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jetii · 2 days

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hello lovely!!! if you have the time for it with your follower celebration, i’d looooove #21 with hunter 🤭 or if you get too many reqs for him with howzer or wolffe! tysm, and congrats on this big milestone!!!! 💗💗💗💗

okay so i got a lot of requests for #21 so i'm trying to do something different for each! also a slightly different style than i'm used to with some slightly more unhinged smut. @a-cryptid-called-magetha come get your man

A Game

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Reader

Words: 5,049

Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, smut, friends with benefits to lovers, Frat Batch era Hunter, semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, underwear kink?, the most dominant Hunter I'll ever write, he's still a simp tho

Prompt: 21. “Moan a little louder, cyare. Let all of 79s know who’s fucking you.”

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You’ve played this game a hundred times, so you know that when Hunter meets your eyes across the bar, you have a choice. You can walk over and talk to him, or you can ignore him.

The first will take you on the route of the seducer. He’ll buy you a drink, and you’ll let him. You’ll let him slide his hands up your skirt, and you know where it ends.

You can already feel him behind you, his breath in your ear, his lips on your skin. You can hear him say the things he always says, the words that’ll make you feel like there’s no one else who has ever made you feel the way that he does. He won't be wrong.

Or, you can look away, and let him come to you. The seduced. It isn't like he won't find his way over. It isn't like he isn't always there. You'll pretend that you don't see him until you feel the heat of him right behind you, his presence filling the room, his hands on the back of your chair.

You'll pretend you're not thinking about him and what you could do with him. You'll pretend not to want it, because you know the game, and you know how to play it well.

You can tell yourself that you aren't going to give in. You're not going to let him kiss you, and touch you, and fuck you. But it's a lie. You are going to. And it infuriates you that you're still doing this. It makes you angry, and you can't quite figure out why.

You don't look at him again, because if you look at him, you'll be done for. It's not that you haven't had this conversation a thousand times. It's just that sometimes it feels like it's not a game anymore. It feels like something real, and you hate the part of you that wants to believe that. You hate the part of you that still lets you think that there's a chance.

So you don't look. And, even though he's the hunter, it's you who waits. It's you who watches. You don't have to turn your head to see him. You don't have to watch. You already know how it will play out. You're only here for the ending.

Hunter doesn't come to you right away. He takes his time, talking to his squad, pretending that he isn't watching you, pretending that he doesn't know exactly where you are. You know he can see the tension in your body. You can see it too, because you can't stop the way your hands clench, the way your thighs shift, the way your back straightens. You can't keep from turning your head to look at him.

It's then that he makes his move. He crosses the room to stand beside you, and the rest of the bar fades into the background. He doesn't touch you, doesn't even come close. Instead, he leans in and speaks, and his words are the ones that make you weak. "Let me get you a drink."

The thing is, you shouldn't let him. This isn't supposed to be happening. You aren't supposed to be here. Not with him.

"No." You shake your head. It's the first time you've ever said it, and you aren't sure how it feels. "I'm not interested."

He gives you a look, like maybe he doesn't understand what's happening, like he didn't expect to have to try this hard. Then, he looks down, and when his eyes meet yours again, you feel something shift. He knows.

His voice is different when he speaks, and he's so much closer now. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You nod, and it's not the first lie you've told tonight, but this one feels better, and so does the next one, the one where you tell him, "I have to go."

You leave the bar, and he doesn't follow. Not this time.

It's a good start.

The second time, you're not going to give in.

You don't know if you can say no again, but you have to try. Because there are things that matter. Things like love, and trust, and respect. There's a future.

You want that future. You want it more than anything, and that's what you have to remember.

Hunter walks in, and you think maybe he's going to ignore you. He’s talking with one of his brothers, the one that joined the Batch a few months back, and they seem engrossed in whatever they're talking about. You feel a flood of relief, and maybe a little disappointment.

But then, Hunter meets your eyes, and you realize that he hasn't forgotten. Across the floor, you're frozen in place, and all the things you should say, all the things you should do, have left your head. His eyes are dark, and the room is crowded, but somehow, it's like there's no one else here.

When he looks at you, it's like the whole world is falling away.

You're the first to break the contact, looking down and away, pretending you didn't see him. You feel a flush creeping up your neck, and you hope no one notices.

You can't do this.

You shouldn't do this.

It's the only thing on your mind as the music pounds through the speakers, and the crowd surges around you. It's all you can think about, and it's distracting, because you keep seeing him in your peripheral vision. It's like he's everywhere, and you can't escape.

You know that if you turn your head, he'll be there, and if he's there, then this will all be over. He'll come to you, and you'll let him. It will be like every other time, and you'll wonder why you tried, why you thought you could say no, why you thought it was worth a try.

He'll be there. You know he will.

You keep your head down, and your eyes averted. You focus on the lights and the music and the crowd. You focus on your feet, and your hands, and the glass in front of you. You don't think about Hunter.

Someone else approaches you. Not Hunter. Someone you don't know, and it's nice. This is the kind of thing you came here for. This is the distraction you needed.

You aren't sure why it makes you feel worse.

You go home alone.

The third time, Hunter comes to you, and it's over.

He doesn't wait. He doesn't ask. He's already got his arm around your waist, and his lips are pressed to your throat, and you've got no choice. There's no way to stop this, and no way to walk away.

"I missed you." He breathes the words into your ear, and there's no one else, not for a single moment, who could ever matter the way he does. You can't even remember what your life was like before him.

"You saw me a few days ago."

"It's not enough." His hands are in your hair, his hips pressed against yours. "Not anymore."

You have no answer to that. There's no reply.

Hunter pulls away, and he's still holding you, and when he speaks again, the words are low and urgent. "Don't make me beg. Please."

Your hand is on his chest, and you're not sure if you're trying to push him away or hold him closer. You've never heard him sound like this before, and it's something new. Something terrifying.

Something hopeful.

"Okay," you tell him.

Hunter exhales, and his arms tighten around you. He rests his forehead against yours, and there are a million things you want to say. You could say them. He might listen.

"Come on." He doesn't kiss you. He doesn't even let go. He just takes a step back, and you can't stop yourself from following. You know what's going to happen.

This is the part of the game you can't stop playing.

You aren't surprised when Hunter pulls you into the nearest darkened corner. He isn't gentle, and he doesn't stop moving. When you're alone, it's like he can't get close enough, can't touch you enough.

It's like this time, he wants to prove that he's still got a hold on you. That this hasn't changed.

It hasn't.

His lips are against your neck, and his fingers are digging into your hips. He's everywhere, and all you can think about is how this was a mistake. You knew it would be.

It's just that it's so hard to remember why.

“Hunter...” Your voice sounds strange, and Hunter lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are so dark, and the light from the main room glints off his tattoo.

When he meets your gaze, he stops. You see the realization cross his face, and it's not what you expected. You thought he'd keep going. You thought he'd push. You didn't think he'd care.

He doesn't speak, and neither do you. You're not sure how long you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

You don't say anything. There are no words. There's just him, and you, and the fact that, after all these months, the rules have changed.

For a moment, he almost looks scared, and you don't know what to say.

"I don't..." He looks away, and you can tell that he's struggling, trying to figure out what's happening, and what he's supposed to do. It's the first time you've seen him this unsure, and it's your fault.

"Hunter." This time, when you say his name, his eyes meet yours. He's not hiding anymore, and he's still touching you. You can still feel his breath on your face.

You've played this game a hundred times, but the stakes have never been higher.

"I can't."

Hunter frowns, and the confusion on his face is obvious. He doesn't understand. You're not sure if it's because he never believed that you could stop, or because he never expected that you would.

"You said—"

"I know what I said."

He takes a step back, and the space between the two of you is wide, and empty, and cold. The air is different without his hands on your skin.

"Did I do something?"

"No,” you say. You shake your head, and then, because there are some things you can't deny, you add, "Yes."

"Tell me." He's still standing so close, and when his voice drops, your breath catches. He puts his hand on your arm, and when he slides it up to your shoulder, his thumb grazes your collarbone. "Whatever it is, I can fix it. Tell me."

He's not listening, and he doesn't hear you. If he did, then this wouldn't be a problem.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

His hand freezes. "You don't want..."

"This," you say. You gesture to the space between the two of you. "This thing where we pretend that nothing's happening. It's not just sex anymore, Hunter. I'm not some random stranger. This means something."

He's still frowning, and you're not sure he gets it. "Of course it means something."

"No," you say. You're getting frustrated, and he still isn't letting go of you. "You don't get it. You need to take a step back, and we have to figure out what we're doing here. Because I can't do this, and—"

"What?"

"I can't have a casual relationship." The words are rushed, and quiet, and everything comes spilling out at once. "I can't have a sex-only, friends with benefits, no strings attached relationship. Not with you. I want more. I've wanted more since the day I met you."

Hunter opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He looks like you've hit him, and you want him to say something, to say anything. But he doesn't, so you speak for him.

"I can't keep pretending that it doesn't matter. I can't keep lying. It's too much." You take a deep breath. "So, no. I can't. Not anymore. We can't."

Hunter doesn't move. He doesn't say anything. He’s preternaturally still, and there are so many things you wish he would do, but this is not one of them.

It hurts more than you could have imagined, and it's more than you can bear. You feel like you can't breathe, and like the only thing holding you together is his hand on your arm. He's staring at you like he doesn't recognize you, and you have to look away.

It's only a moment, and then Hunter moves. His fingers drag up to your chin, tilting your head up so you're forced to meet his eyes. You're caught. Held in place by the intensity of his gaze.

"You really don't know, do you?"

You blink. You aren't sure what to say, so you don't say anything.

"This isn't casual. Not for me,” he says, his voice rough, and his eyes search your face, like he's trying to make sure that you're understanding what he's saying.

You're not sure you are.

"I haven't touched anyone since the day we met." He pauses, and the words are like a blow, knocking the wind from your lungs. "Not anyone. Not ever."

He keeps talking, and you're not sure what's happening.

"I didn't lie. Not ever. I never told you how I felt, but that's not because I didn't care."

"Hunter..."

"You're not the only one who feels something," he says, and his voice is low, and desperate, and full of all the things you've never allowed yourself to believe. "There is no one else. There never was. Just you."

He's not playing the game anymore.

"I'm not pretending," he says. "This matters."

You can't speak. Your throat is tight, and your heart is pounding. You want to believe him, and it's almost too much.

"You—"

"Yes," Hunter says. He nods, and then he smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

He leans in, and you're frozen. You can't move. It's like the world has stopped.

"Do you understand now?" he asks, and he's close. So close.

"Yeah," you breathe.

Hunter's eyes close, and he exhales. "Good."

Then, his lips are on yours, and this isn't like any other kiss you've shared. This isn't a game. It's different. Everything is. It's like the first time, but better, because this time, you both know where you stand. This is a beginning, not an ending.

"I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs, and his lips trail down your neck. "I thought... I didn't know."

"Me too," you whisper. "I didn't want to hope."

"I know." Hunter's hands slide under the hem of your shirt, and his fingers dig into your hips. His mouth is against your ear. "But, now, I want to know what else I've been missing."

"Me too," you say. "Stars, me too."

"Yeah?" He's still smiling, and he's not stopping, and you've never been more turned on. "You gonna show me, then?"

"Oh, yes," you say. You guide him back with a gentle shove of his shoulders, but you don't let him go far. The door to the women’s restroom is right behind you, and without thinking, you grab the lip of his chest plate and drag him inside. He laughs as he follows you in, and the sound makes you smile, but then, he's not laughing anymore.

Hunter slams the door shut behind him, throwing the lock into place. You don't waste any time, pushing him back against the door, and he groans. He's already reaching for the hem of your shirt, but you've got other plans.

It's easy to slide to your knees, and when you reach for the buckle of his belt, Hunter's eyes are wide, and dark. His breath catches as you unlatch his codpiece, and toss it to the floor. You don't wait, pulling his cock free, and Hunter's head thunks back against the door.

"You don't have to—"

You take him into your mouth, and his words dissolve into a moan. It's been too long since the last time, and the weight of him on your tongue, the taste of him, is better than you remember. The thick vein that runs along the underside is throbbing, and you press your tongue against it, feeling him twitch in your mouth.

He's already breathing hard, his hands on the door behind him, as though he's not sure what to do with them. He's got one foot braced against the tile, his hips shifting restlessly, and when you glance up, his eyes are closed, his mouth open, his face slack.

He's beautiful.

You don't have time to think about that, not with him filling your mouth, the head of his cock bumping the back of your throat, his fingers threading through your hair. His hands are gentle, guiding, not pushing. You can feel his restraint, the way he's trying to hold himself still, the tension in his thighs as he rocks against you.

You hum, and Hunter gasps, his hips bucking, his cock thrusting deep. He hits the back of your throat, and you moan, and it's the first time that he tightens his grip, the first time that his voice breaks. "Oh, fuck."

His hand is cupping the back of your head, holding you close, and when he pulls back, the drag of your lips over his cock is obscene.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

You cut him off with a lick along the slit at the tip, and Hunter moans. He doesn't seem to be able to look away, his eyes glued to the sight of you on your knees, and the way his cock disappears into your mouth.

"Fuck, I've missed you."

You laugh, and the vibration of it makes Hunter shudder. He's shaking, and when he meets your eyes, his own are burning. "I mean it. You don't know what it was like. Watching you walk away."

You take him deeper, and his words come faster, like he's finally getting it out. "It's always like this. Every time I'm close to you, I can't think. The way you look, the way you feel, fuck, the way you smell."

His cock slips from your mouth, and you suck a line down the length, and then back up. He's leaking, and you lap at the salty tang of his release, swirling your tongue over the sensitive head.

"All I can think about is burying myself inside of you, and fucking you until you're screaming. I don't know what you do to me, but it's too much."

He's rambling, and his fingers are tugging your hair. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he's shaking. "It's too much. It's always too much, and it's never enough."

You know exactly what he means. You can feel it every time he's near. It's a pull, a draw, and a need. There's a part of you that is always searching for him, that needs him closer, and closer still.

It's maddening.

"I can't stop wanting you."

You've never heard Hunter talk like this, and it makes you moan. The sound is muffled around his cock, and it's like the last of his self-control evaporates.

"Get up here."

He tugs your hair, and you can hear the urgency in his voice. He's not waiting. Not anymore.

His cock slides from your mouth, and his hand wraps around the back of your neck, hauling you to your feet. His lips are on yours, and the kiss is rough and biting, his tongue thrusting deep. You can taste him, and you can feel the way he's shaking.

You've never seen him like this, and it makes you want more. It's intoxicating, and addictive, and all you can think about is how much more he's going to give.

He doesn't give you time to catch your breath. He's spinning you, and you're facing the sink, your hands gripping the edge. He doesn't ask as he rips his gloves off and tosses them into the sink, but you can see the question in his eyes. He doesn't have to.

You nod, and it's all he needs. Hunter's hands are on your waist, and then he's yanking your skirt up, and his fingers are sliding between your legs. He curses, and when he pulls his hand away, his fingers are glistening with your wetness.

“All this from my cock in your mouth, and I've barely touched you." His words are a low rumble, his breath warm against your ear. "Is this what you wanted? Me to take you hard and fast, so that anyone who walks in can hear how good I make you feel?"

Your thighs clench, and Hunter groans, his voice cracking. "Do you have any idea what it does to me, knowing that I'm the only one who can make you come like this?"

"You're the only one I want." Your voice is breathy, and uneven. You can't seem to get a full breath, not when he's looking at you the way he is, his fingers sliding between your folds.

He brings his hand to his lips, and licks his fingers clean, his eyes closed. He looks like he's savoring it, and you're transfixed. It's not until his hands are back on you, hooking into your panties and pulling them down, that you take in a gasp of air.

You watch as he kneels behind you, dragging your underwear down to your ankles. He lifts one foot, and then the other, pulling the soaked garment off. You don’t see where it goes, but you don’t hear it hit the ground. He doesn't drop it. Instead, he stands, and shoves it in one of his pockets, and when he looks at you, he smirks.

You aren’t sure what to say. It shouldn't turn you on. It does.

Hunter leans forward, and his cock slides along the cleft of your ass, and then lower. His lips are on your neck, and when his cock brushes against your clit, you gasp. You can't take much more of this.

You try to turn, but his hands are on your hips, and he's not letting you. His mouth is hot against your neck, and his lips are pressed to your ear.

"No." His voice is a rough growl, and you can hear the smile in his tone. "Stay."

It's not a request.

You freeze, and his teeth sink into your neck, making you cry out. He doesn't speak, and the only sound in the room is your breathing, and the soft, wet sounds of his cock sliding between your folds. He's rubbing the head against your clit, and it's almost too much. You can't stop moving, but the pressure on your hips keeps you still.

"Hunter,” you whimper, and the word is half plea, and half command.

He doesn't answer, and his breath is coming fast and shallow. His fingers are digging into your hips, and he's pressing his cock lower, and lower. You can feel him notch against your entrance, and he pauses, the both of you held in limbo.

"Please."

The moment stretches out, and then Hunter's hand is on the back of your neck, pressing you down. Your forehead hits the cool porcelain of the sink, and you can feel his fingers flex, and then his cock is pressing forward, and stretching you open.

You moan, and it's all you can do not to move. He takes his time, easing inside, and the feeling of him filling you, the sensation of being stretched and filled and claimed is exquisite.

It's not until he's seated inside you that he lets go of your neck. His hand is on your shoulder, holding you in place, and his hips snap, driving him deep. You gasp, his name a strangled cry that tears from your throat, and you can feel his lips brush against your skin.

"That’s it,” he grunts, his breath hot against your ear. He's barely pulling out, fucking you with quick, sharp thrusts. “Moan a little louder, cyare. Let all of 79s know who’s fucking you.”

You don't know what he's doing to you. All you know is that you want more, and you're desperate to obey. You can't help the noises spilling from your mouth, and if you weren't so focused on him, on the way his cock felt inside of you, you might have been embarrassed.

But all you can think about is the way his fingers are gripping your hips, and the way his body is pressed against yours, armor cold and unyielding against your back. You can hear him breathing, and the quiet grunts and moans that fall from his lips are driving you mad.

“Hunter—”

He's not waiting for you to finish, not even bothering to let you catch your breath. You feel the way he responds to the sound of his name, the way his hips jerk, and the way his cock thickens inside of you. His arm slides under your body, wrapping around your stomach, and his hips are moving faster, his thrusts rougher. Hunter fucks you like he's trying to claim you, and in a way, he is.

His mouth is at your ear, and when he speaks, the words are a rough whisper. "Tell me you're mine."

You're shaking, and it's not from the force of his thrusts. It's from the way he says the words, the way he breathes them into your ear, like a plea and a prayer.

"Tell me, and I'll let you come."

You don't know how he can keep talking. You can't form the words, and he's relentless. The way his cock fills you, the way his hips snap, the way his mouth is pressed against your neck, his lips leaving kisses and marks that will linger, and remind you that you're his.

"Please," you manage, the closest your fogged mind can get.

"Say it."

"I'm yours," you whisper, and the way his hips jerk is telling.

He doesn't speak, his hips shifting, and when he drives into you again, it's all you can do to hang on. He's hitting the perfect spot, and when he fucks into you, he stays there, the head of his cock grinding against the most sensitive parts of you. His hand finds your clit, his thumb circling, and it's only moments before you're coming undone.

The force of it hits you, and the noise that escapes is not quite a scream, and not quite a moan. You're shaking, your vision going white, and your entire body is clenching, tightening around him. It's only then that he lets go, the sound that spills from his lips making you shudder.

You can feel him coming, the heat of his release flooding your core. It's a sensation that will never get old, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the way his hand tightens on your hip, the way his mouth opens against your neck. The way he gasps, and sighs, and whispers your name, like you're the only thing that matters.

It's always like this.

He holds you close, and neither of you speaks. It's just the sound of your breathing, the quiet rustle of his armor, the gentle hum of the music from the club outside the door.

There's a knock on the door, and Hunter curses, his hands tightening. His voice is rough, but quiet, and there's no mistaking the warning in his tone. "Go away."

You're frozen, and there's no reply, just the sound of footsteps retreating down the hallway.

"Fuck," he groans. The sound vibrates through your body, making you shudder.

"You're gonna get us thrown out,” you tell him, and Hunter laughs.

"It wouldn't be the first time." He pulls away, and it's an unpleasant sensation, the drag of his cock leaving your body. You can feel him leaking from between your legs, and you shift, trying to find something to clean yourself up with.

"Here." Hunter pulls a towel from the rack, and he's gentle as he runs it over the inside of your thighs, and between your legs. He cleans himself and tucks his cock back into his blacks, and the whole time, he's got a hand on your waist, like he's not ready to let go.

You adjust your clothes, and when you turn to look at him, Hunter smiles.

"I've been thinking," he says, and he's reaching for you, pulling you close.

"That sounds dangerous."

"Maybe." Hunter dips his head, and he kisses you, his hands cupping your face. His mouth is warm and soft, and it feels like an apology. When he breaks the kiss, he's still holding you, and the next words out of his mouth are the last ones you expect.

"Do you want to go to dinner with me?"

You blink. Hunter's eyes are serious, and his hands are on your shoulders like he's bracing himself.

"Like, on a date?"

He nods, and he looks so nervous, it's hard not to laugh. The two of you have been having sex for months, have done things that would make most people blush, and he's nervous because he wants to take you to dinner.

"Just the two of us?"

Hunter nods again, and when you smile, his own lips curl up.

"Yes." You wrap your arms around his waist, and he looks relieved, like he didn't think you were going to say yes. "I'd love to."

Hunter smiles, and it's brilliant. It makes his eyes shine, and you can't help but grin.

"Good," he says. "That's good."

“But you’re going to have to give me my panties back."

Hunter raises an eyebrow and dips his hand between your legs, the touch light, but firm. His fingers glide through your folds, and the sound you make is high and strangled. He's still wearing a smirk when he pulls his hand away, and when he licks his fingers clean, there's no mistaking the way his gaze darkens.

"I think I'm going to keep them," he says without a hint of remorse.

"But—"

"Consider it a promise." His smile is wicked, and his voice is low and rough. "For later."

Your eyes widen, and Hunter chuckles.

"Now," he says, his hands sliding down your arms. He interlaces your fingers with his, and pulls you toward the door. "Let's get out of here."

This time, you follow him without question.

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#WOOF okay this one was a bit much even for me #the last request i'll be posting for a few days #gotta clean up this soul-crushing Wrecker angst for Wednesday #hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #tbb hunter #the bad batch #clone x reader #the clone wars #roy writes #500 follower celebration

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nthspecialll · 2 days

Text

Bill Williamson shaped by an army knife

(This post is a casual explanation(ish), not meant to defend but rather explore and discuss Bill Williamson's character and how it is shaped by the army, it has also been sensitivity and proof read by a native to ensure that I did not accidently word anything in a way that would hurt the native community)

As many knows, Bill Williamson was in the army, and if you look closer you can see the many different ways in which it formed him, the ways in which a constantly stressful envioment filled with death shaped the person he is.

I am going to mention the one thing that stood out to me first, racism. Now hang on when I say this, he isn't, he is not racist, but you know what he is? A parot who got fed words and repeats them. And why would I say that? Do I have evidence? Yes.

The two characters we see Bill go after is Javier and Lenny, he calls Lenny "boy" and says "come over here!" or "I don't like your attitude", meanwhile with Javier he straight up calls him a slur. But something to notice is that Bill praises both of those characters at other times. Bill calls Lenny "son" and yells to everyone about how amazing he is and the proud almost fatherly instrict is oozing. With Javier there is a similar interaction where he is drunk and he is yapping Sean's ear off about how amazing Javier is.

We do not see that with Micah (That I can find), the only possitive thing Micah says to either of them is "you aren't so bad, for a greaser". Another thing to point out is that Micah is constantly belittling both Lenny and Javier, saying things like "you can write and everything, unusual for one of you. Oh you know, hoodlums," Bill does not, he does not belittle them.

So why would he say such things? Because he was angry, and why would he say that because he is upset?

Bill was in the army, common knowledge, uncommon (or at least commonly forgotten) is the fact that he fought the American Indian War. He did not fight other white people, he fought the native americans, and they were scary. He tells that story himself in a camp interaction, talking about how scary it was, and I do think he was frightened and not just empty words as he at the end jumps at the sound of a neighing horse.

Bill saw people get murdered, he saw his friends get slaughtered and he was told by the army to turn that anger towards the natives. The army implimented racist ideologies to excuse the genocide they were making and to rile their armies.

I often think of the line between Bill and Dutch where Bill says "I saw things!" and Dutch says "I am sure you do! But I don't think you could understand it" and I think that is spot on. Bill saw his friends dying, he saw his comrades dying, people he was likely as close to as he was the VDL gang (I will return to that later) dying. All he saw were these people murdering his friends, not that those people were fighting for their right to exist, and for every body the army framed it all on the natives, that it was all their fault, without mentioning anything that the army was doing to the natives.

The only times Bill acts out in a racist manner is when he is angry and he is often angry at himself, but he has always been told that when he is angry he should direct it towards people of color by the army, so he does. He does not believe it, but he does it anyways. There are a few times, like in the camp interactions mentioned, where he is not angry, but that is simply the brainwash that the army put him under to justify killing. He is saying those things because he has been told to.

He says the words but they seem empty as his actions are more supportive of his friends than anything.

Another thing I noticed is how protective he is of the gang, not just of Dutch, but the gang, even though he is painted as lazy, many times he is not, especially when it comes to protection. I often see him standing at the edge of camp even when he is off guard, and in that one camp interaction where strangers find camp, he is there, he is watching over them, in the Valentine robbery he was also smart enough to know to bring backup, he knew that if things were to go wrong, he needed to have someone there, Arthur.

Now some people are going to come and say "Oh but he didn't realise the security job was a trick," no, he did not, do you know who also did not? Dutch, Lenny, Karen, characters whom it was mentioned in front of. The only ones who did realise were Arthur and Sean, and despite Bill trying to throw the blame off himself at first, he does blame himself, there are interactions of him saying he blames himself for Sean's death. Similarly when Angelo Bronte offers up money, he is not planning to take it, he is making sure no one else is, I got a whole post on that.

One of the other things about Bill, is that people say he did not care when Lenny died. I do think he did, he has so many camp interactions where he is calling Lenny son, being proud of him and so on, but I do think that the army got to him there too. When in battle people die, people die often and you cannot stop because they do, no matter how much you loved that person, if you are on an open battle field charging towards the enemy, you do not have time to stop.

When in the army you are expected to be a tough manly dude, in chapter six Arthur can ask if Bill is okay and he never gives a real answer, instead he shifts the convosation away. Bill believes he is not allowed to show weakness because doing so in the army was not allowed, anything unmanly was not allowed. I do also believe that is where he gets his fucked up realtionship with his sexuality (I am not even going to explain why I think of him as queer, I do believe others are able to see if, but also if anyone says "No he aint!" that is a fair opinion but the va does hc him to be queer), wanting to flirt (or at least befriend) Kieran but not knowing how to without coming off as unmanly.

Returning to how he would care for the army friends he made, is how he ended after he got thrown out. Bill says his biggest fear as a kid was to be an alcoholic and look at where he ended up. He even says he completely lost himself after the army, that Dutch "saved Bill Williamson."

Well even if it was not everyone whom he liked, there was at least one person. If we look at his letter from the army, he is thrown out for attempted murder and deviancy ("the fact or state of diverging from usual or accepted standards, especially in social or sexual behaviour." aka can be used for homosexuality). An interesting thing to note is that both of those alone is enough to throw someone out of the army, so why is both there unless they happened at the same time? I see it likely that Bill was discovered with a lover and either the person found them attacked Bill and lover or Bill attacked the person who found them to silence them. Either way, Bill did not succeed and instead he got thrown.

Tags: @cupidsbeartrap

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption community #red dead redemption two #john marston #red dead fandom #rdr john #rdr2 bill #bill williamson #nthspecialll #rdr2 lenny #lenny summers #rdr2 javier #javier escuella #rdr2 micah #micah bell

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dreamingfyre · 20 hours

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first writing ever <3 this is a quick os, maybe will turn it into a series later.

psychologist!reader x fbi agent!rafe cameron.

warning : mention of death, HEAVY smut, mention of argument, p in v, unprotected sex, uniform kink, consumption of alcohol, slight degradation dom!ready x sub!rafe for like 3 seconds before switching, use of petnames + insults, thigh riding, restraining at some point. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE. english isn't my first language so sorry if this is badly done.

Rafe knew he messed up the moment he walked in, late again. He didn't need to see you to know—he could already feel it. When he opened the door and saw the glass of red wine sitting on the kitchen counter, untouched, it confirmed everything. You never drank alone unless he had really screwed up. Red wine meant trouble, and tonight, he knew he was in deep.

Lately, things had been rough on both of you. Rafe was always working, consumed by a case that seemed never-ending. It had taken over his life, and he often found himself wondering if they'd ever catch the bastard. It was a cat-and-mouse game, with the guy always two steps ahead—shattering families, killing girls. Always, girls. Each new victim weighed heavily on him, and it was starting to tear at the seams of your relationship. The distance between you grew wider with every late night and every unanswered call.

That’s when Rafe became fiercely protective of you. The idea of you wandering alone at night made his skin crawl. You fit the exact profile of the girls this killer preyed on, and the thought of something happening to you drove him mad. He couldn’t stand the idea of anyone getting near his sweet, innocent girl, so he tried to keep you close, refusing to let you go out. Not that you ever listened. You hated being cooped up, and the more he tightened his grip, the more you pushed back.

Rafe took a deep breath, trying to summon the patience to finally step inside. He didn't even bother taking his shoes off as he slowly pushed the door open. That's when he saw you-just as he expected, a glass of wine in hand.

You sat there, glasses up your nose, wearing nothing but your work shirt, unbuttoned, the soft fabric falling open to reveal the curve of your breasts, sending a shiver down his spine. Your bottoms were carelessly tossed a few meters away. He could feel the tension radiating off you even before you looked his way.

But you didn't even look at him. He raised an eyebrow, feeling the weight of your silence. “ Hello, ” he muttered, his voice low. No response. You didn't even flinch. He sighed, already defeated, and walked over to the couch, sitting next to you. His eyes flicked to the TV, then to you, and inevitably, to your exposed chest.

For a moment, he wondered if you did it on purpose— sitting there like that, with your shirt barely hanging on, hair tousled, panties on display, and your breasts visible only for him. It was the kind of sight that would drive him insane, and he knew you were aware of that. His suit suddenly felt too tight as the thought sank in, desire and frustration mixing dangerously in his mind.

You sat there, your anger barely contained beneath your calm exterior. Did you put yourself in such a suggestive position realizing what it would do to him? Maybe. Even if you were angry at how he constantly came home late, how he tried to control everything, and how he barely talked to you anymore—you couldn’t ignore the fact that you were also needy. You missed him. He barely touched you these days, too consumed by work or exhaustion to give you the attention you craved.

Tonight felt different, though. You both had the day off tomorrow, meaning no early alarms, no rushing to sleep. The entire night stretched ahead of you, and for once, it felt like there was space to reconnect. Even if you were mad, there was an undeniable part of you that wanted him —needed him — just as much as you were angry at him. And by the way he kept glancing at you, you could tell the tension between you wasn’t lost on him either.

You couldn’t help but glance down, noticing the obvious restrain in his pants. A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips—he didn’t even bother to hide it. Yet, here he was, pretending like he didn’t care, eyes fixed on the TV as if he wasn’t completely distracted by you. You watched him for a moment longer, taking in the way his suit clung to him, crisp and sharp, the perfect contrast to the messy situation between you two. He looked undeniably hot, and it drove you crazy.

You couldn't hold back anymore. Stretching out slightly, your breasts fully revealed themselves to him, and you watched as his gaze darkened instantly. He didn't need any more of a signal to understand. You could see how he braced himself, how his eyes locked onto your chest, and just as his hand extended toward you, you slapped it away.

“ No touching,” you warned, your voice low, passing a hand over your hardened nipple. “ See what you do to me? How ignored l've been feeling? ”

The frustration was clear in your tone, but so was the need. You weren't going to make it easy for him-not after all the nights you'd spent feeling invisible, desperate for his attention. Now, it was his turn to feel just as needy.

And needy he felt, especially when you straddled him, your body pressing against his as if taunting him. His hands hovered in the air, waiting for permission he wasn't used to asking for. Normally, he was the one in charge, the one who set the pace. But tonight felt different-like everything had shifted.

‘ Do you know how many nights I had to do this myself? ’ you whispered, your voice low, a playful pout on your lips as you teased him, your hips pressing ever so slightly against his hardness. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched, desperate for your touch yet unable to move, completely at your mercy. The power dynamic had changed, and it thrilled you both.

You raised an eyebrow at his silence, a smirk tugging at your lips as you lifted your hips slightly, sliding your panties off with deliberate ease. The cool air hit your skin just as you settled your wet cunt against his clothed thigh, the friction making him groan softly.

‘ Do you want me to show you? ’ you teased, your voice a dangerous whisper as you watched him. He nodded instinctively, but that wasn't enough. You needed more-needed him to say it. Your fingers trailed up his lips, teasing the edge of his mouth before slipping between them, pressing against his tongue. ‘ Words,’ you commanded softly, your eyes dark with expectation.

‘ Y-yes,’ he mumbled around your fingers, licking and sucking at them in desperation.

‘ Yes, who? ’ you asked, your voice taking on a new edge, the question cutting through the haze of his desire. The words ignited something inside him, something primal. He knew what you wanted, what you demanded. but he refused.

He looked up at you, his gaze shifting from submission to something more primal, almost animalistic. The realization of how tiny you were compared to him seemed to spark a flicker of amusement in his eyes. A smirk crept across his lips as he challenged you, ‘ Who? ’ His voice was cold, teasing, and he laughed, ‘ You're practically humping my thighs like a bitch in heat and you're asking who? ’

The playful taunt sent a jolt through you, and you felt your pussy clench involuntarily at his words. His hand came down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you could contain it.

As if that wasn't enough, he began to untie his tie, the smooth fabric slipping from around his neck with ease. With a swift motion, he looped it around your throat, holding it firmly yet not painfully, pulling you closer to him. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his presence consumed you.

‘ Move, ma'am, ’ he commanded, his tone low and filled with authority. The mixture of dominance in his words and the grip on your throat ignited a fire deep within you, urging you to obey and grind against him with fervor.

That's exactly what you did. You ground against him, feeling the weight of his gaze as he took your glass of wine, setting it aside to fully appreciate the show before him. Each movement of your body sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your wetness staining his pants, yet he didn't seem to care in the slightest.

His expression remained nonchalant, almost amused, while you became increasingly unraveled. Your moans grew louder, filling the room as you lost yourself in the sensations. It was as if he were savoring every moment, enjoying the way you squirmed under his control.

Then, he lifted his thigh just right, the pressure hitting your clit perfectly, sending a surge of pleasure that made your back arch. The feeling was electric, and you could hardly keep your composure, the sounds escaping your lips betraying the bliss you were experiencing. Each rub against his thigh intensified your arousal, and you could tell he was relishing in your desperation, enjoying the sight of you coming undone before him.

After a few minutes of blissful torture, he suddenly gripped your waist, halting your movements. You mumbled in protest, frustrated at the sudden stop, but all that escaped your lips was a string of needy whines. He chuckled, the sound deep and teasing, ‘ Jesus Christ, ’ as he began to unzip his pants.

That's when it hit you: you were completely bare, exposed, while he remained fully clothed-from his polished shoes to his tailored jacket. The contrast between your nakedness and his attire only heightened your frustration, making you pout, but deep down, you understood you weren't in any position to protest.

Slowly, he freed himself from the confines of his pants, revealing his cock, standing tall and curved, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He smirked at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

‘ It's a little dry, don't you think? ’ Before you could formulate a response, he wasted no time, pushing you down onto your knees. The urgency in his actions sent a thrill of excitement through you as he tapped his cock against your lips, urging you to open up for him.

You complied without hesitation, opening your mouth wide to accommodate him. As you took his tip at first, you felt the warmth of his skin against your tongue, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. He gripped your hair tightly in his hands, guiding your movements as he slowly pushed his hips forward, making you gag around him. What started as just the tip quickly turned into him sliding deeper, filling your mouth completely.

With a smirk, he pulled out his phone and positioned the camera to capture the scene unfolding before him. ‘ Say hello to the camera, baby, ’ he chuckled, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

‘ Fuck-this is going to help me during work. ’ He caressed your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the rawness of the moment, making you melt further around him as you did your best to take him fully.

As he began to groan, showering you with praise, you felt a surge of pride at how well you were pleasing him. But just as the pleasure peaked, his phone rang, cutting through the atmosphere.

He groaned in annoyance, looking down at you with a mix of desire and frustration. ‘ Don't you dare fucking stop, ’ he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience, before putting the phone to his ear, attempting to balance his work and the overwhelming pleasure you were giving him.

You looked up at him, noticing the way his brows were furrowed in concentration, though you weren't focused on his words at all. Your mouth moved faster, wanting to draw every sound of pleasure from him. But he quickly stopped you, yanking your hair back, a shock of arousal shooting through you at the sudden intensity. He pulled you up to his lap, his body still on the phone, and you were a complete mess, a mix of urgency and desire.

He glanced down at the sight before him, taking in the view of your exposed cunt, glistening with need. With a smirk, he took his cock in hand, pressing it against your clit slowly, teasingly.

‘ Busy? Nah. Just taking care of my cat, ’ he said nonchalantly, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he continued to talk on the phone.

Without warning, he slid into you, the suddenness of it making you gasp, the sensation overwhelming. His eyes locked onto yours, dark with lust as he relished the moment. His hand moved up your throat, a firm grip that sent shivers down your spine. Then, he took his tie and pulled it up to your mouth, tightening it around you, constraining you just enough to heighten the thrill of the moment.

He tilted his head to the side, holding his phone between his shoulder and ear as he continued his conversation, his voice steady and composed. Both of his hands moved to her waist, feeling the way she instinctively tried to contain her noises, muffled breaths escaping her lips.

He started off slow, guiding her movements with his hands, feeling the heat radiating between them. But it didn't take long for him to pick up the pace, thrusting into her with a quick intensity that left her reeling. The sensations were overwhelming, each deep thrust sending shockwaves through her body, making it hard for her to keep quiet.

She wanted to let out a moan, to express the pleasure that was building inside her, but she knew better. Instead, she focused on the feeling of him filling her, the way everything inside her kept buckling under the force of his movements. Each thrust was a delicious torment, and even as she struggled to keep her sounds contained, the pleasure surged through her, threatening to spill over.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally said, ‘ Yeah, alright. See ya, ’ and threw his phone aside, discarding it carelessly. As soon as the device hit the floor, he pulled the tie away from your mouth, releasing you from the makeshift gag. That's when the dam broke.

You became a real mess, your muffled moans escalating into desperate cries that filled the room with unrestrained pleasure. He groaned at the sound, his focus shifting as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and biting it before giving equal attention to the other. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, and your body reacted instinctively, arching toward him.

His free hand moved to your clit, working it with a skill that made your head spin. The roughness of his touch, the way he twitched it between his fingers, brought you to the very edge.

You could feel the tension building, the pressure coiling tightly within you. His moans echoed your own, signaling that he was reaching his peak as well. With every flick and caress, he pushed you closer to the edge, both of you teetering on the brink of ecstasy, ready to tumble into that sweet release together.

But what truly sent you over the edge was when he pinched your clit sharply, the unexpected shock sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. You tightened around him in waves, your body trembling as a delicious heat surged through you. For the first time, you felt yourself dripping around him, the slickness mixing with the urgency of the moment.

At that precise instant, he reached his climax as well. You could feel his cock twitching deep inside you, a low groan escaping his lips as he filled you, his release igniting your own. The two of you were lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, bodies moving together in perfect synchrony, until the world outside faded away, leaving nothing but the heat and connection between you.

You both lingered in that intimate moment for a few minutes, sharing heavy breaths and gentle displays of affection. The warmth of his body against yours felt like a comforting cocoon. Eventually, he pulled himself out of you, and you felt an undeniable sense of loss at the absence of his warmth.

Without saying a word, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you through the house, cradling you against his chest like you were the most precious thing in his world. When you reached the bedroom, he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking the covers around you with the utmost care. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

However, instead of joining you, he walked over to the closet, pulling out a fresh pair of pants. Your heart sank at the sight, and you frowned, an unspoken question hanging in the air. It was as if he could sense your unease because he turned to face you, his expression serious yet tender.

“They found him, baby. I gotta go,” he said, the weight of his words settling heavily in the room. With a final kiss, one that lingered as if he were trying to imprint the moment into your memory, he slipped back into his suit, and left the room.

sorry that was actually sooo long.

#rafe fic #rafe x you #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron

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coco-cinnamon · 2 days

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Safe With You | JJ Maybank

୨୧ Warnings: Cursing, smut, angst, soft!sex, unprotected sex, soft!JJ, abuse, violence, has a fluffy ending, 18+ MDNI.

୨୧ Pairings: JJ Maybank x Female Kook Reader

୨୧ Summary: In which JJ helps his girlfriend get away from his father when she goes over to his home to see him.

୨୧ Word Count: 1.5k

୨୧ Author's Note: this fic is from my old blog @babeydollx. this and most of my other fics will be reposted over here to my new blog. Also I fr have no idea why this fic is written from my pov and not Y/N's because that isn't usually how I write but I was too lazy to fix it, sorry! Maybe someday lol.

I arrived at JJ's house to see him. JJ and I rarely got time to see eachother since we were on different sides of the island. My parents always had me busy with some shit all the time. It was exhausting and annoying.

I never had time for JJ anymore and I hated it. So, I decided that I would surprise him at his house to see him. I missed him so much and I knew that he missed me too. I couldn't wait to see JJ again and be in his arms.

I walked up to the house and knocked on the door. I waited for a minute or two but there was no answer. I could hear movement inside of the house so I knew that someone had to be home. You decided to try and open the door.

When I turned the door knob the door easily opened. I slowly walked inside and looked around. The house was messy and I could smell beer and weed. As I looked around, I jumped when I herd glass shatter.

What the hell was going on? Was JJ okay? Was someone trying to hurt him? Millions of questions and thoughts flooded my head as I looked for JJ. The sounds were coming from the backyard. I dashed out to the backyard to see JJ on the ground with an older man on top of him and punching him.

"Stop! Stop hurting him! Please!" I screamed as I ran over to the two men in the backyard. I couldn't pull the older man of of JJ so I grabbed a empty beer bottle off of the ground and smashed it over his head.

Luke stopped punching JJ and got dizzy before collapsing on the ground. JJ sat up on the ground and looked over at me in shock.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" JJ asked.

"I- I came to see you.." I said.

"Didn't I tell you to not come here?" He asked.

"You did but, it had been so long since I saw you so I thought I could surprise you. I didn't expect for any of this to happen. Who is he? Why was he hurting you?" You asked.

"He's, uhm... he's my dad." JJ mumbled. 9

"He's your father?!" I asked in shock. JJ nodded. "Why would he hurt you?!" I yelled.

"I don't know. Cause he is constantly drunk and high I guess." He shrugged. "I'm use to it by now, he's been doing it for years." JJ said. I could feel tears pooling in my eyes. This was absolutely heartbreaking. How could a parent do this to their child?

Before I could say anything else to JJ, someone tackled me to the ground harshly. I screamed when it happened.

"GET OFF OF HER!" JJ yelled. Luke was on top of me. I tried to fight Luke off but he began to hit me hard. I screamed and cried more as he continued to hit me. I could hear JJ yelling and trying to pull his father off of me.

Finally, JJ had got Luke off of me and began to beat the shit out of Luke. I scrambled to my feet and watched the scene go down. I could feel tears streaming down my face still and I was in pain. After a few minutes of JJ beating Luke up, he finally got off of him and ran over to me.

He hugged me and I hid my face in his chest. I finally felt safe. I knew that even if Luke woke up again that JJ would keep me safe, he would make sure that Luke wouldn't hurt me again or worse.

"Are you okay, Y/N?!" JJ asked worried as he checked me for any terrible injuries.

"I'm okay." I said with a sniffle and nodded.

"I am so sorry that this happened to you. You shouldn't have had to see any of this." JJ said with a frown as he hugged me again.

"I'm sorry that you have had to go through this for years.." I said with a frown. "Why didn't you tell me this was happening to you?" I asked.

"Because I didn't want you to worry. This isn't your burden to bare, Y/N.." He said.

"JJ.. we're a team. You can tell me anything and everything, okay? Whatever you are dealing with, I want to be there for you to help you." I said. JJ nodded slowly. "Anyways, did you want to stay the night at my place tonight? My parents are out of town so we have the house to ourselves." I said with a smile.

"That would be nice. Thanks, Y/N." He said with a smile.

"Anytime." I said as JJ and I get ready to go to my house.

We arrived at my house and went inside together. I got both of us a water bottle and then we both went upstairs to my bedroom. I gave him his water bottle and sat down on the bed beside him and we talked for a while. After we both chatted for a bit, we both went silent not knowing what to do next.

"So, what now?" I asked looking over at JJ. He sat there thinking for a moment before looking back over at me. A smirk spread across his face.

"I have a few ideas." He said with a smirk. Before I could ask him any questions he kissed me passionately. I kissed back, melting into the kiss. The was he kissed me was magical. He always knew how to make me feel a certain way without even trying.

As we made out, he gently pushed me down onto my back onto the bed. I ran my hands through his soft, blond hair as the two of us made out. Once we got both of our clothes off and out of the way, JJ was positioning himself between my legs.

I held onto his shoulders tightly and sucked in a breath as JJ slowly pushed inside of me. I gasped and moaned out softly. He groaned quietly as he bottomed out. He then began to thrust into me.

I gently threw my head back and groaned out. I held onto him tightly as he fucked into me, slowly picking up the pace. He continued to slowly pick up the pace until he was fucking me at an ungodly pace.

I moaned out even louder than I did before. I arched my back off of the bed and moaned out, almost screaming at this point. I could feel that familiar knot bubbling in the bottom of my stomach and I knew that I was going to cum any second now. I then clenched around JJ, signaling to him that I was going to cum.

"Fuck, you gonna cum, princess?" He asked as he groaned out.

"Yes, fuck! I'm gonna fucking cum!" I yelled.

"Come on, cum for me." JJ said. With that my eyes rolled back and my legs began to shake as I came hard on JJ's hard cock. He thrusted into me a few more times before coming himself, shooting his load deep inside of me.

JJ pulled out of me and I laid their trying to catch my breath. He laid down beside me and he was also trying to catch his breath. After we both took some time to come down from that, JJ smiled and gently pulled me over and snuggled me.

I giggled when he did so. I always loved to be in JJ's arms. He always made me feel so safe. We both laid there together and talked for awhile while we were tangled in each other's arms. After we both talked and snuggled, we both fell asleep together.

I woke up the next morning to see that JJ was no longer in bed with me. I sat up and rubbed my eyes before looking around my bedroom. No sign of JJ. As I was about to go look around the house for JJ, I saw a note on my bedside table.

I took the note off of the table and unfolded it before reading it.

Thanks for letting me stay the night at your house, Y/N. Again, I am so sorry that you had to witness all of that yesterday and go through that. I promise I will come back later, I just have a few things to sort out with my dad. I love you, Y/N.

- JJ

I smiled at the note that JJ left me. I thought it was so sweet that he had decided to write me a note. I missed JJ so much already but, I couldn't wait to see JJ again.

Author's Note: tysm for reading, lovies!

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merp-blerp · 2 days

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TW: Discussion of sexual assault and suicidal ideation

I've been seeing some debate about Calypso and whether or not she sexually assaulted Odysseus and I want to throw in my two cents.

I'll say straight out of the gate that I don't currently like her much. I feel pretty icky about her personally.

Comparing Ody's behavior in Epic prior to "Love in Paradise" vs during the song feels so... clearly different. He seems very traumatized by whatever has been happening on that isle. It almost feels out of character for him to consider dying instead of fighting to get home alive like he had been, but putting myself in his shoes I can see how he came to that through what's textually known. He has been trapped on that isle for 7 years—that's nearly a decade, with no way to get out, everyone he knows and loves dead or far away with no way to know where he is or if he's alive. While I obviously would never think that's a good decision, I can see how he got to the point of wanting to end it. And if he's been sexually assaulted like he was in The Odyssey, I understand it more due to how that can warp a person's mental health.

I've seen some say, "Calypso is just a sweetie who doesn't know how to love properly" (paraphrasing of an actual comment I've seen). Even if she really just doesn't know how to care for a mortal, as many of the gods seemingly don't, I think she understands her power over mortals with her "Bow down now to the immortal Calypso" comment. She also understands that Odysseus doesn't want her, with the first part of her response to Ody's threats being "Oh handsome, you may try". She knows that he may try to escape by killing her (even though she can't die). Honestly, why would she feel the need to trap him if she didn't know good and well that he would want to escape her? She knew what she was doing was something that would make him want to run. Calypso being a goddess automatically gives their dynamic a power imbalance of course. Even though the assault is only implied, the fact that she's trapping Ody against his will, super infatuated by him, and still says "Soon, into bed we'll climb and spend our time", makes me feel like the indication is clear. What's stopping her from trying to have "sex" with him (sex isn't sex without consent)? She's already ignored all his declines. She seems to think that forcing her "love" onto him will make him love her. Yes, she uses lovey-dovey language so I doubt it would've appeared violent, but sexual assault doesn't have to look violent and the perpetrator doesn't have to appear aggressive. It's telling that I've seen some say, "Save that energy for Antinous" because Antinous is much more obviously bad, but this kind of thing isn't always obvious. That kind of assault is still extremely traumatizing whether it's sugarcoated as if it's love or not. It's dismaying that some reactions to Calypso bypass her potential assaulting or "She's weird, but she seems to care for him!" And since the sexual part of the assault is technically subtext (for now, who knows about later), I'll say that even if Calypso didn't sexually harm him, she still forces physical and verbal intimacy onto him and traps him so he can't leave. We see that. That's still assault. The only reason why I don't feel similarly about Epic's version of Circe is that her intent wasn't to have sex with Ody but to distract and throw him off with talk of sex so she could stab him as he's vulnerable; Circe never wanted to have sex with Ody in actuality. Calypso's intent was romantic intimacy and she didn't care if Odysseus said no, she completely bypassed it. Calypso saying "You're mine, all mine" feels as threatening as Circe's "I've got you" was meant to be.

Anything can change between now and the next two sagas. It could either be fully confirmed or denied that sexual assault took place. I actually don't expect either, as I don't think Jay would go too deep into such a traumatic concept in Epic, but then again I also didn't expect suicidal ideation to be brought up at all and it absolutely shocked me when it was, so I could be wrong. But whether it's confirmed or not, I don't blame any Epic fans who don't like Calypso or even hate her over what she did and what it's implied she did. It's icky watching some fans tell others they shouldn't hate Calypso because of this or that as if this isn't a sensitive and complex topic. It's creepy. I don't think we should tell people not to hate a character associated with sexual assault. The sexual assault might be subtext, but subtext is important and sometimes is implemented intentionally. Not every part of a story is going to be given to you at face value. Just because "Epic didn't say that" doesn't mean that the implication doesn't matter. People interact with stories in different ways, so you can disagree with others—no one can take that from you, but you don't get to tell someone they can't feel a certain way about a character. I don't like saying this because I really shouldn't have to put it in this perspective for it to be understood, but I can't help but feel like if Calypso and Ody's genders were swapped some people would treat this implication differently. Sexually or not she hurts him.

Normally I don't like taking lore from The Odyssey and automatically applying it to Epic, as Epic has changed a lot of rules from The Odyssey because Jay wants to tell this story his own story. For example, I personally choose not to assume Eury and Ody are brothers-in-law in Epic like they are in The Odyssey because that hasn't been stated in Epic so far. But to me, the implications of Ody's sexual assault are there enough for me personally to think that it might take place in both stories. Jay seems to want Epic to be accessible to many people, so it doesn't surprise me that this element of The Odyssey was brought up in a more subtextual/"hinted at" way.

Calypso is a very interesting character, maybe the most out of all the Epic antagonists so far for me, but we don't have to think of her as not doing anything wrong in order to enjoy that character, her songs, her cute physical character design, or Barbara Wangui's beautiful voice.

[The remainder of this post contains potential spoilers for the unreleased (to date) Vengeance Saga under the cut]

Another defense of Calypso I've seen is that in the snippets for "I'm Not Sorry for Loving You", Ody says he loves Calypso, but not in the way she wants him to. This could mean they're friends and therefore doubt about the sexual assault could be cast.

It's hard to assess this because the saga's not out yet, but it's worth remembering that abuse can come out of care, in a complicated way. You can care for someone so much you end up hurting them, usually out of wanting to control them. Calypso seems to fit that concept. And most Epic snippets don't give full context, naturally, so who knows why Ody says this at the moment. Maybe he means it, or maybe he's bluffing to guarantee he'll get what he wants (which is to be set free in this instance), like when meeting Athena, or to appease a god, like when "apologizing" to Poseidon in "Ruthlessness". And of course, victims don't have to hate their perpetrators if they choose not to. Odysseus can care about Calypso and she can still have hurt him really badly. Both of these things can be true.

The way I read it, Calypso doesn't love Odysseus like she thinks she does. She's infatuated by him and cares for him enough to not be obviously cold like all the other obstacles Ody faced initially are. She declares that she loves him as soon as he wakes up on her isle without knowing him at all. She didn't even know his name. The washed-up person on her isle could've been anyone and she likely would've "loved" them. Calypso only loves Ody because he stops her loneliness, not for who he is. When she begins to state that she loves him she doesn't even know him. Over the 7 years, she seems to have potentially gotten to know him a bit, saying "I know your life's been hard", but Odysseus himself asserts that she doesn't really know what he's been through. You can call someone (against their will, let me remind you) "my dear, my love for life" all you want, but that doesn't mean you love them. Ody's her first companion in years if not ever, of course she cares for him on a basic level. She won't kill him or let him jump off a cliff. But she doesn't love him or treat him like a human and obey his boundaries and wants. She treats him like an object or pet she owns and has to guard.

In "I'm Not Sorry For Loving You" Calypso says that Ody is all she's ever known because she was abandoned. It's understandable that she would latch onto a living creature after being alone for so long. But that's not necessarily love, at least not to me. If I love someone I wouldn't bypass their refusal to do something. And I wouldn't trap them with me and not let them go, even when they're about to jump off a cliff because they see no way out. I'm not sure if Calypso means to bring malice, she at least says she "bring(s) no pain", but she does regardless or if she intends to. Calypso hasn't had anyone in her company, let alone someone to love, for so long, maybe in her whole life. That's why she doesn't know what love is, so of course when she catches fickle feelings for Odysseus she assumes that's love and has no clue what to do with her "love", as she admits in "I'm Not Sorry For Loving You". Calypso's actions are understandable, but that doesn't mean they're excusable or not abusive. What she does to him is understandable, but selfish and only serves herself, which isn't what you do to someone you love. Note that the way I use understandable here does not equate to forgivable, it just means conceivable. And her apology to him really waters down the magnitude of her actions, saying she "pushed" him, "came on too strong", and that her love might've been "too much" for Ody.

I apologize for this being such a long rant, but I wanted to cover all the excuses for Calypso I'd seen and speak my mind on why I think they're misguided at best.

#and this was a posibly bit petty and trivial so i didn't include it in the post #but when she called him “ody” that really rubbed me the wrong way #it's just... too intimate for her to use when he's so venerable #who's to say at this time if she knew that gravity of all the things she stated during the cliff scene but jezz man...#epic the musical #the wisdom saga #odysseus #calypso #jorge rivera herrans #tw sex assault #tw sex abuse #tw sa #tw sui ideation #tw sui talk

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daydreamerwoah · 1 day

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Love Through It All (Alternate Ending - Character Death)

tw: mentions of cheating, mentions of divorce; hurt; angst; anger; rollercoaster of emotion; sadness; arguing; crying; mentions of therapy/counseling; kidnapping; violence; guns; injury; main character death

Please read Part 1 for my author notes for the beginning of this story if this is your first time here.

Had someone ask for a different alternate ending so here it is :)

*This picks up from part 13 in italics*

The moment the video stopped, you locked eyes with Simon. Your puffy eyes made him internally broken, but his facial expression hadn't changed, and you didn't know if he was upset that you had gotten revenge for cheating on you... or if it was something else. You wanted to say that it meant nothing. That you were drunk and fucking mad at him... but you couldn't say shit with the tape still over your mouth.

"I have to say, she sounds.. so damn good. Doesn't she?" Jax teased as he asked everyone in the room. Even with Andrei not responding, since he was the one who had his tongue on you, Jax smiled at Simon like he had won or something, "How does it feel?" He walked and stood behind Simon as he leaned down so his face was almost next to his, looking at you, "Tell her." He demanded.

Simon's eyes never strayed away from yours as you continued to cry. The look on his face hadn't really changed, but his eyes told you exactly how he felt. The regret that ran through his soul.... he wished he could been a better man; a better husband. You didn't deserve any of this.. yet you stayed. You had wanted to work on your marriage even after the ugly truth came out. It was his fault, and he would forever kill himself over it. He would be grateful if you ever forgave him, promising to give you the entire world and more after he so much tore yours apart by cheating.

"I love you," he lowly said, making you cry even more. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart... for everythin'."

"Satisfying, isn't it?.. Finally realizing your mistakes?"

Simon finally tore his eyes away from you and looked at Jax, "Let her go."

He paused, acting as if he was thinking about something, "I thought about it," he teased, "but see... I can't do that. She's knows far too much... much more than our girl Williams," he joked - a terrible one that made both you and Simon shoot him the deadliest glare.

He raised his gun up, pointing it at you, making your eyes widen.

"Let her go, Jax," Simon raised his voice, "This is between me and you."

"Oh, it's not just me," he chuckled, "But I guess it would be easier to take you out first." He moved his gun to point it at Simon's temple.

You yelled through the tape and thrashed around as you tried to get out of the restraints. Your skin was probably raw at how much you rubbed at the ropes. You wanted to beg him not to shoot your husband.. you even tried to. But it was pointless.

"Say goodbye to your wife... Lieutenant."

Time felt like it slowed down as you and Simon looked at each other. He looked angry and sad, but no doubt love. He loved you for everything you had given him, everything you had done for him. And if this was the last time he'd see you... then so be it. He was ready... and you didn't want that. You weren't ready to leave him; to say goodbye.

The wails that came from your muffled lips had you choking on the saliva that bubbled up in your throat. You wanted to vomit so bad.

"Close your eyes love," Simon told you. You didn't want to. God you didn't want to. But you couldn't stomach the thought of seeing him die right in front of you, so you shut your eyes tight and waited for the loud popping sound of Jax's gun to go off.

BANG!

The moment the loud pop echoed in the room, your eyes opened as you looked at the scene in front of you. And god, did you begin to wail as you saw your husband. He was slumped over in the chair. A bullet wound at his temple. Jax, who had taken a step toward you as he smiled, made you thrash in your restraints forcefully.

"When they find you... tell them Makarov said hello," he said as he snatched the tape off of your mouth. You couldn't help the loud cry that left your lips as you looked at him with pure hatred.

"Fuck you!!" you screamed, but it didn't even faze him.

He and the rest of the men walked out of the room, Andrei giving you a malicious wink before he shut the door. You couldn't help the loud cries that continued to come from your mouth as you sat there and looked at Simon.

He was dead.

God, you wanted to fucking die with him. The pain of knowing he was murdered all because of something that was bigger than this would haunt you forever.

20 minutes later, heavy footsteps rushed through the door, and you almost thought it was Jax and his men again until you realized that Price, Johnny, and Kyle had come in with their guns drawn.

But it was too late.

The moment they saw how distraught you were and looked at their comrade with his head hanging forward, they knew. The fucking knew that they were too late in rescuing both of you. Johnny kneeled down in front of Simon, putting his fore and middle finger against his neck to check for a pulse like he'd find one. "Fuck," he said as he looked up at the other two men.

Kyle rushed over to you and began to cut away at the ropes that tied you up, and the second you were free, you leaped out of the chair and ran to Simon, wrapping your arms around his neck as you cried. He was cold.. ice cold damn near, but you held onto him like he would somehow take a breath of air.

But you knew he wouldn't, yet you still continued until Price tried to pull you off of him.

"Y/n," he softly said.

"No!" you yelled, "He can't leave me! He can't- He's gotta come back. We have to work through this! Please John... please wake him up!"

Fuck.

His sad eyes eventually met yours as he frowned, "I'm so sorry."

************************************************************************

Someone once told you in the past to read about the 5 Stages of Grief. You thought it was silly. What did you have to grieve about, when all you wanted was to be happy with your husband? You didn't think about that kind of stuff, especially when it came to him. But hell, did you wish you had picked up on a few things at least.

Denial.

Even with Simon being taken away when the police and corners arrived, you still couldn't believe he was gone. It was like you were waiting for him to come out of every corner to surprise you - like he did at the club. The first couple of days were the worst, as you would call his phone only to hear it ring on the nightstand next to you. The day of the funeral, you almost passed out twice from how everything hurt (physically and emotionally).

Anger.

The anger that flowed through your soul was more than knowing Simon cheated on you. It was more than knowing you cheated on him. You wanted to kill Jax. You wanted to make him pay for taking the love of your life. But you knew that was a crazy thought. It still didn't stop you from breaking things in your apartment - the glass of wine you were drinking out of, the vase on the side table. Days after the funeral, you quit your job because you couldn't stomach the thought of leaving your house because you were afraid and angry that Jax or Andrei would kidnap you again.

Bargaining.

You had no one to bargain with except whatever angels were up above to bring your husband back. And bargaining, you did. You begged and begged and begged like it would make a difference. You had even bargained for the universe to take you instead of Simon; to switch places with you.

Depression.

The worst phase you felt. You wanted to die. You thought about it so many times. It didn't make you feel better when you continued to go to counseling - for different reasons now. You just wanted to be with your husband again. The plaguing thoughts of taking a bunch of pills and never waking up crossed your mind so much during that phase.

Acceptance.

When things finally settled - and fuck did it take a while for that to happen - the only thing that had changed was knowing Simon wasn't going to come back by some miracle. Every other day (if not every day), Price, Johnny, or Kyle would come to check on you, along with Ava, who constantly brought dinner just to make sure you would eat.

It was heartbreaking. Simon was gone. It wasn't like you two had gone through the divorce, but he was gone from you forever.

But what hurt the most was the note you found in your husband's belongings when Johnny brought them from his office. Even he felt weird that they had cleaned out his space there, saying it wasn't right.

It was crushing to read it, and you cried in Johnny arms for a long time that he ended up putting you to bed and calling Ava to stay with you because he had to leave.

The note was written a few days before you were kidnapped. Simon once again apologized for everything that he did, the pain he caused you, and the deep love he expressed to you. He went into detail about his feelings and how he would die for you if it ever came to it.. Fuck it was like he had predicted his own death or something.

Why did life have to be so fucking cruel? Why were things the way they were? Just because you had accepted that he was gone didn't mean you were ever going to be over it. But you could only hope that somewhere up in the skies he was watching over you.

Not going to lie.. this was hard to write because I teared up proofreading this but let me know how you all like it!!

Taglist: @kalypsoox @fruitymoonbeams-blogz @kylies-love-letter @xrosegoldwolfx @linaaaaa654 @jessicab1991 @darkravenqueen98 @yazyazali @thychuvaluswife @chloeforde @cownini @ssc7514

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mandalhoerian · 1 day

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sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 3

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pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 14K

warnings: period-typical conservative values... bechdel test failure 💔

author's note: i am a liar. this isn't the end. the finale will be the next one... im sorry 😭

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The small candle flickers in the corner of the room, casting faint, dancing shadows across the stone walls. The soft snores of the other maids fill the space around you, their breathing steady, their bodies resting in untroubled sleep. But you are awake. Kneeling at the edge of your thin, rough bed, the worn fabric of your nightdress brushing against your knees, you clasp your hands tightly together in silent prayer.

The small idol of Ethelion rests before you—a crude wooden carving of your making, stained with the blood you shed clumsily cutting into your flesh over and over in the process, no taller than your hand. It’s a far cry from the towering statues of Him that once surrounded you, carved from marble and adorned in gold. Those statues commanded awe, reverence. This one, however, looks small and sad, like the devotion of the people who crafted it was just enough to create something that could barely hold the likeness of a god.

Your hands are trembling, the beads of your prayer bracelet rattling softly with the movement. You take a shaky breath, glancing around the room as if to make sure no one has stirred. The air is stifling, the thick warmth of the shared space pressing down on you like a weight. The scent of sweat and old straw clings to the air, mixed with the faint sweetness of the single candle burning beside you.

How different this is from the temples you once knelt in. The hallowed halls of Ethelion, with their lofty ceilings and polished floors, where incense filled the air and your prayers echoed off the sacred stones. There, the light streamed through stained glass in brilliant colors, casting a holy glow over everything it touched. Here, the room is dim, cramped, and suffocating. The candle’s flicker feels more like a reminder of how small the world has become around you.

You bow your head, trying to steady your breath, the whisper of your prayer barely audible over the steady rise and fall of the other girls' breathing. “Ethelion, guide me,” you murmur, though the words feel strained, thin. “Forgive my wandering heart.”

The idol doesn’t respond, of course. It’s nothing more than carved wood, far removed from the grand images of your god that once surrounded you. Still, you pray. It’s all you know. All you should do. Must do.

The sound of a creaking bedframe startles you, and your heart lurches. You glance over your shoulder to see one of the maids, Sarah, shifting in her sleep. Her face is calm, untroubled by the worries that gnaw at your mind. You envy her.

Biting your lip, you turn back to the idol, lowering your head once more. But the words are harder to find now. Your thoughts are too loud, too tangled, too restless.

How long has it been since you truly felt His presence? Pouring into your veins like sunlight every single time you reached out to Him?

You were supposed to be His chosen one. The vessel through which His light would shine. But that light has dimmed, and you don’t know if it’s because He has abandoned you, or if you have failed Him. Maybe it’s both. Maybe you were never worthy to begin with.

Your fingers curl around the prayer beads, the cool touch of them grounding you, but they feel foreign now. When you were the Saintess, they were a symbol of your connection to Ethelion, a reminder of your place in the world. Now, they’re just relics of a past life—one that feels more distant with each passing day.

“Why did you leave me?” The question slips out before you can stop it, a breathless whisper that hangs in the air, fragile and desperate.

You grit your teeth, trying to suppress the bitterness that rises in your chest. You’re not supposed to question Him. You’re supposed to trust, to believe without doubt, without hesitation. That was your purpose, the sole reason for your existence.

Your hands drop into your lap, the weight of your own thoughts too heavy to hold up anymore.

Is this what your life has become? Praying to a god who's turned away from you, living in the shadows of who you once were? You glance at the idol again, the dim candlelight making it seem even more pathetic, more distant.

There’s no divine presence here. Just you, alone, in the dark.

The flicker of the candle casts long shadows across the small room, its light barely reaching the corners. You can hear the rustle of straw from the other beds as the girls shift in their sleep, unaware of your turmoil. This space is so different from the serene, almost divine solitude of the temple. Here, you’re surrounded by people—by warmth, by the soft murmur of life. But you’ve never felt more isolated.

Being the Saintess had its burdens, but at least you knew where you belonged. You knew your purpose. Now, you’re adrift, clinging to a god who might not even remember you. Who might have never cared to begin with.

But oh, how you love Him. How you ache for Him. Even in this moment, when grief threatens to choke you, the longing in your heart burns brighter. It stings your eyes, your throat. How desperately you want to belong again, to feel His light filling you.

It's you. You're the problem. Not Him.

You close your eyes, pressing your palms together so tightly they ache. If you just pray hard enough—if you just focus—you’ll feel Him again. You’ll find that connection, that sense of peace that once filled your every breath.

Leon's wrong.

You've grown accustomed to hard work, to physical exertion. It's far better than the hollow nothingness that's left in the aftermath of losing the divinity you'd been given. Yes, the job is strenuous. Exhausting. But it keeps you from falling back into the endless spiral of self-doubt. You're not miserable here. You're... content. As content as a person in your situation can be. And that's not nothing.

Besides, it's the best thing that could have happened to you. Compared to the streets, compared to the empty abbey in which you dwelled alone, this is a blessing. You cannot deny that. To be able to bathe and dress and eat is such an immense gift. Ethelion hasn't left your side, not for one second.

...went back to what you know best once more. Serve. This time, under a different name. A Saintess. A servant. It's not all that different, you know.

You press your forehead to the cool stone wall beside your bed, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. You thought you could find solace in prayer, in the familiar rhythms of devotion. But no matter how many words you whisper, no matter how tightly you press your hands together, his words keep tearing at the fragile seams of your heart.

The memories rise unbidden. Days spent fasting until your vision blurred, your body trembling under the weight of divine obligation. Nights spent kneeling on cold marble floors, your prayers stretching into the early hours, the ache in your legs a reminder that your suffering was part of the duty. Every blessing you gave, every drop of blood shed from the blade into the mouths of those in need, every prayer you offered, was a part of the divine plan. You had accepted it. You had embraced it. You believed in it.

Leon's whisper sneaks up into your mind, like a snake coiling around your thoughts, And it still wasn't enough.

You shake your head, willing the thoughts away, but they cling to you like thorns. There had been a time when you thought you were content, when you believed your life had purpose. Even after losing your title, even when you were stripped of the robes, the veil, and everything that once defined you, you told yourself you were free.

I can still be of use, you had thought. I can find a way to live the way I used to. Perhaps Ethelion had granted you mercy. Gifted you with a path to follow that didn't lead to complete disgrace, to ruin.

Your eyes sting, but no tears come. You've cried too much already. Instead, you pull the thin blanket around your shoulders, huddling closer to the wall and shutting your eyes tight, clutching the idol tight. It's as close as you'll get to feeling the divine now, a piece of wood cut to look like your God, reduced to a mere object to be held.

You miss the simplicity of being used. The serenity. The fulfillment. You miss knowing that your suffering meant something, that your blood, your body, your soul, served a higher purpose, and that's all you had ever desired. And now, all that seems to be left of you is this empty husk, chasing fragments of memories like fireflies on an endless summer evening.

You glance at the other maids, their forms barely visible under their threadbare blankets, their breaths even and untroubled. They sleep so soundly, unaware of the turmoil that grips you.

You envy them. You envy the clarity of their lives, the ease with which they move through their days. For them, there is no loss of grand purpose, no heavy weight of fallen grace. They scrub floors, they mend clothes, they serve meals—and they rest. They don’t carry the burden of a god’s silence.

You thought you were free when you came here. You thought you had left the life you had in the temple behind. But Leon saw through you, saw the truth you didn’t want to admit to yourself. You haven’t left. Not truly. You’ve simply traded one form of servitude for another. For the sake of feeling whole again.

You wonder if he can see through you. If he can pick apart all the pieces you are trying to hold together. If he can see the cracks in the image you try so hard to project, the invisible scars that have been healed by Ethelion's hand ritual after ritual. But then, he doesn’t even know who you are, not really. Not like he thinks he does.

You don't know who you are, either. You've only been the Saintess, always guided by someone else, fulfilling duties for Ethelion. When the grace flowed through your veins, you were confident, firm. Calm. Resolute in the knowledge that you were the only one who could do what you did. Your mind clear as crystal. Then you lost everything. Or at least, everyone who recognized you. Your place in the world.

That's who Leon knows. He doesn't know anything of you, or the mortal who lived within you. No. He just sees you as the Saintess. Nothing more.

That's why marriage is the only way he can continue his duty as an Oathbreaker. He sees you as holy and elevated above others. And he needs to reconcile himself with what he thinks he failed to do, what he thinks he must fulfill for you, to atone for his sins. You understand. You were made to understand.

When you look at him, you can't help but see an echo of your former self, a kindred spirit bound by duty to your cause. He yearns to honor his promises, to fulfill his responsibilities, just as you once did.

Leon's a good man, with a noble heart. And his devotion is true. But it isn't because he loves you. It's because he pities you.

And you hate it. You hate it because you know you don't deserve this. This kindness. This sympathy. You're nothing but a shadow of what you used to be. A remnant of a time gone by. Your wings have been clipped. Your fate sealed. Yet here he stands, offering to take your broken, battered self in, to care for you, to cherish you, when that loyalty should belong to the new saintess. To the woman who will be able to keep his oaths intact and secure his salvation, who can guarantee his place in Ethelion's heaven.

His presence lingers like smoke from a burning log, impossible to dispel, choking the very breath from your lungs. You don't turn your head, but you know he's there, hovering at the door to the kitchen. A hush falls over the room as the servants freeze, caught between their tasks and this new development.

It isn't appropriate for a noble to be here, wandering the manor's halls uninvited, and yet... Leon seems unperturbed by the breach of social conduct, gazing about as though he were surveying his own grounds.

Finally, the silence is broken by a shuffle of footsteps, and the head maid comes forward, hands clasped together in respectful greeting. She keeps her eyes lowered, avoiding direct contact, but she inclines her head deferentially.

"Sir, how may we be of assistance?"

Leon glances over the room again, as though considering each of you in turn, and heaves a sigh. "I want to speak with her." He gestures toward you without looking at you specifically, focused on the head maid.

Your hands tighten around the cloth you're holding, wrinkling the fabric. He's talking about you, you know it. But your mind still drifts back to the previous night, to the tender expression in his eyes as he offered you everything on a platter, a feast spread out before a starving beggar. Your chest constricts painfully, and you suck in a deep breath, doing your best to calm your racing thoughts.

"Ah..." The head maid hesitates, clearly caught off-guard. "Of course, sir. If I may inquire about the reason?"

"Please don't concern yourself with it."

"Surely there must be some misunderstanding here?" The head maid counters gently, frowning slightly. "If she has done something wrong..."

"...no, that is not the case." Leon interrupts before she finishes speaking, his tone clipped.

He stares directly at you now, a piercing gaze that makes you feel like you're a mouse beneath the paw of a cat, unable to break free. The entire kitchen seems to tense, everyone aware of how out of place and inappropriate this encounter is, waiting for your response.

A shudder runs down your spine, and you fight to suppress the impulse to curl in on yourself protectively, to make yourself as small and invisible as possible. Heat floods into your face, creeping up along the line of your neck to settle under the collar of your simple cotton dress. The fabric feels too tight, too restrictive, pinching your skin uncomfortably, making sweat prickle along your hairline. Your palms are damp, but you don't dare wipe them on your skirt. It's improper to fidget. To let weakness show.

To be seen.

"I apologize," Leon continues after a moment's pause, seeming to recover his composure somewhat, "but there's something private that I'd like to discuss with her. And, uh...alone, please."

Another shiver wracks your frame. Goosebumps erupt over the back of your exposed arms, trailing up the length of your bare forearms. Your stomach roils nervously as all eyes swivel toward you, boring into the back of your skull, drilling holes straight through you. The room feels stifling. Overly hot and overwhelming, as though you're drowning in the heavy air. The taste of ash coats your tongue, and you struggle to swallow around the lump lodged in your throat. You wish you could disappear right now. Melting away and leaving nothing but a faint outline of yourself would be better than enduring the scrutiny of this moment.

The head maid takes a step back, and then another, backing up until she's standing near her colleagues, all of whom stare expectantly at you, waiting, and you can't jog quickly enough towards the door to escape the sudden oppressive atmosphere.

You hear him, quick steps matching yours as you push forward, and he places himself next to you, keeping the pace with effortless strides. The contrast between your hurried walk and his composed saunter is striking; the way his height and his strength tower over your frame, swallowing you whole with an instinctive reflex. But, unlike most men, he doesn't impose it upon you—at least, not intentionally.

"Saintess—"

The old name snaps you out of your momentary daze, and you halt in your steps, stopping to glare at him. "It's Saintess no longer."

For once, he falters, blinking. You imagine he wasn't expecting you to cut him off with such brusqueness, but hearing it used gives you an unpleasant jolt. You'd been called the same title for so long that your name was nothing more than a memory, a fading dream of what you once were. It's difficult to think of yourself as anything other than Saintess—it's hard to believe in what else you could have been in that past, without being granted such sacred gifts.

But now? Now it's something tainted with bitterness. Of what could have been, if your gifts hadn't faded like the last golden rays of sun melting into the ocean.

"Sorry. Forgive me," he murmurs quietly, looking oddly apologetic. And perhaps it's this display of genuine contrition that softens your resolve.

"Why did you seek me? Is this about what happened yesterday?"

It's subtle, but you catch a glimpse of shock in his eyes, the hint of widening in them. He clears his throat and says, "Yes. About that. I had some things I needed to clarify. Some questions."

There's a pause, a beat of silence that drags on, until it's filled with a sort of anticipation, a curious hope. You know the kind—the one that builds up within, swelling, threatening to burst out of confines. You know it well, because that feeling used to drive your prayers, your words murmured in fervent whispers, rising to a crescendo before crashing down, like a wave cresting into foamy seafoam before its ebb. But this is different. What compels him is entirely different.

"Questions? Such as?" You tilt your head curiously, trying to mask the wavering nerves. You're not used to having conversations like this, and even though his company should bring a sense of peace, it only makes your pulse flutter in nervous agitation. It's so strange to be the sole focus of someone else, and while the attention would have been coveted by your old self, now it feels uncomfortable, itchy, like something is crawling over your skin.

He glances around. The hallways are empty and quiet, but you're both alone in public, and he won't voice his thoughts unless you prompt him to. Your mind wanders to how easily he slipped into the background of the manor, hidden among the rows of people going about their day, so natural in the way he navigated the spaces around you.

So unlike how he acts around you.

Then, as if picking up on your mental whirling, he asks, "Are you happy here? Are you comfortable? I don't mean to pry, I'm just concerned that I..." He seems to fumble for words, like a child who lost his footing, then recovers, adding with haste, "I’m sorry my offer made you feel like I was degrading your position. That wasn’t the case at all."

A sigh escapes your lips. The apology brings no sense of relief or ease to your tension-ladened shoulders; rather, it leaves you feeling guilty. The shame of burdening him eats away at your gut, gnawing like a parasite growing into something vile inside you. His words from the day before replay in your ears—of the indignance at the thought of you serving, of you working as a servant.

Is this what this is? Him pitying your plight? Feeling as though it is his responsibility to 'right' your situation? It's a noble notion, but it isn't his to handle.

"You didn't offend me," you admit slowly. A part of you is afraid to meet his gaze, scared to see the pity in it. You have no doubt he means well—you could almost feel the sincerity emanating from his body, the kind that radiates from people who sincerely want the best for others, not out of an ulterior motive. You had encountered this type often, though it was in a more ceremonious setting. "Your intentions were noble."

"I'm glad." He offers a smile. A genuine, relieved one. Something blooms within you at the sight of it.

"...how is it that you’re permitted to stroll the halls as you wish?" You ask, raising your brows. It doesn't pass your notice, the way people would jump to action as soon as Leon walked in.

"Well, the Redfields are all familiar with me. I'm a guest. And not a particularly troublesome one."

"Indeed."

"So..."

His voice trails off, leaving the end of that statement hanging there, unsaid but nonetheless understood. A silence falls between you again. You can't say much about the other occupants, but even you are uneasy around Leon when he has that serious, unreadable expression.

And that's how he usually looks. With a little sadness, a touch of longing in his gaze. Maybe regret. But mostly, he wears this pensive look, as if he's lost in thought, deep in concentration, mulling over the words in his head.

Right now, his face is blank. Completely void of emotion. Just that somber stare, contemplating the situation in front of him. His expression would be unassuming and neutral if not for those troubled eyes, constantly flickering back and forth. It's frustratingly annoying, like he's weighing the options and can't decide which side he wants to go with.

Yet, you're fascinated at the same time. How his lashes flutter delicately, the creases forming between his brows as he ponders. All these little details, all of these signs, he is putting on display. Intentionally or otherwise. He used to be an open book, now it is closed, guarded and locked with no keys. You crave to peer at whatever lies within, but you've already seen glimpses. Fragments, snippets. Moments. Enough to stir your interest, though.

So when you hear him clear his throat, you find yourself glancing back up. Caught staring.

"If I may be so bold..." he begins, his tone betraying nothing. "Why stay here?"

You're taken aback by his frank question. So much for subtly.

"I don't understand..."

"I've learned that retired saintesses choose to become nuns at convents and dedicate their lives to prayer and acts of charity. Which is what I assumed you would have chosen." He crosses his arms, and you note that he has a very strong, muscled physique when the movement makes his arm and chest pop. It's distracting through his clothes, and it's making you very conscious of yourself and the differences between you both, even physically. "But here you are, doing labor that is deemed... less desirable. And I'm confused. Why is that?"

You shrug, averting your gaze. It's a difficult answer to provide, especially when you haven't given yourself the chance to contemplate it yet. But... maybe it's because he asked. It doesn't seem fair to brush him off, not when he's opened himself up so genuinely to you.

"Perhaps I am tired of prayers." That seems to startle Leon, so you continue with renewed bravery. "Is it that bad to want to experience the world, to understand humanity, instead of seclude myself away from it? And I can only do that by walking in their shoes."

The silence stretches out again, but the atmosphere doesn't feel stifling anymore. Instead, you find yourself breathing easier, leaning into the softness of it.

"Come," Leon says suddenly. He holds out his arm and gestures toward the end of the hallway. "Let me walk you to a place better suited for this conversation."

The thought of taking him up on it—of stepping away with him—doesn't horrify you like it would have yesterday. He's somehow more open now, his defenses slightly lower, his words more fluid, more casual. Relaxed. Like you're two old friends meeting for a pleasant stroll, reminiscing on times past. Or maybe just acquaintances getting to know each other better. Either way, it feels nice, and the thought warms your heart.

Something about this feels right. Natural. Almost as though it was meant to be.

And so, you loop your hand into the crook of his elbow and let him guide you out of the narrow passageway and out into the sunshine. The bright morning light blinds you briefly, and you blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the harsh contrast between indoors and outdoors.

Leon guides you towards a row of large stone benches facing the pond at the center of the garden, shielded from view of anyone walking nearby, providing the illusion of privacy. He motions for you to take a seat, and you do, scooting closer towards him as he settles beside you.

There is an indescribable tranquility about the scene before you: the sun shining down on the glistening water, the breeze rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees, the chirping of birds echoing around you. The warmth seeping through the fabric of your clothing envelops you, and you breathe deeply, relishing the fresh air. You've always been captivated by nature; there's an undeniable beauty in simplicity, in things unhindered by manmade restrictions. There's purity and innocence in it too, and you bask in the peacefulness of it all.

And with Leon beside you now, it... almost feels right. As though everything has clicked into place. As though it's meant to be like this. A shared moment. Between equals. Between people who matter to each other. You savor the feeling of normalcy in your veins, warming your cheeks, your stomach fluttering with nerves but also comfort.

This moment—this fleeting moment in time—is perfect.

There is nothing more beautiful than freedom. That much is certain.

"How are you finding life outside of the temple?" The question breaks through your haze of contentment, causing you to jerk up and turn your head in surprise.

Leon sits perfectly still beside you, watching you intently, and that pocket of small silence is striking enough for you to be confronted with how a splash of dark ink he is in the midst of the popping colors of the garden.

A long, midnight-black coat sweeps past his knees in a fluid motion, its tailored cut accentuating the figure with sharp, clean lines, the surface gleaming faintly in the light, as if woven with threads of shadow, and its cuffs and lapels are embroidered with fine golden patterns. Beneath the coat, a double-breasted vest, also black but subtly different in texture, wraps snugly around his strong torso. The vest is fastened with polished brass buttons that gleam with a soft, antique sheen, each button precisely aligned. A chain, slender and golden, drapes elegantly from the vest’s pocket, suggesting the presence of a pocket watch. At his throat, an indigo cravat is tied with meticulous care, its silky fabric mirroring the coat’s inner lining, and at its center is a dark jewel gleaming with understated brilliance. The trousers, pressed to perfection, follow the form of his legs with a tailored precision, and gloved hands, encased in supple black leather, complete the ensemble. The suit fits perfectly, and it looks impressive enough for your first guess to be that it is tailor-made. The overall effect is that of a man who commands power, presence, and authority, and the sharpness of his gaze emphasizes this impression even further.

A man dressed to impress, no doubt. For what occasion, you dare not ask. A court function, perhaps? You cannot help but wonder just how many layers there are in the clothing he wears beneath that coat—and how many hands were required to help him into such an elaborate outfit.

It's such a far cry from the white robes he wore as a paladin, with their simpler forms and design, yet it's equally elegant, in its own way.

"...is there something wrong?" Leon asks, catching you staring. He tilts his head to the side, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "Was that the wrong question—"

"No. It's—fine. There's nothing wrong," you interject hastily, averting your eyes from his intense stare. Ogling him like that, out in the open, what is wrong with you! It's so unbecoming, so improper! "Life's... Life has been different. An adjustment, to say the least. I didn't know how to put it for a moment there, but... yes. It's been rather, uh..."

You trail off, your mind drawing a blank, unsure what word you're searching for. The sensation is awkward and unfamiliar, and you worry he might think poorly of your lack of eloquence, but he waits patiently, letting you stumble through it on your own.

Finally, you find your voice again, saying, "I enjoy it. Here, I mean. I came here hoping to gain some experience, learn the ways of humility. It's satisfying to be useful."

His expression grows contemplative, his eyes dark and unfathomable, but he doesn't speak. This close, you can smell the faint scent of perfume on his collar, the sweet aroma mingling with the crisp freshness of soap and dewy linen, mixed with something that's distinctly him, something you can't quite identify but makes your insides twist all the same.

"And before you say anything," you add, feeling a sudden rush of courage, "I know now, yes. That it's just a different path of servitude. But the difference is that I chose this. I could have become a nun as you said. I don't know, I... I guess I just needed some semblance of control. In the absence of Him, I could choose for myself for once."

"I suppose I can understand the feeling." He nods thoughtfully. His voice is gentle, understanding. And you find yourself wishing that he wouldn't act like this towards you—a woman who's just a mere maid. A nobody. "I've had to make that choice in His absence as well. Not exactly similar circumstances, but there are parallels to be drawn."

The admission stuns you momentarily, your lips parting in surprise, but your shock soon morphs into curiosity, and you lean closer, eager to hear more of him. "You're faring way better than me, I'd say, Sir Leon."

He laughs. It's low, rich, and smooth, like silk against your skin, and you nearly shiver. "You don't need to address me like that. Just 'Leon' is fine. My... former role isn't relevant to where I am now."

There's a touch of self-conscious humor to that remark. You've never heard him sound so playful, almost cocky—and certainly not with you—but it's refreshing. Almost comforting. "Of course." You shift in your seat, turning toward him so that your knee brushes against his. It's a small gesture, but it makes his whole leg jerk for some reason. "...may I ask, how are you adjusting?"

"Better, lately." A wistful smile plays about his lips, as if he's reflecting on fond memories. "The years haven't been easy... But they were necessary. They were worth it."

"To get where you are now?" you complete for him, your expression matching his, a mirror. "Why did you choose this new path, if I may inquire?"

For an instant, he freezes, seemingly caught off guard by the question, but he recovers quickly, his face remaining placid save for a brief flash of emotion that passes too quickly for you to decipher it. His gaze turns inward, focused on some point in space beyond you, and he lets out a breath. "That's a... heavy topic. One which I'm not sure we should discuss in public."

"Oh... My apologies," you blurt out, instantly regretting having been so direct. Of course it would be an inappropriate subject of conversation. What were you thinking? A former member of the Church blatantly questioning him about his oathbreaking, of all topics. You drop your gaze in shame. "I'm sorry, I overstepped. We can talk about something else if you wish. Something less personal. Anything. You can—if you want—ask me questions in return."

"Oh, no, please don't apologize," he interjects quickly, gently. His eyes meet yours once more, and although they're still guarded, there's also tenderness and reassurance behind them. "I don't mind sharing this story with you. There just needs to be another time and place for it. Is that alright?"

"...yes, yes, absolutely!" You nod vigorously, surprised at yourself for accepting his offer so eagerly, yet strangely excited about it nonetheless. You never would have expected a former paladin to invite you to talk to him, to spend time together... Though in truth, you hardly know anything about this man before you, other than his past deeds. The thought causes butterflies to flutter in your belly.

Leon chuckles softly at your reaction. "Wonderful."

Then his expression becomes serious again as he surveys your surroundings, pausing for several beats before speaking. When he does, his voice is calm, measured, and careful. "Back to you, then... You've mentioned you chose to do this of your own accord... Do you enjoy doing domestic tasks? Having your own space, your own things?"

"Most of those, I mean, uh... I don't have my own space, but I appreciate the accommodations here, so, yes." You give him a little smile. "Sharing a room doesn't allow for much ownership. About the work... I do enjoy it most days. Sometimes I grow tired but I keep at it. And the staff has taught me a lot, so I don't feel too clumsy. You should have seen me try my first laundry session—"

A cough cuts in, and you stiffen.

Turning around, you catch a group of maids hiding behind the hedge, peeking from their shelter with reddened faces. You wonder if they have been listening in on the two of you. Embarrassing. "...We should return to the main building. Before the gossips begin."

He hesitates briefly before nodding. You notice the tip of his ears redden before he pulls away, leaving your side colder than before, and offers you his arm once more. You loop your hand into the crook of his elbow and let him guide you back onto the cobbled path back towards the house.

His pace is leisurely as he leads you toward the manor proper, guiding you along with ease. Every so often, his gaze darts around, seemingly keeping an eye out for someone approaching. Perhaps he wishes to avoid being seen with you, you think wryly, trying to suppress the hurt that thought gives you. It's not his fault. You both must maintain a certain image. It's only natural for him to not want to be associated with the likes of a servant girl. Still, as you make your way through the hallways, you can't stop yourself from noticing the odd looks you garner from the servants who pass by the two of you, and you wonder why, as he's just escorting you.

You're quick to learn, however, that you were too caught up in the appropriateness of a paladin escorting the saintess that you forgot to consider how it would translate to a noble in a maid's company, no matter her status. It takes a pointedly raised eyebrow from a knight you recognize to bring you to your senses, to realize what might be running through the minds of the household members you walk by.

A noble does not take a maid by the elbow. That's apparently reserved for a lady. And even among that select circle of women, it's for a more private audience.

The gossip has already started, in earnest.

It's not Lord Chris that calls on you later that week after the gossip reaches an all time high, but Dame Jill and Lady Claire, sisters in all but blood.

When you answer their summons, they greet you warmly and immediately whisk you away, leading you through the twisting corridors of the castle until you arrive in the courtyard, where an elaborate picnic is spread out before you. It seems as though they had it all planned out: the plump cushions, the fancy drinks and dishes, the lavish decorations. You relax that this isn't about the etiquette fiasco with Leon for a second, and figure they'll ask you to serve them instead. That you can handle—just don't spill wine on their dresses, and be prepared to pour a refill as they ask.

However, they don't ask you to stand to the side, but join them instead, sitting atop the cushions like equals. It's strange at first, not knowing where to settle down, but after some adjusting and squirming, you find yourself settled comfortably within reach, nibbling on fruit from the extravagant buffet laid out before you while sipping cool chilled juice served in elegant crystal goblets.

It's surreal. Strange and unusual, but not in an uncomfortable way. And yet, you can't shake the feeling that this is some kind of trap, that they must want something from you. You know their intentions are genuine, but your expectations were always that of service. Obedience. Not in the favor of others.

Maybe they sense that, because the topic shifts suddenly and unexpectedly.

"We wanted to have a little girl talk with you," Lady Claire says, picking up a grape from her plate and popping it into her mouth with surprising finesse. She licks the excess juice from her fingertips, her green eyes fixed firmly upon you. "You know, harmless stuff. About the terrifying creature lurking in the horizon and getting closer every day, that you call the what am I doing with my life meltdown. It's a common occurrence around a certain age. I'm sure you're familiar with it."

Although it's phrased like a question, there's an unmistakable ring of amusement in her tone. Amusement at your expense, but it doesn't feel mocking or mean-spirited in nature, only teasing. You're relieved this isn't about Leon, but horrified all the same that all of your anxieties can be summed up with that one sentence.

"I... I've heard of it," you mumble sheepishly.

"Oh Claire," Dame Jill admonishes loudly, throwing a warning glance at her friend, which Lady Claire promptly ignores. "This isn't the time to be making light of it."

"Still, though. The poor girl clearly needs some perspective and advice." The auburn-haired lady shrugs and moves on, not missing a beat, completely nonchalant. "So. Someone from your past appears, and now you find yourself plagued with existential doubts and insecurities. I know this would happen eventually. That's why I told you to aim higher in life before you started out here, but you went and got stubborn anyway. And now look at you."

She smiles as she says this, reaching out to pat your shoulder reassuringly. There's no malice in her voice, not even a hint of mockery; she's genuinely concerned about your welfare and her tone reflects that.

But that doesn't prevent you from flinching away instinctively, cringing internally at the mention of your inflexibility, and at the reminder that you do need guidance in life, especially right now.

And even if they don't know all the details, the Redfield family members are excellent at reading you like a book—already, they've hit pretty much every point with pinpoint accuracy, cutting to the core of your problems with frightening precision, and leaving you feeling raw and exposed underneath their keen scrutiny. It's unnerving how easily these two women managed to discern so much information just by observing your behavior and gauging your reactions, and it leaves you feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

Your eyes flick nervously towards Dame Jill. She hasn't spoken much throughout the entire exchange, simply watching you quietly with a thoughtful expression on her face, but she must notice your unease, because she speaks up at last, breaking her silence.

"You can relax. We're not here to pry into your affairs. And while you should listen to Claire's words—she does have her moments where she actually makes sense—"

"Why would you say it like that—"

"We can also offer you practical advice and assistance. The world can be tough. Especially if you're a woman."

The fact that there was such care despite your comparatively low social standing warms your heart. Like they're really relatives of yours who weren’t frequent donors to your temple and got special visits to you for blessing and healing purposes. If you hadn't gotten to know them better after becoming a maid, you could have mistaken them as real sisters.

The words themselves give you pause, though. You're grateful, yet puzzled too by this unexpected kindness from these two high-born ladies, so foreign to you.

"I do love the little life I've built for myself. Even if it's mundane." You reply slowly, unsure how else to express this unfamiliar emotion bubbling within you. "It may be menial work, but it gives purpose. A sense of accomplishment."

"And what about when you want something more for yourself?" Dame Jill presses, leaning in closer. Her gaze is piercing, almost accusatory, but her tone remains calm, steady, never wavering in its intensity. She wants answers—from you.

But you don't have any.

"I don't know what I want in the first place," you finally confess, turning to look out over the gardens, feeling overwhelmed and uncertain. "I'm just trying to survive in this world. Everything's new to me—having autonomy, being able to decide for myself... I never dared imagine much beyond fulfilling His will, or whatever duties were assigned to me as Saintess. All of this... Sometimes I find myself entertaining the possibilities of certain things now, things I didn't know I could until very recently. And I don't know if I should."

The out of guilt part, you leave out of it. That’s a box of worms you aren’t willing to dump on these poor women.

Lady Claire pipes up immediately, excitement written across her face: "Then go chase them! Go and enjoy life and love and all that fun stuff!"

A sudden wave of anxiety washes over you at the mention of 'love', and you can't help but feel mortified, suddenly realizing that what you meant probably sounded quite different from her interpretation of it.

Thankfully, the young noblewoman doesn't seem aware of your slip-up, continuing enthusiastically with a dreamy expression: "Trust me, you definitely want to start living for yourself before it becomes too late, otherwise you'll end up like some of the old prune lords you see around court."

You try to contain your laughter at the sight of such pure enthusiasm, but fail miserably, letting it burst out. They both join you shortly thereafter, filling the air with melodious peals of laughter as the sun shines brightly overhead. After all that time spent being trapped inside walls all your life, to laugh so freely feels like nothing short of heavenly bliss. And it feels good. Laughter—joyful, unrestrained laughter—is something that's far rarer these days than you would ever admit aloud.

"I wasn't going to talk about this just yet but..." Dame Jill clears her throat, regaining control of herself. She straightens her dress carefully before looking back up at you with a serious expression on her beautiful features. "Leon's offer could very well be the answer you're looking for."

"I..." you start defensively, but Dame Jill raises her hand and silences you before you can finish forming the rest of your protest.

"Hear me out. I'm going to lay it out for you from a strategic and realistic angle. The simple truth of the matter is that you have limited options, given your background and current position in society. You don't have access to power, resources, or wealth. This is the reason why former saintesses stay in the convent—it's safer and easier, compared to facing the real world head on with no experience."

It makes perfect logical sense. Dame Jill is laying out the facts plainly, and even though you may not fully understand all of the nuances involved with regards to the issue of marriage in noble society, you're smart enough to comprehend what she's telling you. Your heart leaps into your throat at the thought of marriage, of Leon... and then promptly drops into your stomach once more.

"In our world, it's unlikely anyone else will ever ask for your hand unless you actively seek a match for yourself, which is why people generally arrange marriages instead. It's a miserable affair for women, because they don't really have a say in who gets picked, or what kind of person that suitor ends up being. But you... I say you've been blessed. To have found someone willing and able to provide for you financially and personally—that's rare as hen's teeth among the nobility. Leon, for all intents and purposes, is a wealthy man, one that isn't difficult to get along with."

That's true, you acknowledge silently, recalling the countless stories you've heard about the brutality of many men, especially high-born ones. If the rumors are to be believed, some wives barely avoided being locked in their rooms by the husbands they never saw, as they were forced to do as told without complaint.

But so were you made to do the same as the Saintess, in a way. You shudder just thinking of it.

Dame Jill pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing, taking in you shrinking into yourself. "What I'm trying to say is... perhaps this could work? Leon's social standing is strong. He carries great weight within Ethelia due to his achievements and is en route to become one of the wealthiest in the kingdom with all the favors he has. And from the way he ignores us when he comes to our house as a guest to tail after you tells me he wouldn't take your independence away in marriage. You'll be able to do whatever you want—visit wherever you please, hire any staff you desire, live wherever you fancy, and be with whomsoever you like. As long as you remain discreet about certain affairs, of course."

The last subtle suggestion about taking a separate lover after marriage is received with a loud snort of displeasure from Lady Claire, but the comment has served to jar you back into awareness.

"Which is to say, you'd be happy with him. From my perspective, that's the best deal any woman can ask for. In fact, it's quite literally out of a fairy tale, to be honest. An agreeable man who cares and will give you whatever you wish for. Wealthy. Great status. Do you not want that?"

Of course you would want that! That much you cannot deny. A happy, comfortable life with stability and freedom is exactly what you dreamt of during your worst hours in the convent. And Leon would be a decent husband. Kind, dutiful... handsome, honorable... you know those aspects already.

"But... At least I have my own freedoms as a commoner who has a job, no matter how small. I'd feel too bad to be financially dependent on him..."

"I went through the exact same thing, so let me tell you," Dame Jill states in a firm voice, raising her chin proudly as she does so, "Even with a dowry, I still depended entirely on my husband's good graces at first. But I managed to gain privileges and my own investments through him, and paid him back with my own income later. The system isn't perfect but it works. You have the luxury of starting on a higher foot than I did, and will undoubtedly earn better terms in marriage because of it. You should take advantage of that. If you use your cards right, you'll become independent from Leon soon enough."

You can see that argument. And you trust Dame Jill knows what she's talking about—she and her betrothed have lived together happily, and she doesn't hold his title and still retains her own surname. That must have taken incredible maneuvering on her part to achieve. She's the living monument of her argument, evidence of it working out if a woman decides to pursue her interests under the rules set forth by noblemen by using those against them. And you suppose that if it worked for her, then perhaps...

And yet, you're still hesitant, unconvinced. "How would you suggest I do that?"

"You can become a patron for artisans and tradesmen, or fund shops with your inheritance." She shrugs lightly. "Invest in enterprises and industries related to Leon's territories—there's so much potential, considering all he controls. Or join a guild to start up a company of your own. I've helped build my family's fortune through my own contributions and activities."

Oh… That would be…

Your mind is spinning at all the possibilities opened up to you by the prospect of marriage—a whirlwind of ideas and options.

Suddenly, your future is filled with exciting prospects and opportunities, whereas before, it had only seemed bleak and dull. A chance to improve upon your life, rather than settle for what you had before. It sounds tempting. So tempting that you're almost inclined to leap at the opportunity and accept it right away because of the sole hope of somehow working your way up to something that belongs to you and yours alone, free of outside influence. Something personal.

You'd be a fool not to consider it—but the idea is just too overwhelming to contemplate fully in a single day. You need time to process everything, to come to terms with how drastically different life would be if you agreed to the proposal. You need to take things slow. Start with the basics first—the practicalities of getting used to spending time around Leon and making sure he truly is what Dame Jill says.

"It's... I don’t know," you murmur softly, looking down at your hands resting atop your lap. They're clasped tightly, holding onto something invisible. Your heart. Perhaps... your hopes and dreams as well... "I wouldn't even know where to begin with any of this. All of these opportunities... What if I ruin everything? I’m not qualified like you ladies."

"All valid concerns. That's why we're here with you today and all the tomorrows to come."

A gentle squeeze to your shoulder from Lady Claire brings your attention back to them, and when you meet their gaze, you find no judgment there. No mocking. Just kindness. Understanding. Love, even.

It makes your chest ache painfully to be on the receiving end of a helping hand when you were the one extending it to others before, and you force yourself to push back the tears that threaten to form at the corner of your eyes.

You can't afford to cry now, not in front of the two people who've given you their support and guidance, who've listened without question as you poured out your fears and frustrations without judging you for expressing your emotions, who've treated you with respect and dignity despite your humble roots.

They've made sure to explain things to you in a way that makes sense—something that you appreciate immensely, since you've had no experience with financial matters outside the scope of charitable donations in service of the temple—and haven't belittled you or looked down on you for your lack of knowledge regarding these topics. You wouldn't have considered this marriage without them in the first place, wouldn't have even known what you could do with said marriage to help build up your own capital. How lucky you are to have met such wonderful women, who are guiding you towards discovering your own agency! You owe them far more than mere thanks.

And Leon... Leon certainly isn't a bad choice of husband at all.

After the day’s work has slowed to its natural ebb, the warmth of the hearth fills the maids’ quarters with a cozy, amber glow, it smells of fresh-baked bread, slightly burnt at the edges, and the faint, lingering scent of rosewater from one of the girls' perfumes. You sit cross-legged on your shared bed, your hands busy with a piece of mending, though your attention is far from the needle and thread.

The other maids bustle around, tidying up their own small spaces, chattering softly about the day’s events. One by one, they settle into the room, their eyes flicking in your direction, and you can feel the weight of their curiosity mounting like the slow build of a storm.

Finally, Maria, one of the bolder girls with sharp green eyes and a wit to match, plops down beside you with a mischievous grin.

“Alright, out with it then!” she teases, nudging your arm. “We’ve all been wondering—what's going on between you and him that both ladies called you out to talk today?”

Your heart skips a beat, though you try to keep your face neutral. “Him?”

Maria rolls her eyes dramatically. “Don’t play coy with us, girl! We’ve seen the way Lord Leon looks at you whenever he visits. Always trailing after you like a lovesick puppy, isn’t he?”

The room erupts in giggles, and the other girls gather closer, abandoning their pretense of work to join the conversation.

“He’s always hanging around,” adds Lila, her voice low and conspiratorial. “And didn’t you two have some private chat the other day?”

“That’s right!” Maria jumps in, eyes twinkling with excitement. “I heard he came looking for you in the kitchen. Just you. Alone. If that doesn’t mean something, I don’t know what does!”

You try to wave them off, but the girls lean in even closer, their faces alight with the thrill of gossip.

“Come on,” Lila presses, basically dripping with eager curiosity. “Spill it! What’s it like, having a nobleman so interested in you?”

Your pulse quickens, and for a moment, you’re at a loss for words. The thought of sharing anything about Leon’s marriage proposal feels too intimate, too unreal. How could they possibly understand?

Still, the girls’ eyes are bright with expectation, so you decide to tread carefully. “It’s... nothing like that,” you say softly, hoping to dissuade their excitement. “He’s just being kind.”

Maria snorts, clearly not convinced. “Kind? Please. Nobles don’t come slinking around after maids out of kindness.” She pauses, then leans in even closer, words dropping to a whisper. “If you bat your eyelashes at him the way he likes it, you could end up with a lot more than just kindness.”

You blink furiously, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Lila grins wickedly. “You know what she means. A mistress! Why else would he be following you around like that? It’s the perfect setup! You’d have all the perks of being with a noble without any of the chains. Gold, dresses, fancy gifts—he’d be wrapped around your finger!”

Your stomach twists at the suggestion, a rush of discomfort bubbling beneath the surface. “A... mistress?”

The word feels foreign on your tongue, sour and wrong.

“Stop playing coy,” Maria says, grinning like a fox. “He’s clearly interested in you. And you’d be a fool not to take advantage of it. Do you know how rare it is for a man of his standing to even look at someone like us?”

The other girls murmur their agreement, nodding enthusiastically.

“And think about it,” Lila adds, her tone soft but coaxing, “you wouldn’t have to lift a finger again. No more scrubbing floors, no more serving the ladies of the house. You’d be living the high life, tucked away in some lovely estate with all the luxury you could ever want. All you’d have to do is keep him happy.” Her gaze flickers up and down your form, appraising, before she smirks. "And I bet he won't be too disappointed with that either."

A sudden surge of anger rises in your chest, hot and fierce. It’s as though they’ve reduced Leon’s sincerity to a mere transaction, something cheap and temporary.

You glance around at the eager faces, each girl picturing the life they’ve described, a life of ease and opulence. But all you can think of is Leon—his genuine concern, his careful words, his sincerity when he’d offered you a life beyond this one.

A life as his equal.

You lower your head, focusing on the piece of fabric in your lap, but your voice comes out firmer than expected. “I’m not interested in becoming anyone’s mistress.”

Maria frowns, tilting her head. “Why not? It’s not like he’d marry you, you know.”

Lila nods, shrugging carelessly. Her eyes drift lazily around the cramped room as she speaks. "Let's be real here, honey—we all want to find a good man and live happily ever after, but that's not how the world works. If we're clever enough, we can get the right one to take us to the side and let us play the lady, maybe give us an allowance, but we'll never get to wear their name or inherit any property. Might as well enjoy the benefits of being the other woman. Life's easier that way."

A quiet realization settles over you like a comforting blanket in the midst of the winter of these girls' harsh reality and what they have to live with—Leon’s offer, regardless of whether you want to take him up on it, was a lot more honoring than you'd initially thought, more than it should be, when everyone else sees it as an empty promise, a tease of something better they could never achieve.

Because Leon hadn’t offered you a life in the shadows. He hadn’t looked at you as though you were something to be possessed, something to be kept hidden. He’d offered you a future—a real future, as his equal. And it’s only now, in the face of the maids’ casual suggestion, that you realize just how sincere his proposal had been.

He wasn’t offering you luxury in exchange for secrecy. He wasn’t trying to keep you as some hidden treasure. He was offering you something far more precious than wealth or status—he was offering you respect.

He’d offered you something real.

A soft breath escapes your lips, and the tension in your chest eases ever so slightly. The girls continue to chatter, oblivious to the shift in your thoughts, still wrapped up in their fantasy of you as a nobleman’s mistress.

But you know better now. You know what Leon’s intentions truly are.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to understand what you want too.

The late afternoon sun bathes the garden in a golden light, casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths that wove through the hedges and flower beds. The air carries the crisp, earthy scent of autumn, mingled with the faint fragrance of fading blooms. A gentle rustling of leaves fills the space, stirred by a cool breeze, while distant bird calls echoed from the trees, the atmosphere holding a kind of serene stillness, as if the garden itself was waiting.

In spite of the nerves coiled tightly in your chest, it reminds you of the temple's private prayer garden—your one refuge from the weight of expectations. Here, just like there, you feel a semblance of peace. This space, however, has become something different: a sanctuary from more personal burdens, from the eyes that constantly watched, speculated, and judged your every interaction with Leon.

As you walk, your fingers skimmed the soft petals of the flowers lining the path, a tactile comfort that grounds you as your thoughts swirled. The garden is quiet, save for the faint gurgling of the fountain ahead, where a lone figure sat. Leon.

He's hunched forward, elbows resting on his thighs as he watches the water trickle steadily into the basin below, completely unaware of your presence. His fair hair hangs loose around his face, partially obscuring his features, and he wears simple, unadorned clothing, a far cry from the formal attire you'd grown accustomed to seeing him in during his visits to the manor. His coat is tossed haphazardly over one armrest, vest half-undone, sleeves rolled up messily at the elbow. Even the collar of his shirt hangs open loosely, giving a glimpse of pale skin beneath. The relaxed position belies a sense of agitation and frustration, a sort of restless energy that your offer of wanting to meet him today has caused, no doubt.

This informal state of undress is a refreshing change from his usual perfectionist approach to fashion and is unexpectedly... intimate. That, combined with the way he's dressed himself down, almost in defiance, to meet you in private gives you pause.

You have no idea if he's trying to look as approachable and nonthreatening as possible or is truly so caught up in turmoil about your answer that he's forgotten how appearances make him come across, but you're struck by how attractive he looks at the moment. It's... refreshing to see him like this. Like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

As if feeling your eyes on him, Leon shifts his attention to where you've paused behind him, spotting you standing in the distance. His posture abruptly straightens before he rises to his feet, greeting you formally, clear and resonant, "Saintess."

"It's not—" you begin, instinctively recoiling at the title and reminder of all the demands that came with it, but stop yourself short. No sense in correcting him anymore. Not when you're so close to figuring out where to go next with him. Not when he looks like he's prepared for the worst. "Please. Make yourself comfortable."

He doesn't move.

There's an awkward silence. Then, slowly, reluctantly, you step forward. Your steps get swallowed by the silent garden, into the chatter of the surrounding foliage and ornamental ponds.

Now that you've closed the distance and you're standing only an arm's length apart, Leon stands impossibly tall and imposing in front of you. A shadow draped over you both by the canopy of the willow tree you've met underneath, sheltering you from the rest of the world. His blue eyes are dark like the sky in the moment before dusk, expression severe as you look up to face him properly, trying not to lose courage.

You lead with, "Have you noticed there's not one single lily blooming in the entire estate gardens?"

In the context of your talk, it comes off as an obvious subject change, and Leon picks up on it immediately, quirking up a brow quizzically, then casts a sweeping glance over the greenery instead, as if searching for any hint of the flowers you named. "Now that you mention it..."

"It stood out to me immediately," you confide. "I'm rather fond of lilies, you see. They're my favorite flower."

It sounds a little silly once you've spoken aloud, but a fond, "Ah," escapes his throat. Leon's features soften as he looks upon you again, listening carefully, intent to keep talking if you wish to speak more. There's a ghost of a smile on his mouth, tugging at his lips, like he wants to say something, but holds it in check.

"You'd think I would be able to convince Piers to plant some for me, but he said, first of all it's not your garden to change. Second of all, if you want lilies that much, how about you make your own garden and grow them yourself. Apparently, I was 'obsessed' with them enough to warrant such advice. I didn't have the first idea about caring for flowers, though. It was a bit more challenging than I anticipated, learning how to take care of plants—not too much, not too little sunlight, not too little water, not too many pests... I realized how fortunate I was to have florists or the servants take care of things while I was the saintess. So much to learn!"

Leon makes a noncommittal hum at the back of his throat, looking off to the side pensively, brows coming together as he runs the tip of his tongue against the edge of his lower teeth, deep in thought. You look away when you catch yourself following the motion, staring openly at the soft angle of his jawline. Instead, your gaze flicks to the rows of vibrant roses nearby.

"My gardening efforts... were mediocre at best," you laugh sheepishly.

You recall the sad, shriveling collection of greens you had managed to get from the earth. Dried out and blackened with spots when you should have known better after reading so many books on the topic of cultivating the land and keeping the flora alive and thriving, how the soil felt on your fingertips and hands as you tended to the various kinds of crops. But then you had finally grown some tender stalks and baby blooms, the barest beginnings of buds bursting forth, growing lush and strong—only to promptly die under your care. It wasn't intentional—in fact, you had done everything right, followed all the instructions to the letter—but it was still disappointing nonetheless, to watch as all your hard work withered and faded away before your very eyes.

"Years have passed, and I'm still not particularly great at it. For all the miracles I performed in Ethelion's name, I never did figure out what I did wrong to make my own garden turn out that way." You trail your fingertips lightly over the delicate petals of a rosebush, remembering how the dewdrops had clung to them like gems, sparkling in the sunlight. "Even today, I still haven't quite gotten the hang of it and just help Piers around. Growing my own lilies is out of the question like this. I still want it, that's the whole point of why I started this journey in the first place. But I guess fear of being confronted with the fact that these hands that once brought back many from death's doorstep can't even grow a weed correctly stops me from ever attempting. It's like a lesson in humility."

The wind ruffles Leon's golden hair as he stares off into the distance, thinking intently. He rests his weight on one leg, cocking it out to the side as he props an elbow on his thigh, settling his chin against an upturned palm. Those sharp eyes sweep across the manicured lawns of the estate, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he mulls over your words.

"You're not just talking about lilies, are you?" Leon says quietly, his tone cautious, but thoughtful. You shake your head, chewing on your lip to prevent any further emotional outbursts from betraying your composure.

You let your eyes slide shut and allow yourself a small moment of respite, inhaling deeply through your nose, tasting the fresh fall air as it fills your lungs. "I thought... A new pair of hands helping me out with the lilies would add insult to injury. Humiliating." Your fingers clench involuntarily around a rose stem, and you jerk your hand away sharply before it can snap the fragile thing in half. "After years of relying on Ethelion to supply me with lilies whenever I wanted, I thought this was the only way for me to pride myself on something for a change. Failure upon failure eventually made me realize that perhaps I'm too proud to admit that I don't have things figured out just yet—and am also ashamed to ask for assistance from others, even those that are willing to help me out when I need it. Perhaps that was another reason why I didn't even want to entertain your offer, Leon. Because it felt like giving up."

Opening your eyes again, you see him watching you intently, blue irises focused entirely on yours, attentive to every word that leaves your lips. The sight of it causes warmth to spread throughout your body, causing you to falter for a second, unsure of where to proceed next. You bite down hard on your lip, then, "And... And if... If I couldn't accomplish even something small like this, then what kind of saintess was I? What good would a failed servant of God be as a wife?"

"Goodness knows, you can be a fool, you know that?" Leon snaps without hesitation, brusque and direct. Startled by his reaction, you whip around to face him in surprise—to see his features drawn tight in displeasure. He's frowning down at you, brow creasing, nostrils flared slightly, a muscle twitching in his jawline. "Of course you wouldn't succeed immediately. You were practically a bumbling toddler released into the wild! Trying to expect such growth in a handful of years is plain lunacy. Especially with the insistence to do it without any assistance."

"I—"

"And the worst part? You don't even acknowledge how you've made strides with your limitations!"

You quiet down with the shock of blatantly being scolded by someone as kind and softspoken as Leon—or for the first time in your life, for the matter.

"Let me put it like this," he says, having simmered down. "If you want to grow lilies, you need to let go of this obsession to be some almighty perfect being that must know everything there is to know in the world about lilies before setting out to grow your garden."

You wring your hands together in front of you anxiously, still taken aback by his sudden tirade, and unsure of how else to respond to it. Part of you is annoyed that he took to calling you a fool, albeit accurately so, but the greater portion of yourself is beginning to feel guilty about dismissing Leon's assistance due to your pride. You stay silent and let him finish.

"Marrying me wouldn't make you a failure. As a matter of fact, accepting my aid for the sake of getting to try your hand at creating your own garden doesn't have anything to do with that either." His gaze grows gentler as he fixes you with a firm, meaningful stare. "Even if no lilies grow today or in the next month, all the seeds you're scattering around shall come to fruition soon enough if you keep at it. If there are an extra couple of hands helping out with the watering and weeding, then surely your efforts will be twice as efficient. The goal is ultimately what matters—making your dream become a reality and not be stifled by arbitrary rules that have never existed until now."

Leon's words hit home for you in ways that you didn't expect them to; how did he manage to come to terms with the issues you struggled with so easily?

"Did I do good?" he asks all of a sudden, shattering the moment, a shy grin appearing on his face that transforms his appearance almost instantly. He suddenly seems younger, less experienced, more like the paladin you knew him as years ago. A sweet, sincere boy, struggling between uncertainty and eagerness to do right by you. "Allegories are not my strong suit... Or is it called a metaphor?"

You chuckle weakly, "Yes, you certainly succeeded. More than you know, actually."

Those blue eyes light up in response, his mouth breaking into a broad grin that brightens his entire face and takes your breath away. Your heart does an odd skip in your chest, but before you have a chance to analyze the strange sensation, Leon leans forward eagerly. "Does this mean you'll accept?"

Taking in his expression—eyes wide and hopeful, a slight flush coloring his cheeks—you can't help but smile back with a brief nod.

"Yes?" he insists excitedly, his voice rising in pitch slightly. It's clear he isn't convinced of your answer just yet and wants some sort of verbal affirmation.

"I'd be happy to," you reply before the nervous stutter can give rise to doubts again in his mind about you. At that very instant, a flock of doves rises from the trees above and soars off into the sky, disappearing into the clouds, leaving behind only a trail of white feathers. "If you'll still have--"

"Yes!" He steps towards you quickly and envelops you in a tight embrace without warning. His arms encircle you completely, his warmth radiating through the fabric of your dress. You yelp, startled, but he only pulls you tighter against him and spins you around in the air. You cling to him helplessly, your body pressed firmly against his, and try not to think about how solid he feels underneath your fingertips.

The sudden intimacy sends a thrill through your veins, heat pooling low in your belly and spreading throughout your limbs. Then you hear him exhale loudly in your ear in relief. His hot breath tickles the sensitive skin beneath your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine, goosebumps raising along the bare nape of your neck and along your arms underneath the sleeves. All the pent-up anxiety leaves his body at once and you find yourself relaxing in response. For a split-second you forget where you are or who you're with—only that you want to feel more of him against you...

The lightness in Leon's eyes is a rare sight, one you haven't seen since you first crossed paths again. His entire face is illuminated by his beaming grin, so bright it almost makes you forget the chill in the air. You’d said yes, and in that moment, it was as though the world outside the garden ceased to exist. It’s just the two of you, suspended in time—Leon’s arms still wrapped around you, his breath warm on your cheek.

“You won't regret this,” Leon says as he pulls away slightly, his smile never fading.

You nod, too overwhelmed to say anything more. There’s something about the way he says those words, with such sincerity and confidence, that makes your heart swell. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you allow yourself to feel hopeful—hopeful that perhaps this arrangement could bring you both the happiness you’ve been missing.

He holds out his arm to you, a gesture you’ve come to associate with his chivalrous nature, and you take it without hesitation. The warmth of his touch still lingers as he leads you out of the garden, your heart racing, thoughts pleasantly buzzing.

A few days later, you find yourself in a carriage, trundling down the road towards Leon’s estate. The entire journey has been spent in comfortable silence, save for the occasional exchange of smiles or soft remarks about the passing scenery. You lean your head against the window, gazing out at the world beyond as it goes by in a blur of color and motion. In the distance, you spy the familiar sight of the grand cathedral, towering high above all else, its spires reaching upwards into the azure sky. Memories flash before your eyelids: of visiting the structure during the early hours of dawn, as the first rays of light filtered through its stained glass windows—of wandering within its labyrinthine passages and praying quietly in secluded corners—of the comforting scent of incense as it drifted through your robes like smoke through the rafters.

But the pull isn't as strong, or tempting as it once was, a whisper of something ancient that lives inside your ribcage.

You haven’t spoken much about the wedding yet—it hasn't even been half a week since you accepted Leon's offer—but you've already settled on doing a smaller ceremony, consisting only of the Redfields and close associates. Your side of the guest list is virtually non-existent, so you suppose the wedding preparations are going to move pretty fast considering there are not a lot of moving pieces to juggle.

When the manor finally comes into view, you’re momentarily breathless. It’s grander than you imagined, despite being in the borders of the capital and within the vicinity of other lavish estates—a grand sandstone building topped with elaborate gables, a slate tile roof, and ornate wooden trellises encasing balconies decorated with intricately carved fretwork. The lush grounds surrounding the manor appear immaculately groomed, topiary hedges and carefully pruned boxwoods lining the entrance drive, leading up to an imposing iron gate with ornate scrollwork patterns.

You have no idea how his estate in the margravate will compare to this summer home for the social season...

The carriage turns into an ornate stone drive, traveling the length of the courtyard, halting at last beside the entrance. Everything is eerily quiet for a moment, save for the crunching sound of gravel beneath wheels and hooves echoing through the open space. A young footman immediately opens the door and steps aside, and Leon descends gracefully before turning to help you climb down yourself.

You smooth out your skirts once you're on terra firma again, grateful for the moment to compose yourself after such an imposing sight. He offers his arm to you once more, and you wrap your fingers delicately around the crook of his elbow. With his free hand, he gently guides you forward, each step seeming to take longer than the last, until you're crossing through an arched entryway and stepping into an airy atrium.

Your gaze sweeps across the room, drinking in every detail, your nerves returning. The entrance hall is beautifully furnished, but distinctly masculine, with heavy mahogany furniture and a plush Aubusson rug sprawled out across the marble floor. An impressive chandelier hangs overhead, glittering with dozens of flickering candles. Everywhere you look, you're greeted by rich materials and exquisite craftsmanship—carved woodwork framing elegant oil paintings depicting scenes from history, damask wallpaper adorning the walls, polished silver sconces mounted on pillars flanking the staircase bannister...

All the finery makes your heart beat a little faster, and you're struck by the realization of just how different your current situation is compared to yesterday.

You let out a shaky breath, your grip on Leon's arm tightening as he leads you past a row of elaborately dressed footmen, their hands folded neatly behind their backs and heads bowed politely in greeting. Each of them regards you curiously, observing you with expressions devoid of emotion, as though studying some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. Up ahead, an elderly butler awaits you by the bottommost step, his stoic features arranged into a thin mask of courtesy. When Leon comes closer, however, the man's impassive facade melts into one of genuine respect, his graying eyebrows lifting slightly in recognition.

"Welcome, Your Excellency," he greets with a slight bow. "We've been expecting your return. We've also prepared lodgings for the honored bride-to-be."

Your cheeks grow warm at the use of the title, and you shift nervously from side to side as Leon thanks the old man.

"Can you send Dame Hunnigan for us, please?"

"I believe she is waiting for your arrival," the butler says, dry and monotone. "Will you require any refreshments in the parlor, sir?"

"No, leave us," Leon nods, dismissing the retainer. He then glances down at you and chuckles lightly, leaning over to mutter, "You look like a frightened mouse about to hop out of her clothes."

You press your lips tightly together, avoiding meeting his amused gaze and fixating on the floor instead, mentally berating yourself for acting so ridiculous, but then Leon continues speaking as you ascend the stairs. "Forgive me if I seem smug. That was simply endearing."

His words draw a surprised laugh out of you, the unexpected tease easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "I appreciate you taking the opportunity to poke fun at my expense."

"Always happy to serve," he teases right back without missing a beat, his grin flashing wickedly at you. There's no bite to his teasing, however, merely playfulness.

As you reach the top landing, a young woman approaches you from down the hallway with a calm and composed demeanor, lacking the urgency of the servants below. Her dark hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and she’s dressed in a simple but elegant gown, showing her higher position. She stops before you with a nod of greeting, her gaze respectful but sharp as it flickers between you and Leon.

“Welcome back, my lord,” she says smoothly, steady and professional. “And welcome to you, my lady.”

Leon’s smile remains as he gestures toward her. “This is Dame Ingrid Hunnigan, my house steward. If you require anything at all, do let her know and she will assist you as best she can. Isn’t that so, Hunnigan?"

Her posture is as perfect as a soldier's, and her demeanor is polite and collected, and yet you detect the subtle traces of power beneath. "If it is in my power, then most definitely," she answers dutifully, bowing to you with a flourish. "Please don't hesitate to contact me if you need anything at all, milady. The servants have been instructed to tend to all your needs accordingly."

Something about the way she holds herself—the confident set of her shoulders, the steely determination in her brown gaze—reminds you of Piers. You get the sense that she is fiercely intelligent, but also skilled in diplomacy and management, the kind of person that knows just what to do in every situation.

You return the greeting with a polite nod, feeling a little self-conscious under her watchful gaze. There’s something about the way she carries herself that suggests she knows everything happening within these walls, down to the smallest detail. She’s not just an aide—she’s someone who ensures the manor runs like clockwork.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, feeling an odd sense of relief knowing that there will be someone to help you navigate this unfamiliar place.

“The pleasure is mine,” Hunnigan replies, her lips curving into a small smile. “I must say, we’ve all been looking forward to your arrival. It’s clear how much Lord Leon cares for you."

Her words, though spoken with the utmost professionalism, catch you off guard. You glance at Leon, who shifts slightly, his smile fading into something more reserved, almost embarrassed. There’s a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

“Oh, uh... yes,” he stammers, holding his right shoulder and rolling it around like it's sore and he's trying to stretch it. “I—well, of course, I—”

Hunnigan doesn’t miss a beat. “The staff is already preparing for the wedding, and I’ve made arrangements for you to meet with the dressmaker later this week. If there’s anything else you need, my lady, don’t hesitate to ask.”

For a split second you remember all your previous hesitations, but you push the thought aside almost as quickly.

Leon clears his throat, straightening himself and gesturing down the corridor. "Come, it would be rude not to show you to your rooms."

You allow him to lead the way, following a short distance behind him and Hunnigan as they weave through the corridors. It occurs to you that you've never seen the inside of another nobleman's home, aside from a tour of the palace in the royal capital—even though it shouldn't come as a surprise, given that it's been a while since you stepped foot in the temple. But even in those moments, you were sheltered from much of the actual activity that occurred daily, having private quarters away from the others, except for when you traveled with the Bishop. And even then... it wasn't like you ever came across homes or mansions this beautiful. This was something truly grand—so much space and fine furniture to fill it, the kind that probably had names for. The kind that held history within its walls and decor. The kind of residence that spoke of generations of wealth, privilege, and status.

Though, you can't seem to focus on much, Dame Hunnigan's words about how much Leon cares for you and his weird reaction to it replaying in your head over and over again, like the echo of a bell ringing somewhere in the distance. Did he really talk about you like that to his staff? And why would he...? You mean, of course he should care for you; he asked you to marry him! Still, it stirs up some conflicted feelings within you.

This marriage isn't about love, but there is love in it. Even though that might never go anywhere romantic or sexual. A connection between two people... is still love, regardless of the specifics. You know that's what you've been taught throughout your entire life—that such an agreement is built upon respect, admiration, compassion.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

"Right here," Leon says, coming to a stop in front of a set of double doors as he pushes them open, revealing a vast room decorated in shades of blue and cream. The sun pours in from large windows framed by thick velvet curtains, flooding the space with light and illuminating the plush carpets covering the hardwood floors, creating a soothing ambience.

The centerpiece is undoubtedly the four-poster bed against the wall, complete with drapery falling around the sides and pillows piled atop a silk duvet. Against the adjacent wall stands a small table next to an armchair by a fireplace, a vase filled with freshly picked lilies placed atop the mantel. Off in the corner is another door which presumably leads into the baths. There are several tall bookshelves stuffed with tomes in various languages, spanning from historical texts to philosophy to poetry, and a large oak desk sits adjacent to them. A vanity full of cosmetics is situated nearby, along with a large wardrobe standing in front of a screen decorated with intricate embroidery.

You almost blurt out something about this room being made for half a dozen people rather than one before catching yourself.

"It's connected to my room through that door, so feel free to knock," Leon adds casually, seemingly unaware of how such a statement causes your brain to short circuit for a brief moment.

"Oh," you manage to say as you peer at the imposing piece of furniture near the vanity and swallow thickly. Married couples are often required to share a sleeping chamber, and this arrangement was done for your comfort, no doubt. But it's still intimate to think about how he'll be right next door, accessible to you at all times.

"Is that acceptable?" Leon asks, dipping his chin and raising an eyebrow.

You flush, realizing you hadn't responded, and hastily nod your head, causing him to chuckle lightly as he heads back towards the exit, but doesn't leave, talking to Dame Hunnigan about something in a low tone before he shuts the doors and leaves both of you alone in this new space together.

He lingers there for a moment. You can't see his face as he says, "I wanted to... I wanted to apologize for what Hunnigan said back there. About how much I apparently talk about you whenever I'm back home. I assure you, she's prone to exaggerations sometimes, and there's always gossip running around between the maids in these sorts of places."

"Oh, that." You didn't think Leon would make such a big deal out of it—there are certainly far worse things in the world to worry about—but he seems quite bothered by it. Maybe it's a breach of his privacy? He's clearly not very comfortable with Hunnigan telling you about such matters. "I guess everyone can be chatty," you try to soothe his embarrassment. "She was probably just trying to be hospitable, in her own way."

"Yes... Well... I do care about you, of course. Just, er, well..." Leon trails off awkwardly, suddenly fumbling over his words as he tries to get them out, a light dusting of pink coloring the tips of his ears. "Not that way. Obviously. Which she's insinuating. That would be inappropriate. For us. To... To act in such ways outside of our marital responsibilities. Or inside. Which we don't have to. So, I... I want to make sure that... You know. I have invited you here under honorable intentions only. I hope that this does not put you in any uncomfortable situation. Because I wouldn’t dare feel about you in such a manner."

Despite your better judgment, his sudden rambling and odd choice of phrasing tugs at your heart strings a bit, somewhat in disappointment. Not that you would ever expect such things—you aren't expecting romance or love in this union, and that's not the purpose of this arrangement in the slightest—but there is some sense of rejection upon hearing that the man before you has no desire to pursue anything romantic. In all fairness, you may never have thought about it either if you had remained within the temple, as you dedicated your entire existence to worshiping Ethelion. Until now, at least.

"I know," you reassure him gently with a tentative smile, an inexplicable pit deep in your stomach. "There's no need to be flustered. I'm well aware of what this is, and I appreciate your honesty."

"Good," he sighs in relief, visibly relaxing as the tension leaves his frame. Finally turning around, he flashes a charming smile in response, bright blue irises glinting beneath his lashes in the warm sunlight streaming through the windows. "Would you like to sit with me for tea?"

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy fanfiction

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timetravellibrarian · 2 days

Text

Zoro x reader

Summary: A man seeks to follow his dreams, following only the path his swords carve for him and wherever his crew goes. Little does he know that the missing piece in his life, his soulmate whom he doesn't admit that he tries to seek would end up in a love-hate relationship

_________________________________________

Chapter Five

You sat in your room, not moving, hair uncared for, body aching. It has been a while since your wedding, but it felt fresh in your heart like it was yesterday. Mother, father, Kyro, Amav. Ophelia and Rhen were yet to be found and you hoped that they left the island. You doubted they'd be left alive if they were. Lyra must have taken them seeing as she wasn't around either thankfully. All your family's loyal servants had been executed days after the wedding, the remaining were pledged to Cassius and his family.

You scratched your wrist, the mark stinging. Not too long ago pain unimaginable to anyone in the kingdom had seered through it, leaving you screaming in absolute pain. It was so bad that you were taken to the doctor.

Everyday you were forced to play the role of the dutiful wife to your murderous husband. Disregarding the vengeful hate inside, you stood up, did the necessary tasks for hygiene and wore a black dress to honour your family's deaths.

"Ah, my darling wife!" Cassius said as he sat on the throne, dismissing advisors. Your eyes scanned every one of them as they passed you, bowing their heads to not look you in the eye. Ser Randall, Lord Alexander, Maester Caius and Lady Genevieve. All of them.

Traitors.

You could guess that the kingdom didn't know of his heinous actions. Or maybe they did know, the executioners block has been used more times lately than in the past twenty years so you figured people wanted to keep their lives and not question the sudden trajedy.

"Your grace," You curtsied, wiping off the look of disgust you had given to the royal advisors.

"Lovely day isn't it? The second month that marks our marriage." He stood up, taking your hand and walking you outside the throne room into the open hallways of the castle. There was a brilliant view of the citadel from up there. The both of you leaned against the railing.

He looked at you, sparkling eyes like a lovesick puppy. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you look?"

"You always tell me that." You internally rolled your eyes, picking at you dress.

"Then I'll say it even more. You look beautiful."

The both of you looked at the view in front from the high balcony you had traveled to. Guards stood on both of your sides a distance away. You looked down, over the bannister. It would be an alarming drop, leaving no room for life. Your eyes went to Cassius who was enjoying the view , his arms crossed and a smile on his face.

Just on push, a strong one. Enough to end this nightmare. To save yourself from any more harm that would come to you.

"I bet our children will love this kingdom. Or maybe the other ones my family has ruled over. Did you know that our families have history?"

"No ,your grace." At the mention of children you nearly choked on your own disgust. It was a wonder how he hadn't bedded you already and you were grateful for that. Apparently their customs were different. They could be as cruel as they wanted to their subjects and enemies but never went to the level of sexual assault.

"Your grandfather had taken over our kingdom fify years ago. His men took all our women as wives. Our men were brutally murdered. The children were forced to become strangers in their own country, serving under his rule. Now here we are. I'm not as cruel as your grandfather. I've spoken with my advisors. I have been merciful."

"You call what you did merciful?" The anger within had flared up, forgetful of how calm you were supposed to act.

" It would have been worse, darling. I would have had every man and son slaughtered and give the women and girls over to cruel men. Maybe sell you to slavery or force you to work in my home country's pleasure houses."

Your eyes widened at the extent he was willing to go. Now the drop seemed more of an option for a willing princess. No, a willing queen. But you wanted to live long enough to kill the man who held your hand with deceptive love.

"You absolute psy–

–cho.

"Your majesty!" A soldier ran in, "There's protests taking place all over the citadel. Near the monuments." Cassius rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh.

"Just kill them and get over with it."

The soldier shook on the spot at Cassius' words."But mi'lord, they're you're people ."

Cassius raised an eyebrow,"And?"

Your eyes widened. "Those are lives, Cassius. people with families. Have mercy, please."

"They should have thought of their families before deciding to go against my rule." He grabbed a drink from the jugs placed near where the two of you stood." Infact, if you care so much you should go through the same thing they have to."

"What?" You furrowed your eyes in confusion, a hint of fear in your tone. He turned to you, the spark in his eyes dulled a tiny bit. There was a hint of something crazy in them there.

"Round up the protesters and have them whipped. Thirty lashes, or until they beg for death. I don't care., make it entertaining"

The soldier nodded , getting ready to walk away before being stopped by Cassius' hand. "After you're done with them, give the queen ten lashes. Since she loves her people so much."

Before you could respond, the guards who stood beside the both of you grabbed you roughly by the arms,dragging you somewhere you didn't know.

"NO! PLEASE, CASSIUS!"

Cassius waved at you as you were dragged away, taking a sip of his drink once more before throwing it over the balcony.

"I have a little surprise for you, my love!" He yelled in the distance

As you were lead down the halls towards the large doors of the place you once called home your ears heard the sound of screaming a bit far off. The castle wasn't too far from the markets and it was clear that they were either beimg caught like cattle there.

Another soldier appeared, placing a sack over your head.

_________________________________________

The Thousand Sunny sailed toward the next island on the logpose, a bright smile on Nami's face. "Looks like we're in luck, the kingdom of Rhysa. Known for its beautiful views, spas and lovely people."

"They're also known for the benevolent royal family that they have. Independent from pirate territories since they have a strong military." Robin added as she got ready to explore the island. A buzz of energy floated around the Strawhats. After having fought with the government, a few warlords and a few marine ships they needed a place to rest and recuperate.

"We could get alot of food too." Luffy said, mouth watering at the thought. His trademark hat atop his head.

Franky put on his sunglasses,"Some more cola for the ship too."

"All in all, we need to restock on a lot of things." Sanji got out of the kitchen, looking around for someone. His eyes went over his crewmates on deck; Robin, Nami, Luffy, Franky, Brook, Chopper and Ussop.

"Where's Mosshead?"

Everyone went quiet for a moment, looking to the side to find Zoro sitting cross-legged on the railing, looking at the distant island they were about to drop anchor at.

There was a small silence, filled with understanding at what might have their swordsman in such a mood.

"STOP BROODING, YOU IDIOT!" Sanji aimed to kick Zoro to get his attention. Zoro blocked Sanji's kick with one of his swords , not moving an inch from his spot.

"Something doesn't feel right."

_________________________________________

@urbisexualfriend

@bi-narystars

@mythicallystupid

@mars-mizuko

@chillerkiller

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #soulmate au #roronoa zoro

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aritsukemo · 3 days

Note

I loved your Kokichi story so much, can I get hcs as him as a partner?

Kokichi Relationship Headcanons | Danganronpa

( @scar8o )

Warnings: None.

A/N: Ahhhhh I love this man!!! 😖 I've been in a little rut for motivation lately ( mostly for Genshin ) so I've been scared to start on request out of fear of getting stuck and never finishing them.. I'm also not good with such broad topics as relationship headcanons so I'm sorry if this isn't satisfactory.. At least I tried, right? 😅

↪ When it comes to Kokichi and the topic of love, he sticks out his tongue and blows raspberries like a little kid because...ewwwww! Love is yucky and gross and full of cooties!

↪ That said, if you actually manage to catch the eyes and heart of this childish liar, you must really be special!

↪ When Kokichi likes someone, it's like being held at gunpoint by a maniac who's gun is made out of cotton candy; harmless, but overwhelming and annoying.

↪ Contrary to popular belief, Kokichi does have a heart. He cares about his friends deeply, and although he doesn't show it, will do the craziest things for them, even if it ends with them despising him for doing so.

↪ That said, I don't imagine him with some mysterious, colder person. I also don't see him with someone who he'd view as a threat to his friends like Maki or someone as cutthroat and self-centered as Byakuya. I imagine him falling for someone more empathetic. Someone who's known him for some time. Who's maybe a bit shy or pours their heart out over the littlest things. Or, maybe someone who's simply kind and honest. Someone predictable, but down-to-earth and friendly, but I digress.

↪ Even with his crush, I don't see him pursuing it whether he was apart of the killing game or not. It's mostly because he fears it as it's a rather foreign topic that requires openness and honesty; two things he isn't comfortable giving to someone—even a close friend.

↪ That doesn't stop his body from reacting the way it does towards you, however! He can't help but yearn for attention at times no matter how much he fights, so I definitely see him in your face and never leaving you be sometimes.

↪ The way he treats you would be as different as two salt grains, but at the same time, as contrasting as his black and white scarf. He'll tease you as he does everyone else, he'll pick on you like he does with the others as well, and he's not above doing things that you may find cruel, but the level at which he takes it would be noticeably ( or possibly unnoticeably ) different from what it is with the others. Not so low that it's obvious and he looks like some simp who can't so much as tell you that you have lettuce in your teeth out of fear that it'll hurt your feelings, but it will never be as high as how he acts towards Maki or Kaito. Well, not unless you like to be talked to like that.

↪ That moves us to my second thing I see him doing which is indulge you. Similar to Miu, who gets off on degradation, he doesn't care for what gets you going really and he doesn't mind doing whatever if it makes you feel good. You like to be praised over the simplest things? He doesn't mind throwing out a cheesy comment randomly to fluster you and then immediately change the topic. You, for some reason, like it when he's a little mean? When he immediately claps back at something you say? He can do that. Anytime. Anywhere. And he will and then quickly follow up with his usual antics as if it never happened.

↪ But I'm getting ahead of myself. Realistically, I don't see him dating someone, but if he does then they'd have to be really, really special to him. Like someone special enough that his love for them outweighs his anxieties and fears of the worst happening. Someone who he's known for so long that his trust issues won't get the better of him when imagining a relationship with them.

↪ A relationship with him, though, wouldn't be as different as a friendship with him which isn't the best in some ways. He's still a teasing little shit who lies about even the littlest things and is constantly flipping between extreme emotions and downplaying them so significantly that you can't take them seriously.

↪ Don't expect to have any kind of heart to heart with this man. You could pour your heart out to him, tell him some deep ( and possibly dark ) secret about yourself or tell him about a thought or insecurity or incident about yourself that you haven't told even your most trusted companion and he will absolutely not return the favor. He's too used to keeping everything bottled up inside and hiding behind this facade of lies and trickery that showing even a little of his true colors makes him very uncomfortable.

↪ He isn't exactly affectionate. Kisses, hugs, holding hands.. Stuff like that usually only occurs when he's teasing you or trying to get a rise out of you. It's never a genuine action that'll stems from his desires and he'll make sure it never does.

↪ You can never tell what's going through his head even in his most 'vulnerable' moments—if you can even call them that. He's always changing, always saying the most absurd things, always saying the opposite of what he's thinking to ensure that you're thrown completely off his trail and can never read him. To put it simply, he's constantly putting iron barricades between you two.

↪ He can come off as heartless or emotionally tone deaf at times because of this. You could come crying to him or express a deep insecurity of his and it'd seem as though he's not taking you seriously or has completely brushed off your problems which can be seriously depressing and disheartening.

↪ That leads us to arguments, which always feels as if you're screaming at a clown. Kokichi is not one to let his true emotions get the better of him so 99% of your arguments will leave you even more frustrated and upset as when whatever made you argue first surface because it seems like everything you say is being taken as some joke or comedy act.

↪ What a relationship with him needs is time. A lot of it. Kokichi has grown up in an environment that has turned him into someone who physically can't let down his walls, who assumes the worst will happen to him or the people he cares about if he gets too close with someone he can't read like a book at all times ( and even people he can read like that ), someone who can be fighting an unimaginably tough battle—one so intense that it could drive anyone insane—and you'd never be able to tell due to how good he hides it. Time can chip away at all of that, albeit very slowly.

↪ With the right amount of patience, with the right amount of time and the right amount of energy and persistence from his partner, they'll make headway with him eventually. When they do, the change it'll cause will be as big as a baby ant, but it'll be a change nonetheless.

↪ He'll start mixing the tiniest, most insignificant levels of truths into his lies and his partner will have to accept that and let him know that, "Hey! I see that you're trying as hard as you can and I'll wait as long as needed for you to go further!"

↪ Don't try and force progress because it'll leave you being farther away from your goal. When he walks, you walk. When he tethers between taking that next step, you stay put until he decides what he'll do. If he goes backwards, you take a step back as well. That's the only way you're getting anywhere with him.

↪ And with all that effort, you'll get somewhere..eventually. ..Hopefully. I don't really know. When it comes to Kokichi, he could make you believe and feel as though you've made unimaginable progress only to do something completely left field that'll force the enormous gap between you two to become apparent.

↪ Basically what I'm saying is that he's more fragile than you'd imagine so be gentle with him! ..But don't let him catch onto it or else he'll panic and push you away out of fear of breaking what's already cracking apart. You need to be to tend to the glass that is his mind and body, caress it like you would a nasty bruise and don't ever put pressure on it, otherwise he'll shatter and you'll never be able to put him back together again ( nor will he let you try ).

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

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petalsscribbles · 2 days

Text

22. until the end of time (final)

Yn waits at the meeting place, a nice spot in the park under falling petals of sakuras. Perhaps the dreamy, romantic atmosphere can somehow enchant Sunghoon into giving Yn a chance.

He put an effort and thought into his look to sway the odds in his favour. While he's almost sure his favourite reading spot will turn to a place of heartbreak, a reminder of a failed first love, he decided to not give up right away, so he foolishly granted himself a sliver of hope to cling to.

He sits anxiously on the bench, fidgeting with the small gift in his hands and going over his admitedly sappy speech. Perhaps he should've written it down. Or maybe even ask some kind of AI to write it for him. He's not here yet, maybe Yn can cancel last minute and ask to reschedule so he can prepa-

"Yn!"

Nevermind.

Sunghoon strides towards a petrified Yn, turn to stone by how needlessly handsome Sunghoon looks as if he just looked into the eyes of a medusa.

"Did you wait long?" He asks, sitting down too close for Yn's sanity's comfort.

"No. You're right on time."

"So, what are we doing? You were pretty cryptic about it." He states. he isn't wrong. Yn did ask him to meet at the most random time seemingly for no reason at all. Yn is sure Sunghoon is smart enough to know a surprise is coming.

Well, surprise is one way to put it. Yn would describe it more like a slap that came out of nowhere. Or maybe even an guerilla style ambush, depending on how appaled Sunghoon will be in a minute or two.

"There something I need to tell you." He says, getting up and picks a place in front of Sunghoon to stand on. He hands him the gift he prepared - small red box. Sunghoon opens it with warm yet slightly confused smile. There's a simple silver pendant inside, in the shape of the sickle moon.

"Yn, what is this?"

"I bought it because I noticed the Moon was always at this stage when some important things happened between us. The night I had a nightmare and you came to me, the night you kissed me, when I became your blood servant and..." He trails off and takes a deep breath to take the final leap.

"And?"

"And when I realized I have feelings for you."

"Y-you what?" Sunghoon asks and stands up so abruptly Yn takes a step back in surprise.

"I like you." He repeats, looking down on his feet. "I'm sorry."

Yn can't lie, he's a little mad that he wasted all the time coming up with a perfect confession for nothing, but at least the truth is out.

It hangs in the air between them, a big question mark burning right below it. Will Sunghoon accept his clumsy confession, or will he let him down?

Turns out neither option came true, because instead of talking Sunghoon invades Yn's space with one long stride. With his finger curled under Yn's chin, he makes him meet his eyes and connects their lips moments after.

It's very different from their kiss but not quite. It's all feelings and no passion, no lust or need but Yn feels butterflies in his stomach all the same.

Either way, it's the best answer Yn could hope for.

Much to Sunghoon's dismay, Yn pulls away the moment he hears someone approaching.

"I'm gonna go ahead and assume you like me too."

"God, you have no idea how much." He says, still sounding as if he can't believe the situation.

"I guess now we belong to each other completely."

A/n: another smau successfully and happily behind us. Thank you once again for all the love and support you've given Bitter Blood and I'll see you soon with lovesick Matthew in Intertwined <3

taglist CLOSED

@starchasing-cryptid @foxilsdenn @moonslie04 @kkurbys @winter-world @lonely-hearts-club-s2 @gnusihcom @dkmyman @mortifesboy @kkyoluv @teoluvsyou @bubblztaro @conwunder @xavi-in-kpopland @monstaxpuppy @gabrielllx @tarotarosung @livingsecret @onementally-unstabel-kid @axolotl04 @hwalleluja @lisaswifey @academiq @stargirl-library

prev masterlist next

#enhypen #enhypen smau #enhypen x male reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen sunghoon smau #enhypen sunghoon x male reader #enhypen sunghoon x reader

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haveihitanerve · 1 day

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Cardigan

my contribution for Batman Day

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Stranded on a planet, a million miles from earth, with a broken ship and a Lantern who flew off three hours and twenty seven minutes ago, and all Bruce can think is “It wasn't supposed to end like this.” He’s supposed to be Batman right now. He’s supposed to be fixing the ship, maybe catch Hal on his way back. Instead, he’s Bruce, just Bruce, sitting on the rocky outcrop of what appears to be a cliff, legs propped up, arms folded over them, watching the seven suns set. The wrench is laying back by the ship.

He isn't even sure, entirely, how he ended up so far away, sitting here. But he can’t bring himself to stand up, to walk away. To even look away, at this point. “You would’ve loved it.” He murmurs, quietly, to himself. He knows he doesn't have long, the oxygen levels here are lower than on Earth. And at this point, Hal won’t make it back in time. Maybe, if he had kept his mask on, it might be different. Bruce doesn't mind. He doesn't care.

His eyes drift over the four separate suns, sighing contently. The planet is some sort of red giant, dusty and purple and red and beautiful, really, is all Bruce can come back to. And, how much his children would have loved to see it.

The purple rocks stain his hands, and he can’t help but think of Stephanie, how she once stained his hands purple too, with glitter though, not rock.

He knows that it’ll be a shock for Hal to find Bruce Wayne here, instead of Batman. And he knows everyone would expect him to be thinking of his parents. As his last thoughts. But, they're faded. In the back of his mind.

Bruce can’t look back right now, for some reason, when for his whole life it was all he did. Batman, the Wayne Foundation, all of it was for the past. For what could have been if his parents had lived. But now? Now all Bruce can think of is Dick.

All he can think of is how his oldest son is going to have to decide if he’s going to be Batman, or if he’s going to reveal Bruce’s identity. If he’ll reveal his connection to him. All he can think of is how he and Jason never really recovered, not really. That he never managed to tell his son he misses him. That he loves him. He told him, of course. But he regrets all the missed opportunities he would have in the future. He misses the fact that Jason has, so far, never believed him. And now probably never will. All he can think of is how he never told Tim enough times how proud he is. How amazing Timmy is. How grateful he is that his little boy forced his way into his life. How he’s left the company to him. Because Tim was always better at all that than Bruce. Than anyone else. All he can think is how Barbara will never know she’s the reason he’s managed to hold on as long as he has. She was there, for everything. Through Dick leaving, through Jason, through Tim. Through all of it, she was the one in his ear, reprimanding him for getting too violent, reminding him to eat, scolding him for not using proper manners. All he can think is how he won’t be there for Cass’s dance recital next week. How he won’t get to hear her grow more comfortable with her own voice over her body. All he can think about is Damian, his little boy. How Dick and Jason and Tim and Barbara, will have to step up and raise his son. How he’ll never get to see his son grow up.

All Bruce can think about, as he watches the suns dip beneath the horizon, is how much joy his children brought to his life. And how he’s now broken his promise.

“Come back home.” Dick whispered. “Come back home.” Barbara whispered. “Come back home.” Jason whispered. “Come back home.” Tim whispered. “Come back home.” Cass whispered. “Come back home.” Steph whispered. “Come back home.” Damian whispered.

“I will.” He promised, every time. Without fail. A promise, an oath. His solemn vow to them. To each of his partners. Not sidekicks. Partners. His equals in every way. The ones who had shown his joy and wonder and had given him laughter and life. They had drawn stars around his scars, had brightened his world.

No, as Bruce stares out across the darkening planet, he does not reflect on the past, on what was, on what could have been with his parents. He thinks of the suns that brightened his world, and what a shame, what an absolute shame it is, that they won’t have him orbiting them anymore. He regrets that much, at least. The repetition of the past. No more willing, but he’s leaving them nonetheless.

“It wasn't supposed to end like this.” The words echo around the deserted, dark planet. A light breeze ruffles against the mans dark gray cardigan. A green light comes a few hours later, illuminating the world like a flashlight. Its green, not red or gold or black or purple. And it is far too late.

....

okay that got wayyyyy dark wayyyy fast- literally imma share a bit of my thoughts with you- this was the reminder i wrote for myself for this-

Batman Day. Write him. just him. For the love of God only write about him. No focus on anyone else. As hard as it is because he’s defined by his family but none of them! Only him. No parents, no kids. Maybe parents. Origins. Write his origins.

... like... clearly I failed. very clearly. But oh well my hands and my brain vs me are two different things so... I hope you enjoyed at least! :)

#batman day #batman #batfam #bruce wayne #idk where i went with this #as the title shows #i was listening to cardigan by taylor swift while writing #listen to the song while reading maybe itll help distract you from the odd structuring #anyway just hope you enjoyed

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 1 day

Text

Not Man, Nor Monster

Masterlist Word count: 1.5 k Halsin x Reader x Astarion (but he isn't really in it. just the dynamic) Read on AO3

Summary: You tried so hard, but in the end you couldn't stop Astarion's ascension. It weighs on you harder than you had imagined. Halsin helps you get through it.

Normally, camp is a place to unwind. A place where the outside world doesn't exist, except for those nights where the outside world infiltrates camp. Luckily, those nights are few and far between. Tonight is a different situation. There are two empty tents. One is permanently empty, the other temporarily abandoned to find peace in nature. The one belongs to Astarion, the other to Tav. The rest of the group thought about going after either of them to try and talk this through, but Jaheira made the wise decision to let everything cool down before starting a conversation. There's a blanket of tension and gloom thrown over the camp as everyone tries to dance around the subject at hand. Jaheira, Halsin, and Gale sit around the campfire, all three hopelessly lost while looking for something to talk about while a bottle of mermaid whiskey gets passed around in circles that seem to go a little too fast. Scratch and Honey, the owlbear Tav jokingly named after Halsin's favourite snack, scatter around but aren't playing as they usually do. It seems even the two of them can feel the tension. Scratch had to be called back multiple times while trying to go after Tav. Gale finally breaks the silence: 'So what do we do now?' Jaheira shows a pained smile as the mermaid whiskey is passed to her. The bottle is almost empty by now. 'We drink and we wait,' she speaks. Halsin shivers. Quite the sight to see someone that big shiver. 'This doesn't feel right.' As if on que, a bloodcurdling scream is heard from the forest. It is loaded with regret, pain, and heartbreak. The scream goes through bone and marrow, sending a cold shiver down the spines of everyone at camp. Shadowheart comes running towards the campfire, panic in her eyes. 'I think someone should check up on them,' she hastily says, almost getting ready to run into the woods but Halsin gets up and nods to her. She looks defeated and maybe a little annoyed. Jaheira pats the spot on the ground where Halsin was sitting as he walks calmy towards the forest. 'But I-' 'It's better if he goes,' Jaheira interrupts, 'those two are inseparable.' Shadowheart knows it to be true but still looks hesitant as she sits down. Jaheira passes her the mermaid whiskey. She toys with the bottle for a second before finishing it off.

'Tav, are you here?' Halsin doesn't have to ask, he is one with the forest and knows every creature there. He simply does it to be polite, to give Tav a chance to tell him to piss off if they so please. He finds them curled up and sobbing, laying in the middle of a small clearing. They look up at Halsin with big, red eyes. He hates the sight and would kill Astarion for doing this to Tav but they are more important than his murderous rage right now. He sits down next to them and they lay their head in his lap. Halsin gently brushes his fingers through their hair, allowing them to let it all go, let everything slip out. 'He told me he'd make me his spawn, after everything we've been through. He tried to do to me what has been done to him. I should've never helped him with the ritual. I am so stupid.' 'No darling, you couldn't predict this. You see the good in everyone, that's what makes you so incredibly special. It is one of many reasons why I love you.' 'You know, that's the worst part. He told me he loved me before proposing to make me his spawn. How can someone be so incredibly cruel? He was healing and this just changed everything.' 'It pains me to see you like this. No one deserves that kind of treatment.' 'But I do. I am far too naïve to fight this fight. I shouldn't be leading a group of people into battle. I'm not strong enough. I make too many stupid decisions.' Halsin can feel as the pain and sadness Tav feels turns into rage and self-hatred. It's something he's never seen of them before. They're normally the sunshine smile at camp, the motivator, the helper. He must've been blind to forget they're a person with fears and insecurities too. Blinded in the light of their smile as to not see the shadows behind it. 'My heart, if not you then who? You are the only one in this camp without a clouded opinion. The only one who weighs every option evenly and thinks ahead. Sometimes I feel like you can see into the future.' 'Even so, I let someone with such a black heart cloud my judgement for so long. I can only be grateful that you saw through all of it. Not everyone at camp is as forgiving as you are.' 'My love, I am not forgiving in the slightest. I hold grudges until the end of time but you always see reason.' 'Halsin, please. I know you're trying to make it better, but I just want to wallow in my feelings until I can't feel anything anymore.' 'Are you sure?' 'No, but your words usually soothe me. Now they only piss me off. I don't want to hate you.' Their breath hitches in their throat as the sobs come up again. Halsin lays himself down in the grass and pats his chest. Tav takes the invitation and lays their head on his chest, curled into his body with his arm around them, holding them tight. It feels like a safety blanket, like a cloud numbing the feelings of before. The big feelings weighing on their chest seem to lose their weight as a spell of tiredness lifts over them. Surely, Halsin has something to do with it, as well as the protective spell they feel encasing them in their spot, but they don't mind. And slowly night becomes day.

'They're not back yet,' Shadowheart asks Jaheira while they're both suiting up. 'No, and I doubt we'll head out today.' Jaheira can tell that, while she's trying to be respectful and loving, it annoys Shadowheart that Tav can't shove their feelings to the side in favour of the greater good. 'They'll be fine soon. They're strong but you have to realize that they've been playing the part of listening ear for weeks now. Maybe even months. They've listened to everyone's troubles and tried to fix them. Astarion was a real piece of work but even I could see he was starting to regain self-worth and love for life. Besides, they were together for some time. They did everything they could to make Astarion as comfortable and happy as possible and he still stabbed them in the back. That's not something you come back from easily.' 'What do you mean?' 'You did not hear what he proposed to her last night?' 'No, it is not my business.' 'You should make it your business,' Jaheira grumbles, 'he told them he loved them and he'd make them his spawn to love forever.' 'I see. It makes more sense now.'

Morning light wakes Tav with a comforting thumping under their head. They open their eyes to see Halsin still peacefully sleeping. The protective spell he covered them with has long worn off and so has the sleeping spell he put on them. A smile spreads on their lips as they push themselves up to press the sweetest of kisses on his lips. They did not want his help yesterday but are more than glad he put them to sleep. Nothing they thought or said was rational yesterday. 'You are going to give me toothaches if you keep kissing me that sweetly.' 'I thought you liked sweet.' 'I never said I do not.' A content feeling flushes over Tav as they lose themselves in this moment. There is still good in the world. 'I've been dreaming,' Tav tells halsin, 'I dreamt about a world overgrown with lush greenery and people living in peace with each other and everything around them. There was no Astarion, no elder brain, no tadpoles. Just you and me sitting on the porch of a tiny house we built looking out onto a lake. Sometimes we would go out and roam, uncover the forests around us and finding new spots each and every time. And you told me you loved me every day and I said it back every time.' Halsin smiles and tightens his arm around Tav. 'That sounds like heaven.' 'I wish it were possible.' 'Maybe it is. Maybe we'll find a way after all of this is over.' They stay quiet for a while. 'I think we'll need to kill Astarion after all of this is over. I fear he might be worse than Cazador.' 'As much as I wish it were different, I think you are right, but we'll get there when we get there.' 'Deal.' 'Are you ready to return to camp?' 'Not yet. Let's just stay a little longer.'

#halsin x reader #halsin #bg3 halsin #halsin fanfic #halsin x tav #halsin x reader x astarion #halsin fluff #halsin angst #bg3 #halsin baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate fic #baldur's gate fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #halsin bg3 #bg3 fanfic #halsin fanfiction

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cyberluvzu · 2 days

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HII!!! I was hoping that you could do a Ben drowned x reader (or y/n, idk which one you use) that has thick and curly hair? I know, kinda boring, but I thought it was cute (ノ∀≦。)ノ anyways, remember, don't push yourself on requests! And have a nice day/night <3

OF COURSE SMOOKIE BEAR. I don't have curly hair, but I do know people that do, so I'll use the info I get from them!!!! ALSO YOU SEEM SO SWEET OML

Ben drowned x reader

He loves it

Absolutely loves how it looks in any form

It could be in pigtails, buns, a ponytail, not styled at all, he just LOVES how it looks

He does have a lot of questions about it, since he has straight hair you'll have to explain a lot of things about it to him

Expect a LOT of questions

"What's shrinkage?" "oh so your hair is actually THAT long?" "What products do you use" "can I use your hair stuff, it makes my hair so soft?"

This man will use your hair products

Until he realizes how expensive they are, the after that he'll just sneak in a use here and there

It won't hurt if he doesn't use too much, right?

And of course, what you don't know can't hurt, so he'll use just a bit whenever he wants to pamper himself

But he isn't sneaky, you can always tell because of how soft his hair feels after

"Did you use my hair stuff?"

"HOW DID YOU KNOW?!?"

He genuinely believes that you're keeping track of how much product is in your bottles

But in actuality you just know because of the way his hair smells and the fact that it's 20x softer than normal

If you're willing to, he'd SO play with your hair

He'd play with it, scratch your scalp, even do cute little hairstyles (to the best of his ability)

He could genuinely sit there for HOURS doing that shit

He would watch YouTube videos on how to do curly/thick hair and then try to replicate it on you

"Hey babe, can I try this on you?"

"THIS IS THE FOURTH TIME THIS WEEK, BEN"

In the end you'll let him because he's a persistent little fucker

He really likes how it feels in his hands

Likes the thickness of it because it gives him more to play around with

He also loves how your hair looks when it's down

He'd be so willing to help you out when it comes to your hair

Absolutely anything that you need help with, he's DEFINITELY THERE

Partly because he's clingy, but also because he wants to touch and look at the pretty person with the pretty hair

You need him to help you with washing it? He's your man. Styling it? He's all yours. Coming up with ideas for different hairstyles? He's DEFINITELY there.

He'll look at different videogame characters with curly hair and want to try out those hairstyles on you, it's honestly the main place where he gets all kinds of ideas from

Of course, majority of them won't work

But it's always fun to see him try

------------------------------------------

A/n: I got a BIG Ben fanfic for y'all come up, keep your eyes out for that one, I'll also TRYYYY to get my ass on all these requests 🙏😓

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta headcanon #ben drowned #ben drowned x reader

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tallyica · 2 days

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Uh Dave x reader. Dave wants reader but unfortunately reader is already dating (any member from Metallica) so when reader broke up with (Metallica member) for some reason, he started talking to reader and eventually ended up together. reader is way happier with Dave.

(Kinda basic but I know you’ll make it great 😍)

hihi!!

omg I'm actually posting a very long fic after threatening to quit writing..

also ily Kay this is a good req I LOVE James and Dave dynamic stuff (anything having to do with revenge or jealousy, if youre a writer PLS write some and tag me..) so i loved this req

anywayssss

word count: 4,515 (I think my longest one to date)

warnings: angst, break up, cheating, drinking, fluff, mention of drugs (once), kinda corny, rushed but slow at the same time, way too similar to that one mustainegf fic

A CHANGE, FOR THE BETTER. (1987-1990)

Once again the apartment was cold and empty. It wasn't actually empty; it was filled by James and me. We were on opposite sides of the couch, avoiding each other. IT had been like this for months. We hadn't hugged, kissed, held hands, gone out, anything that normal couples do. He was quiet, which differed from how he was with his friends, including me. Though, this hadn't been different for a while. I've almost gotten used to it, but not emotionally. No matter how hard I try, he seems like he isn't there. The more I thought about it, the more it settled in, the more it hurt. The more I felt I needed to talk about it.

I finally broke the painful and dead silence between us, “What up with you, You've been weird with me for months?” I asked, finally turning my head to face him. He wasn't looking at me, or anything. He was hunched over, his blonde locks blocking the view of his face as he stared at the floor.

James let out a huff in response, shrugging.

This was going to be a long, and very difficult conversation.

James would get like this when there was something on his mind. Something big, but normally it would spill over before this point, he normally would just be like this for a week or two before confessing whatever was hurting him, and I would hold him and comfort him as he cried.

I sighed, moving closer to him, and placing my hand on his back, but he retracted from my touch, something I had gotten used to.

“James, talk to me, please..?” I asked softly, though I was willing to beg to have what we had back.

He just shook his head, adjusting slightly and sitting back, letting me see his stressed and confused expression. “What's bothering you? Tell me, I know that something is wrong..” I tried again, my eyes on his, but his were on the black TV screen.

I tried to move closer to him, my hand on his knee as I tried to get him to even look in my general direction, “James, look at me,” I asked more than commanded.

His eyes wandered in my direction, but landing on the couch cushions under me. It was a start at least. “Can you just say something, please?” I asked again, keeping my tone gentle.

He took a deep, long sigh, mumbling something I couldn't hear, couldn't understand.

Or maybe I did, but I didn't want to.

“What?” I asked, refusing to believe any of this was real as tears stung my eyes.

James just repeated himself, the words falling from his lips like shards of glass.

I shook my head, standing from the couch as the tears began to fall down my face. Knowing of the other woman, I was broken. I was pacing, and he didn't even look at me.

“Are you serious?! Why?! Was I not good enough for you?! We could've talked, we could've worked things out!” I cried, my stomach twisting in a tight and sorrowful knot.

He didn't look like he had any emotions on his face, but I could sense and feel the guilt and pain that clouded him. Every word he spoke only brought more tears to my eyes, each one punctuated with a sharp and sad pain I felt in my heart, eyes, mind, everywhere.

I was trembling as I shook my head, for some reason I refused to believe any of this, or that this was real. I began to waddle towards the kitchen counter, filled with hurt and rage, grabbing my car keys and purse.

“Where are you going?” James asked, his own voice shaky with guilt and regret.

“Away.” I answered harshly, beginning to walk back to the door.

“Please, we can fix this, just.. Just stay with me, ok?” James begged almost, though he wouldnt even stand up to face me, eyeing muy figure from the comfort of the couch. One that held many memories of us.

I shook my head, “No, no, I.. I need to go..” I mumbled, reaching for the door handle and leaving hearing James call out for me as I shut the door, stumbling to my car, getting in and beginning to drive fast and far, no clue where I was headed. It was late at night, probably past ten pm. Tears strung down my face, puddling on the shirt I was wearing, which I realized was James’ shirt. That didn't help, making me sob harder as the faint and musty smell of beer and smoke fumed from his shirt, reminding me of him too much.

After twenty minutes or so of driving, I came past a run down hotel, hearing the soft pitter patter of rain hit the roof of my car, the clouds matching my eyes. I parked, scurrying into the lobby, an older and tired woman at the front desk, noticing the clear sadness that radiated off me.

We had a brief interaction, paying for my room before wandering up to the beat door, the well cleaned room before me.

I stepped in, shutting the door behind me before falling onto the bed, everything hitting me as I began to break down and cry. The man I had once cherished, loved, my everything and world was gone, no longer who I knew. No matter how guilty he felt or regretted it, or how drunk he was, he still did it. It hurt, and it hurt horribly. Someone I poured every ounce of my love and my being into threw me out for some shitty drunken fling with some random slut.

It wasn't long before I cried myself asleep, awaking with a harsh headache, trying to put back together everything that had happened. The words rang in my ears, twisting in me like a punch to the stomach. Instead of sadness, it was just anger and hurt. Tears couldn't come to my eyes, just a cruel, upset feeling I couldn't name.

I laid on that bed for a few hours, the soft hum of electricity filling my ears as I got lost in thought. I had woken up at three pm, and it was now six. I had to get out, do something, talk with someone. Why not go to a bar, get a drink, take the edge off and maybe talk to someone to distract myself.

I went into the bathroom, wiping the black streaks of mascara and other smudged makeup off my face, fixing my hair as much as I could without a brush or any products before checking out and walking back down to my car.

I just drove around, going a bit further out of town on the off chance I may run into James.

Then I saw it, the dark building with a pink neon sign on the outside, not looking too busy on the inside but still a good amount of people.

I felt I had been here before. Maybe a few years back, maybe a few nights ago.. I wasn't sure, but there was a comforting familiarity as I walked in.

I ordered a drink, sitting at the bar as I picked at my nails, watching the football game on the TV. Not that I cared much for sports, but it was a start for a distraction.

I sat in there for maybe several minutes before my drink was ready, the bartender handing it to me as I began to sip on the bitter liquid, sighing softly as I tried to relax.

I felt a tap on my back, confused and surprised, I turned around.

Then I saw him.

Dave Mustaine, a man I hadn't seen in person for about four years. He was on the rise of the metal world, finally earning his own independent name. Our eyes met, and we instantly recognized each other.

Dave smiled, chuckling to himself, “Where the hell have you been?!” He asked happily, and I forced a smile back.

“I haven't gone anywhere, still been here. Where the hell have you been?” I asked back, hoping this conversation could take me away from this ruin I have been placed in.

He shrugged, “About, just becoming the next big face in the metal scene..” He answered back in a cocky way, as usual.

Seeing him in this bar, made all those old memories flood back. This is where I first met Dave, finally realizing why this place seemed so familiar. James and I had been friends about a year before he formed Metallica, and I remember him asking me to come to this bar with him to go meet his bandmates. I met Lars, Ron, and of course, Dave.

Dave was still fiery as ever, never changing from his previous self.

We began to talk, catching up on the years of missed time together, the once strong bond we had slowly reforming.

I remembered the first time I came to one of the band's practices. It was at James’ garage, and Ron and Lars had already left. It was just the three of us, but James was in the house. Dave and I chatted for what felt like hours, and quickly became close and good friends. We had a lot in common, so we got along well.

Then, Dave asked me a question, snapping me out of my thoughts of the past.

“So, how’s things with James? You guys still a couple?” Dave asked, clearly not meaning anything negative, but I felt it.

The question made my stomach twist in a knot, reminding me of the bitter end I had with James last night. I glanced to the floor, my expression shifting from positive to anxious in a way.

Dave quickly took notice of my change in demeanor, his expression softening, “Did.. did something happen? What’s up?” He asked, clearly worried.

I sighed, shrugging. Should I tell him this? Ruin our night together? Force him to feel guilty?

But I didn't want to lie to him either, it would be easier to just rip off the bandaid and move on.

“Uhm, we kinda broke up last night..” I mumbled, staring down at our shoes.

Dave's face was struck with realization, nodding slowly with a solemn expression, “Oh shit, sorry to hear. What happened?” Of course he had to dig deeper. And again, who am I to deny him the truth? He wasn't really one to judge.

“Well.. things had just been rough the last few months.. And then he told me that.. He cheated on me..” I answered with a sigh, feeling a slight weight taken off my shoulders as I acknowledged it, but a fifty pound boulder crashing down on my heart.

Dave looked upset, frustrated even. “I told you that fucker was never any good,” Dave reminded me, which brought me back to the night when James had asked me out.

It was the night of the first Metallica show I got to go to, not having work or anything, and I had to be a supportive best friend. After the show, I went backstage, waiting for the band, when James had ran towards me, grabbing my hands and pulling me into his dressing room, very rushedly confessing to me, which had me smiling wide, as I had felt the same from when we first met, but he had as girlfriend at the time.

It was just us, sharing another happy moment together. No one had known that we were official, but I'm sure someone caught onto his crushing, or mine.

It wasn't just that someone caught on, Dave knew. I told him after a few too many drinks, but of course he remembered that one thing.

After we had come out of that dressing room, I went to go talk with Dave, to tell him that everything seemed to be going perfectly for me at that moment, but then he spoke before I could.

“I don't think you should be around James too much man, he enjoys the life on the road a bit too much, if you get what I mean,”.

It was one of the last things he said to me before he got kicked from the band. After I told him we were dating, we drifted apart, and then he was kicked out.

I hadn't thought of those words until tonight. And it only proved that Dave was right. James did enjoy the drinking, groupies, drugs, all of it. It was only a while until I found out, which I did.

I was snapped back to the present hearing the loud whoops and clapping of other patrons of the bar, who were watching the football game on the TV. I nodded in response to Dave's statement, “I know, you warned me the minute after I started dating him.. Guess you were right..” I admitted, and Dave nodded back.

“It pisses me off, y’know?” He began, “You're too good for that shit, especially from a jerk like him.” Dave added.

I just nodded again, and he kept talking. “I guess he just can never see what he had, always wants ‘better’ but he already has what's best. I mean, he threw me out for that Kirk guy, he's no nowhere as good as me! And I’m sure whoever he slept with is just some whore,” He concluded, and I just nodded again.

“You're right… as always, it seems,” I answered back to him, before my thoughts drowned out the world around me once more.

Dave probably understood this better than anyone, at1 least when it comes to being mistreated and betrayed by James. Someone who he considered a brother, a close friend, kicked him to the curb for someone else. And in similar was me. Someone I considered a lover, and closest friend I had, traded me in for another.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Dave asked, calming after his rant.

“No, not really.. I'm staying at a motel a few miles away,” I answered back, and he thought for a moment before speaking again.

“If you want, you could come stay at my place, I wouldn't mind the extra company, it gets pretty lonely there anyways,” He offered, and my eyes lit up, a small hope in my heart.

“Yeah, that'd be great, thanks,” I said with a small smile, a weight lifted off my shoulders.

“We could leave the bar now and get you set up, it's a one bedroom, I don't mind taking the couch until you've figured something out,” Dave suggested.

I quickly shook my head, “No, don't take the couch, it's your place, I'm the guest! I'll take the couch,” I rebutted.

Dave just nodded, “Exactly, you're the guest, you get the best treatment. Plus, it won't be forever, I'll be fine for a few nights.” Dave still noticed hesitation in my eyes, “I insist.” He added.

I sighed, “Fine, if you insist. But don't hesitate asking me to take the couch once in a while, alright?”

Dave just smiled, “Sure.”

After that, we got in our cars and I followed him to his place, a decent apartment complex in the outskirts of town. We parked and he led me to his door, unlocking it and allowing us in.

“Make yourself at home,” He said, setting down his keys and walking towards the bedroom, and I followed him.

“Hope you don't mind the mess, but it'll do.” My nose was overwhelmed with the strong smell of cigarette smoke and liquor, something he had never been able to get rid of even after not seeing him for four years.

It reminded me of James, which made me feel solemn once more. “Thanks, it's fine, I don't mind, you're already offering me all of this,” I added, sitting down on his unmade bed, which he joined me on.

“You alright? You still seem upset,” He questioned, and I could feel tears pricking at my eyes once more.

“Yeah, I'm fine..” I forced out, my voice choked as I wiped the stray tear from my cheek, avoiding eye contact with him.

Dave noticed, tilting his head slightly as his concern grew, “Hey, look at me, you can talk to me, y’know?”

And just like that, I crumbled. Tears filled my eyes, and they spilled right over as I broke out into sobs, and he just wrapped his arms around me, holding me as iI leaned closer to him, soaking his worn and faded shirt with my tears as he gently comforted me and shushed my cries, wiping my tears with his thumbs when he could.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, just him holding me and caring for me, but in a way James never could, never did. James was sweet when he wanted to be, but he never held me like this and heard my cries and answered them with comfort.

After a while, I had cried myself to sleep, my cries lessening and silencing as my breathing began to even out, and Dave laid me down gently and got me into bed, wrapping the blankets around me before he headed out for the couch.

That was the night where it began, the rekindling of our once close friendship. Even though we had agreed that this wouldn't be permanent, we had now been living together for a few months, and it felt like we had never been separated, as if we had been friends for the last seven years.

Today, we were planning to go back to that bar, the first time since that night we bumped into each other. We both needed to get out, and Dave was beat and stressed over all the touring with Megadeth, and we could both use a drink.

Dave had been out for a bit today, and I was busy getting ready for tonight since he would be home within the hour. It wasn't a fancy occasion, and I was definitely over-dressing, but I hadn't had any reason to look pretty in forever, getting to wear my favorite black dress, once that complimented my figure and hugged my curves, flowing down to a bit above my knees.

I did my makeup, nothing too glam but noticeable, and for the first time in a long time, I felt beautiful. Even when I thought I had previously when I was with James, he never showed an appreciation or complimented me often.

I shook the thoughts of James out of my head, knowing I had to move on, even though much of myself was still left in that past of what we once were.

I was snapped out of my thoughts as I heard Dave open the door, entering the apartment with a sigh. “Im back,” He called out as I finished clipping on my earrings, walking out to Dave.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” I asked him, seeing his face slightly surprised as he took in my figure.

“Yeah, totally.. You, you look great, by the way..” He answered, still taking in my appearance.

I smiled widely, “Thanks! Let's go then, yeah?”

Dave nodded and we headed out to his car, driving back to that bar, per his choice. The drive was filled with conversation and laughter, as we found that there was rarely a moment of silence between us. His hand rested lightly on my knee, and I didn't think much of it, just a sweet and friendly gesture.

When we arrived at the bar, he offered me a hand and helped me out of the car, walking me in the dim lighted and busy establishment as we searched for somewhere to sit, finding an empty table in the corner, quickly scurrying over there before someone else could snag the spot.

It was a large table, one meant to seat probably around six people as it was a booth. The leather of the seats were well worn, torn in some places. The table matched, scratched up and old, though it held many memories.

Dave got up to go order us some drinks, returning soon after and sitting down in front of me. We began to talk, but there was something different, and what I hated most about it is that I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't anything negative, but everything felt heavier, like I could feel my heart pounding in my chest for a reason I didn't know.

Dave acted off too, like something was bothering him. He was fidgety, his eyes avoiding mine but at the same holding long term eye contact. What was going on with him?

I tried to not think about it as I was probably over analyzing the whole situation. I took a sip of my drink, and for once, there was a lasting silence between us.

I didn't know what to say. The bar wasn't my idea, it was something Dave had planned on a few days ago, and he seemed excited at the time. “Everything ok? You just seem all.. Jittery.” I commented, snapping Dave out of whatever haze of thoughts he was in.

“Yeah, totally,” He muttered, which only grew my curiosity, and sparked a new worry.

Was he on drugs? Well, I knew he was, but was he on too much?

“You're not… on anything right now?” I mumbled out in a question and he shook his head.

“No no, it's not that, I swear.” Dave reassured me, and I had to take his word for it.

Dave tapped his fingers on the table a few times as he thought before speaking up.

“You uh, you remember anything in specific about this place?” Dave asked me out of the blue.

“Uhm,” I paused to think, “Yeah, isn't this where you picked me up a few months ago?”

“Well, yeah, but anything else? Think as far back as you can,” Dave instructed me, and I tried to think.

Until it hit me.

“Oh! Yeah! Isn't this where James took me to meet the rest of the band? We even sat at this booth, right?” I finally remembered, and the memories flooded back as clear as day.

Dave hasn't changed much since then, but I do remember how he was when we very first interacted. He was crazy and animalistic, yeah, but he seemed shy around me, until he had a few beers, and then he was way less tense and boxed up. That was the beginning of our friendship.

“Yeah, I think about that a lot,” Dave informed me, and I nodded.

Dave still seemed off, like he was hiding something from me.

“Dave, what's on your mind? Like actually, something is clearly bothering you,” I was growing impatient with his vague answers, I wanted to know the truth.

Dave sighed, thinking for a moment before speaking, “Well, you remember that night, tha=e first Metallica concert you attended, when I warned you about James, even though you two were already together,” and I nodded.

“Well, when he told you in that dressing room, I overheard it all. I was uhm.. Looking for you too. I got pissed that James had got to say something before I did, and uhm.. I had like.. The fattest crush on you when we first met.. And now that we've grown close again, I think I feel the same wa-” Dave was cut off as I kissed him on the lips, all of our unspoken feelings coming out for each other.

After I pulled away I moved some of his long ginger hair out of his face, gently caressing his cheek as I smiled softly at him.

“I've felt the same since we met too.”

Another influential night, all in this bar. The three times I've come here, three big things happen, always having to do with Dave.

That night was about three years ago now, and Dave and I have been together happily for those three years, now engaged and happier than ever. With the success of MEgadeth's latest album, ‘Rust in peace’, things have been going great for us. He showed me what real love felt like, to be cared for and cherished, all without getting judged.

I had gone to multiple shows with Dave at this point, and this was just another one. They were one of the headliners for a weekend-long festival, and I was more than thrilled to support my fiance.

I listened to loud chords of ‘Holy wars’ as the band began to finish their set, with me sitting backstage. I was at a table, my left hand that wore my gorgeous engagement ring was digging in my purse, until I heard familiar steps behind me.

And then a voice.

“Are you..” I cut them off.

“James? What are you-” I was now in turn cut off by him.

“I'm playing a show. What are you doing here?” The frontman asked me. I was so shocked to have seen him, personally, that is. I knew Metallica would be having a show here, but it wasn't until the next night.

As if the timing was perfect, after James questioned me, Megadeth had come off stage, Dave rushing towards me. “Hey baby, did you like the show?” He asked, leaning down to kiss the top of my head.

“Yeah, it was great..” I answered, still dumbfounded. James looked even more dumbfounded than I did.

Dave looked up, curious at the silence, “What's wro-” He cut himself off, his eyes meeting James.

Daves lips curled into a smirk, knowing now he has the best form of revenge for kicking him out all those years ago. That revenge was me.

“Nice seeing you, James. What's going on with you and my fiance?” Dave bit back a cruel snicker, watching as James just grew more and more confused.

“Oh.. I was just, uhm, saying hi,” James answered, trying to process everything.

I was avoiding James' eyes. How would I explain that after I broke up with him, I met up with his ex bandmate, moved in with him after remeeting, dated after a few months, and engaged after three years.

“Uh-huh… You guys know each other, yeah?” Dave teased, knowing the answer, just wanting to get a rise out of James.

James didn't want to give Dave anymore attention, just nodding.

“Gotta thank you a bit man, I doubt we would have ran into each other again if it wasn't for you being a prick like always,” Dave said bitterly, enjoying this game of shame on James.

James looked slightly guilty, just trying to ignore him.

Dave looked back to me, “Well, I need to go clean up a bit, you can find me if someones bothering ya, sweetheart,” he said to me sweetly, my eyes meeting his before he kissed my cheek and walked away.

James just stared at me for a moment before walking off in another direction, the rest of Metallica showing up finally, Lars leading the three of them, his eyes landing on me.

This was going to be a long, long weekend.

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