenics, which would not only have put you in danger but Krill too. You needed him if you ever wanted to regain some recognition or freedom in this place, and he needed you since you were probably the only person in the whole facility who would do anything to make the experiments at least a bit more humane. You couldn't abandon him like this after all he's been through.

Instead of putting yourself at risk of being thrown across the room by Krill accidentally slamming his body into you, you stepped up to his head instead, waiting for the moment that you could grab onto him and hold on with all your strength. You expected a struggle that would leave both of you wounded, but the moment your hands clasped around his face, Krill went rigid, suspiciously still. Another wave of fear overcame you, your instincts telling you this was wrong, but you tried your best to stay strong for both of you. "Shh, shh," you mumbled, calming him, and finally, the strength in his neck gave way, and his head fell back. 

You two stared at each other for some silent seconds, and you rubbed your thumb over his cheek comfortingly. "It's all your fault," he uttered, exhaustion washing over his expression. You couldn't blame him for feeling this way, and you made sure his hair wouldn't sting his eyes by swiping it out of his face gently, still shushing him like a parent would to their child. He looked like he was in severe pain, as if he felt fear for the first time in his life. You couldn't believe it was true, but you felt heartbroken for him all the same. Even if he was called a monster, even if he was a killer and a creature or an animal. Even if he wasn't like you, he didn't deserve any of this. 

"Why are you doing this to me again?" he asked, his voice cracking as a wave of sadness washed over his expression. You had never seen a mermaid actively being sad. Angry, panicked, drugged, yes. But sad? You didn't even think that was possible. What could you do to soothe this whale of a man to the point that you weren't suffering the consequences of other people's decisions? Nothing came to mind, and it was awful.

"I haven't done anything yet, just precautions," you assured him. "You're okay, you're safe. I can't change what I have to do, but I promise I'll try to make it as painless as possible. I–"

"No," Krill interrupted you. "Not that. Not the experiments. This." 

You heard the restraints rattle, causing you to look up at his hand, his cut-down, broken claw pointing downward at his body. You halted your comforting, leaving your palms on his cheeks while looking at Krill with a confused look before you stepped away, fully aware that he looked after you, even forcing his head forward again to watch what you were doing as you stepped around him. 

A loud gasp escaped you as you watched the tip of his cock exit from its slit. The moment your attention was on it, it shot out inch by inch until its massive size stood proudly, pulsing and jerking above his hips, having emerged fully within seconds of horror and amazement. A glistening drop of pre-cum collected at the tip as you stared at the massive erection, the bubble popping and spilling onto his chest as you watched it, unable to look away.

"I tried to forget," Krill lamented from behind you, his body sacking in the machine holding him up before tensing and straining again, a pained groan escaping him while his cock flopping in the air, unbothered by its owner's distress. It only produced more pre-cum and jerked ever so often, the shaft pulsing with need. 

"I wanted to forget you so badly."

You forced yourself to look away from his cock, and Krill let out a brief trill in response, sounding almost disappointed. But he didn't shy away from your eyes, gazing at you, defeated and a little… desperate. 

"Help. Me," he breathed, and you let out your own shuddering breath at his request. You only ever wanted to tease him. You didn't want to cause any pain or suffering, especially not the sexual kind. It was unheard of that the drug caused the mermaids to act this way. But you were about to learn what caused this.

"Why me?" you whispered, knowing now he could hear you. 

"Because I remember every touch of you. Every moment we spent together. Every little piece of memory we made in this godsforsaken place, and I need you. I already feel like I'm losing my mind, and I can't take it anymore. At least take responsibility for what you're doing, this is your fault."

"Krill…"

"It's useful for you, isn't it?" he suddenly changed his tune. He looked angry, but the twisted desperation was unconcealable. "My seed. You can have it. Take it all if you must as long as you do something." 

His words were followed by a groan, sounding in so much pain, and you watched his cock jerk, hips lifting, trying to reach an unavailable source of comfort, a connection to something that wasn't there. "Fuck, I held it back for so long. You and your shitty drugs! I had it under control! I didn't need you at all—didn't even think of you!"

Another long howl escaped him, head rolling from one side to another. He looked completely out of his mind when his gaze fixed on you again, needy and desperate. You had no way to find out if it was because of the drugs, and that worried you. 

"I lied," he confessed, his breath leaving him ominously. His admission was completely out of character for a creature like him, which took you aback, but when Krill looked back at you, there was a different kind of determination in his eyes. A savage one—mad even. You wanted to run away, far, far away from him, but his eyes, full of drugged madness and terrifying adoration, didn't let you act on your whims. As if he hypnotized you.

"I thought about you constantly. You were always on my mind. I thought about coming back so many times, but I couldn't leave the others. But now they don't need me anymore, and I have you back. You're the only one left for me, please. Please help me. Help me, my mate."

His voice was sugary sweet as he pleaded with you, your heart skipping a beat when you watched this destructive, dangerous creature reduced to a begging mess. It wasn't what you wanted for him, and you didn't want the kind of control he was hovering over your head. But you felt the heat spreading throughout your whole body as he called you his.

"We're not mates," you tried to deny it, shaking your head, the implications too severe. "That's the drugs speaking."

"Gods," he groaned loudly, licking his lips as his eyes scanned over your body. "I wish they were."

His hips jerked again, impatient and in desperate need of release. If you were truly mates, that would be bad. It would be an instant invitation to be locked in this facility forever until you passed away. If anyone happened to check on you, seeing the state Krill was in, they'd assume the worst, delighted by these new possibilities. You had to find a solution before that. 

"Fuck," you muttered, and Krill groaned in agreement. "We're not mates!" you insisted, moving towards his side again. This was absolutely bonkers, but every touch seemed to send him further down the spiral—and so were you, even though you refused to admit it.

"This is strictly professional."

"It's whatever," he rejoiced when he felt your hands back on his chest, a little too happy about this smithereens of body contact for it to be just because of the drugs. "Help me, mate."

"Do me a favor," you asked, rolling your shoulders and readying yourself for what you had to do. You couldn't believe you were going to do it; jerking off a merman was definitely not in your job description. But if it would help with not being confined for all eternity as a pathetic mating buddy, then you had no choice. You just needed the push to actually do it.

"Say 'please' again."

Krill's lips parted in a disturbingly wide grin, red rubies sparkling as he looked at you, filled with a sickening hope and adoration that made you shudder.

"Please."

[bunnysbrainrot]

Friendly Competition

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: Explicit sexual acts, Jackson!AU, no use of y/n, jealousy and angst, mentions of alcohol consumption/intoxication, kissing, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, soft dom Joel (lowkey)

Summary: It was difficult, but Joel had to set a boundary, one he's having trouble adhering to. And back in Jackson, things aren't any easier. When an old friend comes around, it muddies the waters. Joel tries his best to assure you that it's not what it looks like, but you won't be easily swayed.

Word Count: 5.4k +

Looking for the other chapters? Click here to find them on my masterlist

The ride back to Jackson was much brighter than your journey out. Fluttering in your chest kept you on edge, buzzing down to your fingertips, coursing through you like small bursts of lightning. All over one simple kiss.

Though it had been anything but.

Twenty minutes ago, Joel had you pinned on the wooden fence, moving his lips in tandem with yours, shattering your plaguing tension. Joel wasn't sure when, or if, he'd have made a move if he didn't seize that opportunity. He would've cursed himself if he hadn't tried.

And to his surprise, you had given him everything in return. You accepted his kiss with a dying thirst, and the passion had been for him. Someone, knowing so little of his sins, of his regrets, would give their love so freely. Someone wanted him.

His hands gripped the reins as the edge of Jackson came into view. He had a thousand things to say but didn't know where to begin.

He detested that it had to start here.

He spoke up finally, breaking the calm silence, "Listen, I think we should talk."

It didn't take you by any surprise. Even still, your heart sank.

You made the daunting choice to face him, inviting the conversation. You were asking for the dagger of newfound love to pierce your chest, for it to carve you open.

"Okay," you replied, coaxing your voice into neutrality.

The effort was in vain. There was a tightness in your throat that couldn't be shaken. Your voice shrank, barely coming out as a squeak. The sudden shift didn't go unnoticed by him. What expression of joy that had been there before had been replaced with worry. Joel's eyes averted to the ground. He hated this. Knowing that he spurred on this whole... situation, and worse, that he'd be the one to shatter the hope.

And fuck, the look on your face.

Joel made himself bear it. This was his punishment.

He sighed, "This... what happened back there.." He gestured between you, his words failing him.

The birds chirped happily around you, the only sound filling stagnant space. His half-dead sentence hung with his head. With aching pain in your chest, you finish it for him. You stilled your expression and resolved yourself to turn away. The words feel distant as you say them. They weren't yours - borrowed from the times you'd been through this before.

"It was a mistake."

He was thankful you weren't able to see him wince. Joel digested the words, but showed no agreement to them. He refused to let that be the truth. His breath came out slowly, exasperated.

"You got a habit of finishin' people's sentences, y'know that?"

The jab would've made you laugh were it not for the hole in your chest. And despite the effort made to lighten the mood, the pang of regret in Joel's chest grew.

He continued, voice terse, "If you think it was a mistake, then we can forget it. But, regardless-" he stopped himself, searching for the gentlest words. A way to make this painless.

"It can't happen again."

Telling yourself it was a mistake had not made it true, and had not prepared you for those final words. They were a death sentence.

You still held the lead, but you no longer feel his stare, the occasional glance. You were thankful for the distance, for the small amount of privacy it gave you to let welling tears fall. Jackson loomed even closer, just minutes away if Belle were to go at full speed. A frantic urge tore at you to race ahead, like breaking away would erase what happened - like it would take back what was already said and done.

There were a million things to say, but you knew it wouldn't change his stance. You mustered a small, simple nod. Joel didn't expect much after a blow this low. He understood the silence, for whatever reason you needed it - he anticipated anger, hoped for it, even. Welcomed it. It would give him closure after the shitshow he created.

If you left, forgot about all this trouble he caused, Joel could shift his focus elsewhere. It had been a futile effort since you came to town. You were a distraction. The worst kind.

It was enough justification, Joel thought, to be okay with this. To let things between you go stale. Untouched.

Dismounting Belle back at the ranch relieved your body, but your mind and heart were different matters. Joel dropped from his horse without a word, already started on the process of unloading his gear. You watched him as he's turned, noting a lower slump to his shoulders.

You shifted your attention back to Belle, mindlessly disassembling her gear. Your fingers fumbled dumbly with the buckles of her saddle, new tears blurring your vision. The silence between you and Joel this morning had been uncomfortable, but this....

Silence like this was far too heavy. It held too many unspoken words, and even more questions.

The quiet was no longer an issue when a new voice rung around the stables, cheery and bright.

"Joel!" It was the voice of a woman, "Oh my gosh, back already?"

You peered around Belle just in time to see her arms wrapping around Joel's neck, giving him a close hug. The stranger let out a delighted giggle before she nestled her face into the crook of his neck. Joel murmured something inaudible that broke the embrace.

Her small talk was empty save for obvious flirtations, her voice turning whiny and playful as she spoke. You couldn't help but cringe at her sickly sweet tone, the incessant pushing. Joel said very little, but that stupid grin never fell from her face. Her wide, green eyes drank him in. As if you weren't even there, ten feet away, privy to it all.

Bitch.

With an undetected sneer, you finish unloading and take Belle's lead in hand. You settle your rage to simmer beneath the surface while you lead Belle out of the stables.

--

This was the last thing he needed right now. But here she was, thrown around his neck unashamedly, as if she'd been waiting so impatiently for his return. A slap in the face, compared to the situation he'd put you in an hour ago. You had truly been waiting for him. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke.

Joel placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a wry smile.

"Wasn't gone that long, Georgia."

Her eyes brighten hearing her name on his lips. The smile she wore was a stab to the gut. It shouldn't be her that was beaming, welcoming him, showing concern for his safety. Hers was not the face he wanted to fantasize about throughout his day. To come home to.

He patted her shoulder, hiding his contempt with a softer, weary smile, "Pretty tired after today, sorry. Not really feelin' it."

This wasn't the first time Georgia had been this doting. But the openness of it irked him, especially with the present company.

"Hmmm.... Sounds like someone needs to unwind," she suggested, lips tugging into a smirk. A serpentine look with her eyes crinkling proudly while a greedy smile formed. She always had a deeper motivation. He saw that spark igniting in her mind.

In the past, they had shared their need for intimacy - they fulfilled that need many times. She was a nice enough girl, he supposed. Joel thought it would be simple. No strings attached.

If he didn't turn her away soon, there was no telling how this evening would go. His need for a distraction almost tempted him into agreeing, but a flare of guilt in his chest instantly washed away the idea. It was unfathomable to think of this woman when you were so close by. And not when he was trying to still the feelings you'd brought about for him.

He stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest, "Tonight's not the best night. Gotta do a raincheck this time."

Even still, her smile didn't falter. If there was one thing she was worst at, it was taking a damn hint.

Georgia's eyes dart to the horse that started to leave the stables. She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, her eyes wide in amusement. She whispered to him, pointing to the horse and who was guiding it outside.

"Uh oh, apparently we had company~"

Joel knew of said 'company'. Glaringly so.

He steeled himself as he joined Georgia in watching you leave. He noted how she watched you go with satisfaction, how her smile grew once you rounded the corner. Her joy was in such stark contrast to the anguish that flooded through him, seeping into his bones.

You didn't look back as you left.

I'm lost in admiration Could I need you this much? Oh, you're wasting my time- "You're just - just- just wastin' time-" you sang out, the lyrics slurring together. You refused to let yourself wallow, so you opted for the best way to forget. Alcohol.

It was better than dealing with stupid Joel and his stupid rules.

Plus, it detached the meaning of the lyrics, the ones about being overwhelmingly in love, being completely enamored with someone, unable to be without them. The cassette tapes you had collected were few, but Tears for Fears were a classic you played the most often.

"Something happens and I'm head over heels-" you sang out, swaying your hips with the beat. A brief fantasy flashed in your mind of Joel joining in from behind, holding you while you danced and sang. You envisioned him singing along, his voice low and gentle, even though you'd never heard him do so.

Yet the lyrics carried you away alone. You closed your eyes, letting the rhythm take you, a cup of mead in hand. Granted, it was probably a poor decision for Pete to give you a whole bottle to yourself, probably worse for you to have downed two glasses. But you felt free right now, blissfully ignorant to the outside world.

Until it came, quite literally, knocking at your door.

The rapping broke you out of your dancing. You panted softly as you paused the cassette player, the room growing uncomfortably still in the silence. Perhaps you kept the neighbors awake with your singing. Frosted glass on the front door revealed a familiar silhouette, making you freeze. Heat coursed through you as you reached for the handle, pulling the door open just enough to see your visitor.

Joel stood at the top of the steps to the house. He wore his usual serious expression, though it eased at the sight of you.

Whatever confidence the mead gave you earlier had vanished - the sudden appearance was sobering enough on its own. Your flushed cheeks were clear evidence of how you were dealing with this afternoon, that you wanted to forget what happened. Joel clenched his jaw, remorseful yet again. He was causing this, but had been desperately searching for a solution, in his own way. Unfortunately, 'his way' hadn't earned him many favors in the past. Joel knew that his abrasiveness would wear you down, your bright spirit, that light in your soul. If that didn't, then learning of his past certainly would - the heinous things he'd done to survive, the lives he'd ruined. They hadn't all been guilty, either, so the validity of 'survival' was in question. Those years held the most regret. Now he stood on your doorstep, carrying this invisible burden. He straightened his spine and squared out his shoulders, shifting nervously on his feet.

Maybe seeing you was the worse option. Maybe he was rubbing salt in the wound.

You straightened, frantically building your composure. Blush crept onto your cheeks as you greeted him in your bedclothes, glass of mead still in hand. Your oversized shirt and sleep shorts did little to help you look presentable and ready for the unexpected company.

"Hi," you greeted softly.

The smile you were longing to see was back. A rare softness had returned to Joel's features. He placed his hands on his hips.

Joel smiled down at you, his gaze tender, "Evening."

His damned voice could get you drunk on its own. That intoxicating Southern accent was as sweet and deep as whiskey.

The hair on the nape of your neck stood on end. This was the exact opposite of what you wanted. You needed the space and freedom to forget about Joel, and he landed at your doorstep.

He'd changed out of his old clothes, his hair tidier than before. Though he wasn't close enough to tell, you swore you caught a brief whiff of cologne. And here you were, in your pajamas, hair loose and unbrushed, completely unprepared.

You stammered, "Do- uhm... do you want to come in?"

Affection shone in his eyes at your flustered state; he gave you a once over, chuckling slightly. Joel prepared himself for this - truly prepared himself, in ways he hadn't done in months. Hell, he even found himself putting on cologne. He'd just gone to change his shirt, but the thought of seeing you after the fiasco from earlier had him fully prepared. Fully presentable.

There was a beat of silence that let Joel's eyes wander over your form. His gaze burned through your thin sleep shirt, roving over your bare legs with a greed that slipped through the cracks in his composure.

You stood in front of him with wide eyes, holding yourself around the waist, a new type of vulnerability you hadn't yet shown. He eyed the way you bit your lip, his focus whisked away by desire. Your outfit didn't help suppress Joel's imagination, either - it was the most exposed you'd been in front of him. He found himself selfishly taking you in, fully and properly.

Those shorts did no favors in hiding the curves of your thighs; your shirt did even more disservice to his willpower. It was thin, too thin. It hung off one shoulder to reveal your collarbone to him, hanging loosely at your chest, displaying your nipples poking against the fabric.

He snapped back to attention, clearing his throat before making his way inside, "Sure, thanks."

The door snapped shut behind you, keeping you and Joel in the new stifling proximity. You motioned generally to the space.

"Make yourself at home," you told him, the awkwardness slowly easing away. You made for the kitchen sink to return your half-downed glass of mead, breathing away your nerves. Joel took the cue in his own way, finding himself leaned comfortably against the kitchen counter, feet away from you.

His stare had hardened. You braced for another lecture.

"What happened back at the stables, I-"

Reintroducing the events erupted jealousy in your chest, and the residual buzz from the mead aired it out. You snapped, though the hurt was still evident in your cracked voice. There was no time for small talk. There could be no casual 'how was your day?' after what happened.

"Who was she?" Your demand struck him. He knew this would come.

Joel pressed his lips into a thin line before answering.

"Her name's Georgia. We've been friends for a while." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, avoiding your stare. He didn't want to confront the reality of his words, how they would pain you.

The words were chosen carefully, cherrypicked to be as vague as possible. He didn't want to explain Georgia when all he wanted was to dissolve her from his memory. Didn't want to see the hurt in your eyes, searching to understand.

It wasn't enough for you. It was a bullshit answer.

"Friends is the right term for it?" You pressed. Joel's eyes dart to yours before he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

The term was empty as Joel's feelings for the other woman. He didn't spend much casual time with Georgia; he didn't enjoy her company. In truth, she was irritating - her only humor was harsh jokes, she was too invested in drama. But she was available at the time.

He should've waited. He didn't want to believe anyone else would come along, let alone as alluring as you. If Joel knew Georgia would've become such a pain, he wouldn't have entertained her to begin with.

His eyebrows knit together, "Do we really have to do this right now?"

"Yes, Joel," you hissed, "You're not gonna bullshit me - I already know. I know she's not a friend. People who are 'just friends' don't... act like that." You quote the words in the air. The anger had bubbled over the surface, just as Joel had anticipated.

In contrast to your outburst, Joel stood unyielding in his story.

He began, "We have history, alright?"

Your face flashed to frustration, but he continued, raising a hand to stop you. "It's been over a year. She had it out with her fiancé couple weeks back - she's just... dealing with it in her own way."

You scoffed, "So, you're fucking someone else's fiancée. Nice, Joel."

Joel's features hardened. His morals had been perpetually grayscale, so he didn't pay mind to the consequences of his choices. Georgia had been his escape, his secret, and now his biggest mistake.

"Was. Was fucking."

You countered, "Like that makes it better."

Joel doesn't expect his correction to change your feelings, but it's something. You snapped your mouth shut, exhaling deeply as you followed his suit, leaning against the kitchen counter. You took a deep breath before carrying on.

"So, what changed?"

It could've been a one word answer if Joel had the balls to admit it right then. His efforts had been to avoid complication. But he knew what he said next could shape everything.

So he opted for honesty. A vulnerable admission. The slight numbing in his fingers and pounding heart made him feel young again, in a way. He hadn't felt this jittery in decades. Joel wrung his hands together, nodding once. He'd made his choice.

"You came to Jackson."

Joel recalled the day you approached the massive gate, hobbling from a sprained ankle that wouldn't heal properly. He took watch from the wall, observing Jackson's newcomer from the vantage point, watching you depart with Maria. Despite your obvious injury, you kept a smile on your face, being grateful to have found safety.

It wasn't until your first group patrol that he saw you again. That time you were closer, and he was finally able to make out your features. Your wide eyes and a growing blush gave him a warm confidence. None of the other newbies had looked at him like that before. But, that time as well, he turned away.

He would be a fool to do it again.

"Things changed when you showed up, and I've been doing my best to keep things normal. I wanted to think that, at first, it was just some... y'know, mild flirting. And I liked that, I really did," Joel slowly inched closer as he continued. "I tried tellin' myself that it was nothing, but I can't find truth to that anymore."

Your legs turned to lead, unable to move, unable to deny him. Each nearing step heated your stomach, flipped it over itself, and shot your heart to your throat. Joel now stood inches away, pinning you against the counter like he'd done at the fence.

"I tried convincing myself a lot of things. That you wouldn't feel the same, that maybe I was misreading things, or maybe it was all just- just some dumb crush, or whatever." It felt stupid to say it, but that was the feeling. A crush.

It was laughable, an old man like him feeling that young love again. Yet, here was someone who could consume his full attention with a single smile. You had a depth of feeling and care that he couldn't measure up to, not in a lifetime. There was no undoing his damage.

You didn't share that belief.

Your eyes flickered to his as you raised a hand to his cheek. The scruff of his beard itched into your palm, your fingers carding into the salt-and-pepper hair. His skin was weathered and warm, tanned from years under the Texas sun. The crinkles around his eyes displayed both his age and his affection. They tightened a certain way when he smiled - you wondered if he knew that about himself, the simple beauties of him. Subtle details that only one in love would notice.

You lowered your voice to a whisper, "Well, do you think you have it figured out now?"

His stare lingered on your lips too long. As good as his poker face was, Joel's eyes gave his desire away. Your gentle touch thawed out his hardened look. He sighed softly.

Joel knew that his answer would seal his fate. He would have to accept any 'complications' that followed.

Wordlessly, Joel dipped his head lower, brushing his lips tentatively over yours. Your hand slipped behind his head to draw him in, to take those last few millimeters and shove them aside, to take it all.

You released a wanton moan past Joel's parting lips. He took it on with his own low groan - a deep, possessing noise that pooled heat between your legs. It was Joel's body pressing you to the counter that kept you stable, but his adventurous hands did you no favors. He broke his mouth from yours, panting.

"Do you have any idea how hard this's been for me?" His breath was hot against your neck, slowly creeping to your ear. "With all your damn teasin', it's been hard to hold myself back. Shit, I tried."

His words melted your core. You shifted your thighs together to find the evidence of your desire, just how wet you'd gotten.

A warm, open kiss landed under your jaw, making you shudder. A small moan left you involuntarily. Such a bright, mystifying, intoxicating sound that had Joel breathless against your skin. His hands found your waist, gaining purchase on the fabric of your shirt, tugging desperately at its hem.

You bucked your hips forward, only to find a growing bulge in Joel's worn jeans, firm and warm against your belly. Drool pooled in your mouth at the feeling of him, and your hands itched to reach downward.

Joel's hands cupped under your ass, kneading into the soft flesh before he hoisted you up and onto the kitchen counter. The biting cold of it pressed into your legs, quickly replaced with Joel's warmth gliding over skin, each shuddering breath coursing through you.

His mouth worked down to your collarbone, his sentences were broken between kisses laid along your collarbone.

"You knew it, too, didn't you, sweetheart?" Kiss. Joel's hands still idly toyed with the hem of your shirt, slowly inching his fingers under it. You throw your head back against the cabinet, rolling your hips forward as invitation.

"You knew what you were doin', flirting with me like you've been-" He lowered himself down, kissing over the fabric of your shirt, letting it stand between you for now.

Greedy hands crept up your thighs, igniting your skin along the way. Tightness grew in your abdomen while he moved along, planting hot kisses across your chest. Joel worked meticulously to deny you and keep you waiting for more. His mouth landed kisses below a nipple, then on the right, then on the left, before repeating the moves on the other breast.

He didn't leave you unattended. Joel cupped your neglected tit, working it slowly in his hand, reaching for your perk nipple. His fingers work it thoroughly, pinching and twisting, listening to your beautiful noises.

"Joel," you cried out, your hands finding his broad shoulders. His muscles flexed and stretched under your fingers, his chest rising and falling in time with your hurried breaths.

This is what he'd been wanting to hear: you saying his name. Not from Georgia, not from anyone else's lips. And now you laid here beneath him, uttering it like it was holy.

It was music to his ears.

Joel hummed lowly, the sensation reverberating through your entire being. A teasing warmth played with your nipple - Joel's tongue had come out to play. He laid it flat against the sensitive bud, still through your thin shirt, but it gave little barrier. You could still feel his tongue circling your nipple before lapping slowly, drawing out a new shuddering moan. He groaned beneath you with great satisfaction.

"That's it, sweetheart," Joel murmured, "lemme hear you. Tell me how good it feels, baby."

With your senses alight, you couldn't form words. Instead, you let out another cry as Joel caught your nipple between his teeth. He chuckled softly at your noise, replying with a gentle smack on your ass. This was far more tender than how he'd normally be. It would be his biggest lesson with you - restraint. Until you told him otherwise, he'd tread carefully.

Your hips widened to invite him closer, yet Joel left the distance as it was, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your front. His mouth found yours once more with great desperation, as if the only clean air was what you shared. His teeth tugged at your lower lip, pulling away just enough for you to start to whine.

"Joel," you whimpered weakly, "Joel, I need more."

The request lit a fire in him. It was more than just permission, you were just as deprived as he was.

"More?" repeated Joel. You nodded quickly. He leisurely stood with a wide smirk, towering over you, his hand gliding lazily along your inner thigh. Joel mirrored himself on the other side, working his hands up the inside of your legs, so close to finding home. It's hardly enough, and yet too much. Your legs splayed out on either side, quivering, as you look up at Joel.

The neediness of your expression would've had Joel undressed in seconds, but he needed to take his time.

His gaze stripped you bare. He met your eyes as one of his hands meandered up your thigh, securing its spot at the waistband of your shorts.

Joel spoke idly while he hooked his rough, calloused fingers at the band, "Needy lil' thing, aren't ya?"

There was no time or breath to reply. Your breaths began to shudder as Joel used both hands to work your shorts down. The seconds feel like hours, but neither of you are willing to rush this. After holding back and stifling your feelings, this is what you deserved.

Quickly, Joel's lips wander down your neck, just as he helped you shift your legs out of your sleep shorts, slowly but surely. You kicked them off, letting them fall at Joel's feet, baring you before him.

He didn't know how to place it, but keeping your shirt on added to the seduction, still having part of you hidden from him until later. Another surprise would be waiting for him. For now, there was work to do.

"Don't worry, honey, I'll give you watcha need. I'll take good care of you," cooed Joel, who now led his index finger further up your thigh. It wasn't until he broke away that the praise began to flow.

Holding your thighs splayed out, Joel hissed through his teeth. Your pussy was on full display for his viewing, bare and dripping. He dropped to his knees before you, leveling himself at your entrance, his parted lips inches away from your needy hole.

He exhaled, parting your slit with a thumb. You were beyond what he imagined. Your pussy pathetically clenched down on nothing, desperate to be filled.

"Ain't that a pretty sight," Joel teased, suddenly running circles on your clit with his tumb. You whimpered into your palm, trying to stifle your sounds.

Pleasure coiled persistently in your stomach, creeping up your spine. Joel eyed your cunt as it trembled under his touch, smiling in awe - he'd never seen a body so beautiful.

Joel observed your writhing under his touch, memorizing every movement, burning them into his memory. Which touches made you arch your back, which ones made your thighs tremble. Your body, all on its own, ached and throbbed for him. He was the luckiest man alive.

And that desperate, pleading look on your face... God damn him.

This was far beyond what he had anticipated for this visit. If he had a lick of sense in him, Joel would've stayed at his own place. But even as he sat on his couch with his guitar on his knee, you wormed your way into his train of thought. Hell, you were the damn conductor of it. It wasn't until the sixth slip-up that Joel resolved himself to do something. The thought of you infiltrated everything - his work, his hobbies, his sleep.

Sleep had been most difficult, given that Joel pictured you there, too.

He couldn't have predicted this outcome, though. Joel leaned closer to your needy pussy, hovering his mouth over your swollen clit, relishing in the small moans you produced. His hands found your waist and gripped securely, testing the security of your position.

"Joel, please," you begged softly, "I can't take this anymore."

Your whining brought out a low chuckle from him, to add to your frustration. You groaned, bucking your hips forward. If he wasn't going to give you what you needed, you'd do your best to take it.

The grip on your waist tightened. A warning.

You looked down to find his stare intently on yours, his eyes overcast with lust. Speechless at the scene before you it was impossible to move, to look away. Joel kept your stare as he parted his lips to reveal his tongue, dipping lower and pressing it flat against your clit. The warmth was an instant, white-hot pleasure that drew your body into him.

"Oh, fuck-" you gasped. Joel hummed happily against your clit in response, swirling his tongue gingerly. He tested your waters once again, switching directions and rhythm, slipping his tongue around the entrance of your cunt.

He broke away with much protest on your end. Before you could utter a complaint he melted you once more.

"You sound so goddamn beautiful," muttered Joel. "You have no idea how many times I thought about this, pretty girl."

You mewled at the praise as Joel introduced a finger at your entrance, tending to your deprived hole as he showered you again.

"The number of times I pictured this moment... it's almost shameful. But I just couldn't help myself," he inched his finger deeper with each pause, drawing out your hissing breath. "And believe me, I tried to fight it back, but then I'd see you again, and it started all over."

With that, Joel curled his finger to greet your sweet spot. Crying out, you bit into your hand.

"Awh, what's wrong, sweetheart? You feelin' shy?" Joel teased darkly, "Don't want the neighbors to hear how good I'm making you feel?"

He savored the sound that fell from your lips, and he added a second finger. Curling masterfully like before, you were slowly stretched around him, walls fluttering as the coil in your belly tightened. Joel worked his fingers dutifully, angling deeper, he needed to hear you again - fuck the neighbors, let them find out. They'd get a good show, that's for sure.

His fingers' occupied state let Joel stand again, his lips and mustache glossy from your slick. A sly, devilish smile was your only sign to prepare yourself. Joel watched your face contort as he found a quickening pace. There was an obscene harmony filling the room - your sweet noises, and the sound of Joel's fingers plunging into your pussy.

"Hah.... hah... fffuck... Joel-"

"I know, pretty girl, keep it up. You can do it."

"I can't... I think I-I'm gonna... hah... I'm gonna-"

He commanded, "Give it to me, sweetheart. Show me whatcha look like when you fall apart."

You were pushed to the edge, and Joel sent you tumbling over it. Your climax slammed through you with a barrage of stars scattered across your vision. The world around you muffled, and while you couldn't make out what Joel said, you could see the satisfaction on his face.

Slowly, the world came back, and your breath began to slow. A satisfied grin plastered on your face, your body sated and languid. Joel tilted his head, smirking. The question begs an answer.

"Oh, honey, what am I gonna do with you?"

Y'all.

All honesty, this chapter took SO long to finish, my brain is now oatmeal. But the gremlin in my brain has been ITCHING to write smut, and we're FINALLY HERE RAHHHHH

(I'm sorry I stopped it here, but to be fair it's not the first cliffhanger I've done. Nor will it be the last. The next part will be out asap my loves!)

And if you liked this chapter, be sure to read the others! My masterlist is linked in the top of this post :)

xoxo, Bunny

[autumnslance]

In reference to this post I reblogged earlier, but don't want to muck up UC's activity:

#i think it's more important to see that redemption is in the eye of the beholder #not everybody (characters or real people) will accept the same type or amount of repentance for the same sins #some people might not care at all if the person who wronged them feels sorry; only if they materially repaid their crimes #others can feel the opposite #and either way that's their prerogative #you can disagree with the characters or the fans or the writers about who “deserves” OR has “achieved” redemption and that's okay #because it's ultimately a complex philosophical issue #like i agree with OP!!! but there's media literacy in accepting that not everyone will

I'm going to disagree with many of these tags, especially it being "in the eye of the beholder" and would argue it's more media literate to recognize when a character has a workable redemption arc even if one disagrees they "should" get one. It took me a long time to learn this cuz of how we're usually taught redemption = forgiveness in Western (especially very Christianized, and especially if explicitly raised Christian) culture:

It doesn't rely on anyone but the person seeking redemption.

Yeah, it's the wronged party's prerogative to never forgive, to think the perpetrator's atonement (and/or punishment) is not enough and never will be. Anyone (characters and actual people) who sympathize, and who are on their side, can agree it's not ever enough and that character/person's sins are unforgivable.

And that still doesn't matter to their redemption.

We have an example of a workable redemption arc that not all accept in Final Fantasy XIV with Fordola's situation, through the Endwalker healer role quests. She was raised a collaborator of Ala Mhigo's imperial occupiers, and thought the best way to help her people was to soldier for the empire, becoming their Butcher.

In the Stormblood patches, Raganfrid says he will never forgive her; he thanks her for the aid she gave in the throne room that day, but that's all. And even in the EW healer role quests, their interactions are complicated. He still can't forgive the collaborators, even as he works to reintegrate them into Ala Mhigan society. He recognizes many thought they had no choice. He can't, won't, forget the pain of losing his own loved ones to them. This is stated multiple times.

And others, like M'rahz, Sarisha, and M'naago also struggle, also say they won't forgive...but reluctantly agree they can understand how for the sake of their families, the collaborators felt pushed against a wall, and what lengths have they themselves gone to for their own families? M'naago even scolds Fordola: she doesn't get to give up, she has to keep working--or she dies as exactly what everyone said she was.

Fordola starts out as the one punished for her sins. Through the story, she makes her choices to change and fight and work for her people as a free woman. There are still those who despise the Butcher, and always will. Redemption comes from Fordola's actions, Fordola's choices. Who forgives her and who doesn't can't change that she has changed, and continues to do so.

And in the interest of fairness, for the opposite of Fordola, we have Laurentius. In A Realm Reborn, he collaborated with the empire, selling out his nation. He came out of his punishment wanting a new chance, so joined the Crystal Braves...and immediately fell under Ilberd's sway. While others remained loyal and stuck to their morals (and paid for it with imprisonment or even death), Laurentius went along with all of Ilberd's plans. And in the end, the player gets an opinion in the punishment he and his comrade face, but it's clear from talking to Raubahn there isn't much hope. Laurentius had his chances, but he didn't make any effort to actually change--so faced the consequences.

For Reference for the Healer Role Quests: Garland Tools Healer quest text starting with "Far From Free", and my own saved text in Gdocs (raw, not very organized compared to my later saved/updated docs).

(Nero's the war criminal who...didn't even get a slap on the wrist, he just waltzed into a leadership meeting 15 mins late with Starbucks and has been helping us save the world since. Gaius is the war criminal that went through traumas, saw his privileged preconceptions torn apart, and is starting down that road in the wake of Werlyt to clean up his mistakes and not let his children's sacrifices be in vain. None of these characters "need" punishment to decide to change; some of it simply happens as part of their stories, but they make their own choices and actions toward atonement.)

(Also redemption is usually an ongoing process, which is why "Death Equals Redemption", like how Yotusyu's situation is framed, is so dicey and often unsatisfying; are they actually changed, or they just getting out of putting in that effort to? Nothing indicated Yotsuyu actually cared to change, as sympathetic as she was in the end! But she has her redemptive moment for her fans, and the people who hate/won't forgive her also "win"--the trope is a "have your cake and eat it too" writing cop-out IMO at this point.)

[storygremlin]

Okay, for very real I need everyone acting like Colin didn’t “suffer enough” or whatever to take a breath and like…I dunno, rethink how u treat ur friends or something.

Like, Penelope’s feelings being hurt about the comment he made at the end of S2 is so real, but also her forgiving him as soon as he genuinely apologizes and follows through on being a solid friend is what friendship is??? Have none of you ever been accused by random people you only kinda know about being into ur close friends just bc ur opposite genders and then doing that panicky defense thing where you laugh really loud and go “what r u even saying dude? Hahaha that’s ridiculous they’re my bestie we are The Most Platonic (tm)” just to get them to leave u alone?

Does Colin overcompensate? Yes. Is it understandable, especially given the information we have about Penelope’s feelings, that she feels hurt and made fun of? Also yes. But very obviously, he wasn’t trying to make fun of her because he didn’t know how she felt. Very obviously, he loves talking to her and spending time with her. Very obviously, he values her opinion of him. He just didn’t want other people implying things about their friendship, specifically because it’s so important to him. If it wasn’t important to him, he wouldn’t have kept writing her even when she wasn’t writing him back. He wouldn’t have followed her out of that ball and tried to figure out what was wrong. He wouldn’t have sought her out in her garden, listened to her explanation, and offered his help despite the risk to their reputations. And he wouldn’t have quickly forgiven her snooping in his private journal and smiled so bashfully when she complimented his writing.

And when he realizes he’s in love with her he gives her the choice. He risks being so deeply vulnerable, kneels in front of her, and says, “I need you, I crave you, this is torture but I want it cause it’s you, do you want me?” And he’s fully ready to back off when he thinks she’s rejecting him. That’s respect.

Friends to lovers isn’t friends to lovers if they’re punishing each other over mistakes or lack of communication.

Friends to lovers is only good when there’s inherent love and trust and a desire to understand, support, and forgive each other pulling people together. Not despite themselves. If you want love despite themselves watch S2. Friends to lovers is love because. Because they’ll talk things out. Because they’ll try to encourage and forgive. Because they’ll do whatever is necessary to keep it good. Its love because of themselves. Because they value and love each other enough to keep trying.

That’s friendship bitch. And I love theirs.

[24kmar]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 (A. Donaldson, T. Duncan)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Tashi Duncan x Fem! Reader, Art Donaldson x Fem! Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Tashi hating on art 😭, Angst, Dialogue from "YOU", Language, College! Art and tashi, let me know if theres more!!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Tashi argues with you about whos more important, her or art. Art overhears and thats when you are forced to make a painful choice.

𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝑰'𝒎 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒕, 𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝑰'𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇

You really wish tashi didnt chose to have this argument in the middle of stanfords tennis court. Such a stupid argument too, one that started because of telling tashi you couldnt practice because you had plans with art.

𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑨 𝒕𝒐 𝑩, 𝑰𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒏'�� 𝒃𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆 '𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑬𝒚𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒚𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝑰 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒈𝒐

"Tashi i dont understand why you're making such a big deal out of this." You pause mid serve due to tashi chewing your ear off cause of you saying no to practice tomorrow.

What you didnt know was that art was over hearing all of it. He was just going to practice, when he heard his name in the sound of tashis voice.

𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨-𝐥𝐨-𝐥𝐨-𝐥𝐨-𝐥𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞

"Im making a big deal because lately it seems art is occupying way too much of your time." She yells at you

"Whatever tash." You scoff rolling your eyes

"No, not whatever. Have you even been paying attention to tennis? At all? Cause right now is NOT the time for mistakes."

There it was.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐈 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐈, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈-𝐈-𝐈

"Of course this is about fucking tennis" you scoff "get a fucking grip tash! My whole life isnt gonna revolve around tennis!"

"This isnt just about tennis y/n!"

"Then what is it about!?"

"About you ditching me for art!"

What? Now this is where you were stuck.

And so was art.

"Like you dont ditch me for tennis? And plus, im not even ditching you. You're always busy, so what is there to ditch?" You scoff stepping closer to her

You do admit you had been getting closer to art, but he was kind, caring, and actually made effort to spend time with you.

"You cant leave me and expect me to follow behind you! You cant have your cake and eat it too!" You yell, angry tears brimming "Atleast art is actually there!"

𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭, 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐣𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐟 '𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭

"Art is nothing!" She says stepping up to you "Im your family, i would kill for you! Would art?"

'In a heartbeat.', art thinks.

"Fuck this" you scoff, walking to get your stuff and leave the court.

"No y/n, you cant just walk away from this." She grabs your wrist turning you around "Whos it gonna be?" She asks

"What?" You breath out, baffled that shes even asking this question.

"You know what i mean y/n, whos it gonna be. Me or art?"

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐈

Arts heart was beating faster than it ever has in his life. Who would you pick? His thoughts were cut short as you shoved past him while wiping your tears. Bumping in to him, you looked up to apologize.

"Fuck sorry- oh, art" you look at him, your eyes being full of nervousness and sadness. "Did you hear that?" You ask nervously, fidgetting with the ends of your tennis skirt.

He nods softly, confirming your worries. The silence that followed, making you uneasy. Breaking the silence he spoke up.

"I would do anything for you, you know that right?" He spoke, hoping you would believe him. He would do anything for you. He couldnt let tashi get in the way of you guys. Not now, not after everything.

𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨-𝐥𝐨-𝐥𝐨-𝐥𝐨-𝐥𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞

Slowly, you nod sniffling.

"Ill see you around art." You try to smile, walking away. Left alone with your thoughts. Now you were faced with the hardest choice you'd ever had to make. Art or tashi?

[theodorenmyth]

Regrets.

Pairings : Lorenzo Berkshire x GN! Reader Summary : Lorenzo Berkshire, once confident in his choice to leave you for another, finds himself trapped in a web of regret and longing. Realizing his mistake, he is determined to win you back, even if it means facing the darkness he once embraced. A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠) Warnings) : ANGST. mentions of cheating, trust issues, fluffy end tho Word count : 1.2k

The dungeons of Hogwarts had always been cloaked in an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ancient stone walls. It was a place where secrets festered and shadows whispered, a fitting backdrop for the turmoil brewing within Lorenzo Berkshire.

He had chosen wrong. When he left you for another Slytherin, it felt like the right decision—ambition and cunning were prized in his house, and she had those in spades. Yet, her sharp edges had cut him deeper than he'd anticipated, leaving him yearning for the warmth and understanding he'd once found in you.

As he walked the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing softly, Lorenzo's thoughts were consumed by the memories of your time together. The way your laughter filled the empty spaces in his heart, how your touch grounded him when he felt the world spinning out of control. He had been a fool to let you go.

Reaching the familiar spot near the Potions classroom, he leaned against the cold stone wall, waiting for you. You often passed by here on your way to the library after dinner, a routine he had memorized during your time together. The minutes ticked by slowly, each second a reminder of the agony he'd inflicted on both of you.

Finally, you appeared, your figure illuminated by the flickering torchlight. Your eyes widened in surprise upon seeing him, but the softness he once adored was replaced by a steely resolve. It was a look that cut deeper than any curse.

"Enzo," you said, your voice betraying none of the emotion he hoped to hear. "What do you want?"

He straightened, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, though careful to keep a respectful distance. "I need to talk to you," he began, his voice tinged with desperation. "Please, just hear me out."

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. "Talk, then. But make it quick."

Taking a deep breath, Lorenzo plunged into his apology. "I was an idiot," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I thought I knew what I wanted, but I was wrong. I hurt you, and I regret it more than anything. I miss you, and I'm so sorry."

Your expression remained impassive, though a flicker of something—pain, perhaps—crossed your eyes. "You made your choice, Lorenzo. You can't just come back and expect everything to be okay."

"I know," he replied, his voice breaking slightly. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I can't keep pretending I don't love you. I made a mistake, and I'll do anything to make it right."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "You think an apology can fix this? You broke my heart, Lorenzo. Do you have any idea what that felt like?"

"I do," he whispered, his own heart clenching at the sight of your pain. "Because every day without you feels like torture. I see now how much you meant to me, how much I took you for granted."

Silence fell between you, thick and heavy. Lorenzo could see the internal struggle in your eyes, the battle between lingering affection and the hurt he had caused. He took a tentative step closer, his hand reaching out but stopping short of touching you.

"I don't expect you to take me back," he said softly. "But I need you to know that I'm sorry, and that I still love you. More than anything."

You looked away, your jaw clenched as you fought back tears. When you finally spoke, your voice was a whisper. "I loved you, Lorenzo. So much. But you shattered that trust. How can I believe you won't do it again?"

He swallowed hard, his own eyes stinging. "Because losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I can't promise I won't make mistakes, but I swear I'll spend every day trying to be worthy of you. Please, give me a chance to prove it."

The raw sincerity in his voice broke through your defenses, and a single tear rolled down your cheek. Lorenzo's heart ached to wipe it away, to comfort you like he once had. But he knew he had to wait, to let you decide.

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze with a vulnerability that took his breath away. "I need time, Lorenzo. Time to think, to heal. You can't just expect everything to go back to the way it was."

"I understand," he said, relief washing over him. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here, waiting, whenever you're ready."

With a small nod, you turned and walked away, leaving Lorenzo standing in the shadows. He watched you go, hope flickering in his heart for the first time in months. It was a fragile hope, but it was enough to keep him going.

Days turned into weeks, each one a test of Lorenzo's resolve. He threw himself into his studies, determined to show you through actions rather than words that he was serious about changing. He avoided the girl he had left you for, her presence a constant reminder of his folly.

Every chance he got, he left small tokens of his affection for you—a note tucked into your favorite book in the library, a flower left on your desk in the common room. He never pressed, never pushed, respecting your need for space.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

One evening, as he was leaving the Great Hall, he spotted you sitting by the lake, the setting sun casting a golden glow around you. Heart pounding, he approached cautiously, unsure if his presence would be welcome.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked softly.

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before you nodded. "Sure."

He sat down beside you, the two of you watching the rippling water in silence. It was a comfortable silence, one that spoke of shared memories and unspoken words.

"I've been thinking," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "About us."

Lorenzo's heart skipped a beat. "And?"

"And I still care about you," you admitted, turning to look at him. "But I'm scared, Lorenzo. Scared of getting hurt again."

He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "I understand. I can't promise I won't ever hurt you, but I can promise I'll never stop trying to be the person you deserve. I love you, more than anything."

You squeezed his hand, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I love you too, Enz. But this time, we take it slow. We rebuild what we lost."

Relief and joy flooded through him, and he nodded eagerly. "Slow is perfect. As long as I have you by my side, I can wait as long as it takes."

In that moment, under the fading light of the setting sun, the shadows of the past began to lift. Lorenzo knew it would be a long road to earning your full trust again, but he was ready for the journey. With you, he felt whole once more, and he vowed never to let you go again.

[raineandsky]

#119

tw: wasps

The hero turns their attention to the supervillain on the end of row with drooped shoulders and tired eyes. “And you,” they snap shortly, “what’s your superpower?”

The villain sitting next to the supervillain snorts into her hand. The supervillain frowns playfully. “Do I need one?”

“I’m not a big pattern finder, but every one of you felons has had one so far.” The hero taps their pen near the bottom of their paper, where the supervillain knows their name inevitably sits in perfect black print. “What is it?”

“Does people management count as a power?”

If the hero’s expression turned any more sour it’d be unbearable. “Your real superpower, [Supervillain].”

The way the supervillain’s lips curl upward is an answer in itself. 

“You’re all here for a long time,” the hero says with a scowl, raising their voice for the other villains further down the line before turning their hard gaze back to the supervillain. “All the time in the world for you to tell me.”

-

A long time, in a hero’s book, is probably several lifetimes. For a villain, it’s a few well-spent hours. 

The villains blast a hole in the wall and escape into the night with whoops of laughter. The supervillain helps everyone clamber over the rubble, leader that they are, and is carefully guiding the last of their associates through the debris when a voice rings out from behind them to ruin the fun.

“Stop!” the hero calls, as if the villains have ever been good at listening.

Ah—that little twerp from earlier, with the tired face and the scrawling list of superpowers. The supervillain pushes the villain over the last of the rubble before turning to face their new nemesis.

They hold their hands up in surrender, their head cocked to the side. “Or what?”

The hero pulls something the supervillain can’t see from their belt as they take their stride pulls them closer. “Or I might get you in prison long enough to find out what your deal is.”

They step into a swing like it’s a waltz. The supervillain sweeps out of reach like their partner in the tune.

Just enough time to make sure everyone gets away. That’s all they need.

The hero moves in for another strike and the supervillain just about ducks their arm. The air slices over their head, and they finally realise that the hero’s weapon of choice is a blade.

“I don’t have a deal,” the supervillain says easily. “You must know that by now.”

The hero darts back from a swinging punch. “You do have a deal, because you have a superpower and you won’t tell me what it is!”

The supervillain lurches for the hero, like the melee will take their mind off the dangerous ideas they’re barrelling towards. The hero pulls to the side, just, their knife already poised to retaliate. The supervillain barely has the time to avoid them, and the consequence finds itself in a burning crimson gash across their arm.

“I have nothing to tell you,” they snap, careful to keep the distance between themself and the blade twisting in the hero’s hand. “Is it so hard to believe some of us are normal?”

“Considering all you scumbags do nothing but brag about how powerful you are—” Another swipe, another near miss from the supervillain’s face “—yes.”

The supervillain falls forward into another swing, but the hero hops aside like it’s nothing. The supervillain’s spent the last three hours escaping. The hero’s probably spent them sleeping. As much as they’d never admit it, the supervillain’s at a disadvantage.

They glance over their shoulder to the hole in the wall. One of the villains is lingering outside, watching with wide eyes and restless feet. The supervillain tries to make some gesture at him to leave, and he seems to take the hint as he turns on his heel and runs.

More time to make up for. As if they need to waste any more of it.

Looking away was a mistake realised too late. The hero leaps for them in that half second, and their blade scrapes a deep, jagged gash into the supervillain’s chest.

The sudden flash of pain makes the supervillain stagger. Another hero appears on the corner, and the supervillain knows this is over if they don’t do something now.

The supervillain swings their hands in a roundabout motion, their expression stony with concentration. The hero stops the other hero as she gets close, their eyes trained on the supervillain curiously.

The supervillain’s hands clap together. The hero flinches. Nothing happens.

Then, from the hole in the wall, comes a single wasp.

The hero’s gaze flits between the supervillain and the random insect hovering next to them. The supervillain’s finger flicks out to point to them, and the wasp starts flitting towards them. 

The other hero steps back like this is horrifying. The hero raises an eyebrow. “Is… Is this your superpower?”

“I control wasps,” the supervillain says tightly, like the words are refusing to come out. They kind of are, because they never wanted to admit this. “But only one at a time.”

The wasp gets too close. The hero swats at it and its beeline is disrupted, thrown downward slightly by the force. It goes too low, and the hero shoves a foot out to crush it beneath their shoe.

There’s silence for a moment. The hero looks down at their own foot like they’re surprised by their own actions. “How the hell do you get to the top of villainy with a power like that?”

The supervillain grins, like that’ll hide the horrifying pain of having to reveal their power at all. “People management.”

And the confusion of their superpower, it seems, is their saving grace—the supervillain disappears into the evening with two heroes staring down at the splat of the insect on the ground in front of them.

[biblioflyer]

Xavier's dream is doomed, but there is no alternative.

The meta demands ever more elaborate allegories for every terrible thing humans have done to one another, but hard men making hard choices also inevitably make everything worse too.

This is part 1 of a 5 part series about pessimism in the world of X-Men.

X-Men ‘97 and The Animated Series more broadly have spent quite a bit of time establishing a few core conceits:

Xavier’s lofty rhetoric can win small, fleeting victories that do damage control in the near term such as repeatedly persuading government officials to give the X-Men time to handle a situation in a more surgical way.

Yet, significant gains like establishing an enclave for Mutants by Mutants on Genosha are always subject to rollback, usually in the form of a violent pogrom.

Sapiens violence sparks Mutatis retaliation, which more often than not confirms Sapiens fears about the dangers posed by Mutants.

Thus, Xavier is always made to look like a fanatic willing to sell Mutant lives cheap to de-escalate fearful Sapiens only for the concessions he wins to be meager and fleeting. There is always another crisis that requires the blood of his students to buy off a more extreme and indiscriminate reaction by human forces.

Yet at the same time, acts of separatism and retaliation by Magneto et al. pour jet fuel on the cycle of preemptive violence that leads to retaliatory violence that leads to more retaliatory violence.

This creates a doom loop where progress exists only to be rolled back and, if left uninterrupted, leads to functional mutual annihilation: Bastion attempts to kill or enslave all mutants, Magneto destroys the capacity for terrestrial civilization to exist beyond the steam engine. Both Magneto and Humanity have also had nuclear arsenals pointed at one another.

Every future we see appears to be dystopian. The X-Men will not live to see a better world and their best efforts largely ensure Mutants don’t go extinct entirely. No matter what the X-Men do, the choice seems to be between extermination or enslavement by Humans or Sentinels, or conquest by Apocalypse.

Noteworthy though is that in both Bishop and Cable’s futures, it is the X-Men who are remembered and celebrated, not Magneto’s Brotherhood. Martyrdom is a poor reward for dogged virtuousness in the face of hostility from both hateful Humans and justifiably angry Mutants, but it seems to be the only way the worst futures are avoided.

My growing concern now that X-Men is having a moment in the spotlight of fandom discourse is that the setting is accidentally or intentionally selling doomer nihilism cosplaying as realism or critical theory. 

Make no mistake, I think X-Men ‘97 is the smartest Marvel offering since Captain America: Civil War brought us the debates over the Sokovia Accords. However, people really do need to be mindful of the hard wired setting conceits that ensure that the X-Men’s world is one in which there is an unhappy median that wobbles back and forth from slightly better to a lot worse and this itself is not (I hope) the actual message of the setting.

Part 2 will discuss the role of allegory in X-Men and fiction more broadly as it pertains to civil rights struggles and identity based conflict.

[moralesfilms]

just wanna start off by saying I haven’t watched itsv in a while so forgive me for any mistakes/misrememberings 🫶🏽

I’m telling you, miles stopped a canon event in itsv.

remember this scene?:

apologies for it just being a photo

pretty sure that’s miles saving gwen from dying while stopping the collider. iirc

but none of them knew about the canon. they didn’t know what the canon events were, not even basic ones like directly or indirectly causing the death of a loved one.

if we take this as miles disrupting a canon event (gwen/spider-man’s first love dying), then we’ll also see that nothing happened during or after he saved her.

personally, I think miguel has the canon all wrong. pavitr’s reality glitching after the spot made a new collider was the spot’s doing and not miles’, as we see a giant black spot when the spider-people from the spider society go to check it out and that.

when we see gabriella’s reality collapsing in miguel’s backstory/intro, everything is glitching and falling apart. again, iirc

neither of these things happened when miles saved gwen in itsv, so this has me thinking that the canon isn’t what miguel thinks it is. maybe it doesn’t exist at all, or maybe it does but it’s not what we’ve been told by miguel.

extra thing - at the end of atsv, george stacy quit his job, making him unable to be a police captain, therefore changing the canon (the death of a police captain close to them). gwen knows the canon, but once she hears her dad say he quit, she realizes that the canon can be changed and it isn’t set in stone. it’s not like she disrupted the canon, her dad just made his own choice - like how miles wants to stop his dad from being a police captain and stop him from dying. or rather, “everyone keeps telling me how my story is supposed to go. nah, i’ma do my own thing.”

[cozzzynook]

regarding the latest post with bee and cliff being meg and op’s sparklings: what are their reactions to star being bee’s conjunx?

I imagine megs is gonna blow a fuse and immediately try something to make them split, cliff takes his sire’s anger as well but he’s vocal about it, op is trying to be civil here but has his own doubts. bee knew this was a mistake but bought star because it would eventually be known soon, meanwhile star has a smug smile and isn’t (not a lot anyway) phased by bee’s family. drift and ratchet don’t like it either, neither does their sparklings. but their sparklings are more accepting, since if bee likes this menace of a seeker maybe he’s not that bad. (they may or may not be right)

adore and love your writing 🫶🫶

😭 thank you!

Bee is 100% not ready to introduce his conjunx to his family.

Cliff is downright unbearable in his complaining and his sire is over the top literally shooting his canon at Starscream who is laughing and antagonizing the former war mech.

Optimus is no better because he does keep his conjunx from offlining Starscream but he does threaten him with a Spark scalpel curtsey of Ratchet who came to the family dinner with his conjunx and sparklings who brought their conjunxes and sparklings.

Cliff is conjunxed to Mirage who proved his love for Cliff already, so the mech is just sitting back watching everything unfold happy to not be the subject of his conjunxs creators ire.

Starscream is not an idiot.

He does not take Optimus’s threat lightly and he knows to fear that mech more than Megatron. He’s dealt with Megatron for thousands of years, he knows how to deal with him.

Its Drift and Ratchet along with Optimus that he fears.

He knows who Drift used to be and he knows Ratchet can and will take him apart piece by piece.

He has no intentions of hurting or leaving his little space bee but he does wish for this family dinner to be over with so they can go back to the peace and quiet of their home where he can spoil his little brat of a conjunx and enjoy his spoiling right back.

Starscream matches Cliff’s snide remarks right back and matches Ratchets glares with devious smirks while carefully taunting Optimus whenever he makes an underhanded remark and he matches Drifts weary glares with raised optic ridges.

By the end of dinner Bee has enough and lays in on his family for being so rude to Starscream.

“Carrier! You can’t say a word about my choice in conjunx when sire was a warlord!! Sire! You worked with him!!! You both committed war crimes! Uncle Drift you were a decepticon too at one point and Uncle Ratchet you conjunxed him when he was still a con! None of you have the right to judge so stop it! Or I won’t be coming back!”

“And cliff!”

Cliff was just staring with his mouth open since Bee so rarely yelled.

“Stop with the remarks! You hated it when sire and carrier treated Mirage like this! Don’t do it to me and my conjunx!”

Bee stands and yanks Starscream with him who looks shocked and follows Bee before holding him and lifting him up.

“While your family is quite rude to guests. They have a right to worry love.”

“Not you too.”

“I’m on your side always,” Starscream assured him, “but I don’t want to see you arguing with your family or on bad terms. Especially because of me.”

And Bee knew his love missed his trine even if they were simply far away back in Vos it sucked to be without your family close by. Especially since the trio were so close they practically lived with them.

“Lets head back home to Vos?”

And Starscream smiled a little at this, completely focused on Bee forgetting the others who saw Starscream in a different light.

“Only if you all reconcile,” he agreed kissing his yellow loves helm.

“I think we owe you an apology,” Optimus said after clearing his intake passage.

“Sorry Bee…screamer,” Cliff said still such a brat but at least he tried.

Ratchet was still bitter but he did huff out a gruff sorry followed by Drift’s apology.

Megatron had to be elbowed by Optimus and after a few kliks and a sigh he apologized.

Bee bunched up Starscreams dermas before his mate could make things worse.

“Thank you,” he smiled warmly, “i think we should go now. I’ll contact you guys later?”

With a sad nod his creators and split spark hugged him before seeing them off.

Dinner went well since no one was offlined but it was still a disaster.

Bee was wondering what they’d do if the two ever sparked.

He was not looking forward to that conversation.

[fizzyxcustard]

Regarding the ask game about fanfic, I present to you this : ⭐

Go wild with the sequence you want to rant about. Feel the glee as you type an answer to this ask.

Thanks ☆♡☆

I’m so sorry for not replying to this sooner. In fact, I’ve been musing over which sequence to write about. It’s so incredibly hard to pick just one sequence, and my mind, for some reason, keeps coming back to this glorious bastard:

My first Pilgrimage fic was “Wrong Place Wrong Time”, which I had such a blast writing and am considering re-writing. I think the fic needs work and could be made so much better now I’ve got more Raymond knowledge and experience under my belt. So, ahem, the sequence.

I’m going to choose this one:

“Every woman I have bedded has given themselves to me by choice. I have never had to resort to force with any woman.”

You chuckled wryly. “So no one can resist you? Talk about arrogance. Now I can see why you haven’t got a wife.”

Raymond stepped towards you again. “And do not lie and tell me you are not finding it difficult resisting temptation. I sense it all over you. As for taking a wife, that can soon be changed.”

His gaze penetrated you, curling around you tightly, and warmth spread throughout your entire being, forcing fear away, although only for a brief few moments. The next thing you realised was Raymond’s lips against yours and his hands cupping your face. You could not deny that his kiss was hot, electric and caused something to snap in you. That instinct you had been so terrified of unleashing was finally loose. Your kiss deepened, and you could taste wine, until his lips left yours and delved down your neck and onto your chest. Words would not come as you gasped. He left a trail of red hot fire down you.

His hand cupped your breast, teasing your nipple beneath the clothing. And you heard him growl. It was primal and animal-like. The growl drew a deep groan from you, followed by a word which you could not even fathom yourself. The word had become lost in translation from your brain to your lips as the arousal took you over.

You didn’t even notice as Raymond pushed you against one of the wooden pillars. Your whole body was on fire and he continued on kissing you hungrily, his tongue gently licking against your skin, paired with the tickling of his stubble.

But your rational mind began to make itself known and you opened your eyes, looking around and realising what was happening. “Raymond, stop!” you called out. “Please…” you begged. But he continued on kissing you, lapping at your breasts like an animal. “STOP!” you demanded, shoving him away.

Raymond glared at you, his eyebrows lowered and his eyes cold. “Do not deny that you enjoyed that!” he snarled. You were both panting, and you could feel the heat burning your cheeks and chest.

Without another word you raced out of the barn, not even caring if he followed you, or worse, tried to hurt you.

**

This scene is the first true interaction between the female reader and Raymond, and the sexual tension and frustration is monumental here. I really can’t put into words how much I adored writing this story, even though it’s riddled with mistakes and needs re-writing. It was my first venture into the Pilgrimage fandom.

The reader is so aware of her attraction to Raymond, but ultimately she’s scared of letting go. She’s scared of her own feelings and also of him. Gradually he’s worn her down to this scene, but she still takes the control back. And that’s what really keeps Raymond obsessed with her. She’s different. She has respect for herself. She’s proud and honours herself.

Raymond is using all his power to get her to see there’s something between them, even though he knows she knows. She just won’t admit it. And that frustration he feels is at bursting point. It’s more frustrating having someone deny you who you know is attracted to you.

Man, I love this fic! Not for its quality, but for the sheer passion I wrote it with. I love projects like this. And I hope I can find another one.

Here, have some more Raymond.

Wrong Place Wrong Time, which is ultimately a time travel romance, can be found here on AO3, or in my masterlist (pinned at the top of my blog)

Psst! One last thing. There’s also a part 2. 😉😉

As always, if you wish to be added to my fic tag list (for all fics, a particular story or a particular character), then please message me and let me know. All comments and reblogs are appreciated more than you know. And asks are always welcome!!

Happy reading, writing and thank you for making it this far!

[the-magpie-collective]

[Part 2/3]: Let's drink the Styx down to the last drop

Part 1

And that brings us to Part II, or why it seems trivial to escape a pact even when the game tells us otherwise.

We come to the second time we are directly quoted Wyll's pact:

Clause A, Section Two: 'Should soul-holder choose to abandon his patron, he is freed from his duty. His father, Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard, will be thus fated to die by an enemy's hand.'

Now Wyll's father dying as consequence of Wyll not fulfilling his pact is narrative horseshit. The only thing Wyll signed away with the pact was his soul. Wyll doesn't have the power to sign away his father's life. If it was that easy to guarantee someone's death every devil would be adding on nonsense clauses: 'Such and such person I dislike is fated to die tomorrow'. If devils' pacts actually had that power, hell would have already won. It makes no sense.

So let's say Ulder Ravengard is fated to die and Mizora just so happens to know this and it has nothing to do with Wyll's pact. Wyll doesn't need know that it has nothing to do with the pact and well, Mizora is petty enough it's believable that she would expend power to ensure Ulder's death happens by her hand so that Wyll feels personally responsible. But the way this clause is introduced in the game makes no sense.

The player frees Mizora in exchange for breaking his pact and Mizora rewards Wyll with a weapon and saunters off la-di-di-da. What? I don't know about you, but I was left sitting there thinking I had made a mistake in choosing my dialogue options and she was using some bullshit 'well Tav saved me so I don't actually have to free Wyll from his pact' cop-out. But no, they just have Mizora show up later to free Wyll from his pact because reasons?

Oh wait it's so they can railroad the player.

The main reason why BG3 works so well as a game is the illusion of choice and for Wyll's entire storyline this simply does not exist. Wyll is the only character who is not allowed to make his own choice at the climax of his story. 

The only way to save Wyll's father is by getting several specific cutscenes in a specific order. I had to redo the Iron throne so many times not because it was difficult but because I kept missing a goddamn cutscene. The player can't save Ulder Ravengard in the Grand Hall when he crowns Gortash even though nonlethal damage is introduced right at the beginning of the game and is used in exactly this way to save Minsc. Ulder Ravengard is just magically dead if you don't talk to Mizora twice before going to the iron throne. And none of this makes sense with what we have been told are the rules of how this game works.

So they use that bullshit pact clause to smooth over their shoddy story writing.

Now I understand that the reason why they did this was to make saving Wyll's father difficult, but come on. If you know anything about game design you know that forcing your player to follow a strict series of easy to miss steps in order to succeed is just bad game design. There are better ways to increase a scenarios difficulty. There's a reason why Larian didn't look at Honor Mode and go 'I know what would make this harder, if they don't talk to specific people in a specific order everyone in the Grove just dies for no reason :)'.

And fixing this wouldn't even be that hard. You have Wyll free Mizora and she rewards him with the rapier and then immediately call her sisters from hell and break his pact as promised. There's no reason why the six month clause* should prevent the pact from being broken then and there. It's not like she waits six months to let Wyll break it anyways. And then on the way out she can go, 'oh, I forgot to mention. Remember that clause that says your father is fated to die if you break your pact? Whoopsie. Toodaloo.' It would hit all the harder when Wyll watches the three BBEGs tadpole Ulder because he could be left wondering: is this my fault?

(*this is another bullshit clause that they never actually do anything with so I don't know why they even bothered to put it in.)

And then the player arrives at Baldur's Gate and sees Ulder standing at Gortash's side. Give the Player the opportunity to save him then and there. We already know it will be a hard fight between the Steel Watch and everyone else. There will be plenty of opportunities where Ulder could accidentally get killed, but having him just die no matter what is stupid. Mizora can still come around and threaten Ulder's life and give Wyll the opportunity to remedy things by re-sealing his pact. I mean there's already a bunch of bullshit clauses, what's one more that states something along the lines of 'If soul-holder agrees to re-sign the original pact within three tendays after choosing to abandon his patron, all consequences as a result of abandoning his patron are null and void'. And hey, if Wyll refuses, I know I wouldn't be complaining about it triggering a fight with Mizora. Anything that gives me an opportunity to actually get rid of her.

Or let's say the player listens to Wyll and doesn't attack Gortash and Ulder in the Grand Hall. Now, because Mizora has already stated that Ulder will die the player has a reason to confront Mizora when they see her standing on the bridge outside of Wyrm's Rock. And this is where things can stay the same, Mizora can dangle the hope of rescuing Wyll's father over his head and offer to provide information as to where Gortash is keeping him.

And if the player still doesn't talk to Mizora, then just keep the confrontation in the iron throne. Maybe add in an extra line of dialogue on Mizora's part, that she would have offered to help if they had come to her but now she's here to kill Ulder instead.

These are minor changes that offer the player the illusion of choice. A few changes and the player isn't required to do anything in a specific and arbitrary order just to save Ulder Ravengard. It doesn't entirely fix the issues with the writing around Mizora's Pact, but by the gods the way they have it currently in the game makes my teeth itch. It takes all of the tension and fear around the pact and just turns it into frustration because the consequence of Ulder dying does not fit with everything that has been outlined as the rules for the player so far. Why go to such lengths to make BG3 feel as close to an actually D&D campaign as they can, only to remove any freedom of choice when it comes to Wyll's story?

But wait, there's more.

Part 3

[ranbowkng]

Forgive Me Father for Thine Lips are the Sweetest Sin

Summary: Gary shows up on John's porch and expects to initiate him. Instead he initiates a spark between them

John Ward sighed, his bedroom eyes wearily glancing at the smirking cultist before him. He thought it was over. He sealed the crucible, if only temporarily, and had left with Lisa and Garcia, allowing them both a safer place to reside than their apartments. So why was the demon back? And why had it been so confident as to walk up to his front door and knock as if he wouldn't try to send it back to hell? He was pretty sure it was looking at him the way it would a snack.

"What do you want?" John leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms as he looked up at the cultist.

"Glad to hear your enthusiasm," Gary said, a chuckle laced in his tone, "Because I need you."

"...what?" John raised an eyebrow. Holding a carton of cigarettes in his hands.

"I've realized my mistake! It's all so simple! I've been trying to go about this as if we are different, but you and I, we're exactly the same!" Gary waved his hand in a hundred different directions, adjusting his sunglasses frequently, "What do you say? You and me in a new world order?" He shimmied his shoulders a few times as he spoke. John wondered if this is what all those kids were referring to when they referred to something as "radical." He still didn't understand the appeal.

"Hmm, what a difficult choice," John spoke sarcastically as he placed a cigarette between his lips, "I'll certainly have to uh...think..." He patted down his pockets, searching for a light.

"Allow me," Gary said, snapping his fingers to light the end sticking out of John's mouth.

"Oh... thanks," John inhaled deeply, letting the smoke escape his lungs before holding the cigarette between two fingers to continue talking, "Not happening. In case you haven't noticed, your cult is gone, we defeated you."

"Not necessarily," Gary hummed, "At best you've momentarily inconvenienced us, but you've hardly come close to defeating us. After all..." He gripped John by the shirt, pulling him close to whisper in his ear, "We still have the girl~"

John's breath hitched as he dropped the cigarette on the ground. Gary stomped it out with the heel of his boot, grazing over John's toes in the process, "What have you done with Amy?"

"It's hardly Amy you should be worried about dear preacher," Gary hummed, using his grip on his shirt to spin him around, pulling him to the walkway to his house, "I'd be more concerned about them if I were you."

John looked up, horrified at the sight. Two cultists, covered head to toe in crimson robes, sat atop the neighbor's houses, pointing guns at two windows in his house. One towards the window of his bedroom where Garcia had laid down for a nap, and one towards the kitchen where Lisa had been preparing herself lunch. John looked to the cult leader before him, fury scrunching his face into a threatening glare, "Call them off, now!"

"Calm yourself priest, I shall," Gary held up a palm, a signal to the cultist to hold their fire temporarily, "If you agree to my terms."

"What terms?" John raised an eyebrow, clutching his crucifix.

"You drop that silly stick and join me as my right hand man, and I spare the girl," Gary said, "Join me as a lover and I spare them both."

John's face flushed, how did he know?! See, from the moment John laid eyes on the cultist, he felt a spark. Previously he was able to push off these feelings merely by being thoroughly annoyed by the prospect of them. As time went on, he had to make more excuses why the feelings weren't real. Excuses like "he's evil" "he's dead" "he hates your guts and wants to use them as Christmas tree decorations" "he's probably a man" but now here he is, bringing them up to use against John.

"I am not joining you, lover or otherwise!" John yelled.

"That's quite a shame," Gary sighed, lifting his arm, "Take aim, and-"

"Wait!" John grabbed Gary's arm, stopping him before he could give the command to fire, "I'll...I'll join you..."

"Excellent!" Gary motioned for the cultist pointing a gun at Lisa to stand down, "I suppose minimizing the casualties to one would be efficient. Take aim-"

"I'll be your lover!" John shouted, stopping the cultist.

Gary smirked, lowering his arm, "Mind repeating that for me?"

"I-" John couldn't believe what he was agreeing to, but if it saved Garcia's life, so be it, "I...will join you...as a lover...if you accept my terms!"

Gary rolled his eyes, "I hardly believe you're in a position to make demands here."

"It's one demand, and if you refuse then I will exorcise you," John lifted his crucifix, pointing it at Gary who raised his arms in surrender, "Are you willing to listen now?"

"Oh I'm so scared-" Gary was silenced by the sudden sizzling of his skin as John rested the tip of his crucifix against his wrist, "Ow! Okay! Okay! I'm listening!"

"One kiss," John's expression was cold and unmoving as he spoke, "I want one kiss before we agree to anything. If we both enjoy it, I'll go off with you. If you enjoy it and I don't or vice versa, oh well. If neither of us enjoy it, don't waste my time by putting my friends lives in danger ever again or I will exorcise you twice."

"Feisty" Gary smirked, signalling for the other cultist to stand down, "Fair enough, and to liven this up a tad, I'll let you be the one to engage the kiss."

"Fine!" John huffed in annoyance.

"Indeed," Gary was far too full of himself for someone who was cowering under what he believed to be a "pathetic stick" two seconds ago.

John inched closer, more annoyed by the closeness with each movement he made. One part of John wanted to rip off the cultist's face, the other part of him wanted to rip off something else. Regardless, he stood an inch away from Gary, looking into the eyes hiding behind the shades.

John reached up and in one swift motion pulled Gary's lips onto his. His vengeance for all the cultist had put him through, he ravished the taste without room to breathe, and bit his lip harshly as he pulled away. The worst part of it all, he enjoyed it.

Gary's face was red as his robes as he was released, blinking twice as he tried to catch up with what just happened to him, "...priest."

"Didn't enjoy it much did you?" John waved him off, hiding his own blush by turning to the side, "Run along, don't waste my time again."

"...I apologize," Gary didn't even give John a second to process the words before he pushed him through the door frame with his lips on John's, kicking it closed behind him.

Both staggered backwards, refusing to pull away from the other until John couldn't breathe. When they finally pried themselves away from each other, they had landed on John's sofa with Gary sitting on top of John.

"Priest..." Gary's voice was soft, unable to conjure more than a whisper.

"Cultist," John said back, trying not to mirror the cocky smirk, "Enjoyed the taste of my lips more than a little did we?"

"I... didn't think asking you to be my lover would go so deep...I thought it would be a business exchange. I didn't know it could taste so...good," Gary said, "Forgive me, my accomplice."

"Hmm," John failed to not conjure a smirk, "You can earn forgiveness by-"

"Gross," Lisa's voice caused him to shut up, "Get a room."

"Ms. Pearson!" Gary said, frozen in John's lap.

"This isn't what it looks like!" John said quickly.

"I don't care," Lisa said, walking away, "I'm going out with Tiffany tonight. Please try not to do anything stupid." With that, she walked into the bathroom, which John could no longer navigate due to the excessive amounts of makeup products that littered the sink.

John and Gary turned back to each other, both of their faces dusted pink.

"We had a deal," Gary said, "You are now a part of my Order."

"And you are now mine," John said with a blank stare, "An even exchange."

Gary was a bit startled by the sentiment, his blush growing ever further, but he quickly buried his head into the priest's shoulder, "John..."

"Gary," John said.

"Perhaps, I don't mind if we're romantic without a trade to justify it, even though you now most definitely are now a member of my Order," Gary's voice was muffled in John's shirt, but John heard every word very clearly.

"Mm, you want to kiss me again don't you?" John asked, patting the cultist's shoulder.

"... perhaps," Gary responded.

"Go for it," John said. And he did, melting into the sinfully good taste of John's lips.

And it wouldn't be the last time he did.

[canisalbus]

gothic lolita machete came to me in a dream

.

[chloesimaginationthings]

How come game Michael has all those bandages? I’m curious!

I got asked this a few times! Honestly it’s just a character design choice

To me, it makes sense Michael would have small bandages here and there on his skin, just from all his working with animatronics and snooping around. So the bandages are there to reflect that