#these questions are always fun to answer!!!

[itsclydebitches]

I made a personal promise not to respond to individual comments on this post because I value my time and my sanity. However, I was not expecting it to blow up like this. If I had I would have clarified some things.

So here are some answers to the most asked questions I've seen lately, if anyone would like them.

Peace ✌️

Did the kids even want to write a chant?

Yes and no. The instructor came up with the idea for it and asked the kids if they were interested. They said yes.

That assignment is still awful.

That’s a subjective viewpoint. Even if we all agree that attempting a creative assignment in school is not a “fun” activity… persevering through not-fun things is also an important skill. I’m sorry, but not every assignment can be a super engaging, passion-forward endeavor, both because YOUR passions are not universal (the assignment one kid loves another will hate) and because life doesn’t work that way. Kids need to learn how to do things they're not super excited about without shutting down or becoming too dysregulated, simply because life is filled with not-fun stuff that has to get done. You think I enjoy doing my taxes and buying groceries and working with certain colleagues who drive me up the wall? No, but I learned at a young age how to manage my emotions in those situations and persevere through the task. Regardless, as members of various sports teams and as generally creative people, they were interested in this task… up until it came time to persevere through it. Their options were to do the chant if they wanted, or not do it. They chose the third option of, “Let ChatGPT do it for us.” Personally, I'm even more concerned to see people choosing to outsource tasks they like, but that's a whole other conversation.

But of course they turned to ChatGPT even if they liked the assignment. Kids are under a crazy ton of pressure to do well/achieve good grades.

Yes they are, but this wasn’t graded. As said, they did not have to do this. There was no downside/consequence to not producing a chant, or producing a “bad” one.

Except the societal pressure to always do things perfectly.

Yup, which is partly why teachers design low-stakes assignments like this: so students can try out new skills in a safe environment; so they can "fail" without losing anything important in the process. We can't change our grade-focused culture in one fell swoop, but we can try to minimize the damage that focus causes.

If AI is so bad though, why didn’t admin discipline them?

Because it wasn’t an actual assignment + there’s very little agreement regarding AI in schools atm. I—as a fellow educator—am personally very worried about its prevalence and that dwindling perseverance among younger students (hence the original post). Some of my colleagues though? ChatGPT is their best friend. So it’s really hard to educate students on this topic when we haven't yet decided what the lesson should be.

What if they were forced to work with people they didn’t like?

The kids have worked in this group for the whole year and know each other well enough. More importantly, you will have to work with people you’re not BFFs with throughout your life. That’s another important skill you learn through “useless” assignments in school.

Some of them have disabilities though. Is the teacher accommodating that?

Very much so. Everything is scaffolded, differentiated, and accommodations are fully in place—even for non-assignments like this.

Oh yeah, the real issue nowadays is that kids don’t struggle enough 🙄

There’s a BIG difference between demoralizing, unhealthy struggling and the productive struggle that facilitates learning. Most people outside of education don't know the difference between the two.

Why are you acting like kids have never cheated before though? Nothing has changed.

Of course kids have always cheated, but they’ve never had an instant cheat button built into their phones before. AI is different both because of its accessibility and because it's outsourcing the critical thinking aspects of a task, rather than the drudgery (like doing the simple math with a calculator so you can work on the larger, more challenging calculation -- and crucially, in this comparison you can already do that math without the calculator. Many kids using AI are severely lacking in their reading and writing skills). AI is not the equivalent of a program checking your spelling and grammar, it's a society-approved "Click To Get a Free Gatsby Paper Here" website.

But this isn’t AI’s fault. The problem is our education system prioritizing results over effort and genuine learning.

I agree wholeheartedly, however, it’s rather difficult to restructure an entire country’s approach to education. So for now, teachers have to do what they can on a smaller scale. Saying, “They’re too scared to fail” is an explanation, not an excuse. We can’t afford to turn a blind eye to students who aren’t engaging in meaningful learning because there are cultural explanations for why they’ve developed that resistance. Teaching perseverance is one way of combating that fear and will, hopefully, serve students well while we engage in those larger reforms.

Look, you can’t say all the kids are doomed just because they didn’t want to write a stupid chant.

I’m not. This post was never meant to be a manifesto on the use of AI in education; it’s one, anecdotal example that I thought highlighted a problem a lot of teachers are seeing, myself included. Not every teacher is seeing it, but there's enough of us that it's worrisome. And worrisome doesn’t mean “doomed,” it means we should continue paying attention and respond to the situation to the best of our ability. Burying our heads in the sand with, "Well, the assignment just sucked" and "School is useless anyway. I would have cheated" isn't going to help anyone, certainly not the generations growing up in this new, AI-focused world.

Something I don't think we talk enough about in discussions surrounding AI is the loss of perseverance.

I have a friend who works in education and he told me about how he was working with a small group of HS students to develop a new school sports chant. This was a very daunting task for the group, in large part because many had learning disabilities related to reading and writing, so coming up with a catchy, hard-hitting, probably rhyming, poetry-esque piece of collaborative writing felt like something outside of their skill range. But it wasn't! I knew that, he knew that, and he worked damn hard to convince the kids of that too. Even if the end result was terrible (by someone else's standards), we knew they had it in them to complete the piece and feel super proud of their creation.

Fast-forward a few days and he reports back that yes they have a chant now... but it's 99% AI. It was made by Chat-GPT. Once the kids realized they could just ask the bot to do the hard thing for them - and do it "better" than they (supposedly) ever could - that's the only route they were willing to take. It was either use Chat-GPT or don't do it at all. And I was just so devastated to hear this because Jesus Christ, struggling is important. Of course most 14-18 year olds aren't going to see the merit of that, let alone understand why that process (attempting something new and challenging) is more valuable than the end result (a "good" chant), but as adults we all have a responsibility to coach them through that messy process. Except that's become damn near impossible with an Instantly Do The Thing app in everyone's pocket. Yes, AI is fucking awful because of plagiarism and misinformation and the environmental impact, but it's also keeping people - particularly young people - from developing perseverance. It's not just important that you learn to write your own stuff because of intellectual agency, but because writing is hard and it's crucial that you learn how to persevere through doing hard things.

Write a shitty poem. Write an essay where half the textual 'evidence' doesn't track. Write an awkward as fuck email with an equally embarrassing typo. Every time you do you're not just developing that particular skill, you're also learning that you did something badly and the world didn't end. You can get through things! You can get through challenging things! Not everything in life has to be perfect but you know what? You'll only improve at the challenging stuff if you do a whole lot of it badly first. The ability to say, "I didn't think I could do that but I did it anyway. It's not great, but I did it," is SO IMPORTANT for developing confidence across the board, not just in these specific tasks.

Idk I'm just really worried about kids having to grow up in a world where (for a variety of reasons beyond just AI) they're not given the chance to struggle through new and challenging things like we used to.

[insertdisc5]

Hi adrienne! i'm writing an essay for my english class about video games and the reasons why designers would or wouldn't make a sequel to a successful game, since you've talked before about why you don't plan to make a sequel to isat, I thought you might be an interesting source to ask for thoughts on the topic of sequels and when they should or shouldn't be made, what are your opinions on the matter as a game developer?

Would you be okay with being cited as a source? since this is such a subjective matter i'm trying to gather varying opinions on the subject, and it would be awesome to have a successful game designers opinion in my essay.

i personally am always highly critical of sequels because I HAVE BEEN BURNED BEFORE!!!!!!!! so ISAT was always meant to be a standalone. i hate when a game is a real fun experience on its own, and then they go "WELL... THE NEXT GAME WILL ANSWER ALL YOUR QUESTIONS" and you just go "what questions. i was happy with what you had"

here's my non exhaustive list of 10/10 games that had shitty sequels: ai somnium files (mizuki im so sad you couldnt even be the main character in your own fucking game), the world ends with you (where are the fucking death themes twewy2. where are they) , tales of symphonia (courage is the magic that turns dreams into reality), kingdom hearts (mostly because 3 shouldve been a nice end to the arc but instead its just a way to make you "excited" for kh4 that'll come out in 2053), apollo justice (on god apollo we're gonna get you another backstory!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!), breath of the wild (on god zelda we're gonna save you from that terrible totk story!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you deserved being able to make your funny little robots instead of being a dragon shrine maiden against your will!!!!!!!!!!!!), and more i just deleted from my brain.

my opinions are law. i will accept no thoughts except mine into my beautiful, beautiful hater brain.

why are all of those bad, you say? they try to continue the story in ways that i dont like. and i am a hater. who hates. very much

anyway those are my hater opinions and not my game developer opinions sorry. as a game dev my opinion on sequels is "well i hope you didnt feel like you had to make a sequel because the first game was too successful. i hope you can do whatever you want. but also money"

(here are some games that were 10/10 and actually had a 10/10 dlc/sequel: umurangi generation, outer wilds. in general i would say is that if the sequel felt like it was planned from day 1 as a continuation of the 1st game, i like it <3 )

[jitt4z]

kiss me thru the phone

sylus x mc!reader

2k+ words(!!!)

a/n: more smut practice; hope you like it, i tried my best :^)

blurb: sylus has been busy and you’re annoyed. finally he calls and he’s sorry and you like it a little too much

warnings: phone sex, mentions of p in v sex, mentions of lil s but nothing too bad i don’t think, mc is a perv, mentions of fingering, mentions of masturbation, oral sex (afab receiving), maybe bad writing?, sylus is busy and kinda overlooks mc, he begs, you beg, it’s a great time, uhhh, i think that’s it?

You knew he could give it to you just how you wanted. But he couldn’t always do that, and you knew that, too.

Sylus had been busy with work the past few days. It’s not that he didn’t want to or didn’t care; he was just always out and about. Sure, you understood. You two were adults and adults had to take care of adult things like their adult jobs.

Though, you thought to yourself; why couldn’t you be adults who did fun adult things like sex? Whatever, fine.

You wanted to remain considerate. You really did. What’s more important than watching movies until you’re asleep on your couch or making dinner together or bickering about something that doesn’t even matter?

Well, a lot of things. But who the hell cares? Sylus wasn’t with you right now. It didn’t matter how many texts he sent; he wasn’t there. If you could just have him for a second, for a day, for a night. To just imagine his physical presence beside you as you lay in bed, your fingers making their way to where you wanted and needed him most. Trying to get yourself to a release was maddening, yet so beautifully reminiscent.

You were very familiar with him— all of him. Every time he was on top of you, you felt everything from him all at once. His musky scent filling your nostrils, and as his honey filled voice would tease you, asking if you wanted it and when you’d nod your head because your voice was hoarse from the noises you were making that night, he’d tell you to beg. And of course, you’d beg. Anything for him to keep driving into you, to get called his, to know that you’re his. You’d know by the way he would hold your waist in place, the calloused hands leaving your skin hot underneath them. The grip was so firm that you had no choice but to see that dangerous glint in his longing cherry eyes that said you couldn’t run— not now, not ever.

God, where was he?

As if right on cue, your shallow waves of pleasure are interrupted by abrupt vibrations from your phone. Annoyed, you look over, still occupying one hand with the task of trying to climax while the other picked up your phone, a singular name on the screen dimly lit screen:

Sylus

Whaaaaaaaat? Now? Like, right now?

You hold off on the really big and important task for now; your climax can wait. You don’t hesitate for another second before swiping over the answer button.

“H-Hello?” You manage to get out.

“One ring this time, sweetie? Were you waiting for me?” He taunts. You can hear the curling of his lips already, and it was so sexy.

“I have. Where have you been?” The question comes out with a bit more bite than you intended, but it’s not like it was unwarranted. Sylus knows this. You heard him exhale on the other end of the phone.

“How can I make it up to you?” The words were gentle, sincere, and not what you were expecting at all. He didn’t even attempt to make an excuse. It would’ve been easy if he said he had a meeting or phone calls or something.

But no. Just his steady, honeyed voice.

And he wasn’t even saying anything.

It was just him being candid and honest, and all you could do was think about a familiar warmth that began to surge within you.

“Kitten?” The voice on the other end rang again.

“Hm?” You snapped out of whatever trance you were in. You hadn’t even noticed, but your hand had been moving in languid circles against yourself. Before you got on the phone it didn’t do much, but now that you can hear every breath he took, every time he shifted, every time he just parted those perfectly curled lips of his to say something you felt…excited.

“You never answered me,” he continued. “How do you want me to make it up to you?”

You had a few ideas.

“You don’t have to m-make it up to me…” You nearly whined out, your finger grazing over your swollen bud a bit harder than you wanted.

“I will. Tell me— what do you need?”

“I need you…I need you to tell me about your day…”

Couldn’t you have lied a bit better? You thought you’d be able to, but once you heard that voice of his, it was over.

“My day, hm?”

He thought for a moment.

“Well,” he began. “I woke up, I took a shower, I got dressed...”

He knew that’s not what you meant. But it didn’t matter because he was talking to you. Your bedroom was brisk, but you wouldn’t even know because it was as if the warmth of his voice permeated through the phone and into your body, flooding your entire being. He could talk about the color of the paint on the walls, and you’d still feel tingly. Hell, you might even touch yourself to it, just like how you were right now to him talking about his day.

“But that doesn’t matter.” He stated finally. The delivery was almost plain. Flat, even.

“What do you mean?” You were confused. Was he upset? His tone was unreadable.

“I missed you. I’m sorry, sweetie.”

You didn’t know how badly you needed to hear that, to hear him say that. That he missed you. That you were on his mind.

What did he think of when he thought of you? Your eyes? Your smile? How you wouldn’t join Onychinus? Your witty remarks that you’d make when he said anything (but especially when he asked if you’d join Onychinus)?

Would it be wrong of you to wonder if he did think of you the same way you thought of him? If you thought of him giving it to you slow and deep, his base meeting you in rhythmic intervals, his breaths ragged with the occasional groan emitting from that pretty mouth of his, then what did he think?

Then, before you could even think, you moaned. And he heard— he must’ve.

And for some reason, you didn’t care.

“Say it again…” You whispered breathlessly. This time, you were thinking. You knew what those words from him did to you, and it was becoming apparent to him, too.

“I miss you.”

“How much?”

“I miss you so much that I wish I were there so you could let your hands rest and let me do the work.”

Another moan threatens to leave your mouth; this time it’s stifled by you folding your lips. Yet again, he heard. Fuck.

Play it off. Play it cool. He heard nooooothing.

“What do you mean?” You asked almost meekly at the thought of being caught during what was supposed to be a serious and sentimental moment.

“You think I can’t tell when you touch yourself?”

Fuck.

“Shutup…”

“I thought we were reconciling, sweetie. Changed your mind?”

He was an asshole, but you didn’t care in that moment. You needed him.

“Sy…lus…I just need you so bad…it’s been so long…”

“I know, I know,” he cooed. “That’s why I said, ‘Let me make it up to you.’”

He let out a dark chuckle.

“I could help you out, yeah?”

You were nodding your head desperately, even though he couldn’t see you. You wish he were here.

“Yes…yes…” Your touch began to intensify as you thought of him aiding you with something that’s been troubling you since he disappeared for work.

“It’s hilarious, really. I’ve heard you moan a million times. You thought I wouldn’t know?” Of course, he had to be a bit smug before he got to the good part.

“I could get more out of you, you know,” he began, his voice captivating you even more. “If you let me apologize how I want.”

“How do you want to apologize?” You asked, a smirk on your giddy face as you bit your lip, knowing damn well how he wanted to do it.

“Been that long, huh? If I left a few kisses in a few specific spots, would that let you know how much I mean it?”

You mewled in agreement, recalling the past sensations of his mouth on your clit. Instead of your fingers pleasuring yourself, they would be nestled tightly in his hair as he let his tongue glide deftly against you, the feeling being soft, warm, and wet. Every time he moved to open his mouth to return back to you, his nose would rub against your sensitive bud which would make you grind yourself against him even more, as if he already hadn’t buried his face into you as much as he physically could.

“You know I always take my time.” He purred.

You felt your back arch as his voice goaded you on. You didn’t take notice at the time but, you were goading him on, too. Your low sighs and moans into the phone had slowly made his pants tighter for (big) obvious reasons.

“Can you touch it for me? Touch yourself for me.”

“Touch it yourself.”

A rare moment of silence from him. Could it be shock? All you heard was the hitching of his breath and then an amused hum.

“Okay.”

Within 20 minutes he was in your apartment, planting kisses on your knee and working his way up. You felt tiny love bites on your inner thighs. Just only moments ago, he was fully dressed and now his black dress shirt was discarded somewhere on the floor. His hands were leaving indents from how hard he was gripping your legs. When his lips finally did touch you, you clenched around his head, which caused him to chuckle. You squirmed, bucking your hips back into him. He looked up at you, loving the sight of you writhing in pleasure all due to him. To wonder how long you were thinking of this made him smile against you as his tongue slid up and down on your clit. In between breaths, he pleaded with you despite his sore jaw.

“Please forgive me, sweetie.”

Again, you couldn’t reply, only breathy cries being able to leave your mouth. One hand was buried in his silver tufts of hair, and the other was rolling your nipple with your thumb and index finger, getting closer to your release. The movements became more intense, the pressure now palpable as his tongue went from short, quick swipes to full-on sucking. It was beginning to get unbearable, your legs beginning to twitch as you threatened to fall over the edge.

“Please, for me…” He groaned as he pressed himself into your mattress, the friction contributing to the stiffness in your boxers now.

Yes— that’s all you could think as you inhaled deeply before crying out his name. He hummed in approval, the feeling of the sudden vibrations making you convulse even more. Your legs tensed and quivered as your thighs clutched his head once again, his movements unwavering. Finally, as you came down, he ran his hands up and down your thighs, pulling away with that same smirk he always had. His eyes raked over you as he came up, settling beside you. You were still dazed, staring at the ceiling. He came closer, his scent intoxicating as he places a tender kiss on your temple.

Just then, an irritating buzzing comes from your nightstand— it’s his phone.

Slowly, he reached for his phone, and when he did, you scoffed.

“Already going back to work?” You asked while chuckling to hide the bit of disappointment in your voice.

Much to your surprise, he silences his phone before putting his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Not yet. I don’t know if you’ve forgiven me yet. I did say I have to make it up to you after all.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile on your face.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. I missed you.”

His voice wasn’t smug anymore. It wasn’t cocky or overconfident as usual. No, it was the slightest bit emotional— soft, gentle, and sincere.

“I missed you too, Sylus.”

Your body slumps back against his, relaxing in his presence, in the way his voice thrummed through you as he spoke about the past few days that you hadn’t heard from him. Maybe some of the parts were boring or mundane, but you didn’t care, and he didn’t care to think of it either.

For the first time in a while, you were together, and that’s all that mattered.

[prodagustd]

last summer | myg

Summary: Maybe it wasn’t the town, or the sun, or the heat. Maybe it was you all along.

✧ this is a drabble of the road not taken, set during summer before chapter one.

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!reader

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: none

—series: the road not taken

—words: 1.3k

—a/note: i wrote and edited this in three hours so forgive me if it's a little rough jfdjfj this was so fun to write, also: the first yoongi pov!!! i wrote this listening to spring into summer by lizzy mcalpine, i felt it was very yoongi coded lmao. anyway remember that drabble requests for trnt are open!! enjoyyy

Four years ago

As Yoongi sat on the edge of Simon’s pool, he had the subtle feeling that he should be doing something else this summer. He knew that graduating didn’t mean the end of his youth—that there would be plenty of opportunities for mini vacations, road trips, travel. But this summer was different. Looking at his pale feet under the water, it felt different.

He had already secured a job at a law firm in town. It felt almost too perfect—it was a good firm, and it was close to home, so he could still be near his mom. And if things went well, in a few months he might even have the chance to bring Simon on board. He wasn’t too worried about the future; he accepted the changes, the passing of time, the transition to full adulthood. But there was a feeling in his chest that told him he should’ve been somewhere else. 

He didn’t have the chance to give it too much thought. He still came back home—and he liked it here. He loved his hometown, and he loved Simon’s house, especially in the summer.

Yoongi had never lived in a big house. He’d always stayed in the same little old apartment, and even though he loved it, he’d always had Simon’s house too. It had been like a second home to him ever since he was a kid.

He knew it by heart: the big living room with the even bigger couch, the giant TV, the kitchen with its island and jars full of cookies and candy, the baby blue curtains, the light wooden stairs that led up to Simon’s blue bedroom, the one with tiny stars on the ceiling that glowed at night. And there was you. You, in your baby peach walls and baby peach sheets, reading your second book of the week, lying in bed with your glasses slipping down your nose.

He used to stop at your door sometimes, just to hear you turn the pages. You would roll onto your elbows, resting your face in your hands, and smile as you asked if he was already tired of your brother. He never answered that question properly. He’d just laugh or shrug, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. Maybe he thought he did. Maybe that was the mistake.

A bee buzzed near his face and snapped him out of it. The pool water shimmered, the sun burned the tip of his nose and the door behind him creaked open, making him turn around. 

It was a surprise to see you up at ten in the morning, but there you were, catwalking along the edge of the pool towards him, with bare legs and an oversized shirt that was probably Simon’s hanging just long enough to barely cover your thighs. Yoongi’s gaze lingered on your messy hair, on the way your collarbone showed where the shirt slipped off one shoulder, the soft curve of your neck exposed by the collar. He realized that he was watching you longer than he meant to. You caught his glance and smiled, and for a second, everything felt a little softer.

“Hey you,” you said, sitting next to him and dipping your feet in without hesitation. The oversized shirt rode up slightly on your legs as you settled in. “What are you doing up so early?”

Yoongi scoffed, his gaze flickering briefly before he looked away. “Ten in the morning is not early.”

“Tell that to Simon.” You shook your head, hair falling loosely over one shoulder. “I don’t think he’s getting up until five minutes before the guys arrive.”

“I knew he was going to make me do all the grilling alone,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, making you laugh. “What are you doing up early, anyway?”

You sighed, pouting  “I’m just enjoying the pool before I get kicked out.” 

Simon had invited some friends to spend the day by the pool. He and Yoongi were going to make a barbecue, and the plan was to get drunk and sunburned. It wasn’t explicitly said that you weren’t invited, but it was clear it was a boys-only gathering. 

Yoongi chuckled softly, clearly softened by your pout. “You’re not getting kicked out,” he said, but you shot him a look that clearly said stop lying.

“He’s not going to be that forward, I’m sure. But as soon as someone mentions a girl he hooked up with, he’s going to make a face and that would be my cue to leave.” You rolled your eyes. “The worst part is, that I don’t even know why! As if I don’t know my own brother, my God.”

Yoongi huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re so dramatic,” he said, glancing at you with a sideways smile. “It’s kind of cute, actually. The way you get all worked up over nothing.”

You bit back a smile, meeting his gaze. “Shut up. You know it’s true.” You murmured.

He nodded toward the grill. “Come on, I need someone to help me with the barbecue. I won’t let you escape.”

You snorted softly, standing up. “You know I’m no scout girl, Yoongi.” 

“Just make me company, then,” he said, a quiet invitation in his voice.

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, fine. I’ll help.” You said. “Under the condition that you won’t let me get kicked out.”

“Fine, I promise.” He said, watching you as you stretched your arms over your head in a lazy arc before tugging the t-shirt over your head and tossing it onto the lounge chair. Beneath it, your beige bikini dotted with little strawberries caught the sunlight—soft, delicate, impossible not to notice.

You started walking towards the other end of the pool, your bare feet tapping softly against the baby blue tiles. The fabric hugged your hips, clinging in places he tried not to look at too long but couldn’t quite ignore. He noticed the curve of your waist, the way your shoulder blades shifted with each step, your collarbones, and how your silver chain rested against your chest, tracing the valley between your breasts. 

Your body moved like you didn’t care who was watching, and maybe that’s what made it worse. 

Or better.

Yoongi watched you quietly, not meaning to, and felt something stir in his chest, not sharp, not urgent, but quiet and deep.

It wasn’t just that you looked beautiful. You always had. It was the way you moved like summer itself, familiar and fleeting. Like this version of you—this moment—would disappear if he blinked.

And maybe that’s what made it ache. 

You paused at the edge of the pool, then glanced back at him over your shoulder.

“But anyway,” you said, your voice light, casual, “doesn’t Simon have a girlfriend now? Or something like that?” A smile tugged at your mouth. “I was hoping you guys won’t be talking about girls like that now.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You just dipped your toes in and slid smoothly into the water, disappearing beneath the surface in one clean motion.

Yoongi swallowed. Hard.

He just sat there, stomach pulling a little tighter than before. The sun was hot, but it wasn’t what made his skin burn.

He cleared his throat and forced a laugh, shaking his head like it was nothing. “Yeah, guess we’ll have to keep it strictly professional then.”

But his eyes stayed fixed on the spot where you’d disappeared beneath the water. His heart wasn’t so sure about professionalism anymore.

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the sun—and something heavier, deeper, pulsing quietly in his chest. It felt like it might pull him into the water with you.

[flock-of-cassowaries]

This is funny, but also… I strongly suspect this person is struggling with OCD. “Am I gay??” is a really common theme.

(I never had this problem, because the answer to that was always very obviously “Yeah, definitely kinda gay. Want my dad to love me, tho, so — men it is!”

But I’m aware that other people don’t have the privilege of having such a clear understanding of themselves during their early adulthood.)

Seriously though, I’m really glad that chatGPT wasn’t around twenty-five years ago. If it existed when I was 13 or 14, I’m pretty sure I would have drained a few lakes going round and round with it on completely unanswerable questions.

As it is, I definitely went round and round on such stimulating and important topics as:

- “How can I possibly enjoy life knowing that one day I too will die ??” (that one lasted a 3-4 delightful months)

- “Why is murder wrong, actually, though?? I must explain this, or I’ll be obligated to… wait, what??” (that one burned itself out over the course of one weekend, but I felt like I was absolutely losing my mind. Fun. 👍)

Those episodes were agonizing enough in the confines of my own fevered adolescent mind; I can’t imagine how much worse they could’ve been if I had had an AI chat partner to egg me on.

Redditors are struggling in ways that we cannot even imagine here on tumblr Island

[pushing500]

What inspired you to start doing Rimworld doodles? You kinda inspire Me. Wondering if you saw someone else doing this or if you just started it up completely off the dome (as in like,,, Twas an original thought).

The idea of my RimWorld doodles inspiring people keeps me up at night giggling and kicking my feet, so thank you for that <3 <3

As for inspiration... Well, at the risk of sounding like a long-winded recipe blog...

When I was a kid, my family moved houses and schools a lot. I got used to losing friends and knowing I would likely never see any of them again, and it meant that I was especially close to my siblings as a result. No matter how far we moved, how different my new school was, or how many friends I left behind, I knew my brothers and my sister would be there. If I wanted to talk to people, it often meant I had to bother my siblings and so I would usually sit by them when I felt the need to talk out loud and work on things. Sometimes homework, but mostly artwork.

From the age of roughly eleven, I had big dreams of writing comic books. I had plotlines and characters all planned out, but fell into a bit of a worldbuilding hole and never actually wrote any of the story beyond a horrific first draft. Sometimes when I felt talkative, I would bring my sketchbooks out and sit beside my brother while he played RimWorld. The idea was to draw my own comics and design OCs while hanging out with him, but one day, I got particularly invested in his colony. He had a group of cybernetic dwarf colonists, and one of them had decided that the battery room was a good place to keep his pet boomalope, which went... about as well as you would expect. After my brother explained what had happened (this was before I played RimWorld), I thought it was really funny. I put aside my OC drawings and drew this instead:

We put it up on the wall above the computer, and from then on, whenever I sat by to watch my brother play RimWorld, I would draw things that happened in his game instead of focusing on my own comics and OCs.

When I asked my brother to teach me how to play RimWorld, I just sort of... kept up the habit. One day, I thought it would be nice to post some of my drawings online, and I think it was a good decision because lots of people have told me they like it. It's very good! I love drawing, and I love playing RimWorld, but it's so much better when I have other people to share the stories with!

[glassbxttless]

pleaseeeee can i have a ciabatta sandwich with chicken and lots of swiss and monterey jack cheese? 🫣 tysm love your sandwich ideas ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Ocean’s Away

emperor geta x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from minamoomoo | After a careless misjudgment on invitations sent, you find yourself at an Oceanside Villa with the Emperors— and are coming up short on somewhere to sleep.

warnings: Nothing that I know of. A little mutual pining. (Might allude to some nasty business goin down in Caracalla’s room)

notes: Order up for Mina! Thanks for stopping by! This was a lot of fun to write (I struggled), I forgot how much fun it is to write the emperors (I love doing it for Tara and Angie). Big thanks to @prettycalla & @robinbuckleywife for reading this over and bigger thanks for @peachyproserpina for editing!

The sea gleamed beyond the marble terrace, endless and shining under the afternoon sun. The wind whispering as it whips through the cypress trees, carrying the scent of Mediterranean salt and oleander. Inside the walls of the little villa, Caracalla’s voice rang out, echoing back and forth off of heavy stone as his guests flooded each room, their sandals loud against the mosaic tiles.

This trip was meant to be a retreat— a little getaway, a coastal reprieve away from their duties on Palatine Hill, just for the elite. Your involvement in the entire trip had been orchestrated by your father, who had pulled every string he could to get you invited— under the not-so-subtle hope that you may end up engaged to one of the emperors. Caracalla had taken a liking to another political daughter weeks ago, which had promptly removed him from your list of viable options. That left Geta. And try as you might— lingering in the same rooms, angling for conversation with him, forcing your charm in ways you couldn’t believe were possible— you hadn’t managed to catch his interest. At least, not in the way your father had hoped. Week after week, lingering looks were shared between you both. Hello had been the only words exchanged between the two of you for God knows how long. You’d sooner brave another one of your father’s overlong, meandering speeches than admit what the real issue was— your own feelings were inconveniently tangled in all of this. This was not a political marriage you’d been trying to secure. Geta meant something to you. You had listened and watched as he was read poetry, a smile tugging at those full lips. You had stolen glances across the quarters as his eyes were painted dark and he was sent on his way. He was perfect. 

But instead of using this time to relax, everything around you had succumbed to total and utter chaos. Servants rushed back and forth like chickens with no heads, banners sagged in the harsh afternoon heat, there were murmurs plaguing your group of too many guests and not enough beds. You find your feet planted near the fountain, your arms folded delicately over your belly, watching the disaster in front of you unfold. “Did no one think to count the guests before the invitations were sent?” you huff out the question, more to yourself than anything else.

A voice answers behind you— it’s quiet, smooth, and edged with an amusement you did not foresee. “You expect order from my brother?”

You turn suddenly and find Geta standing there. Pale robes hang from his shoulders, his demeaner calmer than you have ever seen. The expression he wore gave nothing away, but his tone always told more than his face did. You had only met Geta on those handful of occasions, they had always ended the same way. Your chest clenching and he seemingly not noticing you for any longer than a mere moment. Each time he did see you, there was a look in his eyes… like he saw straight through you, always had.

“My Emperor,” you say softly, offering a nod.

He shakes his head, lifting a hand to stop your words from flowing. “Don’t start with titles, please. Not here.”

You hesitate, your lip catching between your teeth as you try and find your next words. “Then I’ll simply ask— what possessed him to invite sixty when this villa holds twenty?”

“A fondness for spectacle,” Geta said, clasping his hands together behind his back, “And a talent for ignoring the consequences.” His eyes linger on you for just a moment too long, before he’s turning to make his way towards his brother’s voice.

By nightfall, the problem had escalated. The entirety of guest rooms were spoken for. The women’s quarters had long since overflowed, and you had found yourself standing in the middle of that dark corridor with a small bundle of your belongings and absolutely nowhere to sleep. “I’m sorry, Miss,” One of the servants whispered to you, avoiding your gaze. “There’s truly nothing left. I’ve tried everywhere that I can.” Her gaze flicks behind you, the feeling of eyes shooting daggers through your spine. And by the look on her face, you knew just who it had to be. One of the Emperors. Before he could say a word, you turn on your heel to see Geta standing there, watching the conversation from a distance.

“I have space,” Geta explains softly, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. His robes hang open slightly to show off the skin of his bare chest. 

You couldn’t help but stare. 

“There’s a bed in my chamber. It’s large enough.” His voice was carefully neutral, waving a dismissive hand to the servant. Once he was sure she had disappeared into her own chambers for the night, he smiles. But it does not comfort you, no, in fact— it sets every nerve in your body on high alert. It sends you into a panic. He continues to speak. “You’ll sleep on one side. I on the other.”

You hesitate, your body frozen despite the stifling heat beating through the windows. The ice in your veins not subsiding as you take in a breath, a bit ragged and shaky. 

“You’ll be comfortable,” he adds, much quieter now as he takes in just how nervous you seem to be. “And you’ll be safe.”

That last word. Safe. It plagues you, rings through your ears like a bell— back and forth, bouncing from side to side until it finally settles deep into your brain.

“…Very well,” you say softly, clutching your things to your chest.

He doesn’t smile at you, but he didn’t look away either. His eyes more relaxed that you had ever seen them before. He stands there for just a few moments before offering his arm.

You’re skeptical for the first few seconds, letting yourself indulge in the sight in front of you. His robes are closed at the waist, one large hand holding it there. His bare chest reflecting the very last rays of sunlight back at you. You let yourself gaze upon his skin, before you take a step forward. You loop your arm slightly around his, letting your hand settle against his bicep as he leads you down the corridor to where you would be staying. With him. 

His bicep, where your hand rests, is hot under your skin. Warm in ways you couldn’t imagine. The smell of salt from the waters outside wafts around you as you lean in closer to him. It’s a long walk, through dark halls with only the flickering of very few torches to light your way. The softest call of Caracalla’s name fills your ears as you pass by his room, stopping at Geta’s door. 

His chambers were overlooking the sea. A cool breeze drifts through the open doors. Each gust lifting the linen curtains with easy, letting the sound of waves breaking against the cliffs carry inside delicately. You adore that sound, love the smell of salt in the air. There’s a torch hanging against the wall, flickering across the edges of the room. You take it in, the bed in the middle of the room was far too large for one man. And still, standing there next to him with your bodies pressed so close, looking at it still felt too small. Knowing that in just a few moments you both would be trying to put as much space as possible between you.

You stand on one side of it now. Your robe is drawn tight around you, as you watch how his moves with each twist of his body. You let go of his arm, allowing him to round the bed. Geta sits at the edge of the mattress, reaching downward to undo his sandals. He turns his face toward the window.

“This wasn’t necessary, My Emperor,” you say softly, watching how his back and shoulders flex with each of his ministrations. 

He turns to you, his gaze settling in. “Geta.” He corrects, then adds, “It was necessary.”

“I could have managed in the atrium. Or the servants’ quarters—”

“You’re the daughter of a senator,” he says bluntly, like he’d ever let you forget. “You don’t sleep on the floor like a soldier.”

You look at him and then shake your head, voice soft. “That’s not why you offered.”

He stays silent.

You climb into the bed slowly, sticking to the edge. He does the same. Both of your bodies sliding beneath the blanket. The space between you was wide, polite, and most certainly unbearable.

“Thank you,” you say at last, fingers fiddling with the hem of the blanket. 

He turns his head slightly, letting himself look up at the ceiling. “You shouldn’t be thanking me. I only did what was right.”

“You always do.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, like what he had just heard was nothing more than a joke. “Not always.”

The silence that followed settled in thick enough to be cut with a knife. Your heart beats like a war drum beneath those thin sheets. You take in a breath, your own eyes fixated on the ceiling above. Neither you, nor Geta, have moved. And finally, you sigh, “I can’t sleep.”

“Too warm?” 

“Too close,” you whisper out and let your eyes close for just a moment. Letting yourself feel the feelings you’d been trying so hard to push away. “And too far.”

He shifts, just slightly, letting his head loll to the side to face you. Eyes scanning your profile as he thinks of anything to say. “What do you mean?”

You almost don’t answer. Almost roll over and bite your tongue and let this confession die in the dark, where it should. But Geta has an effect on you, one that makes those words tumble out anyway. “I mean… I’m in love with a man who sleeps beside me and pretends he feels nothing at all.”

You feel him go still. So you wait. Both of your breathing are so shallow. Then you hear a whisper, soft as ever: “You’re wrong.”

You turn your head, barely, just enough to meet his eyes in the dim torchlight. “Am I?”

“I pretend,” he says softly, letting his eyes flick to yours before he turns back up to the ceiling, his voice low, “because it is easier. Because if I don’t pretend, I’ll say things that can’t be taken back.”

You moved closer to him in the wake of his confession— it’s only a few inches, but to you? It felt like crossing a chasm. “Say them,” There’s a smile on your face. Filling yourself with the immense joy a confession like this is sure to bring.

He reaches across the space between you then, slowly, his fingertips are brushing yours. He doesn’t lean in for a kiss. Doesn’t pull you into an embrace. Just this… his hand against yours in the dark, too afraid to even hold it. You’ve never seen him afraid. Your Emperor is never afraid, so it seems. “I have wanted you,” he said, “every day since you first looked at me like I was more than my name.”

You felt the tears rising, your chest tightening with each word he spoke. You blink them back, not letting them fall.

“And I have loved you, Geta,” you whisper, letting your fingers curl around the edge of his hand. You give it a gentle squeeze. You never wanted this to end, “since you stopped calling me ‘daughter of Marcus’ and started calling me by my name.”

He smiles. Just barely, but it’s there. Then he retracts, letting go of your hand. “We should sleep,” he murmurs into the dark, punctuated by the flickering torchlight.

You nod, lying back. Your eyes on the ceiling. Geta does the same. Neither of you moved, neither dared. But the space between you no longer felt as empty.

It felt full of everything still to come. 

tags ;; @robinbuckleywife @bib200 @hazydespair @djomorelikedelulu @dancininseptember @samslvrgirl @peachyproserpina @missjadesfics @meetmeatyourworst @prettycalla @getaapologist

[elkattacks]

I've been talking to my friend about Solas again (always). This is the friend who got me into Dragon Age- she spent years slowly suggesting it. Good on her. Anyway, I was unspoiled going into Inquisition. She told me if I was unsure about who to romance she suggests Solas, it's fun she says. Ok.. really? He seems boring.. and Cassandra is right there? Turns out Cassandra is straight (big sigh) so ok, I'll try the romance with the guy who already pissed me off a bit with his opinions on the Dalish..

And I fell pretty hard. The mystery.. what is going on with this guy? Why can I never guess what his opinions will be? It's hidden depths on hidden depths with this guy. And then he's got you. I mean, also the Welsh accent, that helps too.

I take him to Halamshiral and I'm snickering to myself because I think he's going to *hate* it and he's going to have some funny lines about how much he hates this. They call him my elven serving man? Oh boy, I'll never hear the end of this. And then I'm blindsided by the "sexy man lean" and he seems tipsy and the "power, intrigue, danger, and sex" line. Jaw on the floor surprised by this behavior. Why does he seem like he's in his element?

Then after Adament he's so mad about the Grey Wardens? But won't really elaborate? The heck man??

We go to the Temple of Mythal and my poor Inquisitor's world is even further turned upside down. What even is happening anymore? And then of course I run to Solas back at the rotunda to talk about all this and he's mad about the Well but like.. we had no good choices? What do you even want?

But now we're going on a romantic date?!? This is amazing! Beautiful, this is so sweet! Holding hands on a moonlight stroll?? Never been so into this. And then utter whiplash.. what is happening.. this come out of left field why are we breaking up?? Is it because I didn't let you remove the tattoos? Crying.

Utter devastation. But we have to finish this. All will be clear when this is over? Alright man, gotta push through then. He goes back to calling you "Inquisitor" the pain..

And the game ends and you go back to your room. Nothing is made clear. There's no note?? I was expecting a note at least.. something. He said.. utter desolation. Post credits scene- Mythal calls him "Dread wolf".. why would she do that? Hilarious. ???

Now, I'm lucky, and I didn't play until 2021 so the next day I can go right into the masterpiece that is Tresspasser. And I spend like 15 hours in increasing amounts of pain, anxiety and dread. And just.. basically none of my questions are answered, it's still beautiful and tragic and why is he even hotter??

And I've never gotten over it. Inquisition is my favorite still even if it feels so bittersweet every time I play it.

[hsangel64]

can you write an Ellie x reader where Joel finds out they’re dating please 🩵

had a feeling

pairings: jackson!ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: a small timeline of joel slowly finding out you and ellie have been together this whole time

warnings: slight angst, use of y/n, mild cussing, mostly fluff!

a/n: i hope i did this justice! i had so much fun writing this!

joel was a little oblivious when to ellie’s relationships, it wasn’t that he wasn’t aware who she hung out with, he just didn’t care to notice the times she snuck you in her garage or snuck out at night to go and see you. he never noticed until you became a bigger figure in her life, you were basically joined at the hip. joel watched from afar but didn’t ever think much of it, he’s met you and talked to you before, seems like a really good friendship.

you and ellie were good friends, dina had introduced you two but you only would really hang out with everyone else. that was until you both got drunk and made out, like a lot. after that you both decided it might be fun to just fool around, but little did ellie know is that you were basically in love with her. it had been countless nights of you pinning over her and the amount of times you would go to dina and just cry to her about it. you eventually made ellie realize a few things….with the help of dina. you and ellie had a long talk and she ended up asking you to be her girlfriend. she didn’t think she had to tell joel, she thought he could just find out on his own. its not like you guys were very secretive, he just didn’t pay attention sometimes.

the first time joel sensed something between you two was when ellie switched her patrols to be with you, basically begged tommy to switch with her every week. he didn’t think to ask her because he didn’t want to overstep but he did ask tommy.

“hey tommy.” he caught him in the stables.

“hey old timer whatcha need?”

“i’ve got a quick question for ya.”

“shoot.”

“is there a reason ellie’s been beggin’ for you to switch patrols with y/n?” tommy’s eyebrow quirked up in confusion and realized why he might’ve been asking.

“ellie just had told me that they’ve been talking more about that comic and wanted to get more time to hang out…why?”

“oh its nothing just been curious.” tommy nodded and said his goodbyes making his way out to get ready for his patrol, shaking his head at joel’s question.

after the conversation they had, joel kept his eye on the both of you, he didn’t want to pry but he couldn’t help but be curious. he noticed the touches and glances out in public, he noticed the she would pull you in for hugs.

a different time he thought it was a little suspicious was when ellie had went around trying to find someone to trade with to get some flowers. he was out one day helping people around town and he had seen ellie speaking to someone about flowers. she hadn’t noticed him so he stood close by and kept an ear open.

“hey do you have any idea where nancy is with her flower stand…is she not out today?”

“nope not today but you can probably find her at the greenhouses, why do you need flowers? you finally got a girl?” ellie laughed at the other girl and thanked her running past him and making her way to the greenhouses. he didnt want to be weird and follow but he remembered this, he noticed it all but like any time before he didn’t pry, he didn’t ask and he left it alone. that is until the day he accidentally walked in on you two…

he had made a big feast of food and was bringing ellie some of the leftovers for her to have. it was about 8pm at night so everyone should’ve been home, ellie usually has her door unlocked but he always knocks. he made his way over shivering from the cold wind, rubbing his hand on his arm. he sighed out and brought his hand up to knock, he heard loud music and made sure to make a mental note to tell her to turn it down since it was late. he knocked once, and then again, and then again but no answer. he leaned his head towards the door to see if he could hear anything but he could only hear the music. he figured she must’ve fallen asleep so he slowly opened the door to peak in, he was confused because she wasn’t in her bed so he opened the door more and saw the sight in front of him. it took him a bit to comprehend what was happening but once he did ellie noticed him and yelled at him to go away. you were laid on the couch and ellie was on top of you, you both had no clothes on and joel immediately covered his eyes.

“joel!”

“im sorry im sorry-“ he didn’t move from the doorway so ellie yelled at him more.

“what the fuck leave!” he frantically left the container on her nightstand by the door and quickly made his way back out. running back into his home and just trying to rub away the image of you and ellie. he groaned loudly and grumbled out ‘fuckin’ kids.’ making his way into his bedroom and getting right to bed.

the next couple of days ellie purposefully ignored joel and tried any chance to not be caught alone with him. after he left her face was beet red and was so embarrassed knowing that he had just caught them. she did not want him talking to her about it, it would be far too much for her to take. it would be even worse because she hadn’t talked to him about her sexuality, she figured he had some idea but she was worried he wouldn’t have accepted her for who she was if she confirmed that she in fact was gay. ellie turned to you during the rest of the week trying to figure out how to approach him, considering she had a dinner planned with him….with just him.

“els you just have to tell him, i know he loves you and would support you. plus you said that he probably knows and i think by now he would’ve stopped making an effort to talk to you.” ellie knew you were right, she knew, she just didn’t want to admit it. she was having a crisis and could only find you as an outlet.

———————————————————————————

the day had finally come and ellie was no where near ready to talk to him. she felt sick and paced her room the whole day just thinking of a way to tell him. you were busy that day helping with the little farmers market that was held every sunday so it made ellie’s anxiety even worse not having you there to calm her. when the time came she got up from her couch, grabbed her coat and the small tupperware of cookies you helped her make to ease the blow a little and shortly walked to the back of joel’s house knocking on the door and taking a the biggest deep breath. joel answered fairly quickly and welcomed her in.

“dinners almost ready if you want to just quickly set the table.” ellie nodded and grabbed the plates and silverware, they stood in a comfortable silence but they both felt that smallest bit of tension. the topic of conversation lingering in the air, feeling like ellie was going to suffocate. as dinner finished and they sat down, plating their plates and sitting for a second in silence before they both started to eat.

“this is delicious joel thanks..” he nodded at the girl in front of him in agreement.

“yeah i tried this new recipe for stew that maria gave me.”

“how’d you get her to give you that?”

“not too happy at what she made me do…that stays between me and maria.” he chuckled.

“oh come on.” and just like every sunday their conversation flowed like nothing was wrong, ellie nerves calmed and she was just there.

the topic still lingered between pauses of speaking but no one brought it up. they both thought it wasn’t the right moment to mention it, they were laughing and enjoying each others presence. as they finished dinner ellie helped joel bring the dishes to the sink and offered to wash them.

“eh don’t worry about it kiddo, ill do it tomorrow been on my feet all day.” she nodded at him and he proposed an idea. “hey let me make myself some coffee and lets sit on the porch for a bit, go on and set up that heater for us its a lil chilly.” she knew this was his way of coming up with a time to have this talk, so she took yet another deep breath and made her way out, grabbing a blanket on the way out and turning the heater on. she sat on one of the two chairs he had outside, he specifically made the other one just for her to sit with him on sunday nights especially during the summer.

ellie wasn’t sitting for long until she heard the door next to her open and close, joel placed his mug on the table and groaned as he took his seat. they enjoyed the sound of jackson on a sunday night, the soft music playing from the tipsy bison and the soft laughter of children playing outside by the house. they both had the same idea of speaking first.

“i have a- sorry go ahead- no you- sorry-“ they went back and forth both giving up and laughing at each other, ellie then mimicked her mouth being shut and gave him the stage to talk.

“so the other night…im sorry for walkin’ in like that i just figured you’d fallen asleep-“

“i promise its okay, it was a simple mistake.”

“good, thought you were mad at me.” ellie’s face dropped slightly and shook her head at him.

“no no i promise it was just a little awkward after..” they both nodded at each other and joel took another second before responding back.

“so you and y/n…are you guys….a thing?” it was now or never.

“um uh yeah we are…she’s my girlfriend.” joel nodded again and tried to find the words to respond back but it seemed too long for ellie.

“its okay if you don’t support it…i mean me being gay and shit, i just…there never was a right time to tell you.” shaking his head at her and waving his hand up.

“well that’s certainly not the case…i will support you no matter what you like, and if its girls ill be here to support you. plus i like that girl, shes very lucky to have you.” ellie’s eyes filled up with tears, quickly wiping them and nodding. they made eye contact with each other and joel let out a small ‘oh kiddo.’ he got up from his seat and pulled her up into a hug, kissing her forehead. they stayed there for awhile until ellie pulled back and looked at him.

“i don’t tell you a lot but i really do appreciate you joel, i’ve never felt this accepted with anyone and i’m glad its you that is there supporting me.” pulling her back in for a hug he chuckled slightly. she mumbled into his chest, ‘what..’

“i finally made you show some emotion…” she pushed him away and they both laughed at each other.

“oh fuck off!”

“hey why dont you invite her over next sunday for our dinner.”

“but you’ve met her before.”

“i know, but it’ll be the first full family dinner we can have.”

“id like that.”

“me too.” they went back to their playful selves and basked in the last bit of sunset they had left, sitting on the porch while ellie told him about the new comics she found. he happily sat and listened, the first time in a while where he felt good about life.

———————————————————————————

a/n: this went in a completely different direction than i had thought but i actually really enjoyed it and i think i did good! i hope you enjoy!!

[kiyosato-yuri]

[Ryōshū stuff: again]

Question. Find the similarity between the moment when your mother goes to the parents’ meeting and, on her way home, tells you, “I need to talk to you,” leaving you gnawed by fear like a dog on a bone for those 30 minutes while she’s still out.

And. The scene of a sinner realizing it’s next on the platter—while it’s still lying on that very dish.

Whatever your answer, you can keep it to yourself or drop a comment below. But for now, welcome to the show: “I Play the Analysis Game: The Lore Pieces of Ryōshū Released in Canto 8, Part 1.”

(If any of the theories here are wrong, the worst would just me being wrong… and you still get something fun to read.)

[for this part i have to read on both JP and EN TL of the game to make sure they aren't too different, or else i will more fond on JP TL]

「蜘蛛の巣は恋しいか？まあ恋しいわけあらへんよな。俺っちも行くたびに気ぃ悪くなるし。」 “You miss the Spider’s Nest? Nah, course not. I'd sick by just visiting that damn place.” Spider’s Nest / Kumo no Su / 蜘蛛の巣 — For some reason, the English version chose to render this as “Spider’s House”, which gives off orphanage vibes. Like we’re about to meet a gaggle of mini Ryōshū living inside wwwww (insert spider dance BGM)

Anyway, we can temporarily refer to the Spider’s Nest as Ryōshū’s “home.” A not-so-safe one. In fact, it’s so messed up that even a Capo from the Thumb admits the place makes him feel sick.

“Heebie-jeebies” is a term used to describe a mix of anxiety, fear, unease, or nausea.

and 悪くなる (wakunaru) means "to feel worse / to become unwell," which is why I went with "feel sick"

「あとでまた顔でも見せやぁ。あんときみたいに、もういっぺん刀の握り方ちゃんと教えたるさかい。」 “Swing by later, yeah? I’ll teach you again how to properly hold a sword—just like the old days.”

「いんやぁ、そんでも・・・あんなかじゃ俺っちが一番格好よく斬る方法を教えてやったやろ？」 “Wait, didn’t I already show you the slickest way to slash someone back then?”

We’ll set aside how effective his “training” was (and whether he’s the one who got her into smoking). But out of everyone present, Lei Heng is the only one genuinely happy to see Ryōshū again—so happy, in fact, that he went easy on someone just because she showed up.

Now, remember: in a syndicate like the Thumb, where hierarchy and protocol are law, talking to a superior without permission is a massive deal. Just a few examples from Library of Ruina:

"When a subordinate dares to speak without a superior’s permission—cut off his lower jaw.” – Dennis

Katriel asked Dennis to cut out her tongue for upsetting Angela.

A Kurokumo clan head lost an arm (mercifully, thanks to sottocapo Kalo) just for apologizing on behalf of an unruly subordinate and asking a question out of turn.

So when Lei Heng only took one arm from Nangong Xianhe's young master, that was him being “merciful.” And that was after said young master’s servant got his hand shot off and tongue removed for stepping out of line just because "seein' a friendly face put me in a good mood."

Even looking at a superior could bring consequences, as Faust gently reminded Ryōshū. Yet Ryōshū made eye contact with Lei Heng—and Lei Heng jokingly called her out for not even saying hi:

「お〜い！目ぇ合ったやろ、挨拶でもしろや！」 “Oi! Our eyes met, didn’t they? Least you could do is say hello!”

This interaction leaves us with two main theories:

Lei Heng wasn’t a capo yet when he trained Ryōshū—or maybe he hadn’t joined the Thumb at that time. Now, their ranks have reversed.

He was already a Capo, but something happened—possibly Ryōshū joining Limbus Company—that significantly lowered her usual standard (or her power).

One of those must be true. Because otherwise, we’d be witnessing a full-on verbal beatdown from our temperamental artist, not some playful prodding from a capo to a muzzled mutt. This isn’t a true “conversation” anyway—it’s completely one-sided, thanks to the Thumb's law: don’t speak unless spoken to.

Then again, maybe Ryōshū just doesn’t want to talk to Lei Heng, or the power imbalance has always existed between them. But hey—you didn’t click on this post just for lukewarm takes, did you?

Another detail: Faust reminds Ryōshū of a promise she made before joining the company, which remind us that moment in Canto III when Vergilius reminded Don Quixote of their deal on the fateful day of her recruitment. It’s subtle, but may imply Faust personally recruited Ryōshū, just like she did with Yi Sang.

Moving on, this next line hints at something foreboding: one day, Ryōshū may be taken back.

「肩の力抜きぃや。お前さんを連れに来たわけやな��し、あんときみたいに、なんか教えに来たわけでもないさかい。」 “Relax your shoulders. I didn’t come here to drag you back. And I’m not here to teach you a lesson like last time either.”

(“Teach a lesson” — in this context — also implies beating someone up. Classic Asian parenting energy.)

Most people hate getting smacked around, but in Ryōshū’s case—someone who practically breakdances along the boundary of sadomasochism—it’s a bit more... layered. If Lei Heng thinks that’s what sets her on edge, then it must have been that bad.

His surprise at not knowing Ryōshū had disappeared might suggest:

Ryōshū ran away. The Spider’s Nest didn’t like that and may have sent people after her.

Lei Heng, who only visits the Nest occasionally, isn’t really interested in dragging her back—and doesn’t feel like wasting his breath on her either.

His tone implies Ryōshū is fully aware she’s on borrowed time—that someone might come collect her—and she clearly doesn’t like that. Nor does she like Lei Heng, considering the entire “conversation” is him monologuing while her only line is yelling at Faust to shut up.

(Spoiler: Faust didn’t shut up. And frankly? We should be grateful she didn’t.)

「オメェのガキ、 まだあの家におるやろ。ちゃうか?」 "That brat of yours is still in that house, right? Or not?"

The word "ガキ" or "brat" in English is usually used for a boy or a rowdy, misbehaving child. That’s why I’m bringing this word to the dissection table—because it typically implies two things:

The child in question might be a boy.

The child might be really bratty, just like their parent.

It immediately feels wrong if we think of this “gaki” as Yoshihide’s pitiful daughter. Because clearly the tone and nuance of this word do not match the way the work builds the image of that girl. Now, Yoshihide’s daughter clearly isn’t described that way, but her pet monkey? That does suit the word perfectly.

"Each time he came to the Lord’s palace, he wore a clove-dyed hunting garment and a floppy eboshi on his head, but he had a vulgar appearance and his lips, too red for his age, had an unsettling bestial quality. I do not know for sure the cause of this red colour. Some said he had the habit of licking his paintbrush. Others, more slanderous, compared his appearance and gait to those of a monkey and nicknamed him Saruhide"

それが大殿様の御邸へ参ります時には、よく丁字染の狩衣に揉烏帽子をかけて居りましたが、人がらは至つて卑しい方で、何故か年よりらしくもなく、唇の目立つて赤いのが、その上に又気味の悪い、如何にも獣めいた心もちを起させたものでございます。中にはあれは画筆を舐めるので紅がつくのだなどゝ申した人も居りましたが、尤もそれより口の悪い誰彼は良秀の立居振舞が猿のやうだとか申しまして、猿秀と云ふ諢名までつけた事がございました。

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

"The Prince, the Lord’s young son, who was at the time in the age of mischievousness, named the monkey Yoshihide. The monkey’s gestures were amusing indeed, and everyone in the palace laughed at the animal. If this mockery had been all, things would not have been that bad for the monkey, but each time it climbed up the pine tree in the garden or soiled the mats in the Prince’s bedroom, everyone chased him, shouting, ‘Yoshihide, Yoshihide,’ to tease the poor beast."

すると何かの折に、丹波の国から人馴れた猿を一匹、献上したものがございまして、それに丁度戯盛　りの若殿様が、良秀云ふ名を御つけになりました。唯でさへその猿の容子が可笑しい所へ、かやうな名がついたのでございますから、御邸中誰一人笑はないものはございません。それも笑ふばかりならよろしうございますが、面白半分に皆のものが、やれ御庭の松に上つたの、やれ曹司の畳をよごしたのと、その度毎に、良秀々々と呼び立てゝは、兎に角いぢめたがるのでございます。 — Hell Screen, Chapter 2

Fusion dances between characters aren’t new now—we’ve already had Linton Edgar, who combines the features of blond, sickly Linton Heathcliff. So, the idea of Yoshihide’s daughter and her monkey being thrown into the same melting pot to create a single character isn’t that far-fetched. The personification of an animal, or the animalization of a human, is a familiar motif in Japanese literature – especially when associated with the image of hell, punishment, or karma.

Of course, it could also just be Lei Heng’s way of talking. But again, what’s the point of reading an analysis if we’re going to ignore details that might be exploitable?

「う~ん、ちゃうんか? もうおらんのか? なんかあったんかいな。 俺っちはそっちの事情はよく分からんくてな。けど、何かあったんは確かっぽいな ?」 "Hmm? I got it wrong? They’re not there anymore? Guess something happened, huh. I don’t really know what’s going on over there. But seems like something definitely went down, yeah?"

So, something did happen at the Spider’s Nest—some event that caused that “brat” of Ryōshū’s to no longer be there. It’s also very likely that this very event led to Ryōshū leaving the Spider’s Nest herself.

If Ryōshū had lost a child (or some other beloved creature that was considered a child), and that animal was a monkey, then Lei Heng's use of the word "gaki" would be both an insult and a dig at the pain.

Or perhaps the "gaki" was no longer human, but had transformed into something else – an embodiment of guilt, karma, or obsession, which Ryōshū could not shake off the past.

Lei Heng’s tone and word choice make it sound like he’s bullying a child. And honestly? It doesn’t seem like it’s the first time. Their teacher-student relationship might’ve always been this one-sided.

This is also the moment he hits Ryōshū’s nerve. She nearly drew her sword if Faust hadn’t chimed in to spare our eardrums with another 5–30 Ultra Pro Max versions of Ryōshū’s wrath.

The only thing Ryōshū seems to feel when facing Lei Heng is a mix of rage and panic (焦りと怒り). This is why have to check other TL as well and English versions—the English oddly decided to go with “anxious.”

The English translation of “anxious” is a bit soft and doesn’t capture the danger of Ryōshū losing control of her emotions. Ryōshū is like a ticking time bomb here.

Saude might’ve sent Sinclair to keep both her and Heathcliff in check, but in this case, it’s Faust who had to intervene—twice—because if Sinclair, by some miracle, tried to stop her, he’d probably end up as a seven-piece chicken nugget.

"Ryōshū-san, now is not yet the time."

Why Faust? Because she seems to be the one who’s made a direct pact with Ryōshū, and also the only one who knows everything about the sinners’ pasts. That’s why she knows exactly what to do.

Let’s be real—when someone’s got deep beef with another person over past events, and then some random third party who knows nothing tries to step in, it’s only going to backfire. Or worse—it’ll throw fuel on the fire.

「次はお前さんたちのオヤジの話でもしようやないか、ヨシヒデ!」 "Next time, let’s chat about your daddies, shall we, Yoshihide?"

Another namedrop just like in Canto 7 for both Sancho and Baoyu, but it still doesn’t take the edge off the shock from the previous line.

お前さんたちのオヤジ — "your daddies."

Yes, you heard that right — plural. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine she'd have more than one dad. Is this… LGBT Company?/jk

But there’s something even more noteworthy here. A lot of people interpret Ryōshū as someone in a parental role — in fact, most people do, even non-fans. But have you ever stopped to think: What if Ryōshū is also someone’s child?

— Intervallo IV: Murder on the WARP Express

— Lobotomy Red Eyes E.G.O Uptie Story

— Canto VIII episode 11

From those quotes, we can tell that Ryōshū despises — or at least deeply distrusts — controlling parents. You can picture her life being smothered by overbearing fathers forcing their ideals onto her, burying her under expectations, demanding she follow the future they envisioned.

Judging by that line from Canto VIII Episode 11, it’s possible that Ryōshū was raised to reach some high position — whether that was to become “the greatest painter under heaven” or even... a lord as i mentioned before from the word "領主" (Ryōshu) — Lord.

Speaking of that, we should talk about her name, which is a whole messy process on its own.

If you’ve followed me for long time, you know that the inspiration for “Hell Screen” (Jigokuhen) came from 絵仏師良秀 (Ebusshi Ryōshū), a character from the Uji Shūi Monogatari.

And according to official sources, Ryōshū here is based on Jigokuhen. But let’s be honest — she’s not just from Jigokuhen, right? All three characters — Ebusshi Ryōshū, Yoshihide, and Ryōshū — share the same kanji for their name: 良秀 (Ryōshū / Yoshihide).

Originally, in Uji Shūi Monogatari, 良秀 was read as Ryōshū. Later, Akutagawa came along and read it as Yoshihide. And now, with the release of this Canto, it loops back again — Ryōshū becomes Yoshihide once more.

Anyway, I’m not trying to play ship-theory here, but if we’re talking about who’s the worse father, Ebusshi Ryōshū is way worse than Yoshihide.

I mean, look at it this way — one dad abandons his wife and child in a burning building and watches it like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, totally unmoved. The other dad suffers seeing his daughter burn, only to suddenly light up with joy a few seconds later like she hadn’t just turned into a charcoal brisket.

One’s bad. The other’s horrifically bad. So between “a bad dad” and “a worse dad,” they’re both still bad dads.

With all that in mind, we can tentatively guess that Ryōshū’s “daddies” — the ones Lei Heng referred to — include none other than Ebusshi Ryōshū, since at this point, the only person who out-awfuls Yoshihide is him.

And based on Lei Heng’s promise to “chat about them next time,” I fear we’ll be seeing more of these dads again. Which means we’ll be back with Lore Dissection: Part 2.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Meander through the Mountain Mists

Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh I love mer!König and mer!reader so much. You guys are so so cute together. I am rooting for you this entire time. Also, enjoy treasure hunting! Not much, but a little bit of fun. I hope you guys like this next part of the mermaid fic!

Tws: Fluff

Wordcount: 3.2K

Art from This Post

Rest of the Story Below the Cut

Meander through the Mountain Mists

The first stage hadn’t gone as expected, but the results were clear enough to make you proud of yourself.

You were no longer restricted to the clam shell. Instead, each night you’d twine with König and settle in the den by his side. Sometimes he’d pull you close in his sleep and you could pretend that he was pulling for a mate. It made you smile to think that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of you as he did it.

The touches and tugs didn’t stop in the den though. They exceeded those bounds through König grabbing your hands and entwining his lower arms with yours. Sometimes he’d let you play with his webbed fingers and tap at his claws. Other times he would wrestle you to the floor of the nest and crow in triumph when you inevitably tapped out.

König had never been so insistent on being so close before. You didn’t want him to stop. His fingers wandered and you guided them along the curve of your spine when you swam together. Sometimes he would get exasperated by how slow you swam and would pull you to his chest and jet forth. No matter how much you complained he would only laugh and tell you to get stronger.

Getting you stronger seemed to be at the forefront of König’s mind. He was determined to make sure you could survive in the depths on your own. Sometimes that meant teaching you ways to snag prey from below, sometimes it meant sparring with him around the rocks of your nest. It always meant sharing spaces together afterwards as he evaluated your progress.

Lately, you’d taken to sitting in König’s lap as he talked you through your rights and wrongs. He didn’t mention that you kept making mistakes on purpose. Both of you knew you were better, but neither of you seemed to care. It was just nice to be held close, cherished like a rare pearl.

Pearls had been on your mind for a while. When merfolk courted each other, it was in a set pattern. The next part of your pattern was giving König a treasure. Unfortunately, you knew few places at these depths where treasure could be found. Instead, you were left combing the sand when König went to sleep to try and see if you could come across anything. Unfortunately, all you’d found so far consisted of three rib bones, a part of a crab’s shell and a particularly smooth rock. Nothing of value.

These objects might have sufficed for some, but you wanted better for König. You needed better. If your plan was to go off without a hitch then you needed to go above and beyond in all ways possible. It was critical to your success that König was floored by your efforts.

The only problem with searching for treasures was that it often led to rather uncomfortable situations, such as the one you faced that day.

You looked up the long belly of the shark mer until you met eyes (or as close as you could through shades) with a familiar face.

“Little octo?” Kim tilted his head to the side, “what are you doing out here?”

You puffed up as big as you could and said, “I could say the same thing!”

“We’re guarding territory,” Kim drawled, “weren’t you there with König?”

“She was,” Nikto lurked behind Kim ominously, “she looked very tasty.”

Kiim smacked him, “She’s not food.”

“Why not?”

“Because König would kill us,” Kim snapped and turned back to you, “sorry.”

You glanced between them both quietly.

“Anyways, you didn’t answer our question: What are you doing here?”

You shivered as Kim slowly circled you.

“I’m just looking for things,” you tried to say without stammering, “why do you care?”

“Because I wanna know what you’re doing out here without König,” Kim snapped back and curled to be eye-level with you, “what are you looking for?”

You shrunk back until you hit something solid. Up above, Nikto stared at you from behind a black mask. He looked hungrier than the last time you saw him.

“Not for much,” you backed away from Nikto until you could see both the mer properly, “I just wanted some things.”

Kim exchanged a tired look with Nikto and then, with a flick of his tail, he was looming above you and pulling his mask down to bear his teeth in a wide grin.

“You’re not trying to take advantage of König, are you?”

All the fear you held for these apex predators was quickly packed into a box and shoved into the back of your mind.

“Excuse me?” you squawked, “taking advantage!? I’d never do that!”

“Really?” Nikto tilted his head curiously, “I couldn’t tell. It looked like a good deal for you.”

“A really good deal,” Kim added as he crossed his arms.

Thinking about it, they had a point. You were getting the free pass of a lifetime by sharing König’s nest. Free food, free shelter, even good company if you factored that part in. All in all, too good of a deal to be true.

“Okay,” you held up your hands, “I see what you’re saying, I really do, but trust me when I say this is more than that. I’m actually looking to give something back.”

“Something back?” Kim perked up, “what do you mean?”

“I’m looking for something to give him,” you shrugged, “like a pearl or a nice stone. I’m looking for something nice for him.”

Kim huddled by Nikto’s side and whispered something into his ear. Nikto looked confused, then leaned in again to hear more. When they were done, both the shark mer looked infinitely more welcoming than before.

“You’re looking for a courting gift,” Kim’s eyebrows rose above his eye coverings.

“Yeah,” you sighed in relief, “exactly. I’m not trying to do anything weird.”

“It’s weird you’d want König as a mate,” Nikto muttered before being elbowed by Kim.

He gave you an apologetic look, “Sorry, we’re just not used to König getting any attention. Not good attention anyways,” he swam around you playfully, “so you’re looking for treasure!”

“You won’t get much down here,” Nikto said sadly, “not any nice things. Not surface things.”

“Why would you think I’d want surface things?” you asked.

Kim pointed at the bag on your hip, “I know surface craftsmanship anywhere.”

The bag hung heavy on your shoulder.

“I’ve been to the surface a couple of times,” you admitted, “spent most of my life there actually.”

“Then why are you in the deeps?” Kim asked, “it’s so much nicer up there.”

“It would be if I wasn’t chased out of my old nest,” you sighed.

Kim nodded as he put the pieces together. He gestured for Nikto to come over and turned back to you to say, “Look, if you want to get back to the surface, we can take you there.”

“You can?” you blinked stupidly.

“Of course!” Kim brandished his striped tail, “I’m a surface dweller too. Or, well, would’ve been, but that’s a long story. Point is, we can get you there and back before the sun comes up.”

“Really?” you grinned, “you guys could actually do that?”

“Of course,” Nikto nodded stoically, “if you want, we could even show you a nice place. It’s Hutch’s old den.”

“It’s really cool,” Kim added, “I’m sure Hutch would be fine with you taking a couple of things.”

That immediately doused the fire in your chest.

“Take things from somebody’s den?” you shook your head firmly, “no, I can’t do that. I don’t want to do anything that might piss anybody off.”

Kim nudged Nikto, “She’s perfect for König,” he turned back to you, “Hutch won’t care. He’s found a better place anyways.”

“But what if he found out?” you worried.

Kim was about to say something when Nikto held up a hand and drifted to hover in front of you.

“You’re worried about getting Hutch’s permission, right?” he asked.

You nodded nervously.

“Then why don’t we go see Hutch?” Nikto offered and looked to Kim for confirmation, “it would give us something to do.”

Kim hummed and tapped his finger on his chin quietly.

You watched the two mer think carefully over the suggestion. They seemed to be silently saying things to each other, evaluating the options and considering the risks. Eventually Kim nodded.

“Alright,” he agreed, “let’s go talk to Hutch.”

Hutch looked positively pissed when you roused him from his sleep. He quietly unfurled his arms to splay over the entrance of his nest, a lovely outlook over a deep sea canyon, and glared at the three of you. He glanced at Kim, then Nikto, then finally his eyes landed on you.

“You’re still here,” he stated flatly.

You shrugged.

“She’s not just still alive,” Nikto pointed out, “she’s looking for courting treasures!”

“For König?”

Kim nodded quickly, “She needs help finding some good ones to bring back to him.”

“Why don’t you take her somewhere else? What do you expect to get out of me here?” Hutch drawled and straightened his spine.

“Permission,” Kim offered.

“And advice,” Nikto added.

“Advice?” Hutch laughed, “what sort of advice are you looking for?”

“I dunno,” Kim shrugged, “I was thinking maybe you might know some weird mollusc mer things?”

“Mollusc is a slur,” Hutch grumbled.

“You call me shark fin soup.”

“And it’s funny.”

“It’s not,” Kim scowled, “whatever. We’re just wanting to see if you have any ideas for little octo.”

“Little octo?” Hutch peered over his dark eye coverings.

“They keep calling me that,” you explained.

He nodded slowly and slowly relaxed into the rock work. He seemed to think for a moment, drumming his fingers on his crossed arms and humming quietly to himself. He nodded side to side as he considered a thought carefully, then nodded finally.

“If you want to get on König’s good side, you should get some pearls,” Hutch concluded, “he loves them. That or metal. If you can find some metal, he’d go crazy for it.”

You nudged Kim softly, “We can go to the surface to find those things.”

Hutch continued, “There’s an old shipwreck by a coral reef not far from here. It used to be my old den, but I moved down here ages ago. Anything left there’s yours.”

“We told you he’d be fine,” Nikto grumbled as Kim laughed beside you.

Hutch immediately snapped to attention, “You offered to take her there before you talked to me?”

Kim nodded slowly.

“We thought you’d be fine with it,” Nikto said quietly.

“I’m…” Hutch shook his head and rubbed his temples, “it’s fine, but you should ask-”

“We did ask.”

“Before you make assumptions like that,” Hutch finished. He sighed and met your eyes, “I’m guessing you’re the reason they came and asked.”

You nodded silently.

He sighed, “I’m glad one of you has a brain.”

“I won’t take too much,” you said quickly, “I promise.”

Hutch shook his head and slunk back into his den as he said, “I don’t care. Just go.”

You were left looking into the dark space Hutch left behind.

Kim nudged your arm lightly. You looked up to see Nikto already swimming upwards.

“C’mon,” he said, and you followed behind him quickly.

“Fuck it’s bright.”

“It’s fine, Nikto,” Kim drawled, “now come on. We’ve got a couple of hours before the sun sets.”

“Is that why it’s so bright?”

“It’s always bright during the day,” you replied, “we’re actually getting less light than usual. Normally it’s a lot more intense.”

“And it’s so hot,” Nikto complained as you swam towards the reef, “how do you guys stand it?”

“How do you stand the cold?” Kim shot back, “now shut up and get moving. We need to hurry here.”

“Why?” you asked, “you seem like you’re really worried.”

“Of course he is,” Nikto smacked his tail against Kim’s side.

“I’m not worried about anything,” Kim retorted, “I just want to get in and out as fast as we can. I don’t like being up here a lot.”

“But aren’t you a surface species?” you questioned.

Kim snorted, “Not anymore.”

You were about to say more when Nikto pointed out a blue shadow in the far distance.

“It’s just up there!” he immediately surged ahead, forcing you and Kim to work overtime to catch up.

When you managed to get by his side, you finally got to admire the wreck in all its decrepit glory. The wood creaked with the currents as schools of colourful fish flitted between the railings. A hole had been smashed into the side, probably where the human’s house had crashed into the side of the reef. The skeletons of dead corals lay scattered about with careless abandon. 

“This was Hutch’s den?” you asked as you slowly crept forward.

“It was,” Kim pushed you into the hole, “now go!”

You tumbled down into the dark with a squeak.

When you gathered your bearings, you were able to figure out roughly where you were. Wood walls surrounded you on all sides, save for the spot Kim had shoved you through. The holes punctured in the sides of the house let in a shaft of light that speared through the waters. Something seemed terribly wrong about this place. It felt… Haunted.

“I don’t hear you looking for treasure!” Kim called from outside.

“On it,” you called back and ducked down to the sand.

As your eyes adjusted to the low light, you started to see various things begin to form in the dark. Tall statues of humans holding up strange bowls with stems on them. There were other odd objects, like bizarre four-legged animals and what you could only barely think looked like birds. Did the humans like these sorts of things?

Gold, silver, copper and brass shone before your very eyes. And yet, none of it seemed good enough.

“How’s it going?” you heard Kim again.

“I’m just looking around,” you replied.

There was a glimmer at the corner of your eye. You turned and began to swim towards it. You had to dig your hand through a pile of tiny metal disks, but soon your hands hit something. Wrapping your fingers around it, you wrenched it free of the pile to admire it. As soon as you did, your eyes lit up.

It looked like a bracelet that humans sometimes made. Bright red jewels shaped like perfect pearls were strung together on a chain. It was far too large for you, but you had no doubt it would be perfect for König.

“Got something!” you wormed your way out of the hole you’d been pushed through.

Nikto and Kim helped pull you out and examined your prize.

Kim in particular seemed to be taken aback.

“That’s beautiful,” he murmured as he looked down at your hands.

Nikto glanced around before grabbing your hands and curling them around the bracelet.

“Put that in your bag,” he said in a hushed tone, “you don’t want anyone taking that from you.”

Kim nodded quickly.

Without another word, you slipped it into your bag and patted it shut.

“I think he’ll like it,” you said, “it looks like the red of his skin.”

“It’ll blend into the dark perfectly,” Kim agreed. He looked around briefly. “We should go now,” he muttered, “I don’t like being up here anymore.”

And with that, your trio retreated into the gloom.

—

“König?”

“Ah, there you are!”

Your vision was taken up by König swimming up in front of you and spanning his arms out. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at you.

“Where were you?” he asked sternly, “not hunting again, I hope?”

“Well…” you tried to wiggle past him to get into the nest but were blocked by his tentacles.

“What do you mean?” König leaned in close to your face, “didn’t we just talk about this?”

You gingerly pushed a tentacle away and said, “Yes, but I think you’ll like this.”

“So you brought something back,” König snorted as he let you swim by.

You went into the nest and curled around in the main room. You patted the floor beside you and smiled.

“I don’t like this,” König muttered darkly, but he obliged and sat by your side. Wordlessly he drew you into his lap and tucked his chin over your shoulder.

“I think you’ll like it,” you pulled your bag into your lap and opened it.

König hummed as you dug through your pouch.

“What’s this?” König’s eyes widened slightly as you pulled the bracelet out for him.

“It’s a bracelet,” you said. You rolled the round gems with your finger, then took his hand and pooled it into his palm, “For you.”

König brought the bracelet up to his eyes for a better look. The blue lights sparkled across the surface of the stones as his eyes lit up.

“This is…” König blinked and let it roll into his other hand, “this is incredible. Where did you find this?”

“By the surface,” you smiled.

“The surface?” he hummed, “you’re a little adventurer, aren’t you?”

He ruffled your hair fondly in the soft lighting.

“Do you want to store it somewhere?” you asked, “I think I saw some empty shelves in our den.”

König shook his head, “No, this is too precious for that. I’m keeping this with me.”

He undid the clasp and tucked the bracelet around his wrist. It was a snug fit, but he managed to get it firmly in place. Again he rose his wrist up to admire it properly.

König looked down at you reverently.

“Thank you.”

You felt your cheeks flush and turned away, “It’s nothing. I just thought… It’s nice.”

König clutched his wrist to his chest, then slung his arms around you and hugged you close, enveloping you in his warmth. You turned yourself to press your face into his chest and hugged back as tightly as you could. His body tensed, then relaxed and brought you in until there wasn’t an inch of space between either of you.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“It’s perfect.”

He rubbed your back and muttered something under his breath, then pulled back to brush your hair from your face.

“You’re too good for me.”

“I don’t think so,” you let your hand run down his chest, “I think you’re the one who’s too good for me.”

“Strange,” König sighed, “before you came along I never thought I’d have company.”

“Really?” you frowned, “I thought everyone would’ve wanted to have you as a mate.”

“Hah!” König shook his head wistfully, “if only! I’ve never had a good mating season. Not once.”

For a moment, you both sat there quietly, absorbing the warmth from one another. His heartbeats under your ear, a steady and comforting rhythm in threes. Your eyelids began to droop as you slumped into his body.

“Are you tired after all that?” he asked gently.

You nodded blearily.

“Then let’s get you to the den,” he said and picked you up.

He put you down in a bed of soft algae and pet your head again. You felt yourself slowly drifting away when you felt something hot press against your forehead. As soon as it was there, it left and you opened your eyes to see König pulling his mask down over his jaw as he backed away from you.

“Have a good sleep, little octo.”

Konig Dump

Konig Alternate Universe

Mermaid AU

[nothing-an-iratze-cant-fix]

I think also sometimes these are openings to an expected exchange that autistic people (as well as non-native/fluent speakers depending on how language dependent it is) aren’t always aware is expected. Like, it’s not necessarily expected that you supply lemonade as soon as someone asks *if* you have it. They might still be making up their mind and want to check it’s an option. But it is expected that after confirming you have it, you’ll then check if they want it “Yeah, we’ve got our special strawberry lemonade or our classic - did you want to buy a cup?”. Often I think enquiring *why* a question was asked or a statement was made is a step autistic people are missing unless they have a genuine interest in the answer. Like “Did I tell you I’m going to Paris?” “No.” is not a complete interaction unless you want to be rude but just “when?” Is also not correct. “No, you didn’t! That’s fun, when are you going?” is the expected style of response. But it isn’t necessarily that the second speaker has misunderstood the purpose of the question, it’s just that there’s further interaction expected. It’s not a million miles off op’s original point, I’m just saying sometimes you’re not wrong answering the initial question “literally”, there’s just follow up expected.

has anyone written about autism and layers of locution meanings. like. i only have a little bit of understanding of this but i really dont think "autistic people take things literally" cuts it or is accurate a lot of the time but "autistic people tend to understand locutionary meanings rather than illocutionary meanings" seems to immediately explain a lot more

[thelonelyshore-if]

How did the ROs figure out their queerness?

Give us the thoughts king 👀 if its not spoilery of course

Ahhhh thank you both so much I love love love thinking about this. The ROs mean so much to me and I love thinking about them as people, with all of the experiences that comes with it. Answering below the cut because this is gonna be an essay <3

Beck - ever since Beck was little they knew that sometimes they felt like a boy and sometimes they felt like a girl and sometimes both or neither or something else entirely...but they also didn't fully realize that not everyone felt that way. If her sister got mad at her for stealing & wearing her clothes it was because her sister was mean, not because she was 'supposed to be' something else. If her parents got on their case for not conforming; well, their parents were always on their case. Not anything different when it was because they caught them kissing a boy. It wasn't really until late middle school that Beck fully understood that they were different.

To this day they don't really have the words to describe their gender. They just know it changes, and they do what they can to broadcast that to the people around them. Most people don't get him, but that's nothing new. His sexuality is even more complex too describe in exact words, for him, but he knows he's been attracted to all sorts of people. Queer fits, and he doesn't really feel the need to try to define it further than that.

Croft- unlike all of the other ROs, Croft is from modern day and unquestionably grew up on tumblr lmao. They are very knowledgeable about the spectrum of gender and sexuality. Unfortunately how they figured out that they're trans is a spoiler (it's a story that will be much more fun to read in game lol), but they figured out that they're on the ace spectrum in high school. All of their friends were obsessed with dating and sex and they thought they'd lost their minds. And then eventually (after answering one too many "who do you have a crush on???" questions) they went. Wait a second maybe I'm one one who's different here.

In college, though, they fell desperately and unquestionably in love with their only long term partner to date. She was mysterious and beautiful and a self-described witch...and one of their best friends. Croft was obsessed and realized that maybe they aren't actually fully asexual. Clearly there's the potential for attraction, if they're connected enough to someone. So they mentally adjusted the label they use to demisexual and went on their merry way.

F!Jay- gotta split Jay up because it deeply depends on their gender. But, as I think I've mentioned before, when f!Jay and Yasmin were younger teenagers they had a classic homoerotic teenage best friendship going on. Jay had a massive crush on Yas, they cuddled and held hands all the time, they were each other's first kiss (to ~practice~ ofc). And it was all totally platonic, because they were both girls!!!

Spoiler alert: it wasn't. When Yasmin and Seth started dating Jay felt weirdly jealous and brokenhearted. She talked to her mom about it, and Grace was just like. Honey. Baby girl. And Jay was like but I don't even like girls like that!!! She was in denial for a bit until she joined the co-ed baseball team, realized she spent a bit too long admiring all of her teammates in a way that definitely wasn't platonic, and then went. Oh. Huh.

M!Jay- he really doesn't think about this sort of thing the same way his female counterpart does. Jay is a pretty damn emotionally intelligent guy...but he doesn't really do introspection all that well. So his own path to self discovery was a lot more like. Damn my teammates have nice form. And look great in their baseball pants. And then proceeded to not really think all that deeply about it until he was (unknowingly) fawning over how good one of their male teammates looked and Seth was just like........."bro I love u no matter what you can tell me if you're gay."

And Jay was just silently like. What the hell do you mean I had a crush on your girlfriend for years. And out loud was just like. "I just respect him as a player I don't think he's hot." And Seth said "..........ok." Then Jay went home and thought about it longer and also went. Oh. Huh.

Perri- when it comes to their sexuality, Perri has always kind of suspected? They fall a little bit in love with everybody. Especially people who are nice to them. Not in a way where they assume people are flirting. In fact, Perri doesn't think they've ever been flirted with. No way. They're too awkward and weird. (Perri needs better self confidence). But people are just so pretty, and funny and sweet and interesting...and gender has never really been a limiting factor on that. They really figured it out definitively in middle school, though it took them until high school to actually put it into words and tell other people about being queer.

For Nonbinary!Perri, their gender journey was significantly more complicated than figuring out their sexuality. They tried on a couple of different identities and labels throughout their later middle school years. Having Beck as a best friend kind of made them actually think about their gender and how unhappy they were being seen as their assigned gender. They wondered if maybe they were just the opposite gender and were trans, but that made their skin crawl in the same way. They didn't want to be defined as anything, really. Just themself. So eventually they just figured that their gender is as queer as their sexuality and left it at that.

Ravi- okay so. I can't say a lot about Ravi because of spoilers. Which I'm very sorry about. BUT what I can say is that, for a long time, he figured he had to be gay. He had a boyfriend he loved, after all. If he's a guy attracted to other guys, then there isn't really any other option...right? Even if he noticed girls & other people the exact same way as he did most other boys. It wasn't the same as the heart-pounding, life-ending near obsession he felt for the boy he loved.

After his ex died, Ravi settled on the fact that he'd never fall in love again. (The man has a big storm coming). It wasn't until chatting with Jay and Yasmin about their own queerness that he realized that being bisexual was even an option. He felt kind of silly, after that. Of course it was. He quietly adopted the label and went about his day. It isn't like it matters, since he'll never date anyone else ever again ;)

Yasmin- probably had the easiest time of figuring herself out, save for maybe Croft. Yasmin is, if nothing else, deeply self-confident. She understands herself in a way few other people really do. She's known since she was little that she liked girls as well as boys. She has a distinct memory of telling her parents that she was going to marry Princess Jasmin someday. Her parents acted weridly concerned, until Yasmin clarified that it meant she'd have a pet tiger. They didn't realize that the 'marry a princess' part was just as important as the 'pet tiger' part.

As she grew older she understood that her attraction wasn't really limited to gender...but she still assumed she'd probably marry a man. It's still Easthaven, after all. Plus her parents weren't...the most accepting people in the world.

If Jay is a woman they had their 'friendship', and it made Yasmin blush and her heart beat faster, but she never really thought much of it. Yas is much more comfortable in her sexuality now--in the sense that she's not afraid of what the town would think if she dated a woman or nonbinary person--but...she's in a similar boat as Ravi. Never gonna have another long-term relationship, so it isn't really an issue? At least, that's what she thinks ;)

[missmadella]

Cigarettes and Bullets (Hanma x Reader)

Summary: A game at a gang party spins out of control when someone dares you and Hanma to play Russian Roulette with truth-or-dare questions between rounds. It becomes a twisted challenge of confessions and boundaries—both physical and emotional.

Words: 5848

The music in the warehouse was too loud, the drinks too cheap, and the company far too reckless. You weren't supposed to be here—not really. This was Bonten’s territory, and you? You still wore your old crew’s colors underneath your jacket like a second skin, even if you hadn’t answered to them in a while.

The invitation had come with no name. Just a burner message: “Big names. Big stakes. Don't flake.” It reeked of a trap.

You came anyway.

Now you leaned against a cracked concrete pillar near the back of the building, a half-empty glass of something probably illegal sweating in your hand. Neon lights flickered above, half-hearted strobe effects spinning like dizzy ghosts. You scanned the room. A parade of idiots—laughing too loud, pretending this was a party and not a pressure cooker.

And then, of course, he made an entrance.

Hanma Shuji strolled into the room like he owned it—or better, like he’d already burned it down and was here to enjoy the ashes. Loose black button-down, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes already scanning for trouble. He had that damn grin on, the one you knew too well. The one that meant: I’m bored. I want to make someone bleed.

Unfortunately, tonight, he spotted you.

You took a sip of your drink and turned your eyes away, pretending not to notice. Too late. You could feel him approaching before he even said a word.

“Didn’t expect you here,” he drawled behind you. His voice was smoke and teeth. “I thought your crew had better things to do than slum it with us degenerates.”

“We do,” you said coolly, not turning around. “I just came to see how low Bonten’s standards have gotten.”

He laughed, sharp and amused. It curled in your gut like a match hitting gasoline.

“Still got that mouth on you, huh?” He stepped closer, just enough for you to smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. “Wonder what else it’s good for.”

You finally turned to face him, slow and deliberate. Your eyes locked, and there it was—that static buzz between you. Hatred and heat, hate dressed up as banter, attraction hiding under bloodstains.

“You know, Hanma,” you said, voice low, “every time you speak, I wonder how many brain cells are still rattling around in that skull of yours.”

“Enough to know when someone’s dying to play with me,” he said, grinning wider. “You look like you’re bored, sweetheart. You want to be entertained?”

“By you?” You scoffed. “I’d rather shoot myself.”

“Perfect,” he said, eyes gleaming. “We’ve got just the game for that.”

Before you could respond, someone from the center of the room shouted over the bass-thick music:

“Russian Roulette! Who’s in?!”

The crowd shifted like sharks smelling blood. A chair scraped. A revolver glinted under the cheap lighting as it was placed reverently on a table.

“Well,” Hanma said, leaning closer to murmur against your ear, “speak of the devil.”

You didn’t move.

“You serious?” you said. “That’s not a game.”

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s why it’s fun.” Then, softer: “Unless you’re scared.”

Your gaze snapped to his. There it was. That look. The one that always set your teeth on edge—and set your pulse racing, whether you wanted it to or not.

You shouldn’t have said yes. You shouldn’t have followed him to the table. You shouldn’t have sat across from him, felt that weight in your chest as he lazily spun the chamber.

But you did.

And now it was just the two of you, a steel barrel, and one bullet between what you were, and what you might become.

“Let’s raise the stakes,” Hanma said, eyes gleaming like a knife's edge. “Click or kiss. Dare or die. Your move, baby.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The revolver sat heavy in the middle of the cracked table like a sleeping animal—cold metal, full of teeth. The cylinder gleamed under the flickering club lights, one bullet tucked into its chamber like a secret waiting to be whispered.

There were still a few people crowded around, watching. Laughing nervously. You didn’t know their names. Didn’t care.

Your eyes were on him.

Hanma lounged across from you, long legs spread, elbows slung over the back of his chair like he was on vacation. That damn grin hadn't slipped even once.

“Six chambers,” he said lightly, spinning the gun in a lazy circle. “One bullet. Click, you live. Bang, well—” He gestured loosely upward. “Hope your insurance’s paid up.”

“What’s the point?” you asked, voice flat.

“Winner calls the dare,” he said. “Or truth, if you’re feeling soft. Either way, you pass the round, you get to pull someone’s strings.”

“And if you lose?”

He tilted his head.

“Depends where you’re aiming.”

He stopped the spin and pushed the gun toward you.

“Ladies first.”

You stared down at it. The metal glinted. It didn’t feel like a game. It felt like him. Chaotic. Reckless. Always one twitch away from blowing everything wide open.

“Afraid I’ll show you up on the first go?” you said coolly, reaching for the weapon.

“Afraid you won’t,” he replied, and you hated how soft he said it. Like he knew something you didn’t.

You picked it up. The grip was cold and familiar—you’d held worse in worse situations. The click of the hammer sliding back was louder than the bass shaking the floor.

You lifted the barrel. Pressed it under your chin. Hanma’s grin twitched. Just slightly.

“Y/N,” someone muttered nearby, not laughing anymore.

“Shut up,” you said.

You closed your eyes.

Pulled the trigger.

Click.

Silence.

When you opened your eyes, Hanma was still watching you—but something behind the grin had changed. Something in the stillness of his body, the tilt of his head, the narrowed focus in his eyes.

“Well,” you said, placing the gun back down between you, “guess I win.”

You leaned forward on your elbows, your voice turning sharper.

“Truth. Why do you smile every time someone tries to kill you?”

Hanma didn’t answer at first. He reached forward, slow and calm, and slid the gun back toward himself like it was a piece of fine china.

Then he smiled wider.

“Because in that moment,” he said, tone velvet-smooth, “I know exactly who I am.”

He locked eyes with you.

“And who they’re not.”

A beat passed. One of the onlookers muttered something and slunk away, but neither of you noticed.

You raised a brow.

“You think that’s deep?”

“Nah.” He chuckled. “I think it turns you on.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. But he saw the flicker in your eyes. That heat you tried to smother under the ice.

“Your turn next,” you said, voice like a blade.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hanma purred, spinning the revolver again, “I’ve been waiting all night.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma held the revolver like it was a lover—fingers brushing over the chamber, thumb resting idle on the hammer. He didn’t look at it though. His eyes were on you.

Still grinning.

Still reading you like a book he planned to tear the last page from.

“You nervous yet?” he asked, tipping his head.

“That you’ll chicken out?” you smirked. “Yeah. Terrified.”

He gave a low laugh and lifted the gun.

Didn’t hesitate.

He spun the cylinder fast, the click-click-click echoing louder than it should’ve. You could see his finger twitch on the trigger. You watched him raise it—no drama, no pause—just brought it up to his own temple like it was a glass of water.

He pulled it.

Click.

He exhaled through his grin.

“Guess luck likes me better.”

You didn’t respond. You were too focused on the subtle shift in the air. That something he was about to say. You could feel it before he even spoke.

“Dare,” he said, eyes burning. “Sit in my lap for the next round.”

The words hit like a slap—but not from surprise.

From expectation.

He’d been circling toward this since the first line. Since the first smirk. He was always going to try and close the distance between you. The only question was whether you’d let him.

You blinked slowly. Gave a cool tilt of your head.

“Is that your best shot?”

“Baby,” he said, leaning forward like a shark cutting through dark water, “if I wanted to see you on your knees, I’d wait ‘til round three.”

Your blood throbbed in your ears.

The heat crawling up your spine wasn’t anger anymore. Or if it was, it had tangled itself in something else—something that made your hands ache and your skin tighten.

You didn’t speak. You just stood.

Moved around the table.

The moment stretched.

Hanma spread his legs slightly, lazy and inviting, and tilted his head back to look up at you.

“Clock’s ticking.”

You sat down.

Slowly. Controlled. Like it didn’t matter. Like you couldn’t feel the way his thigh muscles shifted beneath you, or the faint exhale he gave the second you settled your weight.

One of his hands drifted to your hip.

He didn’t grab. He just rested it there, warm and firm.

“See?” he murmured. “Doesn’t it feel better when you stop pretending you hate me?”

You leaned back slightly against his chest, spine rigid, heart hammering despite yourself.

“I don’t pretend,” you said. “I do hate you.”

“Sure.” His voice was low, brushing your ear. “But your hands aren’t shaking because of hate.”

You wanted to hit him.

You wanted to kiss him.

You did neither.

Instead, you stared at the table. At the gun. At the empty glass beside it and the heat bleeding into your skin where his fingers pressed—just enough to remind you he was there. That you were choosing to stay in his lap, even if your pride screamed at you to run.

“Next round,” you said, voice tight.

“Yeah,” he said, already curling his fingers just a little tighter around your waist, “let’s.”

__________________________________________________________________________

His breath was warm against your neck. Too close. Too calm.

Your spine stayed straight, tense, but you couldn’t ignore the weight of his hand at your hip — fingers flexing just enough to remind you: he could hold you there if he wanted to.

But he wasn’t.

He was letting you stay.

Letting you choose.

You reached for the revolver again.

Hanma didn't flinch as you leaned forward, shifting slightly in his lap to get a better grip. His hand dragged along your waist as you moved, slow and unapologetic, like he wanted to remind you exactly where you were.

You held the gun up.

Spin. Click. Click. Click.

The metal whispered across your palm, smooth and indifferent.

You pulled the hammer back. The click of it locking in place was louder than your heartbeat — barely.

You didn’t aim it at yourself this time.

You aimed it at him.

Right under his jaw. One-handed. Casual.

Hanma’s grin sharpened. He didn’t move. Not a single goddamn muscle.

You raised a brow.

“Still smiling?”

“Always.” His voice was low. “Especially when you’re straddling me with a loaded gun.”

You leaned in, mouth near his ear, letting your words melt into his skin.

“You’re too calm.”

“I like living dangerously,” he said. “Especially when it’s pressed up against me.”

“Then tell me something real,” you said, cocking your head slightly. “Truth. Right now. Or I pull the trigger.”

His tongue slid over his lower lip, slow and deliberate. He looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“What do you wanna know, pretty girl?”

You leaned closer. The gun was still resting under his jaw, but now your faces were inches apart. His legs beneath you tensed. You could feel it — the shift from playful to alert.

“What would you do,” you asked softly, “if I pulled the trigger and it wasn’t empty?”

There was a pause.

Not fear. Not hesitation. Something else.

Then he smiled again — but it was different now. Slower. More dangerous. There was a flicker of sincerity in it, buried deep under the madness.

“Depends,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “If you shot me in the heart—I'd thank you for the mercy.”

“And if I aimed for the mouth?”

Hanma chuckled, low and gravel-rough.

“Then I’d haunt you every time someone else tried to kiss you.”

Your pulse kicked hard.

You didn’t know if it was the gun between you or the words or the weight of his hand now inching up the curve of your waist. You didn’t know why your grip tightened on the revolver — from threat, or from the need to ground yourself.

You met his gaze.

“You think that line’s gonna win you the round?”

“I don’t care about winning,” Hanma said, voice curling like smoke. “I just wanna see how far you’ll go.”

The silence between you buzzed.

And then you pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

Again.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Told you,” he said, licking his teeth, “you like it too much to shoot.”

“Or maybe,” you whispered, shifting your weight just enough to make his breath catch, “I’m just saving the bullet.”

The tension now wasn’t just in the air — it was under your skin, under his. A slow burn, tightening, winding, just waiting for the next spark.

And that spark?

Was coming.

___________________________________________________________________________

The air felt heavy now.

Not with fear. Not with adrenaline.

With something far more dangerous.

Expectation.

Your finger slid off the trigger, but you didn’t move away. Neither did he.

His thigh shifted beneath you — a subtle adjustment, but deliberate. He was letting you feel him there, fully. Heat through denim. Solid. Unrelenting.

Hanma’s hand drifted higher, slow and careful. It landed just below your ribs, spreading his palm flat against your side like he was trying to memorize the shape of you without shattering the moment.

“That’s two for two,” he murmured. “Feeling lucky?”

You glanced down at the revolver still warm in your palm. Then back at him.

“Feeling bored,” you said, lips twitching. “Your move, Hanma. Or are you all bark?”

He grinned, but his eyes were dark now. Focused.

“Dare,” he said, without blinking. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t answer.

The dare hung between you like smoke — thick, impossible to ignore. The onlookers were gone now, long since wandered off to find easier games. It was just you and him, sitting in a storm of tension neither of you wanted to name out loud.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice quiet, coaxing. “Scared to find out it’s not hate after all?”

“Maybe I just don’t like losing,” you said.

“Then don’t do it like it’s a loss,” he murmured.

His hand slid around to the small of your back. Not possessive. Not forceful. Just there — anchoring. Steadying.

You swallowed hard.

There was a choice now. And you hated that he was giving it to you.

But you hated more how much you wanted it.

So you moved.

Slowly.

You leaned in — not all at once. Just enough to let the tension build. Just enough to feel his breath catch, his grin flicker.

“No hands,” you whispered. “If you touch me, it doesn’t count.”

His eyes flashed, but he didn’t protest.

You kissed him.

Not soft.

Not sweet.

You kissed him like a dare. Like you were proving a point and punishing him for it all at once. Your fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, your mouth claiming his like you were trying to silence that grin for good.

And Hanma?

He let you.

He didn’t chase. Didn’t deepen it. He stayed exactly where he was — letting you lead. Letting you press forward, demanding, angry, heated.

When you pulled back, breath shallow, he looked at you like he’d just watched a building collapse in slow motion.

Then he smiled.

A little softer this time.

“That the best you got?”

“Don’t test me,” you muttered.

“Why not?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “You look so good when you’re trying to win.”

The revolver sat between you again.

But the real game?

Had already changed.

___________________________________________________________________________

The revolver felt heavy in your hand as you picked it up again. The metal cool against your palm, but your heart was anything but.

Hanma’s grin was cocky as ever, his dark eyes locked on yours like he was daring you to make a move.

“Back for more, huh?” he teased, voice low and rough. “You sure you want to keep playing with fire?”

You cocked an eyebrow, raising the gun slowly—aiming it straight at his temple.

“Only if you’re ready to get burned.”

Hanma’s grin widened, and instead of flinching, his hand shot out—gripping your wrist with a firm but teasing strength.

Before you could react, he pulled you forward with surprising force, spinning you around to settle directly on his lap, facing him.

His other hand slipped the revolver from your sleeve, sliding it away like a prized possession he was claiming.

“I think I’m the one who’s got the fire now,” he said, voice low, eyes dark with challenge.

Your breath hitched as his fingers curled around your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

“So,” he whispered, “why don’t you show me what you’re really made of?”

You swallowed, heart pounding in your ears, and then he leaned in—his lips brushing yours with the faintest touch.

You responded instantly, lips crashing against his in a kiss that was fierce and hungry, like a wildfire racing out of control.

His hands tangled in your hair, holding you tight as the heat between you exploded.

The revolver lay forgotten somewhere behind you, the game long over.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Hanma’s grin softened—less cocky, more satisfied.

“Guess neither of us’s winning or losing,” he said with a slow smile. “Just burning.”

You laughed softly, heart still racing.

“Then let’s not put out the flames.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The revolver lay on its side on the couch, just a few inches away, the cold metal catching a sliver of light — forgotten but not gone.

You were in his lap still, twisted to face him, knees bracketing his thighs. Hanma shifted beneath you, and you went with it — riding the movement as he turned, reclining halfway back against the right side of the couch, dragging you down with him.

Your legs followed instinct, straddling him. His hands? Everywhere. Greedy and sure. One on your back, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt like he already owned the skin underneath.

You kissed him again, slower this time, deeper — not to win, but because it felt like losing would taste like this.

“You’re lucky I didn’t pull that trigger,” you breathed against his mouth.

Hanma’s hand slid to your jaw, fingers rough under your chin as he tilted your head, lazy and smug.

“Please,” he muttered, lips brushing your throat now. “You wouldn’t risk damaging the merchandise.”

You scoffed and bit back a moan as his mouth found that spot just under your jaw.

“You talk so much for someone who begged for a kiss two rounds ago.”

He laughed, hot against your neck, and then sank his teeth in just enough to make you gasp.

“I didn’t beg,” he said, voice gravel low. “I dared you. Big difference.”

“Right,” you muttered, breath hitching as his hand trailed down your side, gripping your thigh hard enough to anchor you to him. “Because all your dares just happen to end with your mouth on mine.”

He smirked up at you, tongue flicking against his lip like he was thinking about what to do next.

“If I’d known kissing you shut you up this well, I would’ve lost the first round on purpose.”

You leaned down, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, mouth ghosting over his like a threat.

“You say that now,” you whispered, “but you couldn’t shut up if your life depended on it.”

Hanma’s hands gripped your hips, rolling you against him with maddening slowness. His voice dropped.

“Try me.”

You kissed him again, harder this time — open-mouthed, hungry, full of the frustration and thrill you’d both been dragging behind you for too long.

His fingers dug in, pulling you closer, deeper. One hand tangled in your hair, the other still exploring, shameless and urgent. The couch creaked under your weight, but neither of you noticed.

Somewhere nearby, the revolver gleamed from its place on the cushion — but it wasn’t the threat anymore.

You were.

And so was he.

___________________________________________________________________________

The party blurred behind them, forgotten the second Hanma took your hand and pulled you outside.

No words. No goodbyes. Just the heat between your bodies trailing behind like smoke.

His car was sleek and black, purring like something alive as he unlocked it with a lazy flick of his wrist.

“Get in,” he said, like it was a dare and a promise.

You slid in, still high from the kiss, still burning from the weight of his hands on your skin.

But the second he sat behind the wheel, you shifted. Deliberate. Confident.

You straddled his lap sideways, legs stretched across the console, your thigh brushing against the gearshift, lips ghosting just near his ear.

“You gonna drive,” you murmured, fingers trailing down his chest, “or are we gonna sit here pretending not to want the same thing?”

He didn’t answer. Just started the engine with one hand and curled the other around your waist.

“Keep distracting me like that,” he said, voice low and thick, “and we’re gonna crash straight into something.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing since the first round?” you quipped.

Hanma grinned — but it was laced with hunger now.

As he pulled onto the road, you kissed him. Not gently. Not safely. You leaned in and claimed his mouth like the night wasn’t done with you yet.

He swore under his breath, hand tightening on your thigh, his other steady on the wheel.

“You’re gonna get us killed,” he muttered into your mouth.

“Then drive faster.”

He did.

The city streaked past in a blur of lights and shadow. Inside the car, time didn’t exist. Your hands were in his hair, your mouth at his jaw, your teeth grazing his skin like a brand.

He kissed you at red lights. Bit your bottom lip when you teased him too hard. And every time you pulled away, he pulled you back in like he couldn’t stand the space between.

And when he finally pulled into the underground garage of his penthouse building, he didn’t wait.

The second the engine shut off, Hanma’s hands found your hips again.

“Come here,” he growled — voice low, rough, desperate — and you did, climbing fully into his lap now, straddling him with no seatbelt, no barriers.

He kissed you like he wanted to leave marks. And you kissed back like you already had.

When he finally opened the car door, you slid off him with a cocky smirk, breathless, hair a mess.

“Hope your neighbors are quiet,” you murmured, “’cause I’m not.”

He chuckled darkly, slamming the door and scooping you up into his arms like it cost him nothing.

“We’re on the top floor,” he said, walking toward the elevator. “No one above us to hear.”

“But below?”

“Let them.”

The elevator ride was a blur — more kisses, more hands, your legs around his waist, your laugh caught between sighs and curses.

And then the doors opened.

The penthouse was dark, sleek, towering over the city in glass and marble — but neither of you looked at it.

Hanma didn’t even pause.

He carried you through the threshold like you were something he’d won.

Still kissing you.

Still lost in you.

And you let him — not because you were his, but because in that moment, nothing had ever felt more like mutual destruction.

And you both wanted the explosion.

___________________________________________________________________________

The door shut behind you with a quiet click, sealing the night outside. The air inside was still, dim, and warm — but it couldn’t compete with the heat already pulsing between you.

You barely made it five steps inside before Hanma was kissing you again. No hesitation. No games. Just mouths crashing together like magnets pulled too tight, too long.

You pressed into him, fingers curled in his shirt like anchors. His coat hit the floor. Your back met the nearest wall. His hands didn’t stop moving.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your skin, voice raw. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Then show me,” you whispered.

He growled low in his throat, and something snapped — the way tension breaks only after it’s been wound for too many rounds.

He kissed you like he’d been starving. Like every smirk, every dare, every bullet that didn’t fire was just foreplay to this.

“You’re mine tonight, doll,” he murmured at your neck, voice dark silk and flame. “Not running. Not fighting.”

You should’ve hated that word. Doll. But when it came from his mouth — low, hot, possessive — it curled in your stomach like lightning.

“You always talk this much?” you gasped, nails scraping his shoulders.

“Only when I’m about to ruin something good,” he said, grinning against your collarbone.

His touch was everywhere.

Hot. Fierce. Sure.

Not rushed — just hungry, like his hands had been waiting to map your skin forever and finally had permission to claim every inch.

And you let him.

Because this wasn’t surrender.

This was what happened when two people too proud to admit they wanted each other finally stopped pretending.

His lips, his hands, the way your bodies locked together like they knew the rhythm already — it wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle.

It was inevitable.

You pulled him down with you onto the bed, breathless, aching, your mouth still on his even as you gasped for air.

You didn’t speak. Not because there wasn’t anything to say — but because it would’ve shattered the moment. The illusion. The thrill of pretending it was just heat and not something else catching fire beneath it.

When he finally slowed — when his mouth hovered just above yours, breathing ragged, chest rising fast — he looked at you like he was seeing something he hadn’t let himself before.

“Should’ve done this the first time you pulled that gun on me,” he muttered.

You smirked, tracing your fingers along his jaw.

“I still might.”

“God, I like you dangerous.”

And then he kissed you again.

And this time, it didn’t feel like losing. It felt like coming home through fire.

__________________________________________________________________________

The first light of morning spilled through the tall glass windows — soft and golden, stretching across the polished floors like the night hadn’t just set the world on fire.

You stirred in the bed, skin warm against silk sheets, the scent of him still clinging to every inch of you. Your limbs ached — not from discomfort, but from the kind of night that rewrote things. That crossed lines without asking permission.

You blinked, turning your head slowly — and there he was.

Hanma.

Still here.

Propped on one elbow, bare chest rising and falling, dark hair a mess against the pillow. His eyes found you the second you moved.

But he didn’t speak. Not right away.

He just looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize the way you looked tangled in his bed. Like he hadn’t planned for this but couldn’t stop coming back to it.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, voice husky from sleep and something deeper.

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease.

Instead, his hand moved — slow and sure — brushing hair from your face, then down, tracing your bare shoulder like he had every right.

“Can you blame me, doll?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Look at you.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk twitching at the edge of your lips.

“You already had me. More than once, if I remember right.”

That earned a faint, crooked smile — but it didn’t have his usual bite. It was quieter. And that silence hung in the air — thick with everything he wasn’t saying.

He leaned in slowly, lips brushing your neck, your jaw, your collarbone — all over again like the night hadn’t ended. Like he couldn’t help it.

His hand slid over your waist, pulling you in close until you were against him again, skin to skin, heart to heart.

“Still not done with you,” he breathed.

And it wasn’t just lust. It was need.

He kissed you like you were a question he didn’t want answered. Like keeping his mouth on yours would stop the truth from slipping out — the truth that whatever this was, it wasn’t just about the game anymore.

You kissed him back just as hard. Just as wordless.

Because maybe neither of you could say it yet.

But it was there.

In the way he touched you like he owned the morning. In the way your name left his mouth like a secret he wanted to keep. In the way he pulled you back under the sheets with him, kissing you like you’d disappear if he let go.

The revolver was still on the dresser. But no one reached for it.

There were no more dares.

Just the slow, burning realization that whatever this was between you — it was no longer something either of you could walk away from.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sheets were tangled around your legs, skin flushed, his breath warm where it brushed your collarbone.

Hanma lay beside you, half on his side, hand resting on your stomach — possessive in a way he hadn’t put words to, but you felt it all the same.

He hadn’t gotten up. Hadn’t cracked a joke. Hadn’t reached for a cigarette or thrown on his shirt to pretend nothing happened.

He was still here.

And it was starting to feel like that mattered.

You stared at the ceiling, letting the silence stretch between you, full of everything neither of you knew how to say. His fingers drew lazy circles against your skin, like he was calming himself — or you. You didn’t ask.

He finally spoke, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“You always this quiet in the morning, doll?”

You turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable — too calm, too careful. But his hand never stopped moving. Still tracing you like you were something delicate, like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried.

“You always this clingy after throwing someone around?” you shot back, your tone playful but your voice not as steady as you wanted it to be.

He smirked — barely — but didn’t answer.

Instead, his hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face toward him, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You didn’t run,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Neither did you,” you replied.

That hung there.

Loaded.

You held his gaze. The air between you changed — thicker, more fragile. Like if one of you spoke too loud it would break.

You could’ve said it.

You could’ve whispered, “Why does this feel like more?” You could’ve asked, “Would you still kiss me like that if there wasn’t a game between us?”

But your lips parted and nothing came out. Just breath. Just heat.

Hanma leaned in again, kissing you slow this time — not claiming, not rough — just... real. One of those rare, terrifying moments where even he couldn’t hide in the tease.

And when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours like he felt it too. Like he knew you were both standing on the edge of something neither of you had the language for.

“You’re trouble,” he said finally, voice low and full of something heavier than lust.

“You like trouble,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he breathed, fingers still on your skin. “But I didn’t think I’d want to keep it.”

And there it was.

Too close. Too real.

You looked at him, heart thudding. One beat. Two.

But instead of answering — instead of letting it fall apart — you kissed him again.

Because neither of you were ready to say it. Not yet. But you were both feeling it.

And that was more dangerous than any bullet ever could be.

___________________________________________________________________________

The room was high-rise glass and shadow — the kind of expensive that whispered rather than screamed. Hanma stood near the window, backlit by the dying light of the city. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled to the forearms, tie loose like it had been tugged at one too many times.

Which was fitting.

His client — some uptight exec with more money than manners — was still rambling, pouring another drink like the meeting wasn’t long past its expiration.

Hanma’s patience thinned by the minute, but he hadn’t moved. Just leaned into the window, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp, wearing that smirk that made men nervous.

The door clicked open behind them.

You stepped in — slow, deliberate. Dressed to kill, smile lazy and just this side of dangerous.

The click of your heels on the marble made the man glance up. But Hanma didn’t turn.

Not until you were right behind him.

You slid a hand around his tie, tugged — hard enough to snap his attention to you. He looked down at you, mouth quirking up like he already knew he was in trouble.

“You done playing nice?” you murmured, voice sweet with an edge. “Or do I need to put a bullet in you so we’re not late again, baby?”

The client froze. Eyes wide. Stammering something about giving space. Something about rescheduling. He didn’t even wait for a reply — just gathered his files and practically sprinted out of the room.

The door shut.

Silence.

Hanma’s grin spread wide.

“Not the first time you’ve threatened me with a gun, doll,” he said, voice low and full of amusement.

You pulled him closer by his tie until your lips brushed his.

“Didn’t think you’d still like it after all this time,” you said.

“Are you kidding?” he murmured, tilting his head so his nose grazed yours. “That night was the best game I ever lost.”

Your hand flattened against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under his shirt — the shirt you bought him, the tie you’d pulled off him a hundred times.

And then, soft enough for only him:

“You keep making me wait like that, and I’ll start carrying again.”

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you slow — not rushed, not rough — the kind of kiss that said this is mine, and I know you know it.

His hand slid to your hip. The light caught on the simple band around your finger. A matching one on his hand.

Still not mentioned. Still unspoken. But there it was.

“Dinner, huh?” he said against your mouth.

“Reservation’s in fifteen,” you whispered.

“We’ve got ten to spare.”

You rolled your eyes — but you didn’t pull away.

Because he was yours. And you were his. Still wild. Still dangerous.

Just with rings now.

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

ahhh it's so lovely to see you active again! i always held hope you would return to these boys, i love your writing so <3

as for a prompt, maybe an experienced, confident draco with a hopelessly smitten but has 0 game harry? 😳

Thank you! ❤️ I love me some cocky!Draco and severely poor flirt!Harry (just as much as I love the opposite of it ig)

~

Harry paused outside the Department of International Magical Cooperation to quickly sniff at his own armpits. They didn't smell like anything in particular.

The door squeaked softly as Harry opened it. The cool, scented air of the office wafted over Harry's sweaty face.

At his desk outside the Chief's office, Malfoy looked up from his frantic scribbling.

"Thanks for knocking," he said tonelessly, brushing his hair off his face.

Harry swiped a sleeve over his damp forehead. Then he knocked on the door. Malfoy pursed his lips.

"You're already inside."

Harry gulped. He held up the files he'd brought. "I have the Luxembourg files he wanted."

"Thanks," said Malfoy, bending over his notes again. When Harry neither set down the files nor made any other movement, he looked up again. "What," he said fllatly.

"What are you doing this weekend?" Harry blurted.

"Committing arson," Malfoy said, looking him dead in the eye.

"Where?" asked Harry, startled.

"I haven't decided, I'll let you know."

"That's good, then. Owl me," Harry said with a dry chuckle. Malfoy just stared impassively. "Er. No, really. I wish you'd owl me. For... About...um, anything."

"Thanks," Malfoy said again. "I'll get right on that."

Helplessly, Harry shifted the files he carried to his right hand and furtively glanced at the barely legible scrawls on his left palm.

"Uh, you-- What do you like to do for fan?" Harry squinted. "Fun!" he quickly corrected. Smooth.

Malfoy didn't answer. He dipped his quill into the pot of green ink and resumed scratching away. Harry stood there.

"How do you get your hair so shiny," Harry read off his palm.

"It's a wig."

Harry had to lift his palm closer; he'd had to cram in the rest in very small print.

He'd written 'Expelliarmus'. He considered it carefully and after a full thirty second pause he said,

"Are you 'Expelliarmus' because you disarm me."

Malfoy sighed and set down his quill. He stared up at Harry with his fingers interlaced. He looked like he was trying not to laugh and boo Harry out of the office.

"It's just," Harry struggled, "It's my favourite spell."

"So I've heard," Malfoy said. "No, Potter. I am not 'Expelliarmus'. I prefer being likened to 'Crucio'."

Harry forced a laugh but Malfoy didn't even crack a smile. So Harry checked his hand again and the last thing on his list was just 'broomstick'.

"Want to ride my broomstick?" he said loudly. "I have a really good broomstick. It's fast. Fast as fuck. And quite heavy. I just polished it last night too."

Malfoy's jaw had dropped at Harry's question and by the time Harry had said the rest of it he looked like he might burst, lips sealed together tightly, eyes bulging a bit, hands clenched.

"You...want me to ride your broomstick?" Malfoy asked, speaking very slowly, enunciating each word carefully.

Harry was going to faint. Blackness crept into his vision and he swayed a little where he stood.

"I-- I meant," he choked out, "I'm talking about my actual broomstick. I just got the Firebolt 7 and it's not out in the market yet and they sent me the first piece and-- and it's really--"

"Potter," said Malfoy, unlacing his fingers and picking up his quill again. "You're very lucky that I like dunderheads like yourself. It makes me feel extraordinarily smart." He was licking his lips over a smile and shuffling his paperwork as he spoke, quill held between two fingers. He was so fucking handsome, Harry wanted to vomit.

"So...?" Harry bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited.

"Three Broomsticks at Diagon. 6 pm," Malfoy said, ducking over his files once more. Then he added, "Bring your broomstick, Potter."

~

[zepskies]

Oooh, SO many interesting developments happening in this chapter. 😏

First of all, love the heavy hints of attraction between reader and Beau. Of COURSE sexy sheriff triggers her heat. 😝❤️‍🔥 But so very interesting that he chooses to help her out by bringing her to his own house (a nice upgrade on the house vs. the "tin can" trailer too! 😂). Emily's interjections on the way they're already circling each other, their scents "mingling," was so fun lol. I think Beau hit it on the head with Tim -- I think they are true mates!! 😍

You aren’t just horny, moron. You can’t get her scent out of your head. Now why would that be? Remember health class? Biology? That thing we didn’t pay attention in? Bet you wished you had right now cause the answer is buried way in the back drawer of your subconscious under all that useful knowledge of the stats of your fantasy football team. 

Hahaaa how I cackled at his inner monologue here! I love the "buried way in the back drawer of your subconscious under all that useful knowledge of the stats of your fantasy football team." Oh, so useful. 😂 My back drawer is where I keep my neatly organized files of every time Jackles has gifted us with the Single Man Tear. 🥲😆

But probably before reader and Beau can explore this newfound potential true mates situation, they gotta deal with this Primal Alpha (kudos to Emily for figuring that one out)! So ominous and creepy. 🫢

What I love about your omegaverse stories is that they always bring something unique to the narrative as far as the A/B/O lore, down to the science with the Rutcans in aerosol form, the medications given to the reader to help her with her heat chemically, and even dealing with the Primal Alpha's saliva messing with her heat. 🤢

“I ain’t the dumb hick cop you must think I am,” said Beau, sliding to his feet, turning to you with a smile. “Let’s see how much I know already for fun, hm? See Timmy here is a US Marshal, formerly out of the Boston office. He went on a sabbatical ten months ago.”

Lolll get him, Beau!! Emily gets those smarts from somewhere, and it was so interesting seeing Beau and Tim play off each other in this scene as Beau exposes what he knows about this US Marshal, and what they both find out through this conversation.

Also, I absolutely cackled at the return of "Barlen" and Tim teasing him a bit --

“First off, you couldn’t handle me, Barlen.” He looked over his shoulder, a dark smirk on his face. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re handsome and my sister’s type but the whole divorced, dad to a teenager, in his fifties means I don’t even have to threaten you. Once her heat’s passed, she ain’t even going to look at you.” “I’m forty three, fuckhead.” He just smiled, egging me on.

And that reveal about reader's father was sooo! 🤯🤯 I've noticed this before in your fics of the father of the heroine being corrupt or "in on it" somehow, which is super interesting (if traumatic for her 🥲). You warned this in your AN, but I already have soooo many more questions!

Why would her father orchestrate sending Tim and his daughter somehow following this serial killer? Is he somehow working with the Primal Alpha, or is he trying to lure him out? Knowing you, there are going to be even more twists in store, but I'm biting my nails at that cliffhanger especially!! Poor Em's been through so much already! Please let her not be hurt, or poor Barlen's gonna go insane! 😭😭

Primal (Part 2)

Summary: The reader and her mysterious friend are forced to come clean to Beau about who they are. Beau still has questions he needs answered though, and when the reader's heat returns, bringing them both home seems like the smartest choice. But the question of the reader's strange heat puzzles them until Emily voices a theory, one that means they're dealing with something far worse than just a serial killer...

Primal Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Beau Arlen x Omega!reader

Word Count: 7,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, violence, drugging, serial killers, death, kidnapping, mention of human trafficking

A/N: Here we go with Part 2! Lots of answers in this part and even more questions!

Reader POV

Thirty Minutes Later

“Oh, what the fuck, Y/N.” You waved awkwardly to the Alpha that was frowning as you walked into the interrogation room. Both of you now wore a pair of Helena PD sweatpants and t-shirt but his annoyed glare remained unchanged. “You moron. You could have walked away. You-”

“Nice to see you too, bud. Always love the compliments,” you said, Beau brushing past you, gently shutting the door behind you.

“Hello. Barclay.” Your jaw dropped, Barclay’s eyes raging as they settled on you. “Tim Barclay. Y/N Y/L/N. Now you two are a long way from home.”

“You told him?” he snarled. You shook your head, Beau smiling happily as he sat up on top of the table.

“No, no. She tried to come up with some half-cocked plan to get you out without us running your prints,” said Beau. Barclay scrunched his brow. “I know what you’re thinking. We didn’t take your prints. Oh but see we did. You had your hands all over that stretcher.”

“Fucker,” Tim grumbled. Beau lifted his chin, looking down his nose at him. “I ain’t saying a fucking word.”

“I ain’t the dumb hick cop you must think I am,” said Beau, sliding to his feet, turning to you with a smile. “Let’s see how much I know already for fun, hm? See Timmy here is a US Marshal, formerly out of the Boston office. He went on a sabbatical ten months ago.”

Beau stepped over to you, tilting his head. You swallowed under his intense gaze, his scent floating around you, making your head dizzy.

“Did you know Tim’s old supervisor took him under his wing when he first started? Poor kid didn’t have much in the way of family. That supervisor invited the young man around for family dinners with his own wife and kid daughter and all that. Turns out Tim was like a big brother to that little girl. Cute story, huh?”

Beau pulled out a phone and spun it around, showing a picture from Tim’s instagram. A throwback of when he’d spent his first Christmas with you and your parents. You closed your eyes, Beau clicking his tongue. 

“Throwback Thursday to that time the little brat gave me the nightmare fuel teddy bear #FrankenBear.” Beau hummed. “Oh and my favorite is the response from a profile with a striking resemblance to you. ‘First off I was eleven and handmade that shit. Second, I remember you bawling like a baby when you opened it, dumbass. #ungratefulbrothers #Imgettingyouacreepyassdollthisyear’.” 

You took a seat at the table, Beau sitting down across from you. He looked to Tim who was breathing deeply, hands in fists from where he was cuffed to the table.

“Why are you protecting your sister, Tim?” 

“She’s not my sister,” he said, peeling open his eyes. “...Legally speaking.”

“Why are you protecting Y/N?” he asked again. Barclay ignored Beau, frowning like he did when he was worried. He stared at you, his scent growing nervous. 

“Because of me,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to his lap. You sighed, Beau leaning back in his seat, glancing at you. 

“Tim worked a big case last fall. Illegal drug smuggling. Pharmaceuticals. It targeted Heat and Rut medications that were sold on the black market to traffickers for control purposes. He was part of the task force.” You found Beau’s face, his eyes cautious. “One man was killed during the raid…by Tim.”

“His brother wants an eye for an eye.” Tim closed his eyes, scrapped up knuckles showing the white of his bones. “I killed his brother so he wants Y/N dead. Only problem is he’s former special ops and he made off with an obnoxious amount of heat inducers. He’s been targeting women that look like Y/N. We’ve bounced around the country but he always follows us. Somehow he has inside information which is why we can’t trust anyone, even law enforcement.”

“We’ve been in Helena two months. Tim finally let me go out of my own tonight for the first time since this all started.” You put your arms on the table, resting your head in them, a wave of exhaustion rolling over you. “It’s my fault this happened.”

“Hey. No, it’s not. I should have been there,” said Tim. You peeled open an eye, his expression softening. He sighed, angling his body towards the sheriff. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have, Arlen. Shit, arrest me for what I did to your officer back at the hospital. But let Y/N go rest somewhere and for the love of god, keep her safe.”

Beau let his gaze wander, your head raising under his heated stare. Your nose twitched, his scent turning musky, your own responding in kind. Tim looked between you, narrowing his eyes.

“Why the fuck are you two eye fucking?” You blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to your abdomen and the heated coil that began to simmer. 

“I uh…need the ladies room,” you said, rushing out of the room and heading down a hall. You shoved open a door and went to the sink, turning the faucet on to splash cold water in your face.

“Are you alright?” You turned, water droplets running down your cheeks. Beau stood in the open door, one large hand splayed against it, his scent coming off even stronger now. His eyes tracked down your body, lingering in way that made your insides clench. “You’re going into heat again, aren’t you.”

“Yup. That is a thing that’s happening,” you said, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I thought the heat stopper worked?”

“It smells…natural.” He wiped a hand over his face, holding it up. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not…scenting you or anything. It’s just…”

“My hormones are all screwed up. I’m sure you smelling like that…” Your cheeks were on fire, slick dampening between your thighs at the thought of being so near a strong, protective Alpha. You cleared your throat. “It just triggered a natural heat I’m sure.” He hummed, both of you ignoring the way you could clearly smell the growing arousal in the air. “You should probably take me to the hospital to be safe.”

He frowned, making a face. “Normally I’d agree with you but there sort of is a serial killer on the loose and given their proven access to heat inducers, we are likely dealing with someone with access to the hospital. I can’t guarantee your safety there.”

“Right,” you said, pointing a finger at him, nodding your head. “Good call a rooney.”

Oh god, someone please drop me off to that killer after all so I don’t die of embarrassment first.

He opened his mouth, pressing his pink lips closed after a moment. He debated something internally before he looked at the ceiling with a wince. “The last place you should be having a heat is a filthy police station with a bunch of criminals down the hall. I…do have a safe place you could have it. And a way to keep Barclay out of the system potentially. Not saying I buy his story but I can keep things on the down low while I look into things.”

“I’m all ears, sheriff.”

Two Hours Later

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” asked Dr. Olson. You hummed from the warm bed you were curled up in, not even bothering to open your eyes. 

God damn, Beau had a comfy bed. A nice, big, soft, full of musky Alpha scent woven into every trace of fabric, bed. He was working downstairs while you rode out a nice, drug-aided heat in his room. Dr. Olson and a nurse Beau knew personally were spending the night along with at least three officers. You’d tried to explain that you could suffer through in his office at the station once you realized how much work you were causing but Beau had an ulterior motive for bringing you home it seemed.

Namely, he had a seventeen year old daughter and the fact he was personally protecting her at home while a serial killer was running around his town?

Yeah, that was not helping this whole, “sexy sheriff made you go into heat” thing. 

“Dr. Olson, my dad wants to talk to you?” You slowly opened your eyes, the doctor leaving as you caught sight of the young woman with dark hair. The nurse excused herself to the guest room next door, leaving the two of you alone. She smiled at you, stepping in for a moment. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’ll sleep this off and be better by morning,” you said, the faintest whiff of her light, airy scent in the room. “I promise being an omega normally isn’t like this.”

“That’s what the nurse said.” She came in more, sitting at the end of the bed when you nodded. “When did you get your first full on heat?”

“Early twenties is normal. I’m thirty two and have been having them a decade. They aren’t so bad,” you said, sitting up and leaning back against the stacks of pillows behind you. She looked worried though. “Your first one will be your worst one since you have to go through it without medicine. After that though, it’s a breeze. This is so completely not normal.”

“Do Alphas really trigger heats? Cause like, I know my dad gave you Blaze on the street and then you got better and then you went into heat again after hanging out with him…”

“Um,” you said, scratching your head. You didn’t really want to be talking to this girl about how her very handsome father had absolutely triggered her into having a heat. “I mean, yes, they can if you don’t stick to your regular cycle. True mates can do that too. My hormones are very all over the place right now and I haven’t had one in a while so your dad probably played a small part in it but that’s all completely normal and-”

“He thinks you’re hot.” You blinked, the girl shrugging. “He can’t keep his eyes off you, not to mention he’s doing that musky thing with his scent which last time I smelled that I was ten and walked in on my parents which was scarring enough but yeah, he’s like, into you. Just thought you should know.”

“I’m sure your dad isn’t into me,” you said with a smile, while she hummed. “You’ll learn this but when an omega goes into heat in public, it makes the Alphas…eager. Our heats can trigger their ruts so I’m sure all you think you’re picking up is an Alpha and Omega scenting each other.”

“The doctor told him the only reason you would have gone into heat again so soon after the stopper was because you scented ‘desire’ from an Alpha. And then his face got beat red and then he took a scent blocker but I’m sure you’re right. He’s-”

“Emily, right?” you asked. She hummed, her face knowing she’d overstepped. “Emily…to put this really bluntly, when an Alpha smells an omega in heat, it makes them want to have sex. All you smelled was him getting turned on when I had some very strong heat scents going on. I’m sure he’s a very nice man but that’s all it was. Okay?”

“Sure, cause it’s totally normal for him to bring some random omega home but what do I know. My dad’s just horny, hm?” She got up and you sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this but I know him. He likes you.”

“Alright,” you resigned, slipping down in the bed, a wave of drowsiness washing over you. “You can tell me how much he likes me after I sleep this off.”

“See? Told you I was right,” she hummed before heading out of the room.

“Kids,” you mumbled, shaking your head. Sure, Beau was attractive and smelled nice…and okay, he was letting you stay in his home…and hadn’t charged Tim with anything yet as far as you knew. But he was just doing his job. He was being nice. He didn’t think of you as anything more than a poor victim. You hadn’t dated or been with anyone in a long time so sure, the hot protective guy paying special attention to you? It was a little crush was all. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you burrowed your nose in his sheets, wishing he was beside you in that bed. 

Beau POV

The October night air was cool, cutting through my flannel shirt, a sharpness to it that sent a chill down my spine. My gaze darted around the property, an unsettling feeling of being watched cascading over the house. I knew I had my officers around the entrances. Logically, this place was secure. Hunter wouldn’t dare try something here.

True, Emily and I didn’t exactly live in the suburbs. The rustic style house was bigger than the two of us needed but after all the shit she went through with that nutjob family at the camp, I wasn’t above buying the first place that put a smile on her face. We had a few acres that backed up to the woods and surrounded the property. A short minute walk through them on either side lead to the neighbors. 

Unease weighed down as I looked around again. The sun was long gone and I couldn’t make out trees I knew were there from the smear of darkness that enveloped our lit up hideaway.

Goddamnit. I came out here to get some clear air, not fucking paranoid.

I stepped off the porch and to the front path of pavers, veering off it to wander out into the grass about thirty or so feet away. The air was crisp, maybe coming off the mountains tonight. I closed my eyes, hoping the breeze would help the pounding in my head.

A serial killer was running around my town and making fools of my officers. I had information overload on Marshal Tim Barclay. I’d need to talk to him alone soon. On paper, on the premise of facts, I’d be stupid not to suspect he was Hunter. Statistically, you were much more likely to be killed by someone you know and it wouldn’t be some insane stretch to think for some reason, he was manipulating Y/N all along. 

If it were him, that’d be so fucking convenient for me. A nice little bow on the end of a long, emotionally draining, case. But my gut kept throwing up warning flags, flashing neon signs that Barclay truly was nothing more than a guy protective of his kid sister. 

Kid. More like a thirty two year old woman with a body that had me adjusting my underwear more than an acceptable amount tonight. The whole damn house smelled like her. Her goddamn scent was…

“Stop,” I growled when I felt my dick twitch in my jeans. I rubbed my temples, walking out further from the house. Y/N was simply an incredibly attractive, incredibly in heat, omega that was triggering the fact I hadn’t been laid in nearly three years. That was all whatever this…feeling was. 

My hand went to my stomach when a curl of wrongness settled there sending another message upstairs.

You aren’t just horny, moron. You can’t get her scent out of your head. Now why would that be? Remember health class? Biology? That thing we didn’t pay attention in? Bet you wished you had right now cause the answer is buried way in the back drawer of your subconscious under all that useful knowledge of the stats of your fantasy football team. 

The air clearly wasn’t helping and bringing Y/N here was a stupid idea. But I just…couldn’t leave her at the station, couldn’t stay away from her. I couldn’t have Tim booked into the system, a nauseous wave overcoming me each time I thought I’d be better off to formally charge him as Hunter.

He wasn’t crazy. He was scared for Y/N like any good brother would be in this situation. And her? Y/N was a victim that had an Alpha nearly a dozen years older in a tail spin because his job was to catch who hurt her and all he could think about was the vanilla scent that followed her wherever she went.

Forget about Y/N and go back to work. I stormed back inside, my head probably more confused than when I left. I glanced one to the right where the closed doors of the den were. It was quiet inside the room. Good. I’d deal with him later.

“Em, bed time,” I said when went down the hall and found her in the open kitchen making popcorn. She pretended not to hear me, bypassing me as she got out a glass from the cabinet. I stood by the island, crossing my arms, growing impatient as she filled it with cold water from the tap. “Emily. You have to be at the airport at six in the morning. It’s nearly ten. Go. To. Bed.”

“It’s 9:15, old timer,” she scoffed, spinning around with a frown. “I’m already packed and I promise I will be up at 5:30. I’ll sleep on the plane.”

“Emily, I-” She held up a hand, my eyebrows raising.

“There’s a cop on the front porch. There’s a cop on the back porch. There’s a cop by the garage door. Not to mention there’s a doctor and nurse upstairs in your bedroom with that sleeping woman. Then there’s that hot, angry looking guy in the den-”

“I told you not to go in there,” I growled. She held up her hands, her scent growing more tense right along with mine. Why wouldn’t she just go up to her room and sleep and give me one less thing to worry about tonight? “Emily. There is a lot of shit going on-”

“I didn’t go in the stupid den,” she snapped, a bit too much venom behind her words. I breathed deeply, Emily getting her popcorn out of the microwave, pouring it in an empty bowl nearby. “I saw out the window some guy in cuffs got brought into the house and you said don’t go in the den so yeah, I figured that one out. I’m getting sick and tired of everyone treating me like a child. I’m a senior. Seventeen. In a year I’ll be at college living on my own. All you and mom and your friends and even that omega upstairs who I don’t even know…all you do is treat me like an helpless child. Yeah, I got kidnapped last year. Over a year ago. Stop babying me.”

She took her bowl and glass of water, storming off to the living room, the sounds of The Bachelor playing in the distance. I leaned back against the counter, closing my eyes as a dozen conversations from therapy came rolling back. Maybe I’d been too overprotective in the past. Maybe I did need to loosen the reins more. It was a process we’d been working on for over a year and she knew that. But something was going on in town and I needed her clear of this place, no matter how it made her feel.

It was already hard enough to concentrate with Y/N in the house. My gaze wandered away from the family room and to the stairs leading to a dim hallway where she was tucked away. My body buzzed happily for a moment, like it was relishing in the fact she was in our bed right now. 

Y/N being gorgeous as sin wasn’t helping. Her bravery for trying to defend Tim when less than thirty minutes earlier she was in a life or death situation wasn’t great either. It was obvious she cared deeply for him. On top of it all, she escaped a fucking serial killer while drugged to hell. Strong. Intelligent. Beautiful. A kind soul that smelled like walking into a warm bakery on a cold autumn day.

I scratched over the small patch of skin on my neck where my bonding gland was buried deep within, a wave of fuzziness rolling through my body. Wait, that wasn’t lust because of her heat. That was…what the hell was that?

“How the hell did you hold out for so long?” I mumbled to myself. I lasted maybe three minutes from the time I touched Y/N’s neck drenched in the heat inducer to being floored on the ground. From all accounts so far, she’d made it ten from the time she was attacked at the park and made it to the sidewalk in front of the bar.

“You didn’t read that sex ed book you got me, did you.” I glanced up, yanking my hand away when Emily stood there again, her arms crossed. “Heat inducers trigger a heat when an Omega’s cycle isn’t normal. But, if an Omega has a normal cycle like most of them do, the inducer causes a flash point.”

“Like you get flash points right now cause you’re still presenting,” I said quietly, Emily pursing her lips. “So what are me and the doctors missing? A flashpoint is just a mini-heat that lasts for a few minutes.”

“Right. So you gave Y/N the Blaze to stop the flashpoint and she started to get better.”

“But she was not in the middle of a flashpoint. I was there. That was…something worse than a heat.” I said, remembering how hot her scent was, how potent it was. Her shrill, guttural scream as she passed out would be the star of many a nightmares to come.

Emily walked around to the island, taking a seat on a stool. “It temporarily got better and then you sent her into heat again at the station. Now the only reason that could happen would be the really big obvious thing that no one is thinking of because it hasn’t been a thing in over a century when medicine became a thing.” Emily tilted her head, my eyebrows raising. She rolled her eyes. “Dad. That heat inducer was laced with something else. Something they don’t test for because it’s not a thing that happens anymore…Did you seriously not pay attention in history class either?”

“First off, I didn’t take all AP classes like you and second, Em, you’re confusing the hello out of me. What are you even talking about?” She leaned over the island, letting out a groan.

“Way, way, way back in the day, unmated Alpha’s in a Rut that went on too long used to go around biting omegas they wanted in their bonding gland. You know like if they were crossing the ocean or marching across a country or some shit and some poor dude went into rut and he couldn’t bust a nut in an omega.”

“Emily,” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. “Jesus fucking christ…”

“Sorry,” she said, making a face like I was the one making it awkward. “Anyway, they’d be so hopped up on Alpha hormones, they wouldn’t even wait to have sex, they’d just bite to claim the first omega that suited their fancy. But they’d go a little stir crazy cause they had to wait so long and they called it-”

“Primal,” I breathed out, shaking my head, opening my eyes again. “That’s…Em, that’s not been a thing for hundreds of years. Primal Alphas don’t exist anymore. We have medicines for Ruts now and even then, you have to be in Rut for close to a year I thought I remember to go Primal. Literally no one in this day and age would be able to have that happen.”

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong but what else makes an omega go into a strong heat that keeps coming on except for being bit by a Primal Alpha? Nothing. The omega goes into heat over and over until they mate with the Primal Alpha and get claimed. It’s either that or die of the heat. At least back in the day. Nowadays like you said, we have medicine.” 

I stared at her, that creeping sensation washing over me again. If Em was right, somehow I had a Primal Alpha with a torture and murder kink running around. And he’d picked Y/N as his next target.

My eyes darted over to the stairs again, dread filling my gut. Would Hunter come back for her? Could I keep her safe from a monster like that? I glanced back at Emily, memories of clutching her tightly while she still had rope burn on her wrists telling me I’d fuck this up and let Y/N down too. 

Emily sighed, looking up at me with gentle eyes as if she could read my thoughts. “I’m sorry for being a pain tonight. I just get nervous when you start banishing me to other states that you’re being too protective cause that just makes me feel like I need you to protect me and we both know from therapy that’s not good for either of us.”

“No, it’s not,” I said gently, tugging on the end of her braid. “I’m your dad, Em. I’ll always protect you and this situation with Hunter is dangerous. I’m not sending you away because I think you aren’t capable. In fact it’s the opposite. I know you’re strong enough to go off on your own. But I’ll worry if you’re here in town, Em and the more worried I am about you, the less focus I can give to protecting that omega upstairs and stopping Hunter from hurting more people. I know my limit and I need your help.”

“Then I go to Seattle and if it’s still not safe for me to come home, I’ll go stay with Grandma and Grandpa in Texas.” I smiled, tugging again. 

“You could stay with your mother…”

“Don’t push it,” she said, pursing her lips. “I told the doctor my idea about the Primal stuff when everyone first got here.”

“What’d he say?” I asked, Emily shrugging.

“He said that it was nearly impossible for a Primal Alpha to be out there without someone knowing about it.” I frowned. Sure, it was far fetched. But Emily was a smart kid, smarter than me about this stuff. He shouldn’t have discounted- “Then he drew blood and made a face like oh shit and then gave Y/N a shot in her bonding gland and then he tested her again and his face looked better.”

“Why didn’t he say anything?” I asked as the stairs creaked. Both our heads turned as Dr. Olson came downstairs, giving us a nod.

“Because that’s not something I could verify on the spot. I sent the instant read results off to a friend of mine at the university to do further analysis. Your daughter’s unfortunately right, Sheriff Arlen. The heat inducer was mixed with salvia from an Alpha in rut. An Alpha that is Primal” he said. 

I wiped a hand over my face as he held up a hand. “I took a precaution with Y/N and gave her a flushing agent to her bonding gland in the event Emily was right. She’ll be just fine with no adverse side effects.”

“That’s great doc but I have a psycho on the loose in my town. Please send any information you and your friend have come up with over to the county morgue’s office and let them know what you’ve discovered. A fucking Primal Alpha serial killer…”

“Will do,” he said, returning upstairs. Emily was quiet, watching me pace around the kitchen. Shit, I was making her anxious. I padded across the wood floor, forcing myself to relax, give her a soft smile.

“Thank you my little smartie pants.” I kissed the top of her head, pulling her into a hug. “You helped Y/N and with my case. I owe you one.”

“Does this mean you’ll start listening to me from now on?”

“It means I’ll listen but you need to give a little too,” I said, leaning back. She rolled her eyes but it lacked any animosity. “Being a grown up means making decisions but also knowing when to listen and do as told. Please be safe tomorrow and don’t go anywhere alone.”

“Deal. If you tell me if you like that omega upstairs.” I breathed deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Dad. You guys are giving off major vibes.”

“And there’s the teenager side again,” I said, Emily smirking. “She’s…attractive.” 

Emily grinned like the cheshire cat, my own eyes narrowing. “Emily. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You like her,” she said with a triumph hum. “That’s good considering she likes you too. All y’all grown ups forget that pups can smell things y’all can’t like how your scents are doing that mixing thing when y’all are in love.” 

“Mhm,” I said, spinning her around. “Go finish your trashy reality show then off to bed.”

She waved me off and left to the family room, leaving me to settle back in at the table with my laptop. An hour later, Y/N’s scent had lessened, her heat probably having passed which was good. I had a better idea how I wanted to question Barclay about all the bombshells I’d discovered and was just jotting down one last though when I heard Emily start a new episode. I shook my head as Jenny called to check in.

“Any luck?” I asked.

“Only the shitty kind.” I leaned back in my chair, biting the inside of my cheek. “Beau, it’s been over four hours. Hunter’s in the wind. We got to re-group.”

“Keep up patrols but we can pull a third back. I want Hunter to feel squeezed still. Put everyone in the station on this but designate a team to work other cases tonight. I want them to keep working this. Hunter fucked up somewhere and we’re going to find it tonight. You and Pop head back to the station too, get you guys to start tracking down this Primal Alpha thing, see if there’s a connection there,” I said. 

“You coming in? We could head to yours, brainstorm there.”

“Good call. I’ll make some coffee. You guys bring some grub. It’s gonna be an all nighter. Oh and Hoyt? You going to press charges against Barclay or what? I need an answer.”

“No,” she grumbled. “But I do want to kick him in the nuts.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I chuckled, rising from my seat. “You sure you don’t want to charge him?”

“I’d take you up on that but the guy was just protecting his sister. Unless he turns out to not be innocent, then I’ll beat his ass so good he never makes it to trial.”

“Hoyt, what did I tell you about admitting your bloodlust to me?” I sighed.

“Whatever. You ever find out why he went off grid instead of using the Marshal service to keep her safe?”

“I have an idea. I’m about to go question him, see if I’m right. Text me when you guys get here.”

I hung up, grabbing my notepad and pen from the table before heading over to the shut doors of the den. After a brief pause, I turned the handle, Barclay exactly where I’d left him earlier in the night. I quickly surveyed the room, smirking when I saw a stray paperclip on the ground under the desk. Nothing else was out of place, not even where the chair indented the rug. 

“So, how long ago did you get out of those cuffs?” I asked, closing the door behind me. He shrugged his shoulders forward, letting the cuffs fall to the ground behind him as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d guess about three minutes after you got dropped off in here?”

“I take it blondie isn’t pressing charges?” he asked. He stood from my office chair, a sharp edge to his scent.  

“To be determined. Now make yourself comfortable,” I said, reaching into my back pocket, tossing a zip tie at him. He caught it, narrowing his eyes. I rested a hand on my hip, not on my gun but near enough for him to get the message. 

Barclay fixed the loop and put his wrists through it, pulling it taught with his teeth. Tim sat back down, all while giving off major, “fuck off” vibes in his scent. I came closer now in the small room, clenching my jaw. “Now we both know you could get out of those if you tried. This is about you understanding your place. Disobey me again and I’ll let blondie hog tie you and beat you like a pinata if that’s what she wants. Understand?”

He rolled his eyes, an air of indifference around him. Not smug. No, he was confident. A confidence he could back up. Which meant he was either going to be a great asset if he was innocent or incredibly dangerous if he was Hunter.

Tim’s jaw clenched, eyes examining me as if I were the one that had attacked his sister or something. “I told you everything I know and Y/N is somewhere in this house. If you were going to charge me, Barlen, you would have left me at the station. So let me go and take my sister with me. We know how to keep a low profile. You can run around and catch your killer without us.”

“It’s Arlen,” I grit out. He smirked, leaning forward in his seat.

“Bitch ass Arlen? No, I think I got it right the first time.” 

“Listen you, Alpha fuck.” The den door swung open quickly, Emily standing there with my radio from my belt. “What the hell-”

“Sorry but they needed you and were freaking out about something,” she said, shoving the radio in my hands. I didn’t miss the way Barclay stared at her, Emily giving it right back as someone droned through the speaker about a massive bar fight at Stormy’s.

“The fucker is trying to pull cops out of the area by causing a diversion,” said Barclay, offering a quick glance at me. “They probably spiked drinks with rut enhancer and the whole place is going nuts.”

I tried to ignore him but he was almost certainly correct. Stormy’s reputation preceded itself. Omegas knew to not go near it. Alphas knew you could easily buy drugs out the back. No cameras and no one ever talked to cops. Hunter’d been in town long enough to know that and know the place was a massive thorn in the side of law enforcement. 

If nothing else, it told us Hunter was still in the original area which was good. I turned around, pressing the call button on my radio. “This is Arlen. Call the fire chief, tell her to send some of her bigger guys down with Rutcan. The aerosol kind and no, I don’t care how expensive it is. Tell her to bill me.” 

I sighed, clipping the radio on my belt. Emily scurried off when I nodded, Barclay biting the inside of his cheek to stop a smile.

“You’re gonna forget that girl you just saw even exists, understand?” I snapped. “I swear to god-”

“The only thing I want is my sister safe. If she’s here with your kid, I’m going to assume you have this place locked down.” He leaned back into the chair, breathing deeply. “I told you everything and I’m sure you looked into me. I get being pissed over what I did to your officer but I do not hurt kids. I’m more of a help to you right now and we both know it. If you won’t let Y/N and me leave town, then at least let me work this with you.”

I took a deep breath. Alright, time to get to the truth.

“Your story doesn’t hold up, Barcly.” He looked confused, a flash of anger on his face hiding concern. Ah, so he was that type of guy. Anger was his front. I could work with that. “That drug dealer brother you said was after you?”

“Yeah…” he trailed off. I sat against my desk, crossing my arms all while Tim frowned up at me.

“He died about three days after you and Y/N left Boston. Drug turf war stuff.” Barclay shook his head, holding up a finger from his bound hands.

“You must have the wrong guy. I have intel from the Marshal service-”

“Barclay.” He snapped his mouth shut, both of us pausing a beat. He didn’t try to hide the gears turning in his head, a dozen scenarios and then some flashing through his mind in a split second.

“You have the wrong guy. Probably the same name. Mix ups have happened before,” he said, landing exactly on the idea I figured he would. But it wasn’t enough yet. I needed more before I could trust him.

“If there was truly a threat, why didn’t you follow your standard protocol and put Y/N into witness protection? Why do this off the books bullshit and put Y/N in danger?”

He looked past me out the dark front window, his face losing some color as the gears in his head turned him down a different path, down the ones he didn’t think existed a moment ago. I knew from his file Timothy Barclay was a highly skilled and highly trained. He graduated valedictorian of his high school in Boston. Somehow managed to get a four year degree in Business Management, minor in Criminal Justice, all while being in the army and joining special forces the second he was eligible at 19. He spent four years running around the world before he got into the Marshals, impossibly difficult at his age but his military career definitely helped. By 24, he graduated training and joined the US Marshals Boston field office where he’d remained up until early last January.

It’d taken some digging and bribing an old friend that was now a Captain back in Houston but he got hold of Tim’s personnel file. The man lived and breathed the US Marshals. He had taken more certifications, more courses, had more awards, than my entire station combined. I was very well aware of the fact this man was a better investigator, a better fighter, better shooter, better liar, than I’d ever be.

But some things, you just couldn’t fake.

“Talk to me, Tim. I can’t read your mind,” I said, trying to coax him back from whatever dark rabbit hole he’d gone down in his head. He blinked a few times, watching the stillness of night outside.

“I uh, got a threat on our front door. Like old school, letters cut out of a magazine, threat. Y/N and I share a place back in Boston,” he said, closing his eyes, searching his memories for an answer he didn’t want. “There was a power outage that night and our backup on our security system didn’t work that night which never sat right with me. Neither of us were home. I had a late call at work and Y/N had a girls night with a friend, stayed at her place. I saw the note when I got home in the morning.”

“Then what happened?” I asked, Tim shaking his head.

“I went to my supervisor like anyone would. Teddy, Y/N’s father. I said I wanted Y/N in protective custody, wit sec, something where she’d be protected round the clock. I didn’t care where. This drug family, they had enough connections with traffickers that if they got hold of Y/N…I just couldn’t let that happen to her.”

“So you went to Teddy,” I said. 

“He said it wouldn’t be safe to do the normal protocol, that the dealers had an in at the Marshal service and would find us. I didn’t understand how that was true but they knew where we lived after all. I figured Teddy was high up in our office, in command. He would have known if there was an insider threat and I had no reason to question him.” Tim took a beat, opening his eyes, breathing quietly. “Teddy told me he’d put me on sabbatical and to grab Y/N and get out of town that night. He said he was to be my only contact and I was to trust no one. He’d tell us when to move around, where to go next but that was it. Every time Y/N asked when we could go home Teddy would say the drug dealer put a hit out on the two of us and we couldn’t come back until he’d built his case against him.”

“Teddy failed to mention this drug dealer being dead.”

“Why would he lie to us?” Barclay looked up at me finally, a mixture of anger and fear. A sliver of vulnerability that he’d fucked up. I sighed, walking over in front of him, stopping at his feet. “I don’t understand.”

“Barclay, I have a serial killer on my hands. They’ve been active in Helena for six months. Before that, looks like the same killer profile as in Boulder.” He shook his head, a look of panic crossing his face. “Before that, Atlanta.”

The dread on his face was a clear enough answer for me. This man had no idea about Hunter or what Teddy was up to. 

“Let me guess. Cleveland before that?” he whispered. I nodded.

“Boston before that,” I said. Tim closed his eyes, flashing them open with another shake of his head. 

“Wait, you said six months. That doesn’t make sense. Y/N and I didn’t show up here until closer to three months ago. There’s no way this guy is following us.”

“Oh, you’re right,” I said, squatting down. “You’re following him. Now tell me again, do you pick your next city or is that Teddy too?”

“That’s not…” Tim made a face, standing and brushing past me. He went to the window, his scent coming off in big panicked waves, something he would have learned to control years ago in all his trainings. No I recognized it all too clearly. It was the same way my office had smelled when Emily was abducted last year. 

“No. No, you’re wrong, Barlen. If Teddy was tracking a serial killer, there’s no way in hell he’d not report it. He’d rather die than see his daughter get a paper cut a-and you’re telling me he’s sending her after a serial killer the past year? It makes no sense. It makes no fucking sense.”

I nodded, quietly walking over to him, cutting his zip tie off. He rubbed his wrists, his face hard again but the worry burned into his eyes. He knew what I did. Teddy was involved with Hunter, with a serial killer. There was no good justification in the world. Except for the fact Teddy probably wanted Hunter to kill Y/N or the both of them for some reason. 

But Tim wasn’t ready to say that out loud and I wasn’t about to push him. 

“No, it doesn’t. A lot doesn’t make sense. All I do know is Y/N was Hunter’s next target and she got away. We have to assume he will come after her again. Either way, you’re both involved and the one thing I have zero doubts about is you value her life above your own. I read your file and I need someone like you to help me catch this son of a bitch.”

Tim steadied himself, nodding to himself. “Hunter comes near her, I’ll make him regret being born.” 

“Good,” I said, his face showing a flash of surprise. “My daughter was abducted last year and left for dead. The things I wanted to do to the man that took her…law and order has it’s place in the world. But some monsters just need to be put down.”

“Maybe you’re not awful after all, Barlen,” he said, tilting his chin up with a barely there smirk. He held out his hand, sharing a firm handshake with him. “Let’s get this guy and figure out what the fuck is going on with Teddy.”

“That’s all I get? No threats to stay away from your sister? Maybe you’re the one that’s into me,” I teased, letting a smile cross my face. Tim chuckled, stepping past me.

“First off, you couldn’t handle me, Barlen.” He looked over his shoulder, a dark smirk on his face. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re handsome and my sister’s type but the whole divorced, dad to a teenager, in his fifties means I don’t even have to threaten you. Once her heat’s passed, she ain’t even going to look at you.”

“I’m forty three, fuckhead.” He just smiled, egging me on. Fine. He wanted to play that game, I was down. “You know how pups can smell things we can’t?” I said, throwing an arm over his shoulders, walking him out of the den and towards the kitchen. “Emily says mine and Y/N’s scents are mixing and we all know that means there’s more than just attraction going on.” I flashed him a wink for good measure, his eye twitching. “Your sister smells so damn good, Barclay. Shit, she could be my true mate.”

“I need to speak with your child with poor scenting abilities. Now,” he grumbled. 

“Barclay. You manage to get her the hell out of that living room and in bed, I won’t let Hoyt kick you in the balls when she gets here in fifteen cause man, she really wants to.”

“Deal,” he said, storming into the living room as I stood over the kitchen table. “Kid, tell me what the hell you smell between your dad and my sister and I won’t toss your butt in bed in the next twelve seconds.”

“Oh boy you really don’t want the answer to that based on your whole vibe. By the way, do you like Jenny?” I heard from the next room, chuckling when Tim scoffed like a teenager. “Cause your scent did that you like someone thing and you sound like you got maybe some enemies to lovers thing going on.”

“You know what you little-”

Glass shattered nearby, the distinctive sound of a shot ringing out, somewhere towards the back of the house. I hit the ground, watching wide eyed as Tim yanked Emily to the floor, covering her body with his all in the same fluid motion.

“Emily!” I went to move for her but slammed down and back behind the kitchen island when shots rang out from the front as well. “Emily! Answer me!”

___________

A/N: Part 3 is coming 5/25!