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freedomfireflies · 6 months

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Better Not Pout*

Summary: The one where Harry isn't leaving until he gets what he really came for.

You.

Word Count: 10.6k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, violence, guns, gunplay, exhibitionism (This one-shot is a bit darker, so please only read if you feel comfortable! 💞)

December 24th, 1945.

The streets of Chicago are cold. Windy. Dark. Everyone is either at home, visiting loved ones, or spending their Christmas Eve at the one place they know they’ll be welcome.

The Bees Knees – the renowned, underground speakeasy – is rather sparkling tonight. The customers continue to bustle in, some here for the booze, some here for the atmosphere and warmth, and some for the entertainment.

You.

You’re one of the establishments best performers, three nights of the week. Employed by none other than Johnny Winters himself to sing for the lost souls of Chicago as they drown their worries in a bottle of whiskey.

You quite like your job, and the people you work with. Milton, who tends the bar, always has a compliment to lend, offering you engaging small talk between sets or any new mixes he might make.

And Johnny isn’t so bad. But perhaps you’re a bit biased, seeing as he is your fiancé. But more than that, he’s one of the most powerful men in all of town. And considerably wealthy, which you suppose doesn’t exactly hurt.

But he’s also kind. Giving. And so very attentive. He spends every second he’s not working with you. Doting on you, showing you off to all of his friends. And having such a handsome man on your arm is certainly not the worst thing.

Tonight, however, Johnny is nowhere to be found. Which you don’t consider to be too terribly odd, given how much work he mentioned he’d be catching up on.

Even still, he hates to miss your performances, and insisted that you keep a part of him with you as you take center stage tonight in the small bar.

That part happens to be in the form of a stunning red, silk dress that was gifted to you for this very occasion. It sits on your frame like it was always meant to be yours, hugging every desirable curve, and showcasing just enough skin to taunt the imagination of those in the audience.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so beautiful, and you walk up the steps tonight with pride. Shoulders back and painted lips poised with your first song.

The few gentlemen scattered across the main floor holler when the spotlight finds you, and you offer your signature smile.

“Evening, gentleman,” you call as the pianist begins behind you. “How are you all doing tonight?”

A few whistles are offered that make you laugh, and just like that…the show begins.

Santa Claus Came in the Spring is always a favorite, and you croon the festive lyrics while the live band follows your lead.

And even though the crowd is rather dull and distracted, you have a blast. You feel comfortable in this role and in the way their eyes drink you in. Even if their attention drifts between you, their drinks, and the cigars.

In fact, you get so swept up in your act that you hardly notice the door open or the tall, lanky stranger that slinks in from the cold.

But when his head lifts, and his eyes find yours, you feel a hitch in your throat.

Unfortunately, he looks away all too quickly, pulling off his trench coat before moving along the shadows toward the far end of the bar.

He goes unnoticed by those around him, yet your attention follows him all the way to the booth that he settles in. And it stays even after he’s leaned back, gotten comfortable, and pulled a cigarette from his rather expensive looking suit pocket.

But even though your focus has drifted, you don’t miss a single beat of the song. After all, you could sing it in your sleep, and this habit serves you well as the intriguing stranger finally shifts into the light and allows you a better look at his face.

He’s…stunning. Absolutely beautiful, with his slicked back curls, sharp jaw, and pointed nose. And he’s lighting the end of a cigarette with what you can only call practiced precision before perching it between his two, crimson-colored lips.

Rings adorn his fingers as he holds the nicotine to his mouth, inhaling a long drag before exhaling the dark smoke from his lungs.

Yet unlike the other patrons in the bar, this man seems to be rather put together. He’s not missing any teeth, his skin isn’t stained with dirt or grease, and his clothes appear to be rather new. It’s quite the upgrade from the usual appearance you’ve grown used to, and you can’t help but feel rather relaxed.

And it’s now that you realize that this striking stranger seems to be watching you much like you’re watching him. Studying your dress, your silhouette, the way you grip the microphone stand. He takes in each detail presented before him with what looks to be wonder, and your cheeks instantly grow warm.

Still, you carry on with the ballad, making your way through the final chorus and the last few notes as the band plays you out with a flourish.

The few men in front of the stage clap, and you smile gratefully as you nod your thanks and call out your appreciation.

Jingle Bells is next, and a few more people join in on the fun this time around. They clink their glasses together or belt out the lyrics a few seconds too late and wildly off-key.

Even still, it’s rather fun as you continue on with your set before finally wrapping it up with a high note that’s accompanied by a rather lively trumpet solo.

And once it’s all over, the room bursts into applause. You wave to the growing audience, taking a quick bow before gesturing toward the band. Offering them their due praise which the crowed quickly obliges.

But you notice the man in the booth keeps his expression indifferent as he continues to watch you exit the stage and make your way to the bar. He doesn’t applaud your performance or even offer a smile of encouragement. He merely takes another hit of his cigarette and throws his arm over the back of his seat. A position you imagine is intended to display dominance more than it is to find comfort.

Truth be told, you find it rather unnerving. He doesn’t seem to be here for the alcohol or the company. Perhaps he’s only here to get out of the cold or perhaps he’s avoiding his home.

Either way, his focus stays only with you, and you feel a sharp chill run down your spine as you turn to the counter and flag down Milton’s attention.

You ask for a drink and request that he tell Johnny that you’ll be waiting in his office until he arrives.

He quickly agrees, preparing the beverage for you before jutting his chin toward the silent stranger.

“Want me to have him escorted out?” he asks, but you only smile as you shake your head.

“No need, I’m sure he’s harmless.” You take the crystal glass and tip it toward him in thanks. “Besides, the attention is rather nice.”

Milton nods his understanding and you leave it at that, taking your drink toward the hallway just off the corner of the room.

You sip leisurely as you stroll to Johnny’s office, picking up the edge of your long gown so it doesn’t drag on the floor. The sounds of the crowd grow quieter and quieter with each step you take, and soon, it’s nothing but silence.

After retrieving the key Johnny insisted you keep on you at all times, you slip open the door, and make your way inside.

It’s quite dark, given the time of night and lack of lighting. He’s only got three lamps in the room, one by the window, one on the shelf, and one on his desk.

Right beside a photo of you.

Getting your photograph taken is quite the privilege, but Johnny insisted he have a vision of you in his office at all times. And you couldn’t help but indulge him, allowing him to dress you up and place you in front of the large contraption one Sunday afternoon in spring.

It’s his favorite thing in the entire world, and he mentions it constantly. Commenting on your beauty or your ethereal outfit. You know he’s only trying to embarrass you, but it’s still rather flattering to hear.

You grin to yourself as you take a seat in the large chair behind the wooden table. Downing the rest of the contents in your glass before setting it down and taking a glance around the large space.

Vaguely, you hear footsteps approaching just outside the door. Echoing through the hall as your grin grows a bit wider.

And as the knob turns, you expect to see the handsome face of your Johnny.

What you don’t expect, however, is the green-eyed devil and his quiet charm.

He’s followed you. You assume this immediately, and your heart leaps into your throat as he steps inside…and shuts the door behind him.

A tense silence settles between you as you slowly sit up and force in a quiet breath. “Hello,” you call quietly.

The sound of your unsteady voice seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth curling up as the burning cigarette sits tucked between his lips. “Hello, mama.”

You feel your lashes flutter. “Can…can I help you?”

“I’m looking for your fiancé,” he says, and his voice is low. Deep. And you believe you catch just a hint of an English accent. “This is in fact his office, is it not?”

You hesitate, unsure whether or not to disclose such information to a stranger. “It…yes. Yes, but he’s not here right now. Perhaps you could come back later?”

“Later,” he repeats, almost thoughtfully as his head tilts. Then, he tsks. “See, I’m afraid later just doesn’t work for me. I need to speak with him right now. It’s quite urgent, and I’d like to finish this up and be home to my lover by midnight.”

“Oh…” You shift a bit in your seat and hope he doesn’t notice how nervous you’ve become. “Well, I would love to help, but I don’t believe I know when he’ll be in.”

He considers this for a moment before striding further into the room. Eyes tracking every tremble of your fingers and heave of your chest. “Can I tell you a secret, mama?” he murmurs, placing both hands on the desk and leaning closer.

You nod.

“Your boy Johnny owes me money,” he whispers. “And I’m here to collect.”

And now you understand. Now you know why he’s here. Because even though his tone is friendly, it can’t disguise the threat you know lingers underneath.

“Oh,” you whisper back, and he hums.

“Exactly. And I’m a pretty reasonable guy. Decent. So, I’ll make you a deal.” He begins to smirk behind the cigarette. “If he’s not here within the next five minutes…you and I will find another way.”

The truth is, you don’t really know too much about the financial side of Johnny’s affairs and business. You know he has plenty of money, but you don’t know what he does with it. Or where he keeps it.

And if this alluring stranger seems to think you’ll be his key…you’re afraid he’ll be mistaken.

“Problem, Doll?” He seems smug, and it makes your skin crawl. “M’not scaring you, am I?”

The answer is obvious to you both, but you force yourself straighter and attempt to appear calm. “Not at all, sir. I only want to help.”

"Mm? Good girl,” he mumbles, eyes flicking down to your painted red lips. “Knew you’d behave for me.”

Your heart is hammering inside of your chest. You’re unsure what to do now. Do you ask him to leave? Do you scream for help? Do you call the police?

And where the hell is Johnny?

He should be here by now, especially after promising to wrap up his meeting early in order to catch your last performance before Christmas. He’s always here. One of your biggest fans and greatest protectors.

The only thing you can truly think to do now is attempt to call him. You figure the police won’t get here in time, but at least if this gentleman can be assured that Johnny is on his way, he won’t be as inclined to act rashly.

However, the moment your fingers lift from the desk in order to reach for the phone, the stranger reaches for something, too.

In a matter of seconds, he’s wrapping his hand around the barrel of a gun, pulling it from his back pocket, and aiming it straight at your head. Cocking it loudly as you gasp and withdraw your arm as quickly as possible.

“What are you doin’, hm, mama?” There’s a haughty condescension in his sneer, laced with just the faintest disappointment. “Thought you were gonna be good.”

“I…I was just going to call him,” you stammer. “I know you’re in a hurry.”

The stranger studies you now, that familiar smirk beginning to fade as his attention flicks across your face. Perhaps he suspects a lie or perhaps he merely doesn’t trust you, but truth be told, you know better than to try and pull a fast one on him.

Finally, he plucks his cigarette from between his lips before tossing it to the floor and nodding at you. “Yeah? Go on, then,” he instructs, reposition the barrel at your chest. “Call your little pretty boy. Tell him he’s got a visitor.”

With a racing pulse, you once again slowly reach for the telephone, eyeing the gun carefully as you scoot closer.

You’re careful not to make any sudden moments. Hesitant to even look at him for fear of upsetting him, but your timid demeanor only entertains him further.

He simply chuckles as he slowly makes his way over to your side of the desk. Snatching up the phone just before you can reach for it and handing it to you almost cockily.

Curious, you glance up. That soft green in his eye is almost alluring, even despite the circumstance. Still, he reeks of nicotine and expensive cologne, and you lean back in an attempt to put as much space between you as you can.

He smiles. “I’m gonna watch you dial,” he tells you calmly. “Make sure you keep your word. Okay, Doll?”

Posed like a question, although you both know you don’t exactly have a choice. And you'd likely point this out if you were just a touch braver, but nevertheless, you nod. Agreeing to his terms as you take the phone and begin to dial.

As the seconds go by, you feel him watching you closely while the line rings. Leaving you to desperately await the sound of your sweet Johnny’s voice. A sound you’ve never needed more than in this moment.

Yet his voice never comes, and your heart sinks to the cold floor blow as you return the phone to the desk.

“He…he must already be on his way,” you murmur, and the man hums.

“You think so?”

You nod weakly.

He takes a seat on the edge of the desk, just inches from your arm before leaning closer. “How much are you willing to bet, hm?” His brow raises. “How sure are you that your precious fiancé will actually save you tonight?”

You feel trapped by him now. The closer he moves, the faster your heart pounds. You have nowhere to run, no personal space to disappear into.

But you only have to hold on for just a little longer. Johnny will come for you. He always does.

“Incredibly sure,” you respond, ignoring the slight waver in your voice. “He said he would be, so he will.”

The man considers this before clicking his tongue. “All right. Then how about I make you another deal, yeah? For every minute he’s late, and for every minute he leaves you here unattended…I’ll put an extra bullet through his head.”

A sharp chill runs down your spine, skin growing hot and prickly, but you force your expression to remain unfazed. “And why would you do that if you need him so badly?”

The gentleman laughs now. A sound that would almost be charming if he weren’t so vile. “Because I don’t need your precious Johnny,” he answers calmly. “I just need what’s in his safe.”

And despite the danger you’re in and despite your better judgment, your features scrunch into a grimace as you scoff, “Oh, how pathetic.”

Your reaction loosens his smile.

“Truly, how incredibly pathetic to come all the way down here at this time of night – and on Christmas Eve – just to break into his safe,” you huff. “Honestly. He won’t give you a damn thing. And you have absolutely no business to come storming in here and—”

You don’t get the chance to finish the rest of your furious scolding before he’s suddenly standing to his feet and wrapping his fingers around your arm.

Instantly, you’re yanked from your chair and shoved against the bookcase just behind you. Hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs as he traps you there, leaning in so close, his nose nearly brushes your own.

“I’d be careful how you fucking speak to me, mama,” he seethes quietly, yet even still, there’s just an air of pleasure. “Because you might not get the chance to do it again.”

He’s desperate to scare you. Desperate to see you cry, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you suck in a sharp breath, and do the one thing you can think to do:

You spit.

The collection of saliva just misses his eye, landing on his cheek with a rather wet splat until the amusement fades and fury takes its place.

His fingers leave your arm and find your throat, curling around the delicate skin and forcing your head up as he begins to chuckle darkly.

“So, that’s how you wanna play, hm, Doll?” Another tsk. “You wanna be bad? Wanna test my fucking patience?”

You squirm a bit in his hold, yet for some reason, you don’t feel as frightened as you did before. Because there’s this look in his eye – this hunger. And even though his grip is tight…you feel oddly safe.

“Better find a way to keep this pretty little mouth shut,” he says next, head cocking to the left almost curiously. “Or I’ll have to shut it for you.”

His attention returns to your mouth, fingers slowly slipping up toward your chin until he can brush is thumb over the painted fibers of your lips.

Just enough to taunt you yet startle you all in the same second.

“Maybe,” you finally breathe before jerking your head away from his cruel touch. “If you knew how.”

The cocky grin widens as his hand immediately returns to your neck. “Still disobeying me, hm?” he nearly purrs. “Guess I could always just squeeze this sweet, little throat to keep you quiet, yeah? Feel your pretty pulse beneath my fingertips. Feel the life drain from your body…watch the light go out in your eyes.”

You take in a strained inhale, and he makes a sound that almost sounds like a groan.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, moving in just a bit closer until his lips are ghosting across yours. “Or maybe…I could put my gun in your mouth. See how chatty you are then, yeah, mama?”

Your chest heaves anxiously, but you find just enough confidence to whisper, “But without your gun, how will everyone know what a tiny cock you have?”

And you’re so proud of yourself. So endlessly pleased with the way you’ve managed to make his smug expression waver, even if he keeps his smirk in place.

“Oh, you think that’s funny,” he snorts as you attempt to bite back a laugh. “Well, you wanna know what I think is funny? I think it’s funny that you said Johnny would be here…and he’s not.”

“He will be,” you retort, a bit firmer. “He will.”

“See…you keep saying that,” he muses, placing one hand on the bookshelf beside your head. Truly trapping you beneath him. “And yet…your noble fiancé still isn’t here to save you.”

You tilt your head back in an attempt to appear stronger, but it doesn’t seem to fool him.

“Are you afraid?” he whispers, chest brushing against yours. “Are you afraid your Johnny won’t be able to keep you safe from the bad man?”

It’s almost hostile, the way he goads you. And yet you can hear just the slightest concern beneath his question.

“Or maybe you’re afraid he can’t pay up,” he continues. “Maybe you’re afraid he’ll have to find another way.”

Suddenly, the grip on your throat constricts. Recapturing your attention.

“Are you gonna be my other way, mama?” he exhales. “You gonna be my consolation prize?”

You feel dizzy. The room is spinning. And you aren’t sure if that’s because of the hold on your neck or the way he’s speaking to you.

However, before you can decide if you’re actually intrigued by his intimidation tactics…the sound of footsteps echo outside through the hall.

Johnny.

It has to be him. You almost need it to be him, and your shoulders unwind as the man glances toward the closed door curiously before finally leaning back.

Then, he grabs onto your arm for a second time, and flings you back toward the chair. Shoving you down and keeping you still.

“You’re gonna sit here and you’re gonna keep your fucking mouth shut,” he hisses softly right as the door swings open. “And then maybe…I just might reward you.”

But you don’t even mind this malicious threat because then you see him. Your fiancé, smiling brightly as his eyes find you before they flick to the man to your right.

For a moment, he seems surprised, seemingly assessing your position and the situation before his grin widens.

“Ah, Mr. Styles,” he calls as he strides into the room, quickly removing his hat and coat. “What a pleasant surprise. Did we have a meeting tonight?”

He seems relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as though he doesn’t view this man as a threat, and you aren’t sure whether to feel relieved or wildly confused. You hadn’t exactly expected him to grab the mysterious guest by the collar and throw him out the window, but you also didn’t expect him to welcome him with open arms.

A strange man is alone with his future wife, in his office, in the middle of the night, and that doesn’t seem to concern him even a little?

Perhaps Johnny is far too friendly for his own good.

The gentleman, in turn, straightens up while subtly slipping the gun behind his back. Tucking it into his belt just out of view before Johnny can catch it. “Not quite,” he says coolly. “I’m here to discuss a bit of unfinished business.”

Your heart sinks, yet Johnny merely nods. “Ah, I see. Well, is there any way this can wait until after Christmas? It’s been a long night, and I’d like to be getting the lovely lady home.”

Now, both of their stares turn to you, and eagerly, you begin to rise from the chair. Grateful for the opportunity to leave this unsettling stranger behind.

Yet before you can even find your footing, the man’s hand is coming down in a firm smack on your shoulder to force you back down.

“I’m afraid the lovely lady isn’t going anywhere,” he replies, and you catch Johnny’s expression fall. “And neither are you. Have a seat.”

Johnny begins to frown. “Look, Harry, whatever business we might have, I’m sure it can—”

“I said, have…a seat,” the man – Harry – repeats a bit brasher. “Yeah? Or things will get a lot worse for your darling fiancé.”

Johnny hesitates, eyes flicking to yours. But he must notice the panicked look you wear because he finally sighs and does as instructed. Taking a seat in the chair just in front of the desk before glancing toward Harry.

Harry nods, almost proudly. “There you go. S’not so hard, is it?”

Johnny’s figure slumps but his lips purse together. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I just want to talk,” Harry says, his smirk returning. “And lucky for you, your schedule just cleared up.”

“Harry—” Johnny begins, leaning closer as though getting ready to stand.

But instantly, Harry is reaching back behind him for the gun, pulling it free, and aiming the barrel straight at his head.

Johnny quickly leans back, eyeing the weapon hesitantly while you gasp and glance up at the stranger pleadingly.

Harry only looks at Johnny. “See, I’m running out of fucking patience. Eight goddamn months I’ve had to listen to you go on and on about this special fucking shipment you got. And now…it’s time to collect.”

Your sweet fiancé understands now. Realizes why this man is here and how real the threat is, and glances back at you almost apologetically.

You merely mouth, “It’s okay.”

Johnny’s eyes flick back to the gun. “I’d be careful waving that thing around. Somebody might get hurt.”

The man merely hums. “Oh, I’m fucking counting on it.”

Now, the office grows quiet. A tense, charged sort of energy that filters between the three of you as Harry begins to walk around the desk.

“So,” he continues, grabbing onto the other free chair in order to spin it around and sit in a straddle, “where’s the safe, Johnny?”

Johnny’s brow raises, but his Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Down at the club, you said you just got a brand new, fancy safe to hold everything from your latest shipment. Practically bragged about it to the whole goddamn bar, yeah? So…where is it?”

With piqued interest, you look between the two men curiously as you await Johnny’s answer. You’ve never really been sure where he gets all his money. You assumed most of it came from the bar and alcohol sales, so you’re rather stumped by what sort of shipment they might be referring to.

However, Johnny isn’t so quick to divulge all his secrets. “And what is it you’re expecting to get out of my safe, Mr. Styles?”

There’s another heavy pause as Harry rests his arms over the back of the seat and whispers, “Everything.”

Instantly, Johnny scoffs. “You think you can storm into my office on Christmas Eve and threaten my fiancé? Threaten me? That you’re entitled to anything you damn well please?” A bitter scoff as he leans back. “You’ll be arrested before morning, and you’ll never see a red fucking cent.”

His retort dangles between them for only a moment as a breath catches in your throat. Pulse racing as you watch the stranger’s reaction closely.

Yet the mystery man doesn’t so much as flinch as he suddenly repositions the gun into the air, aims it just to the left of Johnny’s head, and fires.

The sound is deafening, much like your sharp, shrill shriek as the bullet flies through the air – just missing Johnny’s ear – and lodges into the wall behind him.

Johnny immediately flinches, eyes screwing shut and muscles recoiling before he seems to realize that he remains unharmed.

And once he does, he takes a deep breath, and begins to smirk. “You missed.”

“Did I?” Harry runs his tongue over his bottom lip before re-cocking the gun. “No, see…I never fucking miss. That was your first warning.”

Johnny simply snorts. “Yeah? Well, eat my shit.”

Things move quickly from there.

Harry is instantly on his feet, tossing the chair aside rather angrily before he’s turning to you once more. And you don’t even have a moment to think before you’re being yanked from the seat for a second time and immediately tugged to his chest as he presses the barrel of the gun into the side of your temple.

“Where’s the fucking safe, Johnny?” he says again, and you notice Johnny’s face pale.

“Styles,” Johnny murmurs, “you don’t have to do this—”

“The safe,” he seethes. “Where is it? Or do you need a little incentive, huh? Need to see her pretty little brains all over your goddamn floor? Is that what it’s gonna take?”

Poor Johnny doesn’t know what to do. He looks from the gun, to your face, to the arm keeping you hostage.

And you almost feel bad for him, yet you aren’t even afforded the chance for empathy before Harry furiously growls and shoves you in Johnny’s direction.

You stumble across the wooden floor until Johnny can quickly take you into his embrace, keeping you safe from the bad man as you begin to sniffle.

“My love,” he whispers, tightening his hold on your trembling frame while turning you away as if to protect you. “It’s gonna be all right, I promise.”

With a quick nod and a hiccup, you look up and slip your hands around his neck for comfort. “I know.”

He smiles.

It’s Harry’s disgusted sneer that brings you attention back. “Fucking pathetic. Really, mama? This is who you choose to save you?”

Your features fall ever-so-slightly while Johnny begins to pull you behind him, shielding you from the aggravated aggressor. “If you need money so badly, there are plenty of other ways.”

“It’s not just about money,” Harry retorts calmly. “It’s about your money. Yeah? So where’s the fucking safe.”

“None of your goddamn business—”

The reply no sooner leaves his mouth before there’s another gunshot fired into the air.

One of the paintings on the wall falls with a crack and you jump almost two feet into the air, nails scratching down Johnny’s nice shirt.

“Johnny,” you whisper faintly, refusing to let this go on any longer. “Johnny, tell him. Tell him, please. I don’t care about the money; I don’t care about any of it. I just want you. I love you, and I can’t lose you.”

The office falls silent as you request hangs in the air, and you feel Johnny take in a deep breath.

“Yeah, Johnny,” Harry adds in a condescending murmur. “She loves you. Don’t make her watch you die. It’d be such a shameful waste of her tears.”

Johnny looks to you, and your expression softens. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Finally, he sighs. “Under the desk.”

Harry’s head whips toward the large table curiously before he frowns. “Where?” he murmurs before repositioning the gun at Johnny’s chest. “I promise you don’t wanna lie to me.”

However, Johnny’s indifferent expression remains. “Under the desk,” he repeats while thrusting his chin toward the massive piece of furniture.

And now Harry seems to understand, although it does little to relax him as he suddenly reaches for you again and yanks you from your lovers’ arms.

“Show me,” he hisses, keeping you hostage again while ushering Johnny forward with the barrel of the weapon. “And don’t be dense.”

And Johnny can do nothing but obey, seemingly defeated while sending you one last remorseful look. Finally moving to lift the desk and pull it back.

The sound of wood scraping against wood is heavy, and it takes him quite a while to relocate the table beneath the window by himself.

But once it’s out of the way, you notice a particular part of the flooring juts out. The rotten board almost askew.

You and Harry lean closer, both magnetized by intrigue as he bends down in order to wrench the board up, revealing the hollow hiding place underneath.

And there you find it. The large, black box with a gold dial in the middle.

He glances up toward Harry, perhaps looking for permission – which Harry quickly gives him – before reaching down to put in the correct combination.

And after a couple seconds of clicking and turning…the door swings open.

Truth be told, you were hoping to find a secret gun that might help you out of this situation, but it seems there are no weapons to be found as Harry shoves you back in order to get a better look.

He no longer seems concerned about Johnny or the possibility that he might attempt to attack because Johnny seems to have given up.

All your dejected fiancé does is straighten up and motion you back to him, watching Harry bend over and reach inside the safe almost uninterestedly.

Your heart aches for him, yet you can’t help feeling relieved. You’re a few steps closer to this wretched night being over, and perhaps once Harry has what he came for, you’ll be able to leave.

“Are you all right?” Johnny whispers to you now as Harry begins to unload the contents in the floor.

You nod quickly, clinging to his strong frame as though you’re scared you might be taken again. “Yes, I’m all right. Are you?”

“I will be once I know you’re safe,” he says, and your heart sinks.

Once everything inside the safe has been shoved into a bag, Harry turns to the two of you. “That was a good start, Winters. Now where’s the rest of it?”

Johnny frowns. “I don’t know what you mean. Everything I have is in there.”

But Harry only tsks as he sets the items down and begins to stride closer, making you curl even further into Johnny’s embrace. “Come on, now,” he mumbles almost tauntingly. “You know what I really want. And you know that you’re gonna fucking tell me. Isn’t that right, mama?”

He looks to you for only a moment as you swallow.

Johnny begins to seethe. “No. No, you can have everything else, but you won’t touch that.”

“Johnny,” you try, unnerved by the sudden look of warning in Harry’s eye. “Johnny, please…just give it to him. Whatever it is, I don’t care, just…just make him leave.”

“Smart girl,” Harry adds. “Come on, Johnny boy, your darling fiancé is scared. Don’t you wanna save her?”

Your lover simply grows stiff, eyes narrowing at the faux sincerity in the stranger’s voice.

“Johnny,” you mumble again. “Johnny, please, he’s right. I’m scared and I don’t care about what you have or what you don’t have. I just want you. And I want him to go away.”

Still, Johnny wrestles with his decision. With the choice he’s being forced to make, and as the seconds go by, Harry’s patience reaches its limit.

He grabs for you – again. Forcing the weapon under your jaw this time around as Johnny’s muscles tense and his fingers curl into his fist.

“God, look at him,” Harry whispers to you now, lips ghosting up the shell of your ear while forcing your eyes on your fiancé. “Fucking look at your pathetic excuse for a man.”

You attempt to remain indifferent – appear unafraid – but he sees right through you.

“D’you really think he cares about you, Doll?” he murmurs. “Do you really think he’ll choose your life over his own?”

“Let her go,” Johnny barks, yet it only forces the barrel even further into your skin.

Your chin is tilted up, a sharp inhale getting caught in your throat until Harry begins to chuckle.

“How about this,” he says. “I’ll let you choose, mama. I’ll let you decide if he gets to watch me kill you…or if he gets to watch me take you. All for myself.”

“Fucking piece of shit—” Johnny hisses, but Harry simply tsks.

“So, what do you say? What’ll it be? Either way, I’ll have him on his goddamn knees by the end of the night. And then we all win, yeah?”

“Enough,” Johnny yells, and a strangled silence splits the air. “Fine. Fine, I’ll tell you. Just let her go.”

Harry’s arm begins to lower but not very far. “Once it’s in my hand, she’s all yours.”

And you want to resent these men for treating you like you’re some sort of object to be traded, yet you’d happily be given back to your lover if it meant you could leave this nightmare behind.

No matter the cost.

Johnny rolls his shoulders back and flicks his unrelenting stare back to his desk. “There. The picture.”

You feel your eyebrows raise while Harry slowly begins to loosen his hold on you.

“Get it,” he instructs, and with an aggravated sigh, Johnny obliges.

He retrieves the golden frame from the table before pulling open the back and removing the picture inside.

The picture of you.

It almost breaks your heart, the look on his face. Like he’s absolutely gutted to be defiling this memory of you both, and you ache to comfort him.

Once the photo has been plucked from the glass, you catch the faintest sparkle in the soft light of the moon, and hear yourself gasp.

There, sitting snug inside the small frame, is the biggest fucking diamond you’ve ever seen.

It’s…stunning. The most gorgeous jewel you’ve ever been privileged to lay eyes on, surrounded by what you can only assume to be hundreds of tinier diamonds and rubies arranged in a delicate but intricate pattern.

Altogether creating the most breathtaking necklace you’ve ever seen.

It has to be worth hundreds of dollars – thousands, in fact – and Harry reaches over to take it from the frame with the biggest Cheshire-like grin you’ve ever seen.

This is what he came for.

“You have it, all right? You have it, now go,” Johnny calls, already attempting to reach for you. “You got what you want.”

With an agreeable hum, Harry studies the necklace a moment longer before finally looking to you. “You’re right. We did, didn’t we?”

You both smile.

Instantly, you raise the gun that Harry had discreetly and secretly slipped into your hand only moments ago and aim it at Johnny’s chest.

Three.

Johnny’s expression shifts, eyes widening as he begins to piece together what’s really going on. Why Harry looks so proud and why you look so relieved.

Two.

His lips part. Ready to speak to you, whisper your name, ask for an explanation. And a part of you can’t help but wonder if you’ll feel any remorse for the deception you’ve put him through these past few months.

But as you stare at him now…you feel nothing but liberation.

One.

The third and final gunshot echoes through the air. Louder and far more permanent. Resolute.

Johnny stumbles back, unable to catch himself before he goes tumbling to the ground. A dark red stain expanding like watercolor across his chest, ruining the clean white shirt underneath.

You’d bought him that shirt.

And as the look of life slowly leaves his eye, you feel your muscles unwind, and your shoulders droop.

It’s over.

Harry’s got his arms around you before you can even release the deep breath you’ve been holding onto for so long.

“Oh, good fucking girl,” he nearly groans, pressing his lips to yours for the first time in months as you sling your arms around his neck. “Fucking hell, I missed you, mama.”

If Harry had had it his way, Johnny would have been dead months ago. He never liked this plan – not because he thought you couldn’t handle it, but because the idea of going without you for so long nearly killed him.

But it was the only way to gain Johnny’s trust. And to find his true weakness. He never would have given you the location of the safe or the necklace if you’d simply held him at gunpoint from the get-go.

No, he needed a reason to cave, a reason to put his possessions on the line in order to save something else he truly cared about.

And that’s where you came in.

Sure, it was hard to be without Harry, but you knew it had to be done. Getting these items would set you up for years. You’d never have to work in sleazy bars again. You could simply be with him…forever.

And perhaps pretending to be a stranger to him and appear frightened of his intentions wasn’t quite necessary, but you happen to like the roleplaying aspect.

The way he threatened your life as though he wouldn’t do everything in his power to protect it. The way he taunted you, teased you, scared you…when he knew deep down how much you fucking loved it.

You can still feel his fingers around your neck. The pressure of his hand against your throat, holding you still, keeping you close. You hadn’t felt it in months and a part of you wanted to keep the game going for just a bit longer if it meant you could have him.

You weren’t able to run into his arms and kiss him the way you can now and it’s…perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“Did he hurt you?” he whispers, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw. “Did he fucking touch you—”

“No,” you’re quick to assure him. “No, never. He wanted to, but I never let him.”

“Good.” He takes hold of your hip and gives it a firm squeeze. “Good girl, knew you’d be on your best behavior, yeah?”

You grin. “Of course. Only ever thought about you.”

“Is that right, doll?”

“Mhm.” You tuck your lip between your teeth and nuzzle your nose to his. “How could it ever be him?”

His lashes flutter, and you can see the edges of his frayed sanity coming loose. He’s had to pretend for far too long, and you don’t imagine he can do it much longer.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, nearly clawing at your dress. “Then, maybe I’ll—”

“What…did you do?”

The sound of Milton’s confusion pulls you apart instantly. He’s standing in the doorway, eyes wide, expression horrified. Looking from his boss, to you, to Harry, and back.

He sees the necklace on the desk, sees the gun in your hand, sees the bag of gold and cash lying at Harry’s feet.

He understands, and your heart almost sinks. Milton was one of the good ones.

Quickly, Harry takes the weapon from you and points it in Milton’s direction.

Milton only leans back with a soft inhale while you turn to your lover and whisper, “No. No, not him.”

Harry’s pursed lips and furrowed brows never waver. “What?”

“Not him,” you repeat, as firmly as you can.

And he hesitates for only a moment before dropping the weapon and nodding his chin at you. “Grab the bag and go out the window.”

You nod your understanding before stealing one last glance at the bartender by the door.

He’s heartbroken and terrified…but his features grow softer as he finally mumbles, “…five minutes. I’ll give you five minutes.”

And you can’t help but smile.

You rush to grab what you came for and hurry to the window, with Harry right behind you. You don’t have a lot of time. Once Milton makes the call to the police, you’ll need to be far enough away that they can’t find you.

You know they’ll be looking. Know they won’t stop until they find you both – after all, they’ve been searching for you for years.

But you don’t mind a life that’s on the run, as long as it’s with him.

And the pleased smile he offers you now only confirms this.

You quickly lift the hem of your dress and begin over the ledge, with Harry right beside you to help. He takes your hand for support, keeping you steady until you can safely drop to the ground outside before he’s following suit.

The moment his feet hit the ground, you both run. The Chicago air is cold – frigid. You don’t have enough clothes to truly cover you and your feet are sore from having to wear these outrageous shoes all night.

But you somehow feel…alive. Invigorated and so very free. You have everything you’ve ever wanted.

You have him.

You both slip along the shadows as you make your way through town, leaving the speakeasy and Johnny Winters behind. After a minute or two, you hear the sirens in the distance, and the stakes are raised. They grow louder and louder the closer they get, and it’s then that Harry recaptures your hand and tugs you into a dark alleyway for cover.

This is where you stay until the cars have zipped down the street and proceeded without you. They don’t even think to look for you here and you’re rather impressed with your lover’s quick thinking.

Harry, however, isn’t as quick to revel in the success. Continuingly peeking around the corner in order to watch for anything unusual. Ignoring your amused laughter and giddy grin of accomplishment.

He’s on edge. Alert. Ready to run again if need be, and while you rather admire his practiced precision, you hope to put it to better use.

You drop the bag near the wall and make your way for him, palms quickly finding his cheeks in order to pull his attention to you.

He grunts. “What?”

But you don’t answer with words. You answer with a kiss. A kiss that makes your stomach flip and your mind grow fuzzy.

And this seems to be explanation enough as he groans with approval and wraps his arms around your middle to keep you against his chest. Nipping and licking at you as though his life depends on it.

Perhaps it does.

He shoves you back against the brick after only a few seconds, finding the leverage he needs in order to deepen the kiss and truly claim you. In a way he’d been desperate to the moment he saw you sitting in that office in such a beautiful dress.

“Trying to distract me, hm?” he murmurs, and you can’t help but smile. “Yeah? Or did you just need me that badly?”

He spins you around, pressing your cheek to the cold blocks of clay before dancing his fingers down your spine. Indulging in you.

It makes your insides twist.

You feel the hem of your dress gather in his fist as he finally gets a proper look at what he’s been missing for months. And the sound he makes goes straight to your cunt.

“You filthy fucking thing,” he whispers, rather delightedly while moving in to trail his mouth along your neck. “Look at you. Look at how perfect you are.”

His fingers find your pussy, stroking over your covered slit once or twice before plucking the covering from your hips and dragging it down your thighs.

“Just dripping for me, yeah? All fucking night.” He drags his palm up the inside of your leg. “Power makes you weak, doesn’t it, mama?”

You nod desperately, unable to answer with words.

But he understands, smirking to himself rather deviously before his hands are tangling in your hair in order to yank your head back. Just to hear you choke on a whine. “I’ve waited months for this. Yeah? M’gonna take my time with you…gonna make it worth it.”

And you don’t doubt that you will.

You nod again as the sound of his leather belt coming undone echoes between your ears. You’re trembling with anticipation, body aching for the feel of his cock. It’s been far too long, and you’ve nearly withered away without him.

You imagine he feels about the same, already fisting himself in one hand and readjusting your dress in the other. You hear him mumble something under his breath – you’re not quite sure what. But you suppose it doesn’t matter. He can say whatever he likes as long as he gives you what you need.

Normally, he’d take his time. He loves to make a show out of ruining you, but there’s no chance for that tonight. No patience. So, he kicks your feet apart, grabs your hip, and eases himself in all before you can take a breath.

And it’s perfect. Exactly the way you remember. The stretch, the scratch, the desperation. Nobody feels the way he does, and you both know it.

He’s still for a moment, merely pushing himself in and watching your pussy swallow him whole. As if so overcome by the sensation that he can’t do much else. As if losing control over his own body.

So, you push against his chest to remind him you’re here while your fingers reach back for his hair in order to tug it softly.

You feel him smile against your cheek. “All fucking night,” he whispers the moment he’s buried to the hilt. “Knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

You grin as well. You’re rather happy he noticed.

“Spitting in my fucking face,” he continues. “Challenging me. Acting like a fucking brat. S’all cause you were so fucking needy for me, wasn’t it, mama?”

“Maybe,” you can’t help but retort. “Maybe I knew you’d like it.”

He laughs now. A low, deep, sadistic sound from the back of his throat. Using his hold on your scalp to force your head into his shoulder. “Is that right, hm?”

You only nod.”

“Yeah? Then say it,” he hisses. “Tell me you missed me. Tell me you missed my cock. That nobody fucks you like I do—”

He accompanies this request with his first, sharp thrust. Pulling back only to drive himself in so hard, the air is nearly knocked from your lungs.

“Because they can’t, can they?” he coos, yet it’s angry. Fingers moving from your hair to your neck. Squeezing until you gasp. “Nobody knows how to treat this little pussy like I do. Do they?”

You fall mute. Going limp in his hold as the pleasure begins to build.

“You love it when I fuck you like this.” His nose presses to your cheek as he breathes, your delicate throat a plaything in his touch. “Love it when I kill for you. Love it when I make you mine—”

You gasp at the ecstasy, hardly able to hear him, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You love me,” he murmurs, and you just about disappear into his embrace.

“I do,” you gasp, almost too loudly. “I do, Harry, please—"

“Quiet,” he hisses, glancing now toward the street in order to make sure the police haven’t found their way to you. “You know better than that. You’ll take me and you’ll do it quietly. Understood?”

Your only response is to whimper pitifully while your nails scratch down the brick walls of the alley.

In turn, he grasps onto your jaw, forcing your head to the side until your eyes can meet. “I said, is that fucking understood?”

“I thought you said to be quiet,” you can’t help but retort, and he hums.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play it?” He releases your throat only to take hold of your hips once more and spin you around between thrusts. Quickly returning to his place between your thighs before lifting one of your legs and hiking it around his waist.

“What…” you begin, chest heaving as the tip of his cock drags down your clit. “What are you—”

“Had to see you,” is his gritted response. “Had to see this pretty, bratty face as I ruined you.”

You imagine you’d smile if you weren’t so close to coming apart, but he understands. Pressing his forehead to yours before reaching up toward the top of your dress and ripping the fabric down to reveal your chest.

You can tell he’s been wanting to do this all night. Know he’s been ogling your tits from behind the expensive fabric since the moment he walked in, and truth be told, that’s the real reason you wore it.

Not because Johnny loves you in red.

But because Harry deserved to look at something pretty.

The cold air meets your skin with an unforgiving fervor, and you squirm against the brick as Harry’s eyes fall to the tattered fabric lying so pathetically on your chest.

Instantly, his head dips, mouth leaving open and sloppy kisses to the beautiful pair before him. Tongue stroking the hardened nipples rather respectfully, all things considered.

In turn, you run a hand through his dark curls as he does this to you. As you watch him take whatever he wants. Feeling the way his hair moves like butter between your fingers. The way he hums against you. The way his lashes flutter.

You’ve missed this.

Then, your grip tightens, and you yank his head up until his lips can meet yours. And you take. Take the taste of him, the taste of you, and the taste of victory.

His palm comes up to rest against the wall beside your head. Steadying himself as he works to find that perfect rhythm again. Over and over and over.

And all you can do is move your anxious kisses to his throat as he fucks into you. Whispering, “Nobody, baby. Nobody feels like you do. Nobody.”

Your fingers trail down his strong back, feeling each muscle that dips and flexes as he moves. The way he grunts when you scratch your nails down his spine. The way he consumes you and succumbs to you all at once.

Johnny was beautiful, but Harry is a beast. You’ve never seen a man like this before – never felt a man like this before. Every curve of his body is ethereal. Every detail, every touch.

Your touch continues to move lower and lower down his strong frame until you find something at the base of his spine.

And it makes you grin.

You slip it from his belt with ease, feeling the way it sits firmly in your hand as though it were made for it.

Harry doesn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps he just doesn’t care with the way he’s so deep into you. Emotionally, physically.

But he’s quickly pulled from his pleasured trance the moment he feels the familiar, cool touch of his gun sweeping across his jaw.

He stills. Straightening up ever-so-slightly, eyes finding yours.

But you’re too busy gazing at the barrel that dances across that beautiful face.

After all, he got to have his fun this evening.

Now it’s your turn.

You bring it to a stop just under his chin, tilting his head up exactly the way he’d done to you earlier as he releases a deep breath.

“Mama…” he warns, but you only hum.

This isn’t the first time this deadly weapon has made this an unofficial threesome, but it is certainly the first time you’ve been the one to wield it.

You hate guns. You do. But you love Harry’s. The way he holds it. The way he handles it. The way he uses great care and great power.

Because there’s something about seeing him with it. Seeing the way he controls it, controls the room. The way he holds someone’s life in the palm of his hand…

Perhaps you should be concerned by how enamored you are by it. By him.

But not tonight. Tonight, you simply enjoy.

And from the look in his eye, he seems to be enjoying it, too.

After all, you know he loved watching you use it on Johnny. Know he almost had you right then and there, on Johnny’s desk, before the mission was even through.

He’s endlessly pleased with you, and you can’t help but use this to your advantage.

So, with the weapon still taut to his clenched jaw, you lean forward and ghost your lips over his. “What’s the matter, Daddy? Does power make you weak?”

The twitch of his cock is answer enough.

You go in for the kill. With your fingers dancing over the trigger button, you lean back and dip down before dragging your tongue up the length of the barrel.

His eyes nearly roll back, and the sound that leaves his chest is euphoric. You think you might just kill him.

Because you’re slow. Meticulous. Licking every inch of the weapon until you finally reach the tip still tucked just beneath his chin.

Then…you kiss him.

And he’s so overwhelmed that he growls into your mouth, no longer threatened by the gun at his throat. Instead grabbing onto the back of your neck in order to squeeze it tight and keep you close. Devour you the way he’s been so frantic to.

You don’t even realize that you’ve begun to lower the gun until you feel it snatched from your grasp.

And pressed tightly to your clit.

The cold surface of the weapon against the warmest part of your body has you arching your back with a whimper. He has the upper hand once more, and he’s certainly not about to waste it. Mouth curling up into a satisfied, smug grin at the way your expression has gone hazy.

You’ve never looked at another man the way you look at him and he knows it.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks softly, adding just enough pressure to make you whine. “All fucking night? The moment you saw me? Saw my gun? Wanted me to fuck you with it?”

Your nails meet your chest, scratching down the frigid skin in a desperate attempt to find something to ground you.

His only response is to drag the tip of the weapon down just a bit further. Until he can watch it glisten in you.

“Fucking looking at you,” he muses beneath a strained exhale, enamored by the way you subconsciously begin to grind on it. “So desperate to feel it. To be fucked by it. And what if I do, hm? What if I fuck you with my gun right here in this alleyway?”

You only whisper his name and an airy, “Please…”

“I thought about it,” he continues quietly, nose brushing yours as he slips the soaked barrel back up your cunt. “Thought about ripping off this pathetic little dress and fucking you right in front of your precious fiancé.”

You wish he had.

“You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you, mama?” His fingers drum against the handle. “Yeah? I know you would. Would have loved to watch him watch me.”

And he’s not wrong. He hardly ever is when it comes to your darkest fantasies, and it’s just one of the many reasons why you love him.

“But I had to wait,” he tells you now, finally pulling the gun away from your dripping clit until you nearly crumple to the cold concrete below. “Because after all this time…I’m the only thing that gets to fill you tonight, yeah?”

You simply nod again as he brings the gun back to your mouth with a proud grin.

And you know exactly what he wants, swiping your tongue all along the barrel and tasting every drop, every indication of your need for him. Swallowing it all as he watches proudly.

The moment you’re finished, he takes the gun and returns it to his pocket, tucking it away safely. Because he’s right again, and you need to feel him far more than you’ve ever needed anything else.

So, you grasp onto his face and bring his lips to yours, allowing him to pick up right where he left off.

Because as much as you love the power…you love being weak for him more.

At least in moments like this.

He fills you and fucks you until you’re dizzy. Until you can taste the pleasure and the unraveling.

You make a show of it. A way to apologize for all the time lost. Trailing the tips of your fingers along your own chest and down your sternum until you notice you have his attention.

He watches you take your tit into your palm before you’re tweaking the hardened nipple with a soft whine. Allowing your head to drop back into the wall while you do it again and again.

And he’s an angry sort of infatuated. Groaning almost pitifully before kissing you again and easily swatting your hand away in order to do it himself.

But that’s still not enough. So, you play your ace, and move your touch down to your clit in order to pinch it exactly the way he likes.

And it’s beautiful. The most exhilarating feeling, and this is what sends him over. The feel of your pussy clamping down on his cock, the sight of your fingers against your clit, the sound of your pathetic whimpers and pants as you cry out his name.

He fills you before he can stop himself, kissing you quickly as he releases into your aching, abused cunt.

Claiming you in more ways than one until you have no choice but to follow.

It rips you apart in the same way he ripped the dress. Until you see stars, and your back arches, and your toes curl. And everything makes sense.

He works to make it last for as long as he can, and once it’s all over, there’s a soft, tender moment of silence as you work to catch your breath.

You forget about everything else. The sirens, the lies, the deceit. Even Johnny. You forget about it all.

Because you got more than a diamond necklace tonight.

You got Harry back.

After a second or two more, you lazily reach up to sweep some of his rogue curls from his forehead. Wanting to really see his eyes as he holds you tonight.

“Harry?” you whisper into the cold, dark alley.

He hums. “Yes, mama?”

“I love you.”

And you’ve never seen him so happy. “I love you more,” he breathes, kiss you again as if to cement this vow.

Eventually, the moment comes to pass, and you have to drop your leg back down to the floor and part from him. You find that your muscles are sore, and just a touch achey, but you don’t even mind. Because it’s somehow just as deliciously pleasurable.

Harry works to readjust your dress and keep you covered; despite the way he’s ruin the expensive fabric. He offers you his jacket – insists on it. Wrapping it around your shoulders before you can even argue.

You smile as you snuggle into the warm material, feeling calmed by the familiar smell of him.

“There,” he says as he looks at you before his head tilts. “Just missing one thing.”

Curious, you watch as he slips his hand back into his pant pocket in order to fish something out.

The necklace.

He hadn’t told you about it before the mission. Only about the safe, and now you think you’re beginning to realize why.

He places it around your neck and readjusts the clasp until it can sit comfortably over your heart.

And you both look down as it sparkles from your chest, smiling together as though you truly can’t believe it’s real.

“You like it?” he whispers.

You grin so wide, your cheeks hurt. “I love it.”

He kisses you again, and it’s perfect.

Everything. All of it.

Him.

Suddenly, a loud toll echoes through the small town. The sharp chime coming from the clocktower in the town square.

Once, twice, three times.

Midnight.

“It’s Christmas,” you realize aloud as you and Harry both glance toward the clock.

His expression softens, and it makes your heart soar. “I guess it is.”

And then…you feel it. The first drop of something cold on your cheek. And then another. And another. And another. Gathering in your hair, getting stuck on his lashes.

Snow.

With a gasp, you look up into the dark sky as it dances down onto the quiet Chicago streets.

A rather perfect ending to a perfectly imperfect day.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a soft giggle, you curl yourself under his arm and press your lips to his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

He laughs, and you’ve never been so happy.

“Merry Christmas, Mama.”

I'M SORRY THIS ONE GOT A BIT DARKER, IT WAS FUN BUT MOSTLY JUST FOR THE ERA ASPECT!! Thank you for reading if you did and letting me write something a little weirder 😭💞

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Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

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thisismeracing · 3 months

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― Pairing: Professor!Sainz x TA!reader (she/her) ― Warning: implied age gap (reader is in her mid-twenties, Carlos in his mid-thirties); mentions of food and alcohol; graphic description of sex (p in v, oral –fem receiving, dirty talk); Use of Cassio Sanchez instead of Carlos Sainz for known reasons. (5.1k words) ― Summary: One of your favorite writers once said that “destiny guides our fortunes more favorably than we could have expected”, deep down you knew he was right, but you had never given it too much thought. Well, at least not until you heard the Spanish Literature professor say those words looking at you. Of course, it was dangerous grounds, but things clicked, and as he said so himself, destiny guided you together.

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Growing up, you always heard about how you had to be the best, had to run twice as fast as others, train more, and still hear how lucky you were. It was something that tired you once college came around. Yet, it was almost like second nature to you, doing things as close to perfection as possible. That’s how you ended up getting into your master's right after graduating, that’s how you turned out being a teacher’s assistant to one of the most famous professors on campus, and coming to think about it, you guess that’s how he ended up recommending you to everyone.

That’s the reason he recommended you to Carlos Sainz, the Spanish Literature professor.

Your professor, English literature specialist, George Russell, was a posh Englishman who would occasionally forget some of his materials and schedules, always having a book on his nose and talking about it. You and he hit it off quickly. You were his favorite student, and when you became his assistant, he was even happier because you were just so organized, and punctual.

When George told you he was “lending” your teacher’s assistant’s services to another professor, because he was off, and his colleague had a few conferences that month, besides taking over his classes, you accepted. George knew you loved Spanish language literature, and he knew you and Carlos would work well together. At least that’s what he told you before sending you Carlos' work e-mail and handing you a copy of the uncensored version of The Picture of Dorian Gray, a book you had been trying to get for months but hadn’t been able to find that particular edition.

While setting some of your things for the first day with Carlos, you stared at his e-mail for the hundredth time. You didn’t know him. Your Spanish Literature classes were all completed during an exchange in Colombia, and the University was big enough for you not to know every professor by name or face.

Still, you took a deep breath and wrote an e-mail to Professor Sainz about some of your ideas for the upcoming semester, well aware that you had accepted the role and you would make it work. You liked to think that you could have denied George's request and could have told him about a personal project you’ve been working on, but you said yes.

One of your favorite writers once said that “destiny guides our fortunes more favorably than we could have expected”. Deep down you knew he was right, but you had never given it too much thought. Well, at least not until you heard the Spanish Literature professor say those words looking at you.

***

He keeps his eyes on your face, and you smile after swallowing a bite and finally opening yours.

“I take it, you liked the dish?” His amused, yet provocative tone made you shiver the slightest.

“It’s perfect, Carlos. Now I’m feeling bad I bought a cake from a bakery, instead of making our dessert myself,” you complained, taking another bite. Carlos caught the joke in your tone and smirked, eyes finally wandering down your body, or what the table lets his big brown orbs see.

The V-neck dress was not scandalous per se, it has sleeves that go to your wrists, and it’s not form-fitting, but rather loose around your body. It showed the right amount of skin. And Carlos couldn’t have loved your choice more.

His eyes found yours after a few seconds, it’s almost like he’s making sure you’re comfortable with his gaze, and the way you lean slightly on the table giving him the perfect view is answer enough.

“Don’t worry about dessert, you know we have it covered.”

“Do we?” You add to the tension, and Carlos chuckles.

“Oh, we sure do,” he nods, taking a sip of his wine. “In fact, how do you feel about skipping the whole meal and going straight to dessert?”

“It sure sounds tempting.”

“Do you want it?”

He was still sitting and hadn’t made any move indicating he was about to go your way. You knew this game you were playing and knew that the way he was throwing the questions your way was Carlos studying you, making sure you were comfortable with the outcome. He wanted you to be comfortable. He always wants it, and you can tell from the small details.

No pressure.

Never pressure.

He wanted you to want him.

And oh, how you do!

“I want it.”

He smirked. You heard the scrape of the chair against the wooden floor and watched as he walked barefoot to you. The first few buttons of his white button-up were undone showing you his tan skin where a few dark strands of hair peek out on what you can tell was a remarkably toned body.

Carlos pushed your chair back, turning it to him. He parted your thighs the best he could with your dress and kneeled between your legs. From this angle, he looked even hotter.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, honeybees! I hope you guys liked this sneak peek! This piece has been on Patreon since last month, but I forgot to add the sneak peek here hihi <3 I wanted to write for Professor!Sainz for a while now, and finally found the inspo to finish this piece, and the time to finish editing the last details. A huge shout-out to C (my coffee emoji anon) and Dee (@struggling-with-delia) for proofreading this, and to K (@dancininseptember) for suggesting the TA!reader when I posted about writing this (Ily, guys!).

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secret-smut-sideblog · 3 months

Text

Girl Talk

Astarion x F! Tav

18+ talks of sexuality, implied trauma, safe words, role reversal, breast worship, grinding, fingering (m!), ass play, rimming, prostate orgasm, some gender play, aftercare, porn w/o plot

One late night Astarion turned their conversation to a more sensual topic and was delighted to discover Tav lacked experience with men. Naturally he was more than happy to lend a hand...

"So you've never..." He smiled, laying on his side next to her, the faint miasma of wine around them.

"Never?" She asked, incredulous. "Astarion do you take me for a holy woman?" Smiling cheekily at him. "I thought you surface dwellers thought all Drow are insatiable."

"Well, are they?"

"No comment." She lifted her glass to her lips, sliding her eyes away from him mischievously.

They had been traveling together for a while now and had struck up a fast friendship. Her snarky words and wanton flirtation winning him over. Sharp tongue and sharper eyes.

She leaned back, thinking. "Its more that I've been mostly with women. Sure there was a man or two but they didn't make it far enough to make an impression. Didnt get far below the belt." She shrugged, waving her hand noncommittally.

Of course, in a matriarchal structure she would be more directed towards sapphic pursuits. She had explained that Drow men were not upheld to the most flattering light in her society.

"If you had to pick, in our camp-"

"Karlach," No hesitation. "Oh I'd climb her like a tree."

He blinked, an amused smile teasing the edge of his mouth. "Impeccable taste."

"I have been known to have a refined palate." She smirked.

"Honestly I'm curious but I'm just more comfortable with women, I know their bodies. I can navigate them even without eyes." She laughed.

Ah yes, the eyes. Those haunting eyes.

He had overheard her speaking to Wyll about their shared warlock experience. His, to a devil, to defend his city. Hers, to an eldritch being, to achieve the gift of sight. Tried to smother his frown at the easy energy between them, their instinctive bond.

Logically he knew he should feel this same way about Karlach, with her soft puppy eyes following Tav around camp. But he couldn't keep distaste in his heart for her. Not for long anyway. Wyll on the other hand...

Her demonic white eyes peering good naturedly into his now. He didnt know if he'd ever get used to how they pierced him. She savored every sight and while slightly intoxicating it made him squirm to be looked at so thoroughly.

"Well," He smiled. Leaning towards her conspiratorially. "If you're less experienced with men you could always practice..."

While he found himself enjoying her company, quite a lot if he was honest, he was still looking for an in. And here it was. Plopped in his lap, just a shared drink away.

"Oh please," She rolled her eyes. "My pickings out here are slim to none. Unless I get the sudden urge to get horizontal with a goblin."

"What about closer to camp?" Sliding a little nearer to her, his fingers almost touching the inside of her forearm.

"Astarion," She admonished, drawing out her words. "Wasting your advances? My neck is right here." Turned her head to make her point.

While he was distracted by her jumping pulse point he couldn't help the edge of frustration creeping up him.

He had been putting all of his honeyed words on her, all his soft tempting touches, and she would just dance them off with a light laugh.

She was a natural flirt but there was an air to her that she didn't take his advances to heart. Maybe she thought he was just like that with everyone. That it didn't mean anything.

Given that she was devastatingly beautiful he felt even more pressure to stake his claim. Their companions all circling her constantly. Gods she basically had to beat them away with a stick at the tiefling party.

"What if," He started, tracing his finger languidly up her wrist. "You practiced on me? You can touch me like you would a feminine lover, if that helps."

She sat up on elbows, head cocked slightly to the side, staring at him.

It was suddenly very quiet and he tried not to fidget, finger tracing figure eights into her soft flesh.

"And that wouldn't make you feel... uncomfortable?"

Honestly he hadn't thought that far ahead. This was a person he was free to bed on his own terms, of his own will. And he was rather fond of her. Though he was here with ulterior motives, that didnt mean he couldn't enjoy her company. He could do much worse.

"Oh what's a little exploration between friends..." Looked up at her through his lashes. "Or more than friends."

"I mean, if we're exploring I could get out the strap."

He had been mid drink and choked, sputtering as she laughed, patting hard into his back.

"I'm sorry, just teasing."

"I mean... are you offering?"

She crooked a bemused smile at him. "I think we would have to work up to that, Star. Let's see how the night goes first."

After dinner she gathered her bathing supplies, exchanging pleasantries with everyone as she retreated.

Blowing a cheeky kiss to Karlach as she rose. Her fire erupting in a burst, Gale having to dive off of the log they were sharing. A goofy smile all over her face.

He almost felt bad about what he was planning. She would be much more suited to the tiefling.

Well, it's just sex, it won't mean anything beyond each of their gain. Him, allegiance. Her, pleasure.

He walked on light feet, following her dark auburn hair. The gentle lull of her singing. Playing with the tones and words they had helped the bard Alfira stumble through.

"Moon, Sun, All remind me of your grace, Faith, Care, All the love I can't repay~"

Despite her light and playful demeanor her singing voice was full and haunting. A mournful cello calling out into the night.

He understood why Karlach basically begged her to sing for them around the fire when her little talent was discovered. She had waved her away, insisting that it wouldn't be worth their time. She'd much rather hear Halsin play. Then Halsin had urged her on, countering that he would only pluck a few strings if she joined.

"Fine, prepare to be underwhelmed." She had laughed.

Immediately they went quiet as she started, closing her eyes. He noticed she always closed them when she was concentrating, as if the added sense was too much.

They were enraptured listening to her, even Halsin almost stumbling through cords. Her voice spellbinding them all.

"Gods, Soldier. Are you part harpy?" Karlach hushed after she had fallen quiet.

She smiled, clearly embarrassed. A rare sight. She had an easy confidence, getting her flustered was a feat.

Now, he approached her stealthily at the edge of the river. Faced away, already waist deep, wringing water out of her long hair.

"Are you joining or just hoping for a show?" She smirked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

He was about to scoff, how did she always hear him no matter how quiet he moved?

Seeing his annoyed posture, she smiled. "My ears are more attuned than most seeing people, dont take it personally."

"Noted. I would so enjoy sneaking up on you." He pantomimed, crouching down playfully.

"I bet you would, but you'll have to walk on a whisper to get past me." She winked, sinking down into the water to chest high. Turning to face him. Eyes alight with mischief.

It felt so easy with her. Their banter a practiced dance, the steps surefooted.

"So, are you still dreaming of sharing a night of pleasure?" He mused, pushing his hand on his lower back. A wicked smile on his lips.

She lowered further into the water, only eyes now. Staring at him through her lashes, serpentine. One hand emerging, beckoning him with a hooked finger.

He pulled his clothes off in a sensual show, leaving them in a neat pile next to hers.

As he began to wade in her head submerged. The night water too dark to make out her shape.

He stood in false absence in the water, chest high. Senses alight.

Fingers along his waist, exploring. He looked down and saw her murky shape against his torso.

She rose, chest to chest with him. Pushing her hair slick back over her head. So dark it looked black in the dim light.

"Well, well," He intoned, pulling a damp lock behind her shoulder. "Looks like I caught myself a siren."

"You do know what sirens do to beautiful creatures like you, right?" She cocked her head at him, arms coming up to drape over his shoulders.

Their eyes were level with eachother, nearly the same height. She had teased him mercilessly in camp when it was discovered that she was an inch or two taller.

It felt almost too intimate to be directly across from her, their faces mirrored.

"I'd be more worried for your neck than mine, darling." He purred, flashing her a fang baring smirk.

"Oh I dont know," She mused, pressing her body flush to his. "I think deadly things can be good bedfellows, dont you?"

She brushed her lips against his, pulling away teasingly. "You still want to do this little experiment?"

"I'd love nothing more." He snaked his hands around her waist. "Lead on."

At least he didn't have to do the work this time. Could just lay back and go somewhere else.

Some of his thoughts must have betrayed in his face cause she paused.

"Hey, I'm okay to postpone this. Indefinitely if needed." Her voice was uncharacteristically soft then, pulling away from him.

He grabbed her retreating wrist, leading her back into him.

"Tav, I need this." He hushed, the truth. Though maybe not with the intent she imagined.

She paused again. Gods it made him nervous when she got quiet. Her melodic voice usually floating around the air.

"Ground rules." She stated, her eyes serious. Waiting for his response.

He blinked. Honestly he had given his own boundaries very little, if any thought.

"You first." Stalling for time.

"Not okay with being restrained and I'd prefer if we had a safe word."

He nodded, this was new to him but he did appreciate the idea.

Scouring his mind for definite turn offs but found it difficult. He tried to not be present for most of it so it was hard to say with certainty.

"Dont touch my back or the bite. Also not into restraint. Or force."

She smiled and he felt proud that he had passed this little test.

"We can stop at any time, okay?"

"Naturally, darling. Though I doubt I'll be able to resist ravaging you, I'll behave."

"Those lines work on a lot of women, huh?" She teased, fingers trailing his cheek as she pulled closer.

He felt a slight tightness in his chest but gave her an easy smile. "Well you're here now, arent you darling?"

"True." She whispered, leaning in to kiss his jaw gently. "Though I could say I'm here in the spirit of research."

"And you'd be a liar, a terrible one at that."

She breathed a laugh against him. "You always need to get the last word, huh?"

"Oh, I'll ge-" He was muffled by her mouth, pulling him into a slow exploring kiss.

He felt a little moan escape him, much to his horror. The desire in her touch surprising him.

She held him around his waist, cupping the back of his head. Her lips sliding warm against his.

She pulled away and he found himself following her. "The safe word is Bulette."

He nodded, and she lifted under his thighs and wrapped them around her waist. Walking up to the edge of the water.

His dead heart did race a little bit at that but he figured it was just the role reversal.

Though they were the same height she was much stronger than she looked. Muscle hidden under plush thighs and the soft curve of her stomach. He could feel it when he bit into the defined curve of her neck. See it in her shoulders when she lifted her arms over her head. That little adorable whine when she stretched.

She layed him back on the grass, her hands guiding him down.

"If this is how you treat your women I can see why you've taken so many admirers." He teased.

"You know," She smiled, leaning down over him. "You're beautiful enough it's not a far stretch."

He breathed a laugh through his nose.

"So where would you start, lover?" He purred, twisting a lock of her hair as it fell over him.

She hummed, moving down. "Usually here." Leaning into his neck on his unmarked side.

Kissing and nipping at his throat he found himself giving in to the sensation. Head falling back slightly. He never minded the foreplay.

Her mouth was devotional on his neck, licking and pulling heavenly circles.

He found himself humming with approval. Hand carding through her hair. "That is nice, darling."

"Then I'd move here..." her fingers trailing down his chest, brushing tentatively over his nipple. Asking.

He felt a shiver go down his back. Shocked by the little strike of pleasure.

"And then?" He intoned, hearing the slight rasp in his voice. Definitely intentional.

He felt her smile against his throat. Moving down his front, leaving soft kisses as she went. Thumbing over his nipple playfully.

"I would put my leg here." She hushed, pushing her knee between his thighs. "So she could grind."

"Interesting," He tried for suave, failing miserably. Her fingers softly twisting his peak making him slow and stupid.

"This is my favorite part." She looked up at him through her lashes cheekily. Hovering over his chest. "Hold on, love."

He almost scoffed, surely it wasnt-

Her mouth descended on his chest, licking hard slurping circles around his nipple.

His back arched involuntarily, a loud embarrassing groan leaving him.

She moaned in pleasure, her mouth salivating. Gripping his hips.

Gods she was unhinged, tongue pulsing and insistent. Laving up and down his hard peak. Panting hot against him.

If he had more sense he would have been baffled at how much it seemed she was enjoying just his experience. But he felt lost, head heavy with pleasure.

She pushed her thigh further into him encouragingly and he could no longer resist. Already painfully aroused.

He ground down into her thigh gratefully, feeling her tense the muscle for him.

Her other hand came up to pinch and twist at his nipple as she left it, sliding over to his left side and taking up there. The new sensation making him gasp, both sides of his chest being devastated with equal intensity.

She picked up on the rhythm of his hips and pushed her thigh into him in pulses.

Gods her mouth, rolling her tongue and nipping. Suckling down hard then pulling back to lick long stripes up his chest.

How in the hells was he already close?

He gripped her bicep, wrapping his leg around her hip.

Fuck it. Why not?

"I'm-," He panted.

She moaned into him, biting down on his engorged peak. Rising back up.

He almost whined at the lack of sensation until she latched onto his earlobe.

Oh fuck.

His eyes pulled shut. "Oh Gods, don't stop."

She suckled down hard, a little sweet whine directly in his ear. Her hands gripping his ass and pulling him into her harder. His cock throbbing and sliding wet against her.

One last nibbling suck and he was shattered.

Coming in stuttering cries, head thrown back. His pelvis contracting in great vicious jolts, spurting long ropes against her hip. Distantly aware of the sounds coming out of his lips.

"You with me?" She asked gently after a moment, pulling back. Kissing his face in light caresses.

Suddenly aware of his body again he realized his eyes had welled with tears.

"Ah, yes darling." He ruffled, trying to pull himself together with great effort. "I could actually go again."

She looked at him dubiously, a soft but amused smile on her swollen lips.

"I think you're lying." She purred, leaving a tender kiss on his already bruised neck.

He was. But he had a reputation to uphold.

"All out of moves? Dissapointing." He sighed.

"You're cute," She chided, coming back up to pull him into a searing kiss. "Biting off more than you can chew."

"Oh I've barely been sated, sweet thing. I'm starving."

"On your belly then." She whispered into his ear. Patting his thigh playfully.

"Well, wouldn't you like to be tasted?" He asked, confused. Surely she didnt intend to only pursue his pleasure.

"Hmm, maybe another night." She mused, truly seeming to mull it over.

What a strange creature.

"Are all sapphics like this?" He scoffed, letting her hands twist his waist. Hips up, bracing himself on his forearms.

"More than you'd think." She laughed, massaging his hips from behind.

"You know what you're doing back there?" He teased, shooting her a look over his shoulder.

"Hmm, different from what I'm used to. But I think I can translate." She eyed his backside playfully. "But dont hesitate to give me directions."

She leaned down and tongued gingerly at his hole.

His head fell forward, hands in fists.

"Well that's encouragement." She teased, tongue coming back. Moving in tight circles.

"Ah!" He moaned, pushing back into her.

Though he knew she was new to this she moved with practiced precision. He could tell she was very good at what she did on more feminine bodies.

"I heard this is a good spot." She murmured, her two fingers rubbing back and forth against his taint. The shudder that moved through him making her smile.

Tongue coming back to push slow pulsing heaven into him. Both sensations playing him like a fiddle. His fingernails digging into his palm.

Oh Gods it was too good. And still he needed more.

"Inside. One finger." He moaned into his arm.

She wet her finger inside her mouth, tested it in small circles around his entrance. Other hand still stimulating.

She pushed in gradually, pausing one knuckle deep. "Like this?"

"Yes," He panted. "Slowly."

"It feels so similar." She marveled, finger almost to the hilt. "How lovely."

He clenched at her words and heard a delighted giggle. "Even that! Oh!"

"If that's the same, then what about..." She curled her finger toward his navel.

He moaned loudly, buckling down.

"Oh yes," She smiled, beginning slow pulsing thrusts of her hooked finger. Other hand pushing more into his taint. Hitting his prostate from both sides.

A moaning writhing mess beneath her, he was completely gone.

"Oh how pretty, coming undone like this." She purred, leaning down to lick around her pumping fingers.

He knew he was not long for this world, the building pressure in his pelvis about to burst. Reaching around to grip her thigh with a bruising intensity.

"Such a good girl for me." She hummed.

He cried out, his end hitting him so hard he thought he would black out. A deep shuddering ripping through him. His whole world condensed to nearly agonizing waves of pleasure. Tears spilling down his cheeks he bit hard into his forearm. His cock forcing out what little he had left in him.

He collapsed comepletely flat into the ground, the damp earth holding him up.

She left his back momentarily, coming back with a cloth, wet from the river.

She pulled his slack body up to her chest, his back cradled into her. Softly wiping first his brow then working her way down.

"You dont ha-"

"This is part of it, love." She smiled, running her hand through his hair, cajoling it back into place. "You're getting the full experience."

He leaned into her, closing his eyes. Letting her bathe him clean. He knew future him would be screaming into his pillow at this but he was too blissed out to care.

"Thank you," She gave him one final wipe. Setting the cloth down and wrapping her arms loosely around his middle. "For trying this with me. For trusting me."

"You did everything and you're thanking me?" He laughed, still panting. "You're a strange woman, you know."

"If you're so insistent maybe you can do all the work next time." She pinched his side lightly.

Next time. The anxiety in his heart melting just for a moment. Oh thank the Gods.

"If Karlach doesn't beat you to it, that is."

"You're the devil."

She laughed against his back, his eyes getting heavy.

"Let's get you to your bedroll, we'll have a brand new day of bothering eachother tomorrow."

He would never admit it to her, but he was looking forward to it.

Part 2

#post nut clarity is going to hit him like a truck #babygirl you are sooo normal about her #astarion smut #astarion x tav #lyrics from: you know me too well - nothing but thieves

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scoobydoodean · 4 months

Note

what’s your opinion on “lebanon”? as it actually is in the show and how fans/fic writers interpret/approach it.

cause i’ve been binge-reading “lebanon” fics and i’ve noticed two patterns: sam might argue with john or he stays calm but regardless he preaches to dean about what a terrible father john was, and dean always falls back into his performing and just keeps defending john. now i love all that angst, really i love it so much, these fics are phenomenally written… but i’m just wondering if i’m crazy to think that dean wouldn’t actually fall back into that role to such an extent, and whether the episode actually kinda got it right by having dean feel secure with his family as it is. iirc my issue with the episode is that neither dean nor sam got to express any issues with john in an honest but civil way (and that john is too nice) but that still i liked dean’s expression of security, but tbh it’s been awhile since i last watched it so maybe i’m missing/misremembering smth… thanks!

One of the strangest things I see in fandom is how many people's sense of how Sam views John versus how Dean views John is just flat out wrong. The idea that Dean is always defending John while Sam is always criticizing him the whole show is negated over and over and over in the actual show itself—extremely overtly.

There's two issues here in my mind that lend to this fandom problem.

The fandom accepting Sam and Dean's "John Narratives" at face value in the early episodes of season 1. For example, watching 1.08 "Bugs", where Dean claims to have no resentments toward John and says Sam also was a dick during Sam and John's fight, and going, "Well there we go. Dean has no resentments and refuses to criticize John but Sam will." At this point, we already know from 1.06 "Skin" that Dean does have resentments toward John for not appearing to care about him and for abandoning him, and we get further indications in 1.11, and 1.21 in this season alone. Another example is Sam and Dean's clashes in 1.10 "Asylum" and in 1.11 "Scarecrow", which are largely analyzed by the fandom as moments where Dean is blindly following orders when they have some other, better option Sam is pushing, and Dean is just refusing to go along with Sam's much better ideas because he's too focused on believing their dad knows best... when that is not actually what is happening at all. Sam's alternative plans in the beginning of 1.10 and 1.11 are absolutely stupid. In 1.10, he wants to call the FBI on John to find him. That's his big idea—instead of following the coordinates John just sent them and seeing if he's there. In 1.11, Sam's big bright idea on finding John is to abandon some people to die on a time-sensitive case so he can go search all of Sacramento for John with nothing but an area code. His plans are dumb, plain and simple—and while we do see Dean hiding his own resentments in these episodes too, that does not remain true—which brings me to the other issue here.

Fandom doesn't leave room for the brothers perspectives on John and their outward expressions of those perspectives to shift or mature over the series. This is particularly funny because their perspectives are literally swapping over the course of season 1, and have pretty much fully swapped by 2.02.

Sam's shifting season 1 perspective on John

What actually happens in season 1, is that Sam, who starts out burning with resentment and hurt toward John for disowning him and being a smothering drill sergeant and absent, binge-drinking dad, slowly begins empathizing him because he's now suffered a similar trauma and is having extreme difficulty coping with it himself! Sam's empathy for and understanding of John (and hell—even respect for John handling it as well as Sam thinks he was capable) is already beginning to show in 1.02—where Sam asks Dean "How does Dad do it?" (i.e., deal with the same burning rage and desperation for vengeance that is tearing Sam apart) (gifset). In 1.04, he learns John was bragging about Sam's accomplishments to other people (gifset). In 1.08, when Dean tells Sam that John was never actually disappointed in him—that he was scared Sam would get hurt if he wasn't around (gifset here) a lot of Sam's anger about the Stanford fight fades. He ends the episode saying "Dad did the best he could" (a repeated quote often misattributed as coming more from Dean) and saying he wants to find him to apologize to him for the things he said (gifset). John and Sam share a heartfelt, tearful hug in 1.16—at the end of which Sam begs John not to leave, and in 1.20, John himself apologizes and explains what was going on in his head when they fought, and it ends with them smiling and laughing as they acknowledge they understand each other and they're the same. I track Sam and John's relationship through the tag, #we probably have a lot more in common than just about anyone because Sam says that during that conversation in 1.20 (gifset).

Dean's shifting season 1 perspective on John

At the same time this shift is happening in Sam, we see Dean going the exact opposite direction. He starts out believing John has their best interest at heart even if they don't understand his actions, but the resentment is there too (1.06). In 1.09 and in 1.12, Dean needs help desperately, and John doesn't answer. While Sam is learning that John actually cares about him, Dean is growing more and more concerned that John doesn't care about him (Dean) specifically. We see this resentment start to come out (season 1 compilation set here) in 1.20, when John says he wants to keep the boys safe and that's why he's ditching them, and Dean calls it "A bunch of crap". Dean begins standing up to John to his face from this episode onward—finishing 1.20 with a "Yeah well we saved your ass" in response to John saying they disobeyed him. In 1.21, John tries to get on his case, and Dean lays into him about not answering the phone and specifically about abandoning Dean when Dean needed him in 1.09 and 1.12. In 1.22, Sam tries to get his way by telling Dean that John wouldn't want them to bring The Colt to save him, and Dean yells "I don't care what Dad wants!" and then when Sam starts throwing the blame on him for everything, Dean says,

Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that? You both can’t wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what? I’m gonna be the one to bury you. You’re selfish, you know that? You don’t care about anything but revenge.

Dean has compared Sam and John more than once during the series, and it has never ever been a compliment.

Sam and Dean in the rest of the series

Sam and Dean's interactions about John in rest of the series are... almost universally the opposite of what the fanfics you've picked up suggest. Their interactions almost always show Dean criticizing John and Sam keeping silent or defending him, or reiterating that John did what he had to/the best he could.

Gifset on Dean's whole season 2 "Fuck John Winchester" vibe here.

In 2.01, Dean shouts at John for (it appears) abandoning him to die:

DEAN Come on, Dad. You've gotta help me. I've gotta get better, I've gotta get back in there. I mean, you haven't called a soul for help. You haven't even tried. Aren't you going to do anything? Aren't you even going to say anything? I've done everything you have ever asked me. Everything. I have given everything I've ever had. And you're just going to sit there and you're going to watch me die? I mean, what the hell kind of father are you?

Sam and John have a horrible fight where John blames him for Dean's condition and Sam tells him to go to Hell only for him to make a demon deal and literally go to Hell that same day (gifset) and Sam tries to start another fight right before John dies but John refuses to engage (gifset). The result ends up being that Sam and Dean have fully swapped places on John by 2.02 with John's death as the catalyst. John's death leaves Sam with regrets that their last interaction was Sam trying to start a fight (2.02). He decides he wants to hunt in John's memory (2.02) (gifset1, gifset2) while a part of Dean desperately wants to quit the life altogether—he's clawing the walls but feels helplessly trapped (2.09, 2.10, 2.20).

Sam defends John while Dean suggests John lead them down the wrong path with a dogmatic rule book (2.03). He demands they go to Lawrence so he can place John's dog tags over Mary's grave (2.04). He spends the season regurgitating John's orders, pushing Dean to do what John told him to do (2.11, 2.14, 2.20) while Dean wants to quit the life (2.09, 2.10, 2.20) and burns with anger toward John. In 2.10, Dean says "I wish to god he'd never opened his mouth!" about John.

In 2.11 "Playthings":

SAM (shoving DEAN to face him) Dean! Dad told you to do it, you have to. DEAN Yeah, well, Dad's an ass! (SAM frowns in confusion) He never should have said anything! I mean, you don't do that, you don't, you don't lay that kind of crap on your kids! SAM No. He was right to say it! Who knows what I might become? Even now, everyone around me dies!

We see Dean seething with resentment while Sam defends John's orders and tries to enforce them on Dean, carrying the legacy of their father in more ways than one.

Over and over, we get indications that a part of John treated Dean as disposable while he sheltered Sam, and that Dean is increasingly aware of the impact that's difference has had on him—to the point he realizes his father's neglect and abuse is the reason he isn't fighting to save himself in 3.10 "Dream A Little Dream Of Me". Dean and John's relationship is intentionally paralleled with a physically abusive relationship between a father and son in this same episode (gifset, meta), and in this episode, Dean rejects his father as an "obsessed bastard", calls Bobby his father (gifset), and decides from this point forward, he's going to fight to save himself from his demon deal because fuck John Winchester.

DREAM DEAN Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you? DEAN Son of a bitch! My father was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap! He's the one who couldn't protect his family! He– who wasn't there for Sam! I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me! And I don't deserve to go to Hell!

And yeah! Dean also still loves John! And more than that—he craves John's protection. We see this in 3.14 "Long Distance Call" when the Crocotta calls to Dean as John from beyond the grave, telling Dean exactly what Dean wants to hear: "I never wanted this. Never. You're my boy, I love you. I can't watch you to go to hell, Dean," and telling Dean he can save him. This is pure longing for the love and protection Dean has always desired from John but feels like he's never received. Instead, he's always felt disposable.

In season 4? Oh boy... we get this incredible bit in 4.10 between Dean and Anna:

ANNA I was stationed on earth 2,000 years. Just... watching... silent... invisible... out on the road... sick for home... waiting on orders from an unknowable father I can't begin to understand. So don't tell me that -- DEAN laughs. ANNA What is so funny? What? DEAN Nothing. Sorry. It's just...I can relate.

Then in after meeting Adam in 4.19, Sam and Dean have a fight about whether to bring Adam hunting with them or leave him to a normal life:

DEAN 'Hunting is life. You can't have connections.' Dad gave you that exact same speech, remember? It was just before you ditched us for Stanford. You hated Dad for saying that stuff, and now you're quoting him? SAM Yeah, well, turns out Dad was right. DEAN Since when? SAM Since always. Dean, when I look at Adam, you know what I see? DEAN A normal kid. SAM No. Meat. Because the demons and monsters out there, that's all he is. I hated Dad for a long time. I did. But now I think I understand. So we didn't have a dog and a white picket fence. So what? Dad did right by us. He taught us how to protect ourselves. Adam deserves the same. DEAN Listen to yourself, man. SAM You think I’m wrong? DEAN I think it's too late for us. This is our life. This is who we are, okay? And it's fine. I accept that. But with Adam, he's still got a chance, man. He can go to school. He could be a doctor.

Sam says John did right by them. Dean thinks he absolutely didn't, but they can't change who they are now—they can only keep others from falling down the same path.

At the end of the episode? Oh boy...

DEAN You know, I finally get why you and Dad butted heads so much. You two were practically the same person. SAM looks over. DEAN I mean, I worshipped the guy, you know? I dressed like him, I acted like him, I listen to the same music. But you were more like him than I will ever be. And I see that now. SAM I'll take that as a compliment. DEAN You take it any way you want.

It is NOT a compliment.

In 5.16, Dean is confronted with god's intentional absence, and burning with resentment, says to Joshua,

Forget it. Just another dead-beat dad with a bunch of excuses, right. I’m used to that. I’ll muddle through.

In 5.13, Sam takes the opportunity presented to him by young John's presence to defend their father and tell John that he forgives him (gifset).

JOHN Look, how long have you known about this...hunting stuff? SAM Pretty much forever. My dad raised me in it. JOHN You're serious? Who the hell does that to a kid? SAM Well, I mean, for the record, Mary's parents did. JOHN I don't care. You know, what kind of irresponsible bastard lets a child anywhere near—Y-you know, you could've been killed! SAM I, uh...came kind of close. SAM laughs. JOHN The number it must've done on your head...Your father was supposed to protect you. SAM He was trying. He died trying. Believe me. SAM sits down on the bench under a window. SAM I used to be mad at him. I—I mean, I used to... I used to hate the guy. But now I—I... I get it. He was...just doing the best he could. And he was trying to keep it together in—in—in this impossible situation. See... My mom, um... She was amazing, beautiful, and she was the love of his life. And she got killed. And...I think he would have gone crazy if he didn't do something. Truth is, um, my dad died before I got to tell him that I understand why he did what he did. And I forgive him for what it did to us. I do. And I just—I love him.

What Lebanon does is present Sam with the opportunity to reiterate his forgiveness toward a John who understands the context:

SAM Dad… for me? That fight… that was a lifetime ago. I don’t even remember what I said, and – I mean… yeah. You know what? You did some messed-up things. But I don’t… I mean, when I think about you… [voice breaks] and I think about you a lot… I don’t think about our – our fights. I think about you… I think about you on the floor of that hospital. And I think about how I never got to say goodbye. JOHN Sam. Son. I am so sorry. SAM I’m sorry, too. But you did your best, dad. You – you fought for us, and you loved us, and… that’s enough.

So yeah! The fanfic narrative here where Sam is Mr. "Dad was bad" and Dean is Mr. "Nooo dad did the best he could" IS ABSOLUTE NONSENSE!!!!!

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celluloidbroomcloset · 6 months

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Thinking about this some more, I don't think that Ed systematically dismembering Izzy is entirely centered on Stede, but on what Stede represented as well, and what has been done to Ed himself, independent of Stede.

(Please note, I'm not casting a moral judgment on characters' actions here, but trying to explain what it seems to mean to the narrative and the character arcs and development, both literally as well as figuratively.)

When we first meet Ed, he's already tired and bored, to the point that he says that the only adventure left will be death. The alternative that Stede represents isn't just the man himself, and the love that Ed develops for him, but the possibility that life can be more than being "just Blackbeard."

There's a lot of discussion of Ed being allowed to be "just Ed," but in a lot of ways the things that Ed is are a whole combination of personas and realities. Blackbeard is a persona, yes, and it's also a part of him - it enables him to survive, it protects him, and it ultimately comes to protect the people he loves, including Stede. The problem is that Blackbeard has so completely taken over Ed—in large part due to Izzy, but also due to Ed's fears about his identity—that he doesn't know who he is outside of the persona.

Stede gives him space and encouragement to explore who he is, just as he does with the rest of the Revenge crew. He sees Ed as Ed first, he listens to Ed's complaints about how he's depicted in the caricature, and he encourages Ed to try different things, from going to a fancy party to going on a treasure hunt, finding excitement in the discovery of a petrified orange, storytime with the crew, enjoying good brandy, putting on a fun show.

None of it is prescriptive—most of the things they do are up to Ed whether or not to participate in, and many are proposed by Ed himself. Stede never condescends. It's not Stede remaking Ed in his own image, but lending him support in what he wants to try, and protecting him when he's hurt. Stede barely seems aware that he's doing it. He sees no reason not to encourage Ed in what makes Ed happy - and what winds up making Ed happy is Stede himself.

So Izzy's constant threats against Stede are more than just threats against the man Ed loves, but the entire process of Ed discovering his own identity. Izzy is fully invested in maintaining who Blackbeard is—and he makes it clear that "Blackbeard" is indeed that violent caricature—and there is no flexibility outside of that. So the more Ed becomes an independent person, the harder Izzy pushes back and the more he threatens the existence of the man who "did something to my boss's brain."

When Stede leaves, as many have pointed out, Ed doesn't suddenly go back to being Blackbeard. It's the combination of very deep grief and self-loathing and the violence committed by Izzy as he insists Ed become Blackbeard rather than "whatever this thing you've become" that result in the Kraken. Ed's breakdown is catalyzed in the stripping away of pieces of himself—all the happiness, all the fun, all the things that were building on repressed desires and needs, severed from his soul. He does this emotionally and psychologically, but also physically—throwing out books, slashing up paintings, removing all traces of softness and gentleness.

Izzy announces that "Blackbeard is himself again," as though this identity, the caricature of violence, is all that Ed is, and the joy and softness that Stede helped Ed find in himself was never real (an echo, in some ways, of Ed's mother telling him that "we're just not those kinds of people," though this time emanating from a monstrous father).

Ed is aware of what is being killed inside him, and specifically what role Izzy plays in his self-murder, because Ed has been dying bit by bit for years. He externalizes his suffering and the monstrosity that has been forced upon him and starts, almost immediately, cutting away pieces of Izzy's body, bit by bit. The final taking of the leg is the physical manifestation of Izzy severing Stede, and all the softness and gentleness, and love, he represented, from Ed's soul.

Nearing the end of that scene, Ed turns his back on Izzy and spreads his arms. Izzy starts laughing hysterically, telling him "clean up your own fucking mess, I'm not doing it, I've been doing it all my fucking life." Izzy still doesn't understand, though Ed has once more told him, fairly explicitly, exactly why he no longer has a leg. And Ed is resigned—he'll go and die a different way, knowing that Izzy still doesn't understand what he did to him.

Because at that moment, Ed’s fully convinced that Izzy has indeed killed Edward Teach - that all that is left is the monstrosity of the Kraken, with the softness finally cut away. That's not the end, of course, because Ed isn't the Kraken, but it will never be Izzy who helps him to see that and embrace life again. It will be Ed himself, who works through his hatred of himself, then hears a voice begging him to live and decides that he wants to.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd season 2 #ofmd meta #my wee thoughts #stede bonnet #edward teach #ed teach #kraken ed #blackbeard #izzy hands #tw: abuse #gif #i think there's a lot more to be said about this but also i'm tired of talking about izzy

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sadtonight · 1 year

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Perfect's perfect child

Summary: surprisingly, tending a child is relatively easy. Or so he thought: innocent childish antics are endearing, until they turn disastrous!

Characters: Pomefiore;

Warnings: reader and character's child is biological, children's names are not specified, reader is gender neutral, reader is perfect but without Grim, established romantic relationships, grown up characters;

Side notes: my bestie was such a hungry child. Though no matter how much or what she ate it didn't help her grow ha ha. She's the size of an Epel if you are wondering. AGAIN FORGOT THAT GRIM EXISTS RIP.

Vil

— does Vil Schoenheit have a spouse? Yes, that's a well known fact. And apparently, completely magicless which was nothing out of the ordinary, despite some nasty fans assuming it to be unacceptable. But does the couple have children? There are rumours circulating around due to celebrity's implicit answers on the matter, but no-one knows for sure...

— the reason why your son's existence is shrouded by the veil of mystery is due to Vil wishing for your child to not be burdened by his father's reputation. It's not like he is ashamed of himself or the progress he had done: unlike Vil's father, Vil is mostly renowned by his excellently performed villainous movie roles and refined yet cold exterior that he polished even more after his graduation from Night Raven College;

— your husband successes lead to meeting many talented folk from all sorts of industries, some of which were not even directly linked to Vil's field of activities. Either way, you both were about to welcome one of those guest at your house, them being close enough to know of the existence of your son;

— speaking of the boy, the frowning youngling was currently in his room, sitting on the soft plush light purple carpet before openned dresser looming over his small frame, the inside of the furniture and it's content engulfed in darkness. Usually you or Vil helped him choose an outfit for the day, but now both of you were busy with preparations so you couldn't aid your young kid;

— he finally got up from his position and tugged on the intricate shirt until it fell down and put it on, coming up to a mirror to check himself out. The ribbons behind were displaced! The boy couldn't fix them himself so he gripped the lower part of the clothes and rushed out to get someone to help;

— despite the house not being small, the smell of delicious food was thick in the air. Among the aromas, the boy spotted the smell of plums, fruits that he deeply associated with his father Vil. The decision was made: the boy run into your shared room, not without lightly knocking on the door;

— your son saw who he was hoping to find — amethyst eyed male sitting upright before the vanity, applying purple lipstick to his lips. However, before the boy could ask his dad for help, suddenly you called out from the kitchen for Vil's urgent help, so the man has risen from the chair, leaving the lipstick tube sitting on the vanity table, excusing himself and telling the boy to wait for him here;

— with a huff, small boy walked around the room, seeking something interesting to occupy himself with in the meantime until his eyes lended on the vanity. Child climbed the chair and put his hands on the table, rolling his shoulders behind, puffing his chest out: like this, he looked like dad! Shiny funny-shaped beauty products were a no no for your son and yet he couldn't help reaching for opened purple lipstick tube;

— all types of questions were swirling in boy's mind, in particular how the lipstick would feel and of course how it tasted. He was hungry after all. First, he applied some colour, but missed the shape of his lips and in attempt to erase his doings he tried to lick lipstick off, finding out that it was extremely hard to do so. Left with no other option, the child bit on the purple stick, chewing the material which was nothing like plums like he initially thought it would taste!

— your son was about to take another bite to clarify but was lifted up and turned to face scary expressionless Vil. "Hmp, didn't I tell you to wait for me? You do know that disobedient children get eaten? And I happened to be veeery hungry now~" the last phrases came out with a smirk upon seeing the young boy pleading, frightened eyes. In truth, Vil wasn't angry at all and didn't plan to punish the troublemaker — on the contrary, his son getting interested in make up wasn't a bad sign. Though beautiful male does feel upset with the poor state of his freshly made purple lipstick....

Rook

— you wondered on multiple occasions if after graduating Night Raven College, marrying to Rook Hunt and having kids with him, would they share the same eccentricity like their father? One way to test it is to have children, and so after an extensive long while the first child was born;

— first few years you had to hold your overexcited husband by the imaginary collar since he was a little too ready to share his crafts with the infant boy who couldn't even make a full coherent sentence. The fact didn't bother Rook in the slightest: if anything, it meant that he could observe how the little one communicates! Comme ç'est excitant!

— and unsurprisingly, soon enough your son showed the interest in drawing while Rook was testing to see what arts the boy would show interest in. Apart from drawing, your husband also wished to introduce the boy to many other forms of self expression, naturally showing of the fruit of his artisticity — various collections of photos and photo albums. It was endearing to see the two sitting on the couch under the cover, your content husband, turning the pages with faintly visible nostalgia flowing in the eyes and faint smile looping up in the corners of his mouth, and your son observing every picture with curious expression that only small children could master;

— after being exposed to photos of nature, animals and beautiful figures your son's attention was drawn only to those subjects. You recall seeing crudely drawn Leona-s on the back of the colour book. The small boy would try to sneak the photo albums to his room to observe the pictures for how long he wanted, but Rook had always blew any attempt of theft. That is until one fateful day;

— it was an ordinary autumn noon, except for you being absent from home, out in the town hanging out with some guys from the college. Rook was babysitting the young boy in the living room, tweaking with one of his bows as the later who despite suffering from cold, was drawing animals on the paper at small coffee;

— blonde male's attention was diverted to his son who was tugging his clothes and pointing to the table, silently informing his father about the lack of black paper sheets. Rook got up from the sofa and hid his bow away, made the boy drink medicine and gently instructed him to go rest while he goes to buy the art supplies. It would take less than 15 minutes to do the deed, so the huntsman was sure nothing wrong would take place;

— it was already evening, so you decided to get back home already. A bus ride home, and you were standing before your doors. You rung the doorbell, expecting your cheerful husband to sweep you of your feet and ask about your meet-up yet you were met with the bewildering scene: Rook was smiling...and crying at the same time;

— turns out, he was away for some time to buy paper, and your son had managed to get his little hands on the photo albums, which huntsman hid so well that even you didn't know where they were concealed, and drew on every single picture with colourful pens. Rook wasn't angry, how could he get angry at such wonderful artistic display, but the pain of losing such precious photographs was too severe to not shed a few dozens of tears. It's still a wonder that the boy found those albums in his sickly state — hunter's intuition must run strong in Hunt's bloodline you assume!

Epel

— your fair, lilac haired husband has been suffering from his feminine outward appearance from childhood up to now, even though he deliberately drabbled in fashion industry to help promote his family's business after his time spent in Pomefiore dorm. So with the birth of a daughter, Epel hoped that maybe he could restore his manliness by appearing in father's role publicly, yet it had the opposite effect;

— you see, the little girl was such a successful mix of yours and Epel's genes that she along with both of you were swept by the media and proclaimed to be the cutest family in the whole country, even surpassing Neige's close-knit, big family. Now your husband had one more title to his name, apart from "the cutest of them all", which was good for his career but bad for his male soul;

— maybe to general public he didn't seem manlier but to you, nothing spoke more volumes than how he behaved with your daughter. Honestly, you envied the girl sometimes — she was spoilt rotten with fatherly affection she received each day! They shared similar personality vise that it felt like the saying about apple not falling far behind it's tree was made specifically for those too;

— speaking of apples, your small family has just returned from a trip to Harveston. Unsurprisingly, little girl showed great interest in articulate and farming and spent time with Epel's relatives. Before you knew, it was already time to head back to city's hustle and bustle, so your husband packed several crates of fruit and drinks (he carried each crate himself without using magic by the way!!) and you were good to go;

— in contrast to you and Epel who were exhausted, your daughter was ready to return to the country side the very next day. The images of colourful apples blending with green leaves up above only added fuel to the fire. It was early in the morning when Epel felt a small hand pat his cheek. The little child wanted to eat an apple, so the father had to crack open a wooden crate. Half asleep, with small girl pacing close by, he effortlessly opened the lid and gave a big yawn. Just one apple, he said and went back to your shared bed;

— it later in the morning, Epel felt a bigger hand patting his cheek. This time it was you who woke him up, crackling and barely contacting a full-blown laughter. Needless to say, this greatly confused your husband whom you dragged to the kitchen. What he saw though were horrors that made him twist his face into utter shock: apples scattered everywhere, all littered with bite marks as if some sort of rabbits have attacked those apples. And amongst this mess, on the chair was sitting a girl with a single half eat apple;

— Epel crouched down a little to the eye level and, in a strained voice, questioned your daughter what happened to which she with a proud smile and puffed out chest responded that she had finally found the tastiest apple! Alas, she didn't want to eat the rest of it, so she placed the leftover on the table and skipped away from the crime scene;

— turns out, the male had done something similar back when he was a child, as his mother informed you over the phone sometime later, thus he remained in the room to clean it up, salvaging those fruit that could be used for apple pies. Those two were the cutest, you thought, while admiring the photo you have sneakily taken when both of them talked.

#twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel felmier x reader

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starlightshadowsworld · 4 months

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Imagining Atsushi joining the Port Mafia, and having a role similar to Oda.

Atsushi is a low ranked member who works alone.

He is essentially the Port Mafia's errand boy. Doing all the missions and work the rest of the Port Mafia finds tedious.

He mimises losses and casualties because he can do the work himself. Atsushi doesn't mind, he completes every mission efficiently and effectively.

There's a genuine kindness about him.

He wears his emotions on his sleeve and is always respectful and kind to his fellow members, even those considered below him.

For an organisation that hides behind masks, Atsushi's behaviour stands out as strange.

But not unwelcome.

There's a warmth that's felt when he enters a room. Atsushi's always willing to lend a hand, not expecting a favour in return.

If someone tries to say they're in his debt, Atsushi will tell them to just buy him some chazuke. And he'll consider it paid.

None of this makes Atsushi seem naive or dumb. His mission reports speak for themselves.

There's always a hidden weight to his words. Atsushi has caught traitors before they've begun to step out of line and despite his low ranking he's one of the strongest.

People learn very quickly not to mess with Atsushi.

For one, Atsushi has managed to gain the respect of many high ranking members. Kouyou and him have tea every weekend and Chuuya always calls him over to talk when he spots him.

Akutugawa never grows to hate him, they have a rivalry but it's friendly. Atsushi's careful but he's overstepped at times and Akutugawa has simply rolled his eyes.

When he'd have killed anyone else.

Atsushi reports directly to Mori. His past is one few know about, all they know is the Boss personally bought him to the organisation.

Things were different back than.

Atsushi's eyes that were always shining bright, were blank and empty. He had been like a doll, silent and letting himself be pushed in whatever direction.

It had been unnerving to say the least.

There's one rule Atsushi has and it is not to kill. He will complete every mission with the only blood on his hands, his own.

That had not been the case back than.

There's an unease that fills the Port Mafia when it's a full moon. Despite being muffled from being down below, everyone can hear Atsushi's screams as he turns.

He can control his ability quite well. But on the night of a full moon he is completely at its mercy.

When Atsushi returns he looks like a wreck, there's a blank look in his eyes and blood on his hands and mouth.

Kouyou beckons him over, gets him cleaned up and keeps him at her side. No one comments on the concern in her eyes.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief the day Atsushi walks in with a smile on his face and light in his eyes. He might just be a low ranked grunt, but Atsushi is so much more and they all know it.

He is the light in the darkness,

#atsushi nakajima #bsd atsushi #bsd kouyou #bsd akutagawa #Bsd mori #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs #bsd

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riririnnnn · 3 months

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Low-key a continuation of this, but this post alone makes complete sense.

I'm well fed now, so my brain is churning again.

LESGOOOOOO 🌬️🤸🏻‍♀️🌪️

So, we have this fella.

Let's start.

Theory — 1

Kaiser has a flower farming family business or a florist shop.

You see, Blue Rose isn't something you'll find growing in the wild on its own. It's an artificially produced product or a White Rose dyed with a blue colour.

I understand that there are many people out there who are passionate about growing flowers, but only as a hobby. However, for simplicity, let's ignore that.

So, I think he was more like a soft boy and you can easily imagine a soft boy with a flower background getting bullied by the tougher guys when he decided to join a soccer team, then someone from his family gave him an inspirational talk about Blue Rose. It explains his want to win the World Cup and also his want to push the soccer industry into despair.

Plot hole: This theory doesn't feel Blue Lock-esque, it feels rather lame for a character like Kaiser. It doesn't explain his weird, nearly obsessive behaviour in his rivalry with Isagi. It leaves no room for a deeper explanation about his hand tattoo.

Theory — 2

This is the more widely known and believed theory in the BLLK Fandom that Kaiser was poor growing up, and some might even go as far as to say that he was a trafficked child. It could be that the one who lend him a hand for help also had some association with Blue Rose, and then helped him pursue soccer further.

Plot hole: Quite similar to Lorenzo's story. Being poor has already been used many times as a trope in this Animanga. Doesn't explain his behaviour of inflicting pain on himself while being frustrated and that why he wants the soccer world to go into despair.

Theory — 3

This goes darker, so be warned.

Soccer, somehow, destroyed his loving and happy family. It could be that he used to be a crybaby, and he got inspired/used to look up to a figure in his house who used to play soccer.

Firstly, when he used to fail in soccer, that figure used to calmly soothe him and treat him nicely, but then things turned out to get worse and after that Kaiser got subjected to being physically abused which explains his knack to choke himself.

Plot hole: Feels like a scrapped idea from Itoshi brothers' backstory. Blue Rose tattoo's influence in the story gets diminished and the hand tattoo feels like something added just to make the character look cool.

Theory — 4

This theory solely based upon this panel:

It makes me think like he got abandoned by a soccer partner or something.

Further, see this panel:

Maybe this partner backstabbed Kaiser?

It could be that his older teammates got jealous of his "talent" and then bullied/physically or verbally harassed him? When in reality he actually had no talent and just worked really hard, like, we have been shown how he was practicing hard after Isagi one-up-ed him in the Ubers match or after the Manshine City match when he was watching everything in those multiple screens.

Feels like he is going to be the Oikawa of Blue Lock.

Plot hole: I actually don't find any kind of plot hole in this theory except the fact that Blue Rose low-key feels out of the blue.

Theory — 5

It could be called as a modified version of the above theory.

Maybe his family is filthy rich too. Having "Kaiser" as a last name could mean that he is from some sort of Royal family and he used to play soccer with his siblings or a family member, but as the time passed, he still dreamt of being a Pro soccer player, but the other person(s) refused and instead accepted their traditional roles.

Plot hole: Feels like Reo 2.0, and doesn't explain why he wants the soccer industry to go into despair.

Personally, I do think that we are going to get entirely something else, but it's pretty fun to think of such things.

Ness should never touch scissors again. He massacred Kaiser's hair.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock theory #bllk theory #michael kaiser #雪 ranting

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eff-plays · 11 days

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To me it's not really about morality if I have to be honest. I'm an Isaac Castlevania stan and he wanted to kill literally all of humanity. Like I don't care if you play evil characters or get off to immoral dom daddies or whatever. I've wanted to punt children in Skyrim into the sun for saying sassy shit to me so like. It's a video game where you kill people. I do not care.

To me, the "problem" (or rather, the thing I like making fun of the most) is just how very surface-level evil the Ascendant ending is, how obviously evil it is, how Larian pretty much beats you over the head with it using very simple and traditional storytelling techniques ("you'll have to kill 7000 people, including literal children btw"), and how some people still manage to twist it into something it isn't (a triumphant, perfect ending) despite Larian constantly blasting at you how bad it is. (And this isn't a critique, it works well and tropes are tropes for a reason, this shit works.)

And it's not even a unique setup. It's a classic dichotomy of want vs need. That's why they're contrasting endings. Astarion wants power, but he needs freedom and self-worth. That's the gist of it.

That's why I love the epilogue titles so much, because they perfectly sum up the endings. Radiant Hopeful, because he's his own light in the dark. For someone who's been a pessimistic asshole after suffering for two centuries, that's HUGE. Sunwalking Regent means he can walk in the sun, a symbol for everything he wanted, but "regent" implies he's a temporary ruler. Someone, somewhere, will come to de-throne him one day, and every day he fears that moment. His newfound power binds him to constant fear and paranoia, and he always searches for new ways to become stronger, because in his mind, he can never be strong enough.

Spawn ending is bittersweet: he lost power, he's still cursed with vampirism and can't walk in the sun, but he is free, he is his own person and he has hope for the future. He's decided for himself what he wants to do, and that's adventuring and helping others, lending his strength to those who do not have any, in his own weird way. He's physically weaker than Ascendant Astarion, and yet he's got strength to spare.

So what's the flip side? In the ascendant ending, he has power, he has control, he has money. But he's paranoid, he's controlling, and he's terrified of losing it all again, because without it, he believes he's nothing, so having it becomes his one and only purpose. It's also bittersweet, because he finally has everything he wanted, but he'll never again have what he truly needs.

These are like ... classic tropes. You can't have it all. You have to make a choice. The thing you think you want, or the thing you don't know you need. AA stans argue that actually, no. His endings are actually suuuper flat and uninteresting. Either he stays a weak and worthless and fearful spawn, or he becomes a strong and powerful and manly supervampire (let's not unpack the masculinity stuff here cuz that's a whole other bag of yikes). That's the argument they're making. That it's a black and white choice of either you pick the stuff where everything works out forever or the stuff where he's a loser lapdog who has to obey Tav because men must either control to be real men or are controlled pussies who can't do fuck (again, not getting into that here). And it's just literally not how the story is set up. None of the companion stories are this flat. If they were, there wouldn't be any argument or choice to make. No pros and cons to weigh. And it's just logically not a good gameplay mechanic, for a role-playing game.

And yet there are people who are just choosing not to get it, just the way I choose to believe it's a choice for most of them because I don't want to believe so many of these people are genuinely this stupid.

So yeah. That's why I block AA fans on sight. Not because I think their fetish is funny (though I do), but because I genuinely don't think I would have anything to gain from people who fundamentally cannot comprehend extremely basic storytelling techniques when they're practically spelled out for you with not-very-subtle methods. It's not even a thing of consciously choosing the bad ending where he's a very shitty daddy dom because it gets them off, that's literally whatever to me, but the fact that most of them genuinely believe it's somehow the better ending.

Despite. Well all of the shit I wrote above.

So yeah. It's not about enjoying evil characters, to me. People who do generally don't brush the actual evil part under the rug. It's the refusal or apparent inability to grasp extremely basic storytelling concepts lmao. And for what? Pff.

#bg3 #astarion discourse

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002yb · 9 months

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one of my fav aus are jason being the oldest robin and dick being catwomans sidekick (or the other way around tbh) like the dynamics switch so nicely with Jason being the oldest, he has no time for resentment- he has his brothers to take care of. Also this au and damien coming early is like my fav thing everr

i’m straying from the original point but Damien immediately taking a liking to Jason and following him around and Jason going everywhere with him, including Dick’s place

Dick and damien fighting for Jason attention?? count me in. Them glaring at at other while Jason is in the middle being oblivious or just being like “chill. just chill i totally thought you guys were gonna get along you’re both usually so nice (to him at least)”

Jason as the eldest checking on Tim at night to make sure he’s sleeping and preaching communication to his brothers knowing damn well he does not know how to

Jason being batman’s cardinal and everyone in gotham loves him because he’s one of them and they stick up for theirs. Also him being the go to to talk to villains because they all have a soft spot for the first cardinal, prickly as a cactus but always sincere in his desire to help them, it’s hard to hurt someone so genuine

this is a half open thought but him being the leader of the teen titans?? the dynamics?? crazyyy

dick getting offended on jason’s behalf when tim becomes cardinal and jason is just like “none of that”

dick and jason being best friends who occasionally have to play fight when bruce and selina are up to their shenanigans

second generation of the cat and the bat ahhhhhhh

basically him just being everyone’s favorite ever (i have a need for my favorite characters to be the best sorry)

Oh~ what a fun AU premise! Usually I prefer Jason to be Catwoman's protege, but I can see the appeal of Dick filling that role. Because like. It lends itself to a dynamic of flirty!Dick/flustered!Jason and I can't say no to that hahaha.

But yes - Dick and Jason becoming best friends over the years. They keep it as professional as the bat and the cat during their night hours. Mostly. Batman is forever exasperated with how it's largely Dick that chases Jason though. And it's easy for Dick to joke about cats chasing birds, but it's Jason that has to answer why later on in the night and Jason is just so embarrassed but petulance wins out so he grumbles, 'well why do you chase her, huh?' And Bruce becomes that meme of a man contemplating life at various locations throughout the manor and Gotham proper.

Oh! Dick is a cat burglar first and foremost. But also something of a Robin Hood with pawning found things to support those that need it. Jason is so taken after witnessing that, though he keeps his knowledge of it to himself. He doesn't think Dick would stop or abandon whatever purpose he's found in helping others, but still. It's such a genuine thing - Jason doesn't want to intrude on it.

But also Dick sometimes joining in on the Bat's vigilantism. Sometimes he's bored and there's plenty to be done so Dick just shows up and gets involved. And Bruce hates it so much, but Dick is good at it. And he works so well with Jason. But Bruce is haunted by Jason's crush and life is OTL

Pffft, I never think of Dick as my favorite but looking at this reply so far it's ahhhhahahah so sorry anon I know Jason is your favorite okay uhhhh~

Alright, nope. In my defense you've covered the Jason bases so well though LOL.

More rambles: the first time they hang out without the cover of the night? It's not a date, Jason swears to Bruce. But Bruce is still so miffed over it all because Jason is babygirl (later in life, Dick will snicker because 'you bet he is [babygirl] ԾᴗԾ'). Anyway, first hangout? It's casual. It's nice. Do they get into trouble? Of course, but they're not caught, you know? And Jason wouldn't say that Dick is a bad influence. The casual pickpocketing is on choice marks and it goes to good causes and Jason's morals have always been more grey than Batman's, so. Dick picking Jason's wallet only to leave a flirty note in it for Jason to find later AHHH. It becomes a thing. Most often they don't catch each other, but sometimes they do and that adds to the fun and playful and youthful flirts.

Leaving off on Damian here because omgggggg I love any AU that puts Jason and him in one anothers' orbit asap. Damian imprinting on Jason, too? Sign me up. Peak content.

So yes, Jason's still older when Damian comes around. Dick and he aren't anything official, per se, but there's commitment there. And yeah. Dick fully anticipating a cozy night in with this boy he's adored for years only to open the door and see Jason standing there holding the hand of some kid and like - what?

'Is he mine?' A weak joke to convey his confusion. Which Jason rolls his eyes at because 'not this time.' And Dick knows Jason is oblivious so he's made a joke about Dick philandering with someone else, but uh. No. Never. So Dick snickers and makes it clear that he was talking about Jason with a casual, 'well, whenever you're ready.' Which makes Jason flush in that way Dick likes so much. But Dick can't even really enjoy it because he abruptly realizes, 'wait, is he yours?' Not that it'd be a big deal, but what?

Brother, Jason explains and huh. Yikes. Dick will have to check in on Selina. This is - news.

Damian giving Dick the most dour of looks because contrary to his young age, he understands Dick's 'unsavory' intentions. Dick recognizing the fire of competition in the set of Damian's jaw and aw, fuck.

Especially at the start where Dick's place in Jason's life is threatened/forcibly changed without warning and Damian is still so damn young - it's tough. There's a lot of jealousy and animosity and it's both comical and exasperating. As Damian gets older and everything settles though, things get better. Dick and Damian still get competitive and ornery with one another, but it loses its edge. It becomes their dynamic.

And Jason is just so, so adoring of this man that fits himself into Jason's life so well despite all the hassles and troubles and drama being with a bat brings. ˉ̞̭(′͈∨‵͈♡)˄̻ ̊

Very much a side note: saw in a post somewhere with a concern about Jason's alias changing to 'Crow' and like. Valid. But it'd be really cute for an AU like this where he still works with Batman but isn't actually 'Robin'? Right? Idk the vibe is cute. The angst with Joker making a joke of beating Crow with a crow-bar is also very tragic in this sort of timeline.

#dickjay #jaydick #stray!dick grayson

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melrosing · 5 months

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Ok speaking of changes GOT made… is there any changes you like? I struggle to find big moments, but there are small additions I love. Like Ned praying before he dies, Robb hitting the tree when he finds out, the chemistry that Kit Harrington and Rose Leslie have…. But there are very few structural changes I think improve the story.

hmmm so I can't lie there is a LOT I just don't remember anymore about the show, so wringing my mind a little to come up with something.....

I won't mention things that I think were adapted well (like Ned's execution) as those aren't adaptational changes. and I also won't mention things that I like the idea of (e.g. Jaime's dyslexia) but not the execution (they made out it was part of the longrunning 'stupidest Lannister' joke).

and like.... well I'm stuck already lmao?? I'm not even trying to shit on the show I just feel like it was a consistent exercise in either understating GRRM's work or butchering it entirely. so I can think of only a few things:

I can't find the link to where I talked about this at length but the scene in which Jaime and Ned duel in the streets of KL was a good one imo. I think it was more in character for Jaime to just recklessly fight Ned himself, and a neat parallel to what I suspect will happen between Ned, Arthur and Howland - in that when Ned is attacked from behind by one of Jaime's men in the midst of their fight, Jaime angrily ends the duel bc his man has essentially dishonoured it. I think Ned's fight with Arthur will end as it did in the show (with Howland stabbing Arthur from behind and Ned finishing the job, bc he needs to reach Lyanna), and this is like a parallel to show Jaime and Ned have the same principles, yet each have broken them in times of desperation. My personal theory is that this was a change GRRM recommended - the parallel seems notable to me, and not one that would've even occurred to D&D, esp. given they never gave any particular shit about Jaime's story. And this may sound spurious but I recall that GRRM remembers in an interview, saying the weather was different in the show version of the scene than in the books.... which makes me think he was maybe onset for this one, possibly because of the rewrite??

I'm v much in favour of ageing up the youngest characters. My ideal starting ages for the youngest characters in AGOT would've been Jon/Robb/Dany - 18, Joffrey/Sansa - 14, Arya - 12, Bran - 10. To me they all feel much too young for the roles they play in the story, and it occasionally kills my suspension of disbelief

I way prefer the book’s version of the Red Wedding but I do feel like Catelyn's single cry of despair works better than the book's manic laughter. maybe the laughter was a more vivid image for the books idk

I do actually like how we see Robb's grief onscreen it's very movingly played by Richard Madden. I also love Catelyn's expressions as Robb rides back from the Whispering Wood, like both these scenes are great reminders of their mother/son relationship in a setting where they aren't really allowed to be just that. and like just Michelle Fairley tbh I really like her work as Catelyn even though I don't like how the character was adapted more generally

Breaking the 'concept but not execution' rule just to say I think it was definitely a good idea to explore the High Sparrow as this weirdly charismatic figure so we can see how others might be taken in by him, even whilst we see the extremes of his faith. but that subplot was not executed well at all so fuck it

Yeah I agree that Jon and Ygritte having a slightly more charged romance also works. In the books Ygritte comes and goes quite quickly and I think there is something to be said for lending a bit more gravity to that relationship. I don't think they necessarily had to be the grand romance that the show makes them out to be but I didn't hate it

I might be forgetting other things that worked because some seasons I haven't seen since like 2015, but honestly it just doesn't work for me as an adaptation. things I liked in the show before reading the books feel completely naff in hindsight, knowing how they were supposed to play out, so..... eh

#ask #anti got #asoiaf #edit: sorry this originally said I prefer the show’s red wedding I do NOT 💀💀💀

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morallyinept · 5 months

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Shoot: Wired Magazine, Feb 2023 Issue - Published online on Jan 9th 2023

Photographer: Peter Yang

Interviewer: Hemal Jhaveri

Grooming: Mira Chai Hyde

Full interview, behind the scenes, outtakes & shoot photographs below. 👇🏻

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

• Cover shot and original images used in the magazine.

• Outtakes and behind the scenes images.

• Full interview

Unmasking Pedro Pascal, the Complicated New Face of Sci-Fi

The Last of Us star talks video games, violence, and playing tough guys (Hi, Mando!) when you’re actually a people pleaser.

PEDRO PASCAL IS a little too nice, actually. Too many hugs. So many polite refusals of snacks. On the set of a photo shoot for this interview, there’s an evident tension inside him. He retreats into the aloofness of celebrity, but he is also eager to connect. He seems to enjoy having his picture taken, but he gets shy when the photographer moves in for a close-up.

It’s in his nature to be open, but he holds a lot of himself back. He’s not too far off, in fact, from the anonymous bounty hunter he plays in The Mandalorian. He wants to take off the mask and let people see his face, but he doesn’t want to deal with the fallout.

Too bad. Not only is Pascal returning for season three of The Mandalorian, he’s also starring in HBO’s The Last of Us, probably the biggest video-game-to-TV adaptation of all time. In that now oh-so-recognizable face of his, one senses, well, shock. It’s unthinkable - magazine covers, TV stardom, all of it - for a kid who wrapped himself up in ’80s movies and late-night HBO after his family fled Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship in Chile, seeking political asylum in Denmark before eventually ending up in the United States.

Pascal always dreamed of being a performer, yes. And he spent years kicking around with small television roles and New York theater gigs before getting his eyes gouged out in Game of Thrones. But he never imagined becoming Hollywood’s go-to reluctant father figure. You know, famous.

Maybe that’s why Pascal now seems chiefly concerned with making those around him feel comfortable. When the shoot runs long, cutting into one-on-one time, he assures me he’ll stick around to talk. And he does, for much longer than his schedule is supposed to allow. I get the feeling he’s just excited to finally be sitting at the cool kids’ table - Ethan Hawke! Nick freaking Cage! - and doesn’t want to do anything to mess it up.

Like most celebrities, there’s a part of him that is a little insecure and hungry for validation; even an offhand compliment about one of his performances seems to set him at ease. He’s most engaged when we talk about his family and politics. It comes through in his voice, his body language, a cleverly deployed arched eyebrow. He cares so much. He’s also uncomfortable caring so much.

This is, I suspect, the source of his powers - that empathy at his core, visibly competing with the tough-guy exterior. Unlike most hero types these days, whose bodies glisten with smoothed-over perfection, Pascal has aged into his face. Whatever he lacks in shine, he makes up for in grit: His broad features and salt-and-pepper facial hair lend him a grizzled, protective air. In The Last of Us, he plays Joel Miller, a father in a postapocalyptic zombified wasteland dealing with loss both personal and global. The performance flicks between menace and heartbreak, infused with deep feeling - a natural ability to find the humanity at the heart of a conflicted hero. That’s Pascal. Our conflicted hero. Empathy hugs and all.

You seem to be picking parts - The Mandalorian, Joel in The Last of Us - that play very intentionally into a tough, conflicted outsider status. But maybe that’s too neat and tidy?

I find it funny when anyone applies choice to my experience. Of course you can say no to things, but you can’t say no to Jon Favreau, Kathleen Kennedy, Dave Filoni, or HBO. It never felt like stopping and considering what the characters were. It was simply the circumstance of a door opening and stepping through it.

So there was nothing specifically tempting about The Last of Us?

To be totally honest, it was wanting to work with Craig Mazin, who did Chernobyl. Also, HBO is content that I literally grew up on. I experienced their original programming. Their original programming was very, very mature.

You mean, like, the after-11 pm original programming.

Absolutely. And I saw all of it, which is pretty nuts.

Your parents didn't care?

Obviously there’s a variety of immigrant experiences in the US, but it tends to be really strict in one way and really open in another way. If my parents liked what they were watching, they rarely sent me out of the room. But I had to get good grades or I wasn’t allowed to watch shit.

Same here - get good grades, do whatever you want.

They didn’t take TV seriously as something that would influence our choices. But basically, I developed a real big dream about being a part of something that would be important to a network like HBO.

So how’d you prep for The Last of Us? Did you play the video game?

I hadn’t heard of the game. Their instruction was: Don’t play the game. I ignored them. I tried to play the game, and I was very, very bad at it. (But my nephew was fantastic.) It was important to me to play notes that were directly related to what was originally in the game - physically, visually, vocally.

Did you bring anything personal to the role?

That’s the fun part—how much you get to externalize internal darkness in a safe way and bring in things that are from your nightmares.

Such as?

Joel’s capacity for violence, and being good at it. I didn’t get into any physical fights growing up, and definitely not as an adult. Violence scares me tremendously. Is it the fear of violence in general? Is it the fear of your own violence?

Or maybe the fear that you’ll like it?

Totally. I love thrill-seeking stuff. But I don’t make a practice of testing my limits. I’m actually a little bit opposed to it. I don’t like pain.

Meaning physical pain?

Pain of every kind. I don’t like psychological, emotional, or physical pain. Some people will be like, Oh, I know that it’s very likely I'll break something, I’ve got to try that. Fuck. That. I don’t think of myself as- I’m not a tough guy.

Really?

I don’t live that way. I’m a lubricant. I want people to feel comfortable. I don’t know how to function at the expense of anyone’s comfort level. I’m a people pleaser.

I see some of that on social media, where you seem to do everything you can to make, say, the sci-fi fandom more welcoming and inclusive. You’re very supportive of your sister, for example, who came out as trans in 2021. How are you navigating your role in political spaces?

Total improvisation and ultimately just erring on the side of, like … [very long pause, two deep sighs] My entire heart is set on, you know, the marginalized underdog. It’s not a choice. Like, how dare anyone not support the people that are deserving of support, and are deserving of protection and need more of it than you do. Do you know what I mean?

Yeah, but some actors would say, My star is rising, I don’t want to get involved with this.

Maybe if you pause to think about it, it could keep you from doing the right thing. And this feels like the barest minimum. Like, the barest minimum.

You mean an Instagram post isn’t enough?

No, it’s not. My personal hope is to seize the opportunity to be of service in ways that are true. I’m keeping my eyes open. The truth is that I don’t think I do nearly enough. I’m, like, a LIB-ER-AL, but there are contradictions there as well, because we live capitalistically. I guess we carry, you know, the weight of that shame?

The weight of capitalist shame? The fact that you make money is a bad thing?

Kind of?

You’ve had late-career success. You were consistently working—

I was consistently working, and it was a total struggle in such a typical way, but there was always somebody that would be able to bail me out—to help me pay my rent or help me get groceries.

But now you must be rolling around in all your money like Demi Moore.

[Laughs] Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal?

Yes.

I don’t have the bod for that. She’s basically the only one who could pull it off. Yeah, I get my cash. I spread it all over my bed and I roll around in it.

I knew it. But seriously, how do you think about your recent stardom?

I didn’t get Game of Thrones till I was in my late thirties. And therefore, the amount of times I was helped, and the amount of people that I could rely on through some really tough times—I’m never going to let some of them ever buy dinner again. I want to take care of people as much as they took care of me.

Who helped you?

There’s the family that my older sister sort of acquired. And then also by becoming part of a theater community that really looks after itself.

You have some famous friends too.

Does that mean we have to talk about Oscar [Isaac]?

The internet loves this friendship.

I met him through a play we did together in 2005. An off-Broadway show where we were getting $500 a week, before taxes.

Do you have a favorite memory of the two of you?

There’s so many. He’s so naughty. His level of naughtiness onstage during that play, for example. He played a ghost, which meant that the living characters in the story could not see him. I had to do my scenes, and he would physically be there, but because my character couldn’t see him, he could fuck with me, all in front of live audiences, as much as he wanted, trying to get me to crack up or forget my lines. The memory is simultaneously dark and wonderful.

Would you say you tend to be a hopeful, forward-looking guy?

We have to hope. But I’m too privileged. You know what I mean? Like, I’m too lucky. It’s an interesting thing. The reason my older sister and I grew up in the States is because my parents fled a military dictatorship. So, you know, only 10 years after my parents were in hiding, I was crying because The Breakfast Club was checked out at the video store.

But I’m guessing there were also challenges?

Looking back, so much of it only seems to present itself as an opportunity. When my parents ended up on a list of pardoned exiles and were able to go back to Chile, it came with enormous families on both sides, which was missing from the experience of growing up in the States. I guess it’s only in middle age where it feels like it can be emotionally challenging to accept that there isn’t anywhere to plant my flag as an individual.

Everywhere is home and nowhere is home. But that also still feels like a good thing to me. It’s often framed as a disadvantage in our culture, but it’s an advantage in character, and in perspective, and in outlook.

Do you think that if you had popped into national consciousness when you were younger, you would not have wanted, say, a traditional Marvel role—the cape and the CGI and all that?

But I do want that. I want to be in movies.

But the world’s in a fairly tense political moment right now. Does that change what it means to be a hero?

There’s so many ways to misunderstand people and to forget that, at the end of the day, your neighbor is very likely to give you the shirt off their own back. The interchanges that you have with strangers are, more often than not, human. But then you can go and look shit up and be terrified by how divided we all apparently are. To comfort myself, I just remember that everybody I come in contact with is sort of, in their own way, heroically kind.

In some ways, you’re the face of that new kind of hero.

Oh my gosh. It’s funny when the phrasing “the face of” comes up, because Mando is faceless. I haven’t thought about it in that way. I’m always struggling to imagine myself as being a part of something that I have been witness to growing up and watching. There’s a disconnect for me - I don’t know how to place myself in that world. Like, I just go a little blank.

Then talk about your character in The Last of Us. Joel can be a little scary.

I think what’s scary about Joel is that none of us really know what we’d be capable of if faced with the idea of losing love. Whether it’s conscious or unconscious, being alive or even being a human being is directly connected to the love you feel. Existing is connected to the love you feel toward a particular relationship - your child, your partner - and to lose that? Some people are not capable of applying rational thought to that kind of loss, or the threat of that loss, or the threat of that loss again, right?

That’s what makes you human.

That’s what makes you human and inhuman. It’s such a beautiful question that the video game poses. I avoid all of it by not having kids. And staying out of relationships.

Do you want kids?

I don’t know.

You’re close with your nephews.

Well, yes. Only because they were so good at playing The Last of Us. No, I’m just kidding.

It’s funny then, or at least a bit ironic, that you keep getting cast as these reluctant father figures.

I love being… I like being able to imagine it.

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal shoots #pedro pascal interview #pedro pascal magazine #pedro pascal photo shoot #pedro pascal shoot #pedro pascal photo

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