#2 sides of the same dirty coin

[news4dzhozhar]

There are so many US politicians on the AIPAC dole that a video had to be compiled to list them all. Both parties have no problem taking millions from a foreign assets lobbyists. Compare this list to those who signed that insane letter threatening the ICC at the Hague. Notice anything?

[x-gabrielle-x]

Jealousy, Jealousy | Part 1

Parings: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Warnings: Mentions/descriptions of sex, masturbation, swearing, manipulation, dub-con.

Summary: Coriolanus Snow is determined to make you his.

Part 2

The first time Coriolanus had seen you; it was during another one of the Covey's performances at The Hob.

He remembers that night vividly, having been stood at the back of the cramped barn and watching on as Lucy Gray sang one of her many songs with joy, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet with every step people took on the dance floor. The music of the band and the laughter that seemed to echo throughout the room caused for a sickly feeling in him. Despite telling himself that he deserved this night off away from his Peacekeeping job, all he really wished for in this moment was sleep and to be alone.

He debated leaving, his feet already shuffling closer to the door until his eyes were suddenly locked on yours.

It was quick and subtle, most likely to be forgotten in the next minute, but it was there. You had been smiling from ear to ear with your skirt waving around your legs as you danced, clapping along to the beat as you flowed your way around the crowd.

It was until the end of the song came that he realized he had been standing there watching you the whole time.

It was when Lucy Gray was tugging on your upper arm and leading you toward him that he finally allowed himself to move, barely managing a light smile when you and Lucy Gray stopped before him.

"I hate to be the one to disturb your thoughts, Coriolanus, but I knew you would've just loved to meet one of my dearest friends," Lucy Gray smiled, a mischievous gleam in her eyes that caught Coriolanus. When his eyes drifted back to you, he found that you were already smiling up at him, the same smile you had worn whilst twirling around the dance floor.

“I’ve heard lots about you, Coryo,” he didn’t fail to notice the mischief behind the tone of your voice, and upon hearing the nickname, a hot flush overcame him.

It was then that Coriolanus knew you would be his. Whether it was your decision or not.

He had made it his mission to chat to you throughout most of the night, drunk on the sound of your laughs and your gaze gleaming back up at him. So innocent, so stupid, and completely oblivious to the rush of blood going straight into Coryo's pants.

That night once he was back in his silly little cot, sure that the rest of the Peacekeepers were asleep, his hands were eagerly pushing down his pants from his waist, a sigh of relief escaping his parted lips as his hand grasped at his throbbing base.

You flashed in his thoughts. Your skin that was soft against his fingers, your breasts that rose and fell with every breath, your pretty mouth that he wished was sucking him in deeply, then your eyes.

He had to stifle a moan by burying his face into the plush of his pillow, brows squinted in concentration and mouth open in a silent 'o'.

With a few more silent pumps, he held in a gasp as he hit his climax, his spend hitting his sheets in a sticky mess.

The next time he had crossed you was when he was on duty in the merchant's section. He was stood beside a wall, gun held securely in his hands as his eyes observed his surroundings. And despite this, despite the loud chatter and occasional children screaming as they were chased by their friends, he still couldn’t get his mind to focus.

He wants to see you again. Needs to.

He wants to feel your presence, smell your scent once again, hear your soft voice.

It was as if the universe had heard his exact thoughts, because he felt his heart leap once he spotted you within the crowd, dirty dress and small bag at your side, observing the many small stalls around you.

He watched as you held up a piece of bread, offering the lady the few coins you had left over and give that darling smile of yours.

Oh, how he loved it.

He was just about to move from his position to get closer to you, until he halted in his tracks.

A man had strode up beside you, gleaming down at you with a wide smile that you gladly returned, and Coryo couldn’t do anything but watch as his lips pressed against yours, sweet and short, but full of love.

No.

He inhaled hard, teeth clenched and averted his gaze, his eyes travelling anywhere by back to you. You were his, and his only. How dare this man - this pathetic poor man - take you from him? How dare you do this to him.

His hold on his gun tightened, yet he kept his composure. Stood back in his original place, his eyes locked onto your interlocked hands with the man he now hated.

You were his, even if you knew it or not.

His thoughts were quickly snapped away when Sejanus nudged his arm, a concerned frown etched into his features.

“You ok, Coryo? You don’t look too good.”

His annoyance was growing. Did it look like he was ok? Could he not just back off him for once? With only a small nod, Coriolanus inhaled a sharp breath.

“I just need a minute. I saw something weird at the back, might check it out,” was all he said before he began to walk off, ignoring the confused look Sejanus gave him.

When Coryo made it to the back of the markets, he found that nobody was there. Only stacks of crates and old broken pieces of wood.

Ripping his helmet off, he ran a hand through his blonde hair and clenched his fists.

It had been a few minutes with him just basking in the silence. He needed this. He needed a break, but still, he didn’t open his mouth once he felt a presence beside him.

Your presence.

You didn’t say anything, obviously aware of the change in his demeanor, yet you stayed at his side. He had to hold back from pulling you in closer when he felt your fingers graze against his arm, and he opened his eyes to meet your own.

“Coryo? You ok?” You asked gently, almost like a whisper as if anybody could hear.

He couldn’t help but to let a small grin escape.

“Fine,” was all he said, watching as your fingers traced up and down his arm in rhythmic patterns.

So oblivious, yet so sweet.

You frowned slightly at his answer, unsure of his response.

“I saw you earlier, I was going to say hi but then you walked off and Sejanus said you seemed... off. I was just checking if everything was alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” he was quick to reassure once again, and he didn't mean the sharpness to his tone.

Your smile slowly lit up, and he swore that if you were to look hard enough, you would have seen how his face went flush, how his eyes flickered down to your lips and back to your eyes, yearning.

He couldn't help but to let the question slip. "Was that your boyfriend I saw over there?"

Your smile only grew, and as much as he loved the sight, he wasn't too pleased on as to why.

"Ryan? Yeah, we've been together for a few months now," you had said, looking over your shoulder to see if he was anywhere in sight. He wasn't.

Coryo nodded thoughtfully. "You looked happy."

Not as much as he could make you.

"Oh yes, I am," you smiled, and tugged on his arm. "Let me introduce you!"

He felt his heart pounding against his rib cage when you tugged on his hand, your hand fitting his perfectly.

Hesitantly, he pulled his arm back and out from your grasp.

"Maybe next time," he brushed you off. "I'm still on duty and I'm not feeling the best at the moment," he lied, hiding the fact that he hoped to just keep distance from the man.

Coryo felt a pang of guilt once your face changed from excitement to disappointment, and he resisted the urge to tug your hand back and tell you he'd come purely just for you.

Then the day came he had been dreading since the beginning. He had absolutely no desire nor intention of bumping into the man - but when Ryan had been pushed into Coriolanus' side at another busy night of the Hob, he couldn't have hated it more.

"You're Coriolanus, right? Y/N's told me heaps about you," Ryan said, his arm outstretching in order to give Coryo a handshake, although Coryo merely glanced down at his hanging hand which he awkwardly retrieved back.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Look, uh, mate... I'm glad Y/N has somebody else she can come to, but I can't help but think maybe it's a little... too much."

Coriolanus felt a spike of hatred flaring within his chest. Nothing would ever stop him from getting closer to you, even if it were to be your boyfriend.

He continued. "Just thought that maybe we could tone it down a bit? Y/N likes you, and I don't want to take that friendship from her," he finished.

If Coryo didn't hate this guy before, he definitely did now. He swore his blood would boil over if he was left alone with this guy any longer - maybe even get one of Dr Gauls terrifying mutts to get rid of him. But no, she would never approve, despite her sickened mind, and of course he'd never wish your precious eyes to lay on sight of his mutilated body.

He'd just have to do it himself.

It was him who had to tell you the tragic news, and he watched as your eyes welled in tears and your heart ached, your cries and please for your now ‘ex-boyfriend’ to come back to you were filled with emotion. Coriolanus had to resist the satisfied smile forming upon his lips as you clung to him for support, your face buried in the fabric of his uniform and soaking up your warm tears.

Even when you hiccuped and sobbed, he still saw you as beautiful. All his. He let his fingers weave through your hair and whispered reassuring words into your ear… your body was shaking within his grasp, and Corio couldn’t help but love how much smaller your body was compared to his.

Coryo finally had you, and he loved it.

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

[alxtiny]

Ad Astra per Aspera

Episode 1

Pairing: Pirate!Ateez x Navigator!reader

Genre: pirate!au, fluff, angst, maybe smut

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: blood, blunt trauma to the head, starvation, improper jokes, hate able characters

Notes: lets see if y’all can guess who is who >.<

Playlist : asleep by the smiths | the great gig in the sky by pink floyd | under the water by aurora

Series Masterlist | Episode 2 | Prologue

"Move it, slave!” a gruff voice barked behind you, “I ain't got time for yer dainty little walk," you felt the crude shove of a sword poke into your back, the dirty steel pressing through the thin fabric of your shirt like an icicle. You stumbled forward, almost tripping over the uneven planks of the dock.

"Stop poking me!" You exclaimed, spinning around to glare at your tormentor. The chains binding your arms come up to shield your body. Your eyes were bright with fury. "I told you already, I am not a slave. I am a navigator, and I am getting on your infernal ship of my own volition. Take me to your captain; I have a deal to—"

"Quit runnin' yer mouth, lass, or I'll run you through with my sword," the crewman growled, clumsily swishing his blade around, making his inexperience known. His breath reeked of stale ale and rotting teeth, a look of disgust plastered itself across your face. His sword came to rest under your chin, pushing your face up. Exasperated, you raised your hands in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright," you muttered, rolling your eyes. With a resigned sigh, you dragged yourself up the gangplank, your boots clattering against the rough wood. The unimpressive ship seemed to loom above you menacingly, its sails furled and its deck swarming with activity.

The ship’s deck was a cesspool of filth and debauchery. Men lounged about in various states of drunkenness, their eyes glazed and their movements sluggish. The stench of unwashed bodies and rancid skin mingled with the salty spray of the sea, creating a miasma that made you gag. You could feel a dozen pairs of eyes on yourself, leering and appraising, as if you were nothing more than a piece of meat.

Around you, other women were being herded aboard, their faces pale and eyes wide with fear. Some were weeping, clutching at their tattered dresses, while others stared blankly ahead, in acceptance of their fate. Your stomach churned with a mix of disgust and anger. It was a slave trader’s ship. You had been foolish, utterly foolish, to let yourself be tricked into coming here.

It had all started at the pub, a dimly lit hole-in-the-wall frequented by sailors and all that. You had been celebrating a successful voyage, your pockets heavy with the gold you had earned as a navigator. A group of men had approached you, claiming they so desperately needed your skills to guide their ship through such treacherous waters. It stoked your ego of course, you couldn’t resist.

But it had all been a lie. They had swindled you, drugged your unguarded drink, and taken you prisoner. You had awoken, bound and gagged, surrounded by the same men who now leered at you from the ship’s deck. The gold was all gone, except a few coins you had kept hidden in your boots. You clenched your fists, cursing your own naivety.

The crewman prodded at your back again, forcing you to keep moving. You glaring back at him, he laughed as if this was all just a fun game. He was a squat, greasy man with a pockmarked face, a half shaven beard and a cruel glint in his eye. His clothes were dirty and ill-fitting, and sweat dripped down the sides of his face.

"Where’s the captain?" You demanded, your voice trembling with barely contained rage. "I want to speak to him now."

The crewman snorted, a sound that was more pig than human. "You don't make demands here, lass. You do as you're told, or you'll end up in the bilge with the rats." He grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into your flesh, and dragged you towards the stern of the ship.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you were marched through the ship's dingy corridors, the air thick with the smell of salt and rotting wood. The two burly crewmen escorting you, stopped before a large, ornately carved door. One of them knocked twice, and a muffled voice from within barked for them to enter.

You were pushed into the room, stumbling over the threshold. The interior was a stark contrast to the squalor of the rest of the ship. Rich tapestries lined the walls, and the floor was covered with a plush, but stained, rug. At the far end of the room, behind a desk cluttered with a pile of maps and papers, and an even higher pile of dirty cutlery, sat the captain.

He was an unimposing figure in terms of height but made up for it in girth. His ample belly strained against the buttons of a once-white shirt now stained with the remnants of countless meals. Various condiments had left their mark, creating a painting of greasy splotches. His bald head glistened under the lamplight, a poorly matched toupee perched precariously atop his head. A smattering of fake gold jewellery adorned his fingers and neck, clinking as he moved.

The ‘captain’ looked up from his desk, a lecherous grin spreading across his bloated face. His small, beady eyes raked over you, lingering with a predatory gleam. "Well, well, what have we here?" he slurred, his voice thick with the effects of cheap alcohol.

You could barely suppress a shudder of disgust. The smell of rot and smoke wafted towards you as he rose from his chair, his movements slow and ungainly. He waddled closer, his breath heavy with the scent of decay. You took an involuntary step back, your skin crawling as he reached out to cup your chin with his pudgy fingers.

"Oh yess," he crooned, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "A rare beauty indeed. You'll fetch a pretty penny, my dear. Or perhaps... you might be of use to me in other ways." His grip tightened, and you winced as his grimy nails bit into your skin.

"I am a navigator," you said through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. "Not a commodity to be sold or used. If you have any sense, you'll let me do my job and not treat me like chattel."

The man threw back his head, a shrill laugh erupting from his throat. His greasy face twisted into a cruel grin, his yellowed teeth bared like a predator toying with its prey.

"Oh please," he scoffed, shaking his head. "A woman as a navigator? As if." He turned slightly, gesturing to the room around him, where the other men chuckled in agreement. "Women are bad luck on ships. You're lucky you're being sold, girl. With your looks, some rich man might buy you. Keep you as a little whore, maybe."

His mocking tone made your blood boil. You clenched your fists, feeling the heat rise in your chest, but you forced yourself to maintain composure. He was trying to provoke you, belittle you, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crumbling under his words.

"Bad luck? You’re the one who's unlucky," you snapped, lifting your chin defiantly. "I’ve navigated through storms worse than your ship can survive and waters darker than that stain on your shirt. Without someone like me, you'd be lucky to avoid running aground before dawn. Sell me off if you want, but it'll be your loss when you're stranded out there with nothing but your ignorance and superstitions."

His eyes darkened, the amusement in them turning cold as he stepped closer, his breath rancid against your face. He laughed again, quieter this time, but more sinister.

"You've got fire," he sneered. "But fire snuffs out quick at sea. And I don’t need some chit telling me how t’ run my ship." He tilted his head, considering you for a moment, before his lips twisted into a nasty smirk. "Tell you what. Since you're so eager to prove your worth... If you can lead me and my crew to the next port—alive—I’ll consider giving you a job."

You felt a flicker of hope, but it was quickly snuffed out by his next words.

"Not that I believe for a second you can," he continued, gesturing dismissively to one of his men. "Put her in the chart room. Give her the old maps and tools. Let's see what she can do with those rusty relics."

His men seized you roughly by the arms and dragged you down a narrow corridor. The stench of mildew filled the air as they threw open the door to a small, dimly lit room. It was more of a storage closet than a proper chart room. Tattered maps lay strewn across a dust-covered table, their edges crumbling from age. Instruments sat in a pile on the floor, as if someone threw them in and forgot about them eons ago. It was an insult to your craft.

The door slammed shut behind you, and you were left in the damp silence. You glared at the mess in front of you, wiping your hands on your pants as you surveyed the room. Some of the instruments were so worn they might not even function properly anymore.

"These fools wouldn’t know how to chart a course if their fucking lives depended on it," you muttered under your breath, grabbing the least-damaged map from the pile. Your hands shook as you unfurled it, your mind already racing to piece together what little you could.

Your eyes traced the faded lines, the names of ancient ports barely legible. But you had no choice. You needed to find a way to navigate this ship to safety—not just for yourself, but because proving them wrong had become more than just a matter of pride.

Hours passed as you pored over the charts, plotting a course that would take them through the least dangerous waters. You marked out safe harbours and potential hazards, making notes on a scrap of parchment. By the time you finished, your head was pounding and your eyes were heavy with fatigue.

You leaned back in the rickety chair, staring up at the ceiling. The ship creaked and groaned around you, the sound of waves lapping against the hull felt like a little man hammering away into your skull. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of rest. You knew that the coming days would be difficult, but you were quite determined to survive, to find a way out of this hellhole.

As the ship rocked gently on the waves, you drifted off to sleep, your dreams filled with visions of making way to faraway shores.

Over the course of the next two weeks, you poured every ounce of your skill and determination into navigating the ship through open waters and rapidly changing currents. The vast expanse of the open sea stretched out before you, a canvas of endless blue under the watchful eye of the sun and moon, and the occasional dark clouds that wept above you. You worked tirelessly, plotting courses, adjusting sails, and ensuring the ship stayed on a safe path. You had already saved them from a deadly storm and a series of hidden reefs, but despite your invaluable contributions, you were more like a prisoner than a respected navigator.

Every night, you could feel the disgusting gazes of the revolting crewmen following you around as you moved about the deck, their crude catcalls and whistles echoing through the darkness. Their words, filled with suggestive taunts and vulgarity, went on with a break. You were tired of it all. You would quicken your pace, doing your best to avoid their lustful stares, but the feeling of being watched never left you.

Not to mention your living quarters were nothing less than abysmal. You had been given a tiny, fishy-smelling cabin barely large enough to fit a untrustworthy hammock and a simple, rickety chair. The walls were damp, the paint was peeling and mould hung around rent free. The cabin had no proper bathroom, just a cracked basin for washing, and you were forced to bathe with your clothes on to preserve some semblance of privacy and dignity. The limited water you were allotted was often murky, tainted by the ship's grime and filth.

Meals were a farce. The crew seemed to take pleasure in your discomfort, providing you with nothing more than stale, dry bread, hardened fish and tepid water, barely enough to keep you alive. Your stomach grumbled constantly, a relentless gnawing hunger that left you feeling weak and light-headed. You would sit in your cramped cabin, picking at the bread, trying to muster the strength to face another day. It was a test of endurance, a form of torture that gnawed away at your resolve with each passing hour.

Despite your dire circumstances, you knew you had no choice but to obey. Your earlier demands had placed you in a dangerous position, and any hint of defiance could tilt the balance against your favour. You walked a thin line, a weak rope that even a trapeze artist would refuse.

On your sixteenth day on the ship, you woke up earlier than usual, to the soft creaking of the ship, your senses still dulled by the fitful sleep that had become your nightly routine. The confines of your smelly, damp cabin felt more oppressive each day, the weak hammock beneath you barely providing rest. You stretched your aching limbs and splashed your face with the dull water from the cracked basin, trying to shake off the persistent lethargy that clung onto you like a second skin. The stale bread left from your last meal sat untouched on the rickety chair, your stomach too nauseous to consider eating.

You were in the midst of your daily routine, preparing for another gruelling day of work, the same work you once enjoyed now seemed like an unnecessary pain. You prepared to walk out of the cabin, dreading the unwanted attention from the others, when a sudden, deafening boom echoed through the ship. The floorboards shuddered beneath your feet, and the air seemed to recoil with the force of the explosion. For a moment, you stood frozen in place, your mind struggling to process the cacophony of sounds that followed—the clamour of footsteps, the frantic shouts, and the ominous creaking of the ship as it tilted to one side, making you stumble.

Your heart raced as you heard the muffled sounds of screaming and scurrying outside your door. Panic surged through your veins, and you moved to the door, only to find it locked from the outside. You cursed under your breath, tears welling up in your eyes. The realisation that you were trapped, powerless to escape whatever chaos had engulfed the ship, sent a wave of despair crashing over you.

“Pirates! Save yourself!” someone screamed, their voice raw with terror. The slurred shrieks of the slaver captain followed, barking out orders with a frantic urgency. “Abandon ship! No first- Get me out of here!”

Your pulse quickened as you grasped the small window set high in your door. It was just out of reach. You grabbed the chair, its legs wobbly and unstable, and clambered onto it, pressing your face to the grimy glass. You could see only a narrow slice of the chaos outside, figures darting back and forth in a desperate frenzy. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, mingling with the acrid smoke that drifted through the corridors.

As you strained to see more, a thud shook the door, and the chair beneath you wobbled alarmingly. You let out a strangled cry, gripping the edges of the window for balance. The sound of gunshots reverberated through the wooden walls, each one a sharp, violent punctuation in the symphony of terror. A thick, dark liquid began to seep through the crack at the bottom of the door, pooling on the floor beneath your feet. You felt your stomach churn as the realisation hit you—blood.

You screamed, a raw, primal sound that tore through your throat, and the colour drained from your face. You banged on the door, your fists bruising against the wood, but your cries were lost in the maelstrom of chaos outside.

Suddenly, a voice pierced through the din, smooth and chillingly calm. “Found a slave in here,” it called out, its tone laced with a seductive menace that made your skin crawl. You pressed your ear to the door, straining to catch a glimpse of your would-be captors, but your vision swam with tears and fear.

Before you could react, a hand slammed against the window, and the force of the impact sent your chair teetering. You lost your balance, falling hard to the floor, your head striking the rough wood with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in your skull, and your vision blurred. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears, mingling with the distant sound of voices and the echo of your own screams.

The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the vague outline of a figure moving past the window, and the door being wrenched open with a splintering crack. The scent of salt and gunpowder filled your nostrils, mingling with the coppery tang of blood. The voice, with its cruel, mocking lilt, whispered one last chilling phrase as consciousness slipped away. “This one will fetch a fine price.”

The voice, gruff and edged with impatience, cut through the haze of your fading consciousness. "Yeah, first we need to fix that nasty gash in the side of her head."

Everything went black.

When you finally stirred, it felt like an eternity had passed. Your head throbbed with a deep, pulsing ache, and your limbs felt as if they were weighed down with stones. You groaned, your voice a rasping whisper for water, as you struggled to open your eyes. The light in the room was blinding, stabbing into your skull with every tiny flicker.

Slowly, painfully, you turned your head, your vision swimming in and out of focus. The room around you was dimly lit, the walls rough and shadowed. The scent of salt and damp wood filled the air, but it was the figure by your side that drew your attention. A man stood there, dressed in a white tunic splattered with dull red and brown stains. You blinked, your foggy mind trying to make sense of it all.

"Where... where am I? How long was I out?" You croaked out, your throat dry and raw.

The man turned, and for a moment, all thoughts of pain and confusion fled your mind. He was the most striking man you had ever seen, with piercing brown eyes and a rugged handsomeness that made your breath catch in your throat. His blonde hair was tied back in a careless manner, stray strands framing his sharp features.

You let out a disbelieving chuckle, your words slipping out before you could stop yourself. "Yep, I’m dead, and there’s even an angel here to take me away."

The man's expression twisted into a snarl at your words, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Ain’t an angel, lass. I’m a doctor. I fixed you up, but now you’ll be sent off somewhere, I guess."

Your mind stuttered to a halt, confusion crashing over her. You’re stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. Suddenly, panic flared in your chest, and you bolted upright despite the sharp pain that tore through your body.

"Wait, what?" You gasped,your heart pounding wildly.

"You heard me," he replied, his tone flat but certain.

"But why?" you questioned, your voice trembling with both confusion and fear.

The man approached you, his demeanour calm and seemingly harmless as he carried a box filled with strange bottles and vials and a glass of water. “I dunno. My job was to patch you up, doll. The rest is up to the captain to decide.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Wait, captain? This is a ship—are you pirates?!" you screeched, your voice rising in panic. Instinctively, you shifted further up on the bed, clutching the sheets tightly against your chest as if they could somehow protect you from whatever horrors awaited.

The man laughed, the sound a low rumble in his chest. “What, you thought you were back in whatever noble house you came from?”

“N-no,” you stammered, the denial slipping from your lips before you could even process it. “Of course not, but… what do you want from me?”

The man sighed, a trace of weariness in the sound, before a small awkward smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Let me put some ointment on your wound,” he said, gesturing to the box he carried. “Then I’ll take you to the captain. He’ll decide your fate... don’t worry, sometimes……. he’s merciful.”

A look of horror passed over your face, the weight of his words sinking in. But as much as you wanted to fight, to resist, you knew you had no choice. Once again you were trapped. With trembling hands, you released your grip on the sheet and took the glass of water he held towards you. You took a few sips before gulping it down and allowing him to come nearer.

He moved with a practised ease, gently unwrapping the gauze from around your head. You hadn’t even realised it was there, there was dull throbbing in your skull because of whatever injury you had sustained. He dabbed at the wound with a wet cloth, wiping away the dried blood, and you flinched as the cold air touched the raw skin.

When he began applying the ointment, you winced, expecting the sting of pain to worsen. But instead, a soothing coolness spread across the wound, the pain ebbing away within minutes. It was as if the discomfort had never existed.

He finished wrapping your head in fresh bandages, his hands quick and efficient. You touched the side of your head, your mouth falling open in awe when you realised there was no more pain.

"You must have magic in your hands," you murmured, your voice filled with genuine wonder. "I barely feel any pain at all."

He smiled widely at your words, a touch of pride lighting up his eyes. “No magic, lass. Just a good bit of skill.” He extended a hand to help you stand, his grip firm and steady as he guided you to your feet .

You wobbled slightly, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you, but he steadied you with ease. With a nod, he led you out of the dimly lit room, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on your chest as you headed toward whatever fate the captain had in store for you.

Stepping out of the door, you were immediately hit with a blast of hot, humid air, the salty tang of the sea filling your nostrils. The sunlight, far more intense than the dim lights of the room you had just left, assaulted your eyes, forcing you to squint against its brightness. As your eyes adjusted, you took in your surroundings, following the man down a narrow passage that led out onto the deck.

The deck was expansive, far larger than you had expected, and meticulously maintained. The dark wood beneath your feet was smooth and polished, almost gleaming in the sunlight, a stark contrast to the grimy, weathered deck of the ship you had been on before. Men moved about with a practised, almost military-like precision, their movements synchronised as they managed the sails and ropes with an efficiency that belied the chaos you had expected from a pirate crew. Voices rang out across the deck, some shouting orders, others responding with quick, sharp affirmations.

Your gaze was drawn upward to the towering mainmast, which seemed to loom over you like a giant, casting a long shadow across the deck. "We must be on the poop deck," you thought, your mind racing to make sense of the ship’s layout. Ahead of you, you could just barely make out the bowsprit extending far into the distance, the very tip of the ship. The grandeur of the ship astonished you, its size and the sheer opulence of its upkeep making you wonder just how rich these pirates must be.

The man led the way, his footsteps silent on the wooden planks as you followed closely behind, your eyes darting around to take in as much as you could. Despite the flurry of activity around you, none of the crew seemed to pay you any mind. They were too focused on their tasks to spare even a glance in your direction, as if your presence was of no consequence to them. The lack of attention should have reassured you, it was a relief from the constant surveillance you had on the slaver ship, but it only deepened the knot of anxiety twisting in your stomach.

As you reached the main deck, the man remained quiet, offering no explanation or comfort. The tension in your chest grew with each step, your heart pounding in rhythm with the ship's creaking timbers. Finally, you arrived at a small staircase that led down into another passage. This passage, in contrast to the bright sunlight above, was dark and foreboding, the walls closing in around you as you descended. The shift from light to dark was jarring, and you found yourself instinctively trying to close in on yourself, away from the shadows that seemed to press into you from all sides.

The man stopped at the end of the passage, in front of a large carved, heavy door that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. “Wait here,” he instructed, his voice curt but not unkind. He pushed the door open and slipped inside, leaving you standing alone in the darkness.

You stared at the door, your breath coming in shallow, anxious gasps. "This must be the captain’s room," you thought,your imagination running wild with all the possible horrors that could lie beyond that door. The longer you stood there, the more your nerves frayed, each second stretching out into an eternity. Your mind conjured up images of what the captain might be like—cruel, ruthless, and utterly terrifying. You could almost see his large figure and barbarous appearance.

Your heart raced, the silence around you thickening like a shroud. Every creak of the ship, every distant shout from the deck above, made you jump. You fought the urge to flee, knowing you had nowhere to go, no means of escape. All you could do was wait, your ability to overthink seemed to have reached a new level, until the door finally opened and you would come face to face with the man who held your fate in his hands.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, and the man stepped out, his expression unreadable. He gestured for you to go inside, but you hesitated, your feet rooted to the spot. The fact that he didn’t seem to be coming in with you made your heart pound even harder in your chest. When you still didn’t move, he gave you a gentle but firm push, and before you could protest, the door was closed behind you with a resounding thud.

You stumbled into the room, your breath catching in your throat as you took in your surroundings. The space was dimly lit, casting deep shadows across the walls, but you could tell it was large, much larger than the cramped quarters you had been kept in before. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with books, maps, and various trinkets that glimmered in the low light—treasures from far-off lands, you assumed. One side of the room was dominated by a large window that offered a breathtaking view of the endless sea, the horizon glowing with the last light of the setting sun. Just how long had you been waiting.

But what truly caught your attention was the man standing in front of the window, his back turned to you. He wore a black tunic that clung to his lean frame, the edges wrapped in black bandages that extended down to his palms. His tight leather pants emphasized his sharp, angular build, and though he wasn’t very tall, he exuded an aura of power and intimidation that filled the room. His hair was striking—half black, half white, styled into a short mullet that gave him an almost otherworldly appearance. He was nothing like you had imagined.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "H-hello?" you stuttered out, your words barely above a whisper.

The man turned slowly, revealing a face that was both haunting and mesmerising. What puzzled you most was the pair of dark sunglasses he wore, despite the fact that they were inside a dimly lit room. His lips curled into a menacing smile, one that sent a shiver down your spine. And then he spoke, his voice dripping with a honeyed malice, the same voice you had heard just before you had lost consciousness.

“Ahh, finally, the sleeping beauty is awake,” he drawled, his smile widening as he took a step toward her. His presence was suffocating, every movement deliberate and calculated. “Tell me, go ahead. Negotiate your life, beg if you must. Then we’ll see what to do with you.”

He moved to the large table in front of the window, sitting down with a casual grace that belied the danger he radiated. He propped his feet up on the table, the heavy black boots he wore catching your eye. They were stained with dark splotches of red, the sight of which made your stomach recoil.

You tried to speak, but your voice came out in stammers, very much unlike the confidence you held when you talked to the slavers. Your mind raced as you searched for something, anything, that might save you.

He lifted his sunglasses, his eyes were a striking grey, like an uncontainable storm. Suddenly the room felt even more suffocating than before.

“I said speak,” he commanded in a ruthlessly calm voice, it sent shivers down your spine. This man was something different.

You didn’t want to speak but words came out anyway, as if someone had physically forced you to. “I-I’m a navigator,” you blurted, your words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. “I can help you—I’ve guided many ships through perilous waters. I can be useful to you. Please, if you spare me, I’ll do whatever you need. I’ve helped with multiple voyages, charted courses, and avoided storms…”

Your words trailed off as the man laughed, the sound echoing in the room like a cruel mockery. His laughter was sharp, cutting through your rambling pleas and leaving you in a stunned silence. You stood there, trembling, as his mirth subsided, feeling smaller and more like an insignificant fly everytime he looked you over.

Just as you were about to try again, the door behind you creaked open. You froze, your heart lurching in your chest as you heard the sound of boots on the wooden floor. You turned slightly, your eyes widening as seven men entered the room, including the one who had patched you up earlier. They spread out behind you, their presence like a barrier between you and the door, it made your knees weak.

The room felt much smaller now, the walls closing in on you as you stood there, trapped between the intimidating captain in front of you and the intimidating crew behind you. Your mind raced, the weight of the situation crashing down on you as you realised just how dire your circumstances had become.

You looked around, your eyes darting from one man to the next, taking in their appearances and trying to read the expressions on their faces. Each one of them exuded a certain aura, something you couldn’t quite decipher. But the tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to make your skin crawl.

The man in the centre, the one you assumed to be the captain, spoke again, his voice laced with a poisonous edge. “So, tell me, what should we do with this young lady here?”

One of the men stepped forward, his height almost matching that of the captain. He had a permanent smirk on his face, a look that immediately filled you with a sense of revulsion. “I told you earlier too—we should sell her. We’ll get paid a hefty sum for a pretty face like hers.”

Your expression twisted into one of disgust, your heart beating deafeningly at the casual cruelty in his words. But before you could react, another man spoke up, this one taller and far more muscular than the others. His broad shoulders and imposing frame made him look like a man who was used to handling trouble with his fists. “Hey, I thought we didn’t do that anymore,” he said, his tone almost childlike as he pouted, clearly not taking the situation as seriously as you wished he would.

The first man, with his smirk still firmly in place, shrugged, side eyeing his friend. “I was just joking,” he said, though the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

Before you could process that, a third man cut in, his voice sharp and dismissive. “It’s all a waste. Just throw her into the water for the sharks. She’s more trouble than she’s worth.”

Her heart dropped at the suggestion, fear gripping you tightly, but then the man who had healed you spoke up, his voice carrying a note of annoyance. “Hey, then what did I do all that healing for if she was just going to become fish food? We could have thrown her in before I wasted my time.”

The men began to bicker among themselves, their voices rising and overlapping as they argued over your fate. It was as if your life was nothing more than a trivial matter to be debated, and it felt like a cold wet blanket had been dropped on top of you.

The captain, watching the chaos unfold, chuckled to himself. With a wave of his hand, he silenced the room, his voice cutting through the noise with ease. “Now, now, boys, let’s not be hasty. She said she’s a navigator, didn’t she?” He turned his gaze back to you, his expression unreadable. “You see, our last man accidentally tipped over into the ocean, so we’re in need of a new navigator. Why don’t you give it a go? If you fail, well…” He paused, an innocent look spreading across his face, though his eyes remained cold. “Maybe you’ll end up with him.”

You stared at him, aghast at his words. The casual way he spoke of life and death, as if they were nothing more than a game. This was not a man who valued life—at least, not the lives of those he deemed beneath him. And now, your fate rested in the hands of this man who would as easily toss you overboard as he would give you a chance to prove your worth.

Your mind raced, a deadweight pressing down on you. You had no choice but to accept his offer—if it could even be called that. But deep down, you knew that this was only the beginning of a difficult journey, you had to play your cards right.

You agreed hastily, your voice trembling as you thanked him for sparing your life. The captain laughed again, a sound that was more chilling than comforting, before turning his attention away from you. "Someone, show her the way to her cell—oops, I meant room," he ordered, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he returned to the window, sunglasses coming back down, cackling all the way.

As he stared out at the darkening horizon, another man, much taller and with a gaunt appearance, followed him. His hair was stark white, and there was something about his hollow cheeks and sunken black eyes that made you shiver. He leaned in close to the captain, whispering in hushed tones, their conversation too quiet for you to hear. you could only watch as the two men exchanged words.

The rest of the men began to file out of the room slowly, their presence still made you uneasy in the back of your mind. In the end two of the tallest still stayed behind, one of them placing a firm hand on your shoulder and pushing you forward slightly. He seemed friendlier than the others, and he quickly said, "Let’s go," in a tone that was almost reassuring.

As you made your way out of the captain’s quarters, you noticed that his friend, who had stayed silent, was indifferent and least interested in you. He kept flipping a small, gleaming blade in his hand, the metallic click of the weapon opening and closing sending a wave of anxiety through you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to stab himself—or worse, you.

The friendlier man, walking beside you, began to speak quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush as he droned on about the different parts of the ship and the engineering behind them. He spoke so fast that you could barely understand him, but at least his upbeat demeanour was a welcome change from the coldness you had faced so far. His enthusiasm, however, was lost on you; all you could think about was the blade flicking in the other man's hand and the fact that you were at the mercy of these pirates.

After what felt like an endless walk, they reached a small room, on the opposite side of the captain’s quarters and suspiciously close to the main deck. The indifferent man, his voice surprisingly deep, said, "We’re here," before pushing you inside. You barely had time to protest before he quickly closed the door and locked it with a solid click.

The cheery one spoke up from behind the door, his face appearing in the small, barred window set into it. "There’s food for you on the table, and some spare clothes in the chest near the bed. The clothes might be big, but you’ll have to make do for now. There are also spare sheets in the chest, some paper and pencils, and water, of course. The room is locked for your own safety, and if you need help, just tap loudly a few times under the flower painting over the bed—someone will come to you. Good night!" And with that, his face disappeared, leaving you alone in the room.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant sound of boots echoing down the hallway until they, too, faded into nothingness. You stood there for a moment, shaken by the events of the day, unable to move or think. It was as if your body had finally caught up with the shock of it all, and you felt the weight of your situation settle heavily on your shoulders.

Slowly, you walked over to the table and saw the surprisingly good-looking food laid out for you. A nice bowl of hot stew, some fluffy bread, and roasted meat—simple, but more appetising than anything you had eaten in days. You sat down and began to eat, savouring every bite. You hadn’t realized just how hungry you were until now, and the warmth of the food filled you with a small measure of comfort. As you ate, tears welled up in your eyes and slowly started to drip down.

After finishing your meal, you opened the chest near the bed and found a white tunic and a pair of black linen shorts. The tunic was big, but you managed to hold it together with your own belt, and though the shorts were also loose and came down to your knees, you made do with what you had. You then lay down on the bed, the soft sheets a welcome relief against your skin.

As you stared up at the ceiling, your mind raced with thoughts of the day’s events. How easily you had been spared from death, or worse, and how it all seemed almost too simple. Was it all just to scare you, or was there something deeper going on behind the scenes? The uncertainty of it all terrified you, and you felt a pang of loneliness that threatened to overwhelm you.

But as much as your thoughts tormented you, the heavy exhaustion of your body and the gentle rocking of the ship slowly pulled you into a dreamless sleep.

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

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DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

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[arcielee]

Silver Coins

Summary: You are paid to be a pleasure for the baby monk. Paring: Osferth x Female!Reader Word Count: 2374 Warnings: Smutty smut, inexperienced Osferth, oral sex (m and f), p in v. Minors DNI. Author's Note: This is for @eddiemadmunson ♥ I agree there is not enough Osferth fics and there should be more. Here’s just some smutty fluff one shot for your ask. ♥ Also, my Osferth is book canon.  Update: Link for part 2! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy​

Osferth was tall and lean, with an awkward grace to his movement as he sat himself into one of the chairs within your chambers. He kept his feet on the cobblestone and his large palms gripped onto his thighs. 

You thought him to be handsome in a way that was so uniquely his own. What made you agree to this had been when you first saw his eyes. They were a brilliant blue that held no judgment when you spoke to him earlier that night, how they shone with a kindness that you could not recall ever seeing in the gaze of a man before. 

“I am looking to bed one of Uhtred’s men,” your tone was purposefully coy and you relished in the pink that dusted his cheeks.

Oh, the word barely left his bow lips and your touch was gentle to take his hand; his palm was calloused and warm, with long, slender fingers that wrapped around your own in response. He allowed you to pull him away from the crowd, which included the grinning fools that were Sihtric and Finan, and you led him to your room below the tavern.

This was where he now sat, so uncertain as to what to do with his hands. 

You reach for the knot of your wrap dress, removing the layer to reveal a satin chemise you wore beneath. It was soft and fell to your curves, your nipples pebble beneath from the cool air.

His eyes are wide at the sight of you, his pupils swallowing the beautiful blue and his tongue wet his lips. “My lady,” his voice almost a whisper, “I must admit to you, I have not bed a woman before.” 

You were already aware of this, but chose to tease him, moving closer towards him. “Are you not the same man who slain Sigefrid?”

He nods with the tousle of his dirty blonde hair, his gaze shyly cast downwards. 

You are now in front of him, your finger curling beneath his chin to bring his eyes to meet with your own. “Well, I admit that I have never killed a man before, so may I suggest a fair trade,” you continue with a smile. “You can share with me how you killed Sigefried and I will share with you the secrets of my trade.” 

You lean closer and his exhale fans your cheeks, his eyes still wide as he processes your words. “But, my lord, I insist you remove your boots first.”

“Yes, my apologies,” he stammers and you step back with your smile, watching as he is quick to unlace and remove them. His long legs brought him across to place them by the door, then turning to face you again.

Your smile renews at the sight of his bare feet, pale against the grey cobblestone, and you move towards him. He is watchful of how the satin breathes against your curves with your every step closer until you can place your hands, gentle to the touch, on his chest. His breath draws as you come up to your toes and press your lips against his own. 

Osferth seems to balk against your mouth, his lips pressing together and stilting in response, his arms stiff at his sides.  

You pull back, your brow quirks as you see his blue eyes still wide and nervous. “Osferth,” you honey your tone, a gentle smile to your lips. You reach to touch his hands and they relax against your own, following your pull to rest them against the small of your waist. “Do not think, just kiss me.” 

His gaze falls to your mouth and he tilts his head, his lips soft and warm against your own. Your mouth opens slightly, your tongue touching his bottom lip and you can feel him smile. His hands grow bold, pulling you closer against his chest, meeting with the tempo you set. You open your mouth more to deepen the kiss, his tongue following the languid pacing of your own; you nip at his bottom lip and he groans in your mouth.

The sound melts you against his hard chest, enjoying as his large palms trace the curves of your hips and cradle the small of your back. You wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers move to comb through his golden locks. 

He steps and turns you to press your backside against the door, pressing against you and a moan spills from your kiss-swollen lips when you feel his hard length push against your stomach. 

“Osferth,” you whisper and he looks pained as you pull away, until you reach for the belt knotted around his slender waist that holds his albe in place. He helps remove the layers until he is bare waist up, his muscles taut and there is a patch of hair across his chest. 

Your eyes admire the planes of his abdomen and the lines that dip below where his trousers hung. Your mouth waters at the bold outline of his crotch against the fabric. 

Baby monk, you think, incredulous, to yourself and you reach to slip your fingers in the waist and pull him to the bed edge. Your fingers work to unlace and his trousers puddle at his feet; he steps out and backwards until he touches the bed and sits down, watchful and waiting for your lead.

The sight of him bare leaves you almost timid, there is a growing anticipation combined with the warmth wet from his kisses, his touch, between your thighs. You exhale slowly through your open lips, stepping forward and kneeling before him.

He is resting on his elbows, unaware of your slight trepidation to his size, his gaze curious as your hand reaches to curl around his member. A blush returns to his cheeks, the rose color matching his tip and your thumbs wipes the bead of precum, rubbing beneath which elicits a groan that rumbles from the back of his throat. 

Embolden, you move to bring your tongue flat to the underside and follow until your lips wrap around the head, your tongue tasting the hint of him. He groans again when your head begins to move in tandem with your hand, up and down his length to coat him with your saliva.  

You pull back and he watches as you lift your chemise over your head to bare yourself, his jaw slightly slack as his eyes drink in your figure. Your cheeks grow warm with the adoration of his gaze, stepping closer to straddle him and he sighs sweetly with your warmth pressing against his cock. 

He groans when you slowly rock your hips, your silken folds smooth with your spit, sliding the length of his member before your hand reaches to line him with your entrance. 

You are slow to lower yourself, in part to savor the delicious stretch as he fills you, another to try and adjust to his size. Your nails bite into his shoulders and his arms are gentle when they wrap the small of your waist, pulling you flush against him, his chest hair tickling your breasts, and he buries his face into your neck. You gasp when his tongue tastes you, clenching in response, and he groans louder.

“I need but a moment,” your voice is small with the confession.

“My lady, take as long as you need,” he breathes into your neck and your skin rises from the touch of his lips. “We may stay like this all night, if it pleases you.” 

You pull back to look into his eyes, how they shine with an earnestness, and you find his mouth, your kiss slow and searching. He sighs and you begin again to rock your hips into him; you can feel his hold relax, the warmth of his palms as they settle onto your hips and pull you against him.

The motion allows him to reach deep within you. You rest your palms onto his chest and push him to lay back on the bed, your hands bracing as you quicken your rhythm. A soft moan spills from your lips and another groan escapes the back of his throat when your cunt begins to flutter around him. 

You slow your pace, wet lewd noises filling the intimate space. “Please,” he begs. “Show me how to touch you.” 

He bites his bottom lip when you take his hand, bringing his thumb to your mouth. He sighs again when your tongue curls the digit, enclosing your lips around and then pulling it back, a line of spittle from your mouth that breaks and falls to your chin. You lower his palm to fit against the inside of your thigh, pressing his thumb into the bloom above where his cock continues the pace, in and out. 

Your moan starts soft. “It’s…it is that, can you feel…” your voice mewls with his guided touch. 

“I, yes,” there is a sheen of sweat to his features, his focus drawn and torn between admiring the curves of your movement and where his hand now rests. “Right…here?” 

His touch coils the passion in your lower abdomen. “Yes,” your cries wanton and it gives him a confidence to his touch, also quickening his upwards thrusts to meet with your motion. Stars dance in front of your eyes and he moans as your climax rolls in waves, clenching at him for his own release. 

“Oh, God,” he cries out and you feel him pulsating within your velvet walls with his own peak. 

You fall and curl against him, he brings you to the side and waits until your heart rate settles. He is reluctant to let you go, but you give him a kiss, moving to the basin and pouring from the pitcher, grabbing a cloth to wet and wring. You clean yourself before grabbing another, returning to him. “It will be cool,” you warn, your touch gentle. 

Osferth hums his pleasure, “Allow me to stay and we can warm beneath the furs.”

“That was my plan already, lord,” you reply and he smiles with your words.

Curled beneath the furs, he is on his side with one arm holding his head up and his other palm resting beneath your breasts, his eyes watching them rise and fall with your steady breaths. He shares the truth of Sigefried, how he climbed the wall while the men fought, and confronted the Dane and plunged his dagger into his stomach. 

“Were you frightened?” You shiver with your question, turning your head to look at him.

He smiles and you see his cheeks line with dimples. “I admit, in the moment, I did not have the time to dwell on fear, but I can recall that my hands were shaking.” 

You touch his hand, yours so small in comparison to his own. “You did what was needed,” you say and bring his fingertips to your lips.

He leans forward to find your lips once again, another sweet kiss. “Would you allow me…” his voice trails off, a blush to his features as he hems for the words that will allow his hand to move lower. 

You touch his cheek to hold his gaze. “Osferth, I am yours tonight.”

There is the added sweetness of your expressed consent, his willingness to listen to your soft hums of guidance as he nestles between your thighs. His lips are so soft, his breath warm on your cunt, and he is quick to understand and match his ministrations with your soft sighs. The curl of his finger within you was sinful, that begins as a gentle prod until you mewl his name and he continues without complaint until he feels you clenching your release. 

The morning comes too soon and you begrudgingly leave the monk, who is sound asleep on his stomach and bare next to you. You dress quickly, fasten your cloak and your fingers check the pocket’s contents before you come to the bedside with a gentle kiss to wake him. 

His brow quirks when he realizes you are already dressed. “Where are you going?” His voice husky with sleep. 

“I am going to the kitchens to have something prepared for you,” you kiss him again and he hums at your touch. “Dress and come meet me upstairs?” 

He nods sleepily and you move to leave, your cloak billows with your steps as you walk the corridor and take the stairs up, two steps at a time.

The tavern is empty and smells of spilt ale from the night before, mixed with the spices that waft from the kitchen. You fill two plates and return to place them on an empty table, when the door opens and the silhouettes of Finan and Sihtric fill the door frame. 

“We’re closed,” you call to them, a smile to your lips. You move towards them, reaching into your pocket and tossing the felt pouch that hits Finan’s chest. 

His brow furrows but he catches it, the soft jingle of the coins it held. “This silver was for you to bed the baby monk,” he says. 

“Yes,” you reply, your eyes narrowing onto him. “I am returning it to you, no coin spent.” 

Before another word can be said, his dark eyes look past you and you turn to see Osferth surfacing. His hands pat his locks down, a smile on his face when he catches sight of you. 

You move towards him, leaving the Irishman and the Dane, and move to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his lips to your own one last time. 

He responds without the embarrassment from last night, softening against your touch and you smile when you pull back. “Do you have time for break fast?” 

There is a beat of silence, with Osferth blushing from your affection and Sihtric dumbstruck, before Finan finally speaks. “Afraid not, missus. Lord Uhtred requires us to ride out. We have much to discuss today,” he moves forward to clasp a hand on Osferth’s shoulder, pulling him towards the door. 

You sit down on the bench, picking at one of the plates and watch them tuck the monk between, grinning fools and arms draped around his shoulders, pushing through the door and into the morning light. 

arcie’s masterlist

[hyperfix-wip]

Octobie Halloween: The Demon in the Dark pt. 1

Pairing: Demon! Hobie Brown x fem!Witch! Reader

Summary: Forced to summon a demon by your master's bidding, you stare face to face with a powerful entity as it takes an interest in you.

Word count: 4.8k

Author's Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN WEEKEND! This particular piece leaned a lot more into the horror aspect of Halloween than I expected, and it does depict some triggering moments, so please read at your own risk. Part 2 will be uploaded within the next few days. Event is by @the-kr8tor and banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment.

Tags: Demon!Hobie, Witch!Reader, fem!Reader, Demons, Witches, Halloween, Depictions of Monster Appearance, Horror, TW Depictions of Violence, TW Depictions of Abuse, TW Mentions of Abuse, TW Blood, Suggestive Content

Your mother once told you that angels and demons were two beings of the same coin, as blasphemous as it may seem to others. Angels, who people assume would be the most ethereal of beings, can have the most devilish and monstrous forms, while demons can hide their wickedness with the most angelic of faces.

As witches, your mother had warned you of the risks of summoning such creatures– especially demons. When you make a deal with a demon, you can achieve your greatest of desires in exchange for something of equal value. However, you must be wary of what you wish for when dealing with a demon. Fickle and selfish by nature, they could twist your words and wishes into the worst nightmares that would change your fate and ruin your life.

Your mother’s warnings could not have rung in your mind in a more opportune time than at this moment, when one such demon stood in front of you in the bloody summoning circle you drew in your dark, barren room. 

Pools of molten gold shined through the dark smoke before the smoke dissipated, revealing a tall, lean man enrobed in black. Black tendrils trailed down from his head down his back, the ends of them slowly slithering along the bloodied lines of the summoning circle under his feet. Marks of webbing and spiders scattered across his skin, and ornate pieces of gold line along the skin on his face– gold balls lined along his eyebrows, numerous earrings pierced along his pointed ears, and a gold ring hung from his septum. Sharp, blackened claws peeked through the black sleeves of his robe, which shifted between silken fabric and dark shadows, while a golden aura wrapped around his body.

He was the most beautiful and terrifying sight you had ever seen.

His presence overwhelmed you, fear chaining your kneeling body down to the stone floor in front of the towering demon. Tears ran down your dirty, haggard face while your breath grew shallow and shaky. Images of your potential death flickered in your mind– his claws tearing through your tattered rags and flesh, his moving tendrils wrapping around your throat until your neck broke, blood draining from you while he devoured your corpse…

Dear god, you thought to yourself, you are going to die.

Your bloodied, gnarled hands tremble against the summoning circle, the one you were forced to make, no matter how much you frantically begged your master not to, while a sudden urge to retch creeped up to the back of your throat.

The demon himself tilted his head to the side as he peered down at the terrified mortal in front of him, a flicker of curiosity and compassion softening his golden eyes, before he finally opened his mouth.

“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”

A shiver ran down your spine, the smooth, deep timbre of his voice rumbling around the small stone cell of a room. Despite his overpowering presence over you, his voice is calm, dare you say comforting, and you struggled not to hiccup a sob in front of him. Swallowing down the burning bile and growing lump in the back of your throat, you shakily take a breath before forcing your own voice out.

“O-o powerful fallen angel, fol-follower of all-all things dark and taboo…please have mercy on me–”

SLAM!

You flinched and crumpled onto the stone floor with a fearful cry while someone pounds against the wooden door behind you.

“You damn wretch!” an angry male voice boomed through the wooden door and echoed against the stone walls. “Have you summoned the demon yet?!”

You curled up into a ball and trembled in front of the aforementioned demon, hyperventilating from the waves of stress and anxiety washing over your body, while a sudden chill weighed down on your body and a deep growl rumbled in front of you. Underneath you, small tendrils slowly reached up to your face from the shadows, ghosting along your cheeks while you trembled and froze in fear.

Another slam echoed through the room, this time the wooden door hitting against the stone wall, and a scream ripped through your throat before you cowered and crawled away to a dark, faraway corner. You trembled and curled yourself into the cold, hard crevice as an old, portly man in a gold-trimmed coat and breeches sauntered into the room. The man, your master, set his beady eyes on the demon, and his mustachioed lips curl up into an arrogant smile as he takes his tophat off.

“O great demon,” your master greeted the demon as he stepped closer before giving him a slight bow. “I have sought out far and wide for your presence…”

The demon’s face curled up into a disgusted scowl while his tendrils slowly writhe behind him, his nose flaring up in response to the old man approaching him, the man’s odor assaulting the demon’s senses.

“And for what reason did you seek me out, worm?”

The demon’s calm voice turned cold and sharp, cutting through the air like a knife while the room grew more frigid and tense. The demon crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared down at your master with utter disdain.

Your master’s eye twitched from the blatant disrespect from the demon, and you trembled from the thought of the growing wrath hidden behind that cursed smile of your master’s, but he managed to maintain his composure in front of the demon.

“I seek your assistance, Great One,” your master answered through gritted teeth, “assistance to obtain power.”

The demon’s face gradually drops to a stoic deadpan, as if unimpressed by the man’s proposition. His golden eyes then drift over to you trembling in the corner, too terrified to speak while you watch the conversation, and they briefly softened at the sight of you before they hardened back at your master.

“Is that all?” the demon asked with an uninterested tone, slowly tilting his head to the side until a loud crack echoed in the room. “Then in exchange for this power, what do you offer me?”

A wicked grin curled up on your master’s lips before his beady eyes finally turned to you in the corner, and your stomach dropped as he began to stomp over to you.

“Oh god, no, please–” you whimpered out before you let out a pained yelp as your master grabbed a handful of your chopped up hair and dragged you back in front of the demon. Your master forced your head down onto the stone floor, a throbbing pain surging into your head, and you bit back another cry as you kneel in front of the monster in front of you.

“Behold– a young witch for you,” your master sneered at you as he yanked your choppy, tangled hair again and forced you to look up at the demon. “This little slave can give you more power once you consume her.”

Blood trickled down from your forehead as terror screamed in your wavering eyes, tears welling up and threatening to run down your face again.

The demon’s face hardened even more in front of the two mortals while shadowy tendrils slowly rose up from the floor. Golden eyes burned against the darkness, like the sun glaring down and beating down your skin until it festered, before he spoke again.

“That is what you offer me in exchange for my services? A slave?”

The demon’s voice was low and dangerous, and the tension in the room continued to weigh down and crush you as some of his tendrils tensed up and writhed. His clawed hands balled up into fists, his knuckles practically white from how tightly clenched they were.

Your master, ignorant of the looming danger and tension in the room, merely stared up at the glowering demon with a salesman-like grin as he threw you back down onto the ground. “She may be a dirty, pathetic little bitch, but she has her…use.”

You choked out a shaky breath as you curled up on the ground again, the overbearing presence of the powerful demon and the reality of the situation hitting you in full force, while your master continued his offer.

“As she is my property, if we are to enter a contract, I will transfer my ownership over her to you…”

The demon’s eyes narrowed into slits, and a low growl rumbled deep in his chest as his dark power emitted from his body. You trembled and struggled to breathe as your skin crawled from the menacing aura, your fingers itching to claw your skin to be free from the festering sensation.

“You would give her to me? To do as I wish with her?”

Your blood ran cold from the demon’s voice, low with a dangerous edge, as the demon slowly bent down to your master’s eye level, looming over the pig-like man with a cold glare. Much to your dread, your master still stood in front of the demon, ignorant of the latter’s brewing ire.

“Of course!” You master proclaimed with a clap of his hands. “She is no use to me now, not when she has done her job of summoning you to me.”

Your eyes nervously looked up from the ground, and blood drained from your face as the demon’s mouth slowly curled up into a sinister smirk. His eyes glowed brighter in the dark, and the air in the room crackled with a dark aura.

“Hm…that is a tempting deal,” the demon mused with a low chuckle, and you shudder at what could be running in the monster’s mind. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

The demon leans closer to the mortal man with a sneer. “But be warned, worm. This little witch is mine now, and I will do as I please with her. I will not return her to you. Intact or otherwise.”

He continued to loom over your master with a feral look in his eyes, as if daring the insignificant, pathetic excuse of a mortal to object.

Your master, none the wiser of the demon’s extent of his contempt, grinned wickedly. “Marvelous! We have a deal then!”

As soon as those words left your now-former master’s mouth, dark energy exploded in the room and overtook the whole space. The air grew stifling for you as you struggled to push yourself up, and dread crashed into your body once your eyes landed on the demon’s mouth transforming into a grin with spider-like fangs.

“Good. Now leave us,” the demon growled. “Your presence is no longer needed.”

The mortal man’s smile instantly dropped at the demon’s words.

“But what about the details of our contract–”

The demon roared at the man, who fell and crumpled onto the ground before quickly running out of the stone room with his tail between his legs and slamming the wooden door behind him. Dread clawed up from your chest from the final slam of the door, and you struggled to keep your trembling down under the demon’s shadow before you nervously turned around to face him alone.

The fangs slowly retracted into the demon’s mouth, and his glowing eyes dimmed down as his gaze drifted to you cowering on the floor. He took a slow, deep breath, and the dark energy slowly dissipated from the room before he slowly crouched down in front of you. You tried to crawl back and away from the demon, but small tendrils shapeshifted from his shadow and wrapped around your limbs.

“Do not move.”

His voice grew soft and careful, the complete opposite from his earlier interaction with your master– well, former master. His eyes shifted from a cold, metallic gold into a warmed honey-amber while he gazed down at you, as if memorizing your very presence in front of him, before his clawed hand reached to your chin to tilt your head up and had you meet his almost predatory eyes.

“You are mine now, little witch,” he whispered to you as his long, nimble finger caressed along your jaw and his thumb carefully brushed against the seam of your bottom lip. “You summoned a demon, little one, and now you are mine to do with as I please.” 

A cold chill ran down your spine as the demon leaned closer to your face, his nose brushing against your cheek and gently inhaling your scent. Bile burned in the back of your throat again while your face curled up to prevent any welling tears from rolling down your cheeks again. A quiet tut echoed from the demon’s mouth while his hand left your chin and reached up to your cheek, his clawed finger tenderly brushing a tear away from one of your eyes.

“There, there now, little one. No need to cry,” the demon quietly reassured you as his hand cupped your cheek before he brushed his lips against the other.

Your body seized at the unexpected kiss, tears instantly spilling down your cheeks again, but the demon just shushed you as he slowly kissed the tears away from your face. Terror and confusion plagued your mind, caught off guard by the sweet, loving action from the horrifying demon.

“Relax, little one,” the demon whispered against your skin, “I will not hurt you…”

He continued to press more kisses along your face– your cheeks, your forehead, your brow bones, your eyelids. His other arm wrapped around you and pulled you against his chest, easily holding you still against him while he pressed more kisses against your face and drank in your presence. The demon could practically feel the magical power thrumming in your veins, the sweet, untapped potential that he now owned, before he reluctantly pulled away slightly from you and gazed down with a tender smile.

“What is your name, little witch?” his voice rumbled against you with curiosity.

Despite the softer, calming approach from the demon, you still trembled in trepidation as you muttered your name to him. His smile grew as he repeated it to you, your name like honey on his lips, before he gently brushed a strand of your hair from your face.

“Your name suits you, little one…”

Your heart skipped a beat from his words, and for a moment you found yourself enthralled by his beauty before the fear in your mind forced your eyes away from him.

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest before he caressed your face again and turned your gaze back at him. “Do I terrify you, young witch?”

His pools of amber-gold entranced you, but your fear of him still lingered in your head as you anxiously nod. “Y-yes…”

A low hum vibrated from the back of his throat before he leaned his head down to look at you closer. “And why is that?” he asked, his tone gentler than you would expect from the demon.

A lump clung to the back of your throat, but you struggled to swallow it down before forcing yourself to answer.

“Y-you are a powerful demon,” you croaked out, “and– and demons are not-notorious for killing and ea-eating humans, regardless if-if the person summoned or-or made a contract with them…”

A small hiccup snuck up on you as more tears welled up in your eyes under his gaze.

“You…you hold my life in your hands.”

The demon slowly wrapped his arms around you as you stumbled with your words, his face furrowing into a pensive frown from the fear lingering in you. For reasons unknown, the idea of you fearing him made his chest clench.

“And would you believe me if I said I will not harm you?”

A brief urge to lie to the demon surged up to your tongue. A lie of you not fearing for your life, of not thinking a demon would harm you.

However, you heard of that promise of safety before– that hideous lie that cost you your mother’s life and your freedom.

You swallow the bittersweet lie down the walls of your throat before uttering your answer.

“...no.”

The demon clenched his jaw at your response, and for a brief moment his eyes flickered with dejection before he pulled away from you slightly again.

“Why not?” he simply asked, and you questioned yourself if you heard a hint of disappointment and concern in his voice.

The fear in your body slowly faded away the more you spoke to the demon, but it still resided in your chest as you answered. “There are…there are those with less power than you who have said that to me before.”

You looked down from his gaze to the black robes draped across his broad chest, your eyes drifting to the thin, golden web-like stitching along the fabric to tamp the vulnerability welling up in your chest. “They lied, of course.”

Your body tensed up a bit when his arms wrapped around you tighter, but somehow that brought you a small sense of comfort. Your heart slowly crawled up to the back of your throat while the back of your eyes started to burn, but you swallowed the bitter lump down your throat again and blinked away the sting in your eyes. “If they were capable of doing that, I cannot even imagine what you could do to me…”

A low growl rumbled in the demon’s chest as the tendrils on his head started to writhe with agitation, his mind painting a picture of whatever horrors he could think of that could be inflicted on the young witch in his arms. He immediately thought of the pig-like man who gladly threw you away to him, and outrage surged in his heart, something he never thought he would feel throbbing in his chest again.

“I am not like that disgusting little worm,” he snarled, his golden eyes burning into your eyes with disdain for the mortal man. “I am nothing like that pathetic recreant.”

The demon slowly rose to his feet and picked you up to your own, his tendrils slowly wrapping around your waist to keep you up while his clawed hands gently cupped your cheeks to keep your eyes on him.

“I can be cruel. I can be violent. I can be merciless if I want to. But I have no desire to hurt you, little one.”

A shiver ran down your spine as your hands rested on his chest and clutched onto his robes, but hesitation still lingered in your mind.

“...what do you plan on doing to me then?”

A small smirk curled up on the demon’s lips while his black-stained thumb caressed your cheek. “Now that would be telling.”

Another rumble in his chest vibrated against you before one of his hands reached down to grab yours. “Suffice it to say I require your time. Your energy…”

He lifted your hand, revealing your gnarled, bleeding fingertips and broken nails, before pulling it close to his lips. “Your blood…”

His golden eyes glowed as his lips gently wrapped around your thumb and sucked the red ichor off it, his tongue slowly swirling around the digit and savoring the sweet taste of your blood before he pulled his mouth away with a flick of his tongue.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat when your eyes landed on the now-healed thumb, and you quickly darted your eyes back to his pools of warm amber. Your legs gave out, but his tendrils kept you up while he gazed down at you with a brazen smirk.

The blood on his tongue was stronger than the demon anticipated, the dying magical power from the exposed wound sending an addictive rush through his veins, briefly dilating his pupils before they returned to normal. A small huff of laughter slipped through his lips before he pulled your hands to his lips and pressed some kisses along your fingertips.

“I promise you, little one, I will treat you with far more care than any lowly human could once we enter into our contract. Would you not agree, my sweet little witch?”

You stared up at the bewitching demon with a dazed nod, but you soon snapped out of it once you processed his words. “Wait– our contract? I thought you were going to make one with–”

“That vile tick was not the one who summoned me,” the demon interrupted with repugnance as he pulled you closer. “And even if it did, its wish is far too mundane and vague for it to come into fruition the way the little pest would wish.”

The demon’s face curled up into a scowl before he leaned his face to the crook of your neck. “Even the mere thought of that lout reminds me of that disgusting odor he was emitting.”

A slight shudder wracked the demon’s body before he breathed in your scent and traced his nose along your throat. A soft groan reverberated in his throat before his lips grazed against your skin, relishing the way you gradually melted in his arms with a shiver. “My dear, you taste so sweet…”

He brushed another kiss against your neck, lingering on the sensation of your pulse thrumming against his lips. “Your blood, your skin…better than any ambrosia I ever had. Better than any feast…”

His lips trailed down lower on your neck, savoring the breathless gasps catching in your throat, until he reached your shoulder. “I am almost tempted to have a bite, but the mere thought of defacing your body with my teeth…it would just be a waste.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you rolled your head back with a whimper while he planted more kisses along your skin and wrapped his arms back around your body. A wave of warmth gently washed over you as you clutched onto his robes, lulling you in a dazed state as your fear ebbed out of your body.

A smirk slowly curled up on the demon’s lips as he pulled away a bit from your neck before a clawed finger tentatively hooked under the collar of your ratty, patched-up dress and slowly pulled it to the side. “No, I would prefer to take my time to…taste…you…”

He slowly trailed off once his eyes landed on your skin that was underneath your rags. It was marred with purple and yellow bruises, thin red whip lines, overlapping skin and burns, and–the most damning of all to the demon– a small circular brand on your left bosom.

You gradually came to once you felt the gentle dragging of the ratty fabric against your shoulder, and your blood ran cold the moment your eyes landed on the hardened glare of his eyes on your skin. The air in the room suddenly grew cold and full of dark energy again, crackling and swirling around the both of you as shadowy tendrils shot up from the shadows around the visibly irate demon.

“What the hell is that?” the demon asked, his voice barely above a hoarse mutter. “That small circle on your skin…”

Your tongue weighed heavy in your mouth like lead as you trembled in his arms again, but you swallowed the bile burning down your throat before you reluctantly responded.

“...My brand. M-my mast–”

You almost heaved at the memory of when your former master pulled the blaring hot branding iron from his fireplace, but you blinked away the tears and attempted to breathe evenly in front of the demon. “My- my former master…he did- did not want a l-large branding on me…he wanted some-something subtle.”

The demon’s eyes sharpen, and the golden hue of his irises gradually bled out into the whites of his eyes while his pupils started to split up until they transformed into spider-like eyes.

“That little vermin…branded you?”

A wave of dark energy exploded from the demon as more tendrils shot up from the darkness, some of them straightening and stabbing down into the stone walls like powerful spider legs. Rage coursed through the demon’s veins as his voice ripped through his throat.

“How dare–when I see that disgusting fucking creature, I will tear it apart limb from limb while hexing it to stay alive–”

You quickly clutched your hands on his shoulders before you coughed up blood on his chest, the sudden rush of dark energy slamming against you like a train that you overheard your former master talking about. Ichor and iron clung inside your mouth, but you gripped onto him while staring up at him with tears in your eyes, wheezing and struggling to breathe in the thick miasma the demon exuded.

The demon’s eyes landed on you and your bloody mouth before they instantly reverted back to normal, and all the shadowy tendrils and dark energy evaporated in thin air. Panic flooded the demon’s eyes as he frantically pulled you into a tight embrace.

“Little one– little one– I am so sorry, I did not– I did not mean to– Fuck– please, please forgive me–”

You gasped out some breaths while coughing up some coagulated blood, sputtering it out of your mouth while your hands shakily squeezed his shoulders in an attempt to massage them. You blinked away more involuntary tears while your bloodied lips pressed against his shoulder, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly melt away while he clung to you like a lifeline. His hand hesitantly slid up to caress the back of your head, his black clawed fingers carefully running through your hair, before he pressed his lips against your temple.

“Fuck, I-I did not mean to– did not mean to hurt you, never meant to harm you,” the demon muttered into your hair. “Damn it, please forgive me, little one…”

You only nodded with a whimper in response before you pressed another kiss on his shoulder. The demon shuddered from the tender touch of your lips before he gently pulled you away to peer down at you with remorse in his eyes.

“What do you desire, little one?” he whispered as his other hand trailed up from your waist to your lips to wipe your blood off. “What would you like me to do? I will give you anything– anything– to make this up to you.”

His face pinched up into a pained expression the more he gazed down at you while a golden aura slowly emitted from his figure. “Would you like revenge on that filth that harmed you? Would you like to unlock your potential power? What would you like me to do for you, my dear?...”

Labored breaths puffed out from your blood-stained lips before you shakily reached up to cup his face, and you looked up at him with forgiveness in your wavering eyes.

“Just…just want to be safe,” you rasped out, your emotions welling up in your chest and rising up to the back of your throat. “Just- just keep me safe from now on…”

A flash of pain and affection pooled in his golden-amber eyes as the golden aura around his body glowed brighter from your request, and he slowly nodded before pulling you into a gentle, lingering kiss. You fluttered your eyes as you accepted his wordless apology, and you melted and grew languid in his arms.

This kiss did not revile you, did not make you vomit until your throat burned, did not make you want to cut your tongue out to bleed and be rid of your life.

This kiss made you feel warm, a gentle comfort blanketing over you, lingering over your heart before he reluctantly pulled away. His eyes softened as he carefully pulled at your tattered collar again, watching the hideous brand be overtaken by a golden light on your chest before fading away into a large black mark of a spider.

Your chest slowly eased up until you could breathe evenly again, and your eyes widened at the sight of golden light enveloping the tips of your fingers and radiating under your rags before fading away into black web-like marks. While you were distracted by your healed wounds and new markings, more black tendrils slowly rose from the demon’s shadow again and gently wrapped around your body. The demon tenderly gazed down at you as he pulled his arms away before you slowly started to skin into the warm darkness with the tendrils. The familiar chill of fear was nowhere in you in that moment, only a dazed, reverent acceptance as a small smile barely curled up on your lips.

“I will not harm you again, little witch,” the demon reassured you as his shadow gradually swallowed you up. “No one will harm you. Ever again. You are now under my protection. Do you understand?”

You only nod in response as his tendrils snaked up and wrapped up around your body more and carefully pulled you into the shadow. One of them reached up around your neck and caressed your cheek, as if comforting you while darkness creeped up in your vision of the merciful demon and engulfed you.

[strongestbanner]

What If:

Logan and Victor decide to forgive each other, escape together and live in a small cabin located in Argentine Patagonia (probably in the Río Negro province, towards the mountains of the west) 🏡❤️‍🩹🇦🇷

They both accepted that they are two sides of a same coin, and they'll always be there for each other, no matter the circumstances <3

(If you wanna cry at the end, keep reading)

Logan gets addicted to drink mate and can't live without his thermo (he choose Lumilagro when he just arrived bc he didn't have enough money for a Stanley thermo, but he doesn't give a f*ck). His favorite yerba mate is Rosamonte: the most bitter yerba mate for his taste 👌🏻

Vic shows off Logan the words he already knew in Spanish after so many missions. Now he learned to say to Logan: "enano boludo" (fool runt) just for piss him off.

Victor has become very punctual at merienda time, he always waits for Logan with sweet facturas (like biscuits, croissants) (sometimes Logan is sick of eating sweet, so he asks Vic to bring salty facturas too). Also, Victor LOVES membrillo's facturas (quince jam) (his beard always ends up dirty as if he had blood on it, never forgetting his animal instincts).

Of course, Logan got a job at a sawmill, he has too much experience with wood hehehe. And Victor worked for a time in a food distributor for a bakery, but he got fired bc he was caught stealing some cookies with membrillo. So, now he stays at home doing housework (surprisingly, he's very clean and hates finding cobwebs on the ceiling).

Logan secretly listen to Tango music, somehow he feels internally moved and sometimes cries too!! He also bought some Carlos Gardel vinyls to send for Laura's birthday <3

They both bought earplugs to use once a month bc they discovered that they have a lobizón neighbor 2 km away (the argentine werewolf 🐺).

At first they slept in different rooms, until Victor decided to have a sleepover after watching a chick flick movies marathon with Logan over a weekend (yes, they have Netflix). How did he convince him? He used his secret weapon: kitten eyes ✨ This is how slowly Victor's old room was transformed into a leisure room. Now they have a shelf full of classic literature books (and Spanish literature too bc Vic is so interested in it and he wants to still learning). Some CDs and vinyls of Logan bc he also likes argentinian national rock (He seems to like "Los Piojos", "Intoxicados", and "Patricio Rey y sus Redonditos de Ricota" 😂).

This is for the argentine fans: LOGAN SUPPORTS BOCA JUNIORS CLUB 💙💛💙 He's not a very huge fan for football games, but he stays focused watching them. While Vic usually falls asleep at half time on the sofa with him.

Victor convinced Logan that he would control his bloodlust, so their household is never short of a good supply of meat. Unfortunately, this is a vile lie. When Logan is away, Victor takes advantage of those free hours to hunt and devour little animals like hares or deer. He knows his schedules and how much time he has to clean up his tracks. Who knows how long he can sustain the lie 🫣

In my mind their first kiss was PURRFECT. The coldest month is July (it's winter there), so, after a week of overcast skies, one night Logan went outside the cabin to smoke a joint. He observed the number of visible stars until he realized that Victor was stalking him with a cup of tea in his hand. They both sat on the front steps and IT JUST HAPPENED. Logan tried to deny what happened, FOR SEVERAL DAYS. But Vic managed to take away his embarrassment and make him enjoy it many times more bc he ✨obviously✨ kissed him first.

It hadn't been a year yet and Logan had invited the X-Men to his whereabouts to celebrate his birthday in October. Logically, Victor didn't like this idea at all, so he decided to flee to the forest. Logan had so many feelings fluttering in his chest, but he knew better than to waste such a beautiful and special day. He looked for Victor and found him cooling off in a river. He was so upset and a little jealous, but Logan convinced him because they would make barbecue. It was a VERY uncomfortable moment for Victor, he was not sorry for what he did, but Logan took care of making him feel part of his family <3

Ofc, I wrote all this with my tears.

I don't consider myself a good writer and my English is very poor, but if anyone wants to make a fanfic or fanart of this TAG ME PLS 😭💖

[pictureinme]

cheri cheri lady – kitten braden (1)

❧ you go to a peepshow. you meet kitten. your life is flipped upside down.

patricia 'kitten' braden x f!reader tags: voyeurism, oral sex, p in v, etc. (see ao3 for full list) parts: 1 (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

You make your way into the part of town you swore you’d never step foot in: the red-light district. The only women around were streetwalking or advertising their clubs.

You were here to do neither of those things.

Being a closeted lesbian in London might seem like an easy job, that is, until that said lesbian gets horny. Who doesn’t? You considered paying for an hour or so, but you weren’t made of money. Plus, what if someone saw you? That’s why you were laying low in your unassuming trench coat and slacks.

If you walked quickly enough, no one would notice you aren’t a man looking to throw his money away to see some naked ladies.

Taking it slow, you decide to go to a peepshow. It’s easy, there isn’t any chance you’ll get into trouble.

In glimmering neon, you see the sign: Xanadu. You heard it was run by a union of sorts, and it was fully legal. No busts to get caught in.

Entering through the tinsel curtain, the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume hung in the air. Exciting.

You walk quickly through the booths and their curtains, until you find one unoccupied. Shutting the curtains, you sit on the stool, wiping a trickle of sweat from your brow.

Fumbling through your coin purse, you put the allotted amount for twenty minutes into the slot.

The view quickly reveals itself: a lovely young blonde woman, dressed in a blue slip, was sitting on a flower adorned swing.

“Well, hello there.”

Her deep voice, coupled with her lusty blue eyes, had you stifle a choke, which was caught on the microphone.

She giggles, quite over the top.

“You’re an absolute beauty,” you manage to whisper, forgetting your preamble about how you’re a woman and if that would offend her in some way.

Her swinging stops, and a smirk finds its way onto her face, “Oh, a lady paying for a peepshow? How unusual.”

You scramble, “If that bothers you, I can leave, no problem. You can keep the money, of course and...”

Her finger comes to her plush lips in a shushing motion, “Don’t get all uppity, darling. In fact, I wish more ladies would come in. Make this a lot more fun, hm?

“I have to agree, Miss…?”

“Call me Kitten, love. May I know yours?”

Kitten’s tongue goes to lick her lips quickly, making your breath shudder.

“You can call me… (Y/N).”

‘Why did you give her your real name, you dunce?’ you think to yourself.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. What made you brave this side of London just to see little ol’ me?” One of her straps falls from her shoulder, you can’t help but stare.

You chuckle, blushing slightly at the compliment, “Can you blame a girl for being horny?”

“Not at all, dear (Y/N),” Kitten leans closer to the glass, “I must say, I like it when girls talk so crass.”

“Yeah? I like it when girls wear pretty blue slips… especially when they let them fall so low.”

Your confidence grows by the minute. You know she can’t see you, but she sure as hell acts like she can.

“My, you’re quite the dirty girl. What would you like to see, love?” She bites her thumb, letting her lips wrap around it.

“Anything. I’m honestly content just… talking with such a beautiful woman.”

Kitten smiles widely, “You’re such a flirt, dear. I’ll show you something nice…”

You watch as she moves her hands down to between her legs, still covered by the slip. With a gasp, you find yourself imitating her movements.

“You like that, Miss (Y/N)? Do you like seeing pretty girls doing dirty things?”

“Yes, Kitten, but I especially like it when you do it.”

Giggling, she starts to touch herself around her clothing, “I thought you might say that. I wish I could see you, I know you’re doing the same thing I am, hm?"

You nod, but realize she can’t see that, so you let out a noise of affirmation.

“Miss (Y/N), you were so brash before, what happened? Cat got your tongue, or was it a… kitten?”

“You’re driving me crazy, such a doll, you are.”

Her eyelids flutter closed, in seemingly faux ecstasy, “Your words make me the crazy one.”

Kitten’s slip falls from her chest, revealing her petite breasts. Eyes glued to her, your mouth falls open in a slight whimper.

“You know, all the men that come here think they’re rather disappointing, but you…”

She grins, and moves one hand to touch one of them. Still mimicking her, you whisper, “Kitten, you are something else.”

Just as you both start getting into the rhythm of it, a chime signals one minute till the end of your time. You have no more quarters.

“Oh, shame. I hope I see you around again soon, Miss (Y/N). You’ve certainly put me in a good mood,” Kittens seems genuinely saddened by this, but her peach pout is just too erotic for you to handle.

“I’ll definitely be back soon, Kitten. You’ve got me addicted.”

The view slides closed, and you’re left with both a soaked hand and underwear. Fuck.

[itspronouncedtessa]

The "English or continental" debate is problematic and ultimately detrimental to the community.

Every time I see one of these "are you one or the other" posts, polls, tweets (Xcreets?), blogs, vlogs, whatevers, I get so annoyed. Undies fully twisted.

So indulge me and let's get into this.

First things first:

This is not an attack on pickers or throwers specifically. Any knitting style is valid. If the end result is even, non-twisted stitches that you enjoyed putting together, you're doing it right.

That said, I have 3 major gripes with the concept of "English vs continental" knitting:

1. The terminology. The terms "English" and "continental" were coined during WWII, as continental is actually German and the English were (rightly, at the time) uncomfortable doing anything the German way, or admitting that that way could be more efficient.

As we're about 80 years removed from the war, it might be time to accept that neither is objectively better and that German isn't a dirty word. We can, and should, use English and German, or throwing and picking respectively.

2. It's exclusionary to new knitters. The whole picking vs throwing discussion has made it so that new knitters don't know there are other options. If you're new to knitting, you get the impression that these are the only two options and if you can't do either, you can't knit.

Not to mention that the overwhelming majority of patterns and instructional videos are written or made exclusively for English or German methods. Which means if you want or need to use a different style, you need the additional step and skill of translating the pattern to fit your method. This requires a certain level of understanding of the underlying techniques that new knitters don't have. (Which is why I prefer charts, but that's a whole different rant.)

3. It's exclusionary to experienced knitters who don't pick or throw. The term continental for specifically German knitting dismisses all the other non-German European styles.

An incomplete list:

Eastern, or Russian, where you purl clockwise instead of counterclockwise, mounting the stitch backwards and knitting through the back loop on the right side. Creates the same stitch, but can be so much smoother to execute. Also very useful if you're doing rows of YO, ssk, as it eliminates the need to reorient the stitches before knitting them together.

Norwegian, where you purl without the need to bring the yarn fully forward. This is hard to describe in words, so I highly recommend googling for a video on Norwegian purls. It's a game changer for rib or seed stitch.

Portuguese, where you tension the yarn at the front of the work, looping it over your neck or through a pin. My personal preferred main method. Super helpful for those of us who lack finger strength to comfortably tension at the back. Makes purling a breeze.

Irish or lever knitting. Done with straight needles and (mostly) one-handed. Extremely helpful for people with disabilities. Also one of the fastest methods. You should check out videos on this, the speed is magical.

Flicking (not exactly regional), which is right handed but instead of throwing, you move the right needle to grab the yarn. Also difficult to explain, so check out some videos on this, too. Its a very quick method with minimal wrist movement. If you have the finger strength for tensioning it's worth practicing this, as it's so quick.

All of these are valid techniques, most of them are from continental Europe, none of them are included in the question "English or continental?".

And all of the above doesn't even get into the non-western, non-English, non-European styles there must be around the world, that I can't find through Google, because the English speaking world only uses the above mentioned methods.

Also, knitters that use other methods than picking or throwing are wildly underrepresented in the community, giving the knitting scene a culturally very white, western European image. Knitting could be a far more inclusive hobby if we'd embrace all styles.

In short, we need to change the question to "tell me about your technique" and learn from each other. Combining multiple methods (I use 3 or 4 interchangeably, depending on the pattern) can increase efficiency and enjoyment. And if you're struggling in any way, there might be a technique out there that better suits your needs. Asking about English vs continental isn't going to provide that information.

So tell me about your technique, especially if you use or know of any knitting methods that aren't western or European, I would LOVE to hear about that. Let's share and celebrate all the ways we knit.

[celaenaeiln]

I’ve been thinking about Robin Year One and how that inciting incident with Two Face which is supposed to lead to Dick’s character arc throughout the story

Thing is at least for me personally, it wasn’t actually Dick’s fault at all on how badly it went since Two Face was rather unpredictable for the Dynamic Duo, to the point it can be conceivably called Out of Character for Harvey, especially since this meant in being ‘Formerly One of the Guys Bruce can Call a Friend’ Harvey

So if I may propose a very slight rewrite;

Have it so Two Face is genuine in giving Robin a Head Or Tails Choice but then Dick acts preemptively before he can make flip the coin, slipping off one of his boots to fling it right to Two Face’s hand, knocking the coin out of his hand and distracting the henchmen that moment so Robin can slip out of their grasp and make his way to the scaffolds to rescue Batman and the judge being held hostage. He’s able to successfully at least get them down but just as he’s about to untie their restraints…BAM! Then comes the baseball bat

In that moment of rage by losing his coin, Harvey and Two Face have come to an agreement: the brat must be punished for what he did.

Then you get the infamous beat down and Batman for once putting aside his deep down sympathy for Harvey to rescue his partner and the judge

From here it goes somewhat the same, only tiny other change I’ll do here is that Bruce gives Dick one last chance to prove to him that he’s capable of being Robin. He’ll have Dick on an undercover assignment to investigate some disappearances of some youths in Gotham on the streets, and have a small tracker Dick then can tap onto to call him in once he finds the source. Therefore, Dick can still encounter the Academy under Shirke

How’s that all sound?

Robin: Year One Issue #2

I agree!!

Dick changed the rules of their game and he did win because he said "clean side up, the judge doesn't hang."

But Harvey played dirty by using a play on words and cut the rope so "the judge doesn't hang." He cheated even more by having a secret panel in the floor that drops directly into the ocean.

"Have it so Two Face is genuine in giving Robin a Head Or Tails Choice but then Dick acts preemptively before he can make flip the coin, slipping off one of his boots to fling it right to Two Face’s hand, knocking the coin out of his hand and distracting the henchmen that moment so Robin can slip out of their grasp and make his way to the scaffolds to rescue Batman and the judge being held hostage. He’s able to successfully at least get them down but just as he’s about to untie their restraints…BAM! Then comes the baseball bat

In that moment of rage by losing his coin, Harvey and Two Face have come to an agreement: the brat must be punished for what he did.

Then you get the infamous beat down and Batman for once putting aside his deep down sympathy for Harvey to rescue his partner and the judge"

I love the original story but I LOVE THIS REWRITE!!!

Actually as you were describing, I could literally see it play in my head, it's so cleanly written.

I find it very interesting how you wrote about the significance of Two Face's coin and his mental state because I feel like this can be explored even further. Two Face is really into games and binary deals because that's his villain motto. And like his face, he uses the two sides of a coin to represent two different choices but same overall situation. By losing his coin, he lost both choices and it feels like an all or nothing situation of union. Typically both sides are always fighting but now they are one just like how the loss of the coin signifies there are no sides and only one answer. That's really cool!!

Also Batman beating down Harvey and this scene causing the loss of sympathy for his long time friend also makes it clearer why. Actually this writing helped me better understand Bruce's feelings toward Harvey even though it happened the same way in the comic. Bruce has a long line of patience for people who have wronged him. He's sometimes acts like an abused partner in a relationship which is why I feel so bad for him and mentioned some time earlier that I always forgive him for almost anything. I just feel bad for Bruce because he's gone through so much but he also self blames so much and lets criminals like Harvey go out of loyalty and love towards a friend.

However this scene is the feather on the camel's back because even though Harvey was once his friend, the second he beats up Dick he has become irredeemable. He can never forgive anyone who beats up his son and in a way this becomes Bruce's character growth arc too.

All in all this scene is pretty well written wow.

"From here it goes somewhat the same, only tiny other change I’ll do here is that Bruce gives Dick one last chance to prove to him that he’s capable of being Robin. He’ll have Dick on an undercover assignment to investigate some disappearances of some youths in Gotham on the streets, and have a small tracker Dick then can tap onto to call him in once he finds the source. Therefore, Dick can still encounter the Academy under Shirke"

I think this is a great idea! I like the comic version too where Dick cleaverly tricks and lures Freeze into a trap and captures him neatly for the Gotham police.

Robin: Year One Issue #3

This whole scene!!! I just live for Dick being the bane of all the criminals' existence.

"You annoying little gnat!"

"oh."

"I've been planning this operation for months, you little snot."

"...blasted meddling child..."

And the beginning too!

Robin: Year One Issue #1

Robin: Year One Issue #2

The criminals are just not having it!

"Yellow cape. Little pixie boots."

The way they describe him is hilarious too-

"little pixie boots"

It's funny how more than being done in, it rankled villains how they were done in by an elementary schooler who wore a bright canary yellow cape and little pixie boots. Robin dick grayson era was wild.

I love the continuation into Shrike though! The only reason I would have for sticking with the canon one is because it would be hilarious getting Bruce's reaction on Dick sneaking away to train under the league of assassins because he was mad at his dad. The first time Dick ran away, he became trained with the LoA and the second time he ran away, he got caught up in a cult. Dick just has some really crazy luck.

[cipheramnesia]

I know you talk about movies and TV shows on here a lot, so I'm not sure if you've already a secret this, but do you have any recommendations for things on canabalism? Or werewolves

The cannibalism genre is huge, and you could probably write a book on it. Obviously my favorites are The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 (the originals, none of the remakes, reboots, whatever). They're two sides of the same strange coin with underlying themes of classism and the deep rot at the core of US nationalism. Along with Night of the Living Dead around six years prior, the original TCM was one of those movies that marked a paradigm shift in horror film.

But meanwhile, there was a huge lurid explosion of cannibalsploitation movies. I don't know most of them very well. Like, I've seen Motel Hell and Blood Diner, The Hills Have Eyes movies, but they didn't do a lot for me. Once you start getting to the end of the 80s, directors seemed to start getting an inkling of the satirical or symbolic value of the cannibal, and that's where some really interesting work happens, for example Parents (1989), the absolutely iconic People Under the Stairs (1991), and a left field one from me personally - Auntie Lee's Meat Pies (1992) - which feels almost accidentally anti-capitalist / anti-authoritarian.

One thing about this period is that for the most part there was an associate of cannibalism with being rural and poor (People Under The Stairs and Parents are notable and very interesting exceptions). A degree of the horror lies in humans eating humans, but in a modern lens these old exploitation films tap into other feelings, finding an undercurrent of anger which comes from the way it's so often poor and rural people literally consuming wealthy or privileged people. The cannibals of these movies were often dirty, or old, or fat, or horny. They were loud and obnoxious and tacky - and their victims were so clean and thin and pretty and wealthy. There's no doubt a lot of the exploitation movies in that whole late sixties to early nineties period weren't exactly made with pure intentions, but many of them hit that "eat the rich" sweet spot in a way more recent movies don't.

But anyway, also starting in the 1990s was the shift towards the idea of cannibalism as something transformative - human flesh went from a staple of the poor and disenfranchised, and started to be a luxury item, or something which marked those who consumed it as special or even elite, sort of kicked off by Silence of the Lambs. However, if you want a more interesting example, Ravenous is a fun watch, and has a lot to unpack going on - both for the good and for the bad. It's one of those movies where you'll find a degree of the mythologizing also start to appropriate first nations culture and in particular a figure which isn't meant to be spoken about just in general. Prior to this, there was already a habitual use of "native people" as "savage cannibals" in the exploitative way, but this was where it swung over to the other side of the horseshoe, to stereotype any sort of pre-colonial people's have having a unique and ritualized consumption of human flesh that separated them from white, western colonizers.

Anyway, that takes us up to recent stuff, which is probably too close to see a clear pattern. People are still making the same movies as before, but some of the more interesting modern approaches where cannibalism is in the context of things like coming of age, or finding a place in the world are Raw and Bones And All. These two takes merge some of the original models of cannibalism being a trait of the underprivileged, but having elements signifying it as a unique experience which allows it to serve as a stand-in for the feeling of transition to adulthood, or being someone who is socially othered in some way. A few others which I think have some interesting takes, but maybe not enough to get into detail, are Flesh, We Are What We Are, Feed Me, and Bloody Hell. Most recently, and probably the best new cannibal movie in ages, is Lowlife, which you can find on Tubi.

Anyway, uh, quick off the cuff werewolf take is that there's not really a perfect werewolf movie which in no particular order should have a bipedal werewolf with a wolf head (not human-like) and is queer. Some movies which are a mixed bag are An American Werewolf In London (great writing, terrible wolf design), The Howling series (cool werewolf design, terrible writing), Ginger Snaps 1+2 (should be queer, isn't), Wolf Cop 1+2 (okay writing, okay design, missing the queer), and Late Phases (good writing, so-so design).

Here are the three that you should watch: Dog Soldiers has peak werewolf design, a really interesting concept, and solid writing. Probably your best bang for the buck in terms of cool werewolf fighting time. Bloodthirsty is peak queer werewolf movie writing, with very little actual wolf. It's beautiful and meditative and I love it. And of course the all time greatest werewolf movie ever: Company of Wolves. More of a dreamscape painting than movie, what it lacks in wolf design it makes up in beauty and depth of psychosexual exploration.

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

ATHENA CYKES (ACE ATTORNEY)

1.) Despite supposedly being the MAIN CHARACTER of the game she was introduced in, she somehow still always ends up playing second fiddle to Phoenix and Apollo, to the point where she isn't allowed to take the lead on even so much as a single case. Instead of the senior lawyers standing to the side in a mentorship role like they do for literally EVERY OTHER PLAYABLE CHARACTER, Phoenix and Apollo keep stepping in to outright take over for her. She literally does not make it through even a single case without needing some male character or other to swoop in and hold her hand every step of the way, not only Phoenix and Apollo but once even Blackquill, her rival prosecutor, as well.

Why? It has nothing whatsoever to do with her competence level. It's a video game; her competence is determined by the player's, just like everybody else. It seems like the writers just couldn't STAND the thought of her doing anything on her own, or thought that the players would walk out en masse if it wasn't the Phoenix and Apollo Show every second of gameplay. (And yeah, it DOES sometimes take me some time to warm up to new characters, but that was the case for Apollo too! At least give me the CHANCE to judge her on her own merits rather than assuming that I'll immediately write her off!) Like, why did you even WRITE this character if you think so little of her?

2.) WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN. She's introduced in the middle of a male characters "trilogy" (Apollo justice) so the story is never about her. She appears in aa5 only to NEVER headline her own case IN HER INTRODUCTORY GAME and always fail unless a man comes in and saves her. Her own story is sidelined for Apollos. Next game, she only really appears in one case that's a throwaway and still can't do shit on her own. Ugh. She deserved to be treated better, more competent, etc.

3.) my girl is an attorney and a practicing psychologist at age 18 (youngest defense lawyer in the series) & is often shown to be more competent than her male colleagues, and yet is constantly pushed out/sidelined/generally treated like an assistant character rather than a lawyer (the assistant position in these games is usually reserved for characters who don't have law degrees/are generally not educated enough to understand the courtroom proceedings to their full extent. athena is none of those things but she gets treated the same way by the game because. well. we know why.) Instead of being the main playable attorney in her debut game, the story is taken over by her male colleague (WHO ALREADY HAD A WHOLE GAME DEDICATED TO HIS BULLSHIT BTW) & her development is ignored in favor of his in both her debut game AND her second game. Even when her backstory IS explored it's done via a male family friend of hers, meaning even when her OWN story is being told it's not even about her it's about simon's lame ass. for extra context here in her debut game she is only the playable attorney in one case out of five, while the other (male) playable attorneys were playable in all or all-but-one of the cases in THEIR debut games. capcom hates women sooooo bad

CARMELITA MONTOYA FOX (SLY COOPER)

1.) Carmelita has always been portrayed as a sexy badass, but the fourth game in the series does her dirty. Throughout the game she’s given the “bitchy ex-girlfriend” treatment and is always regarded as an unreasonable nag. In addition, they put her in an impractical miniskirt (previous games had her in pants), and there is a minigame where she is forced to dress like a belly dancer to distract some guards (including prompting the player to have her shake her ass for extra coins) and when she complains about this, nobody listens to her, and is then reduced to the damsel in distress in the final act of the game, when previously she has always been a major help in taking down the final boss. While not the main reason a lot of Sly Cooper fans hate this game, it’s certainly a factor.

[castrianamore]

Bitter, Had the Heart

DC x DP crossover

TW: Mentions of neglect, Abuse, Death. graphic depictions of violence and wounds

Chapter 2: Jason Todd Accidentally Adopts a puppy(That’s definitely not a child)

First Chapter & Ao3 Linked at the bottom of the chapter

Jason had met Distortion in an interesting way. Anyone who had met or interacted with the guy could say that. He himself was an interesting person. Mysterious mostly.

Another person infected by the pits.

Distortion was young. Younger and more skilled than even most who worked for him on the streets. He held himself like a king with smirks and sarcasm hiding his true emotions. He was silly and he was fun and it gave Jason’s heart a ping through the years they had known each other.

Distortion first showed up in Jason’s life 3 years ago sitting the stupidest way on his chair. Head hanging. Goggles covering his eyes on a cracked and broken iPhone. Feet draped over the top. He was also bleeding… a lot.

Blood mixed with the murky pit water green that haunted his vision. He was delirious having given himself apparently the remains of a morphine shot to deal with the pain so he could even get there.

He looked so young and helpless even as he sat up walking over to talk to the gang leader, and promptly dropped in front of Jason unable to hold himself up any longer.

“I need your help…” he whispered. He didn’t have a mask on then… his teeth stained with blood as he weakly smiled in Jason’s arms. “You’re the only one who could ever help me… another Revenant.”

The aching pool of anger in his soul had been quiet that day. It was quiet a lot of the days Distortion was around . Whatever pit waters flowing through Distortion’s veins existed thick enough to Calm Jason’s torrential waves. Jason didn’t mind when he was around because of this.

“Kid you’re…”

“Dying? Tell me about it, if we can,”a wet cough escapes his lips as the blood hits Jason’s shirt. “If we can cauterize the wound I can explain it better but—“

“You need to live first.”

Cue a shaky nod.

And Distortion did explain. He explained a lot.

“What you and I are? Different but similar made from two different types of the same substance. You were made from stuff that’s been far too corrupted. An unfiltered and dirty substance and I was made from the stuff straight from the tap, pure, filtered.”

He had promptly passed out though and Jason left him on his couch. His employees wouldn’t ask about the ungodly screams they heard in his office as they cauterize the wound. Or the amount of water and snacks he would bring up in the following days and weeks of Jason slowly forming an attachment to the kid. He healed faster than most would have, only proving his point of them being two sides of the same coin. Opposites but the same really. Both pit children. Distortion never said the word pit. He didn’t like to talk about it too much except when it became necessary too.

At first their relationship was simple. Distortion owed Jason for saving him, and hiding him. Jason, for once, insisted it was fine, but the masked man stuck around. It was a slow thing at first. Dis insisted on supervising deliveries when Jason was busy. Then keeping an eye out for members he saw on Jason’s desk reporting to him when he saw them. He soon became a consistent part of his daily life and operations.

It came at a cost for Dis though, and Jason knew it. When the bats came around he disappeared only coming back two days later exactly. He kept under the radar. His smiley bright personality was a beacon of good in Jason’s life for the first 6 months of their partnership. He turned a blind eye to Jason’s murdering and questionable actions at times. Not that he did it too much any more. It was partly a deal for keeping Bruce off of his back.

“Don’t you have school?”Jason finally had asked after month six of the teen always hanging around. The kid was laying at the very top of a huge stack of crates and boxes in Jason’s main warehouse and office. Most of it was mundane supplies. Dis was reading a novel. One namely Jason had given him to read to get the kid to leave him alone for a few hours knowing the kid would eventually get bored.

“Nope,”Dis popped his P on his words and rolled over to look down at him setting the book off to the side. “I don’t exist. I died.”

“Right..”Jason had sighed and rubbed his forehead. Mask on his face. He opted for the mask rather than the helmet when doing mundane tasks around his office. If he needed to go out with the bats he could more than likely end up having to put it on.

“Do you want too? You know? Finish school. Go to college?” Jason asked, looking up at the kid who climbed down with far more speed than a normal human jumping and doing a flip to get off the last bit. He was fast, even comparatively to Damian or Dick.

“I like doing this. Keeping an eye out on things that I need too.”

“You never told me what you’re keeping an eye out for Dis. If you tell me, I can help you.”

A solid frown settling into his face.

“I can’t bother you with it.”

“Kid, yes you can. You and I have to stick together, you know that.”

“I don’t have too. I could leave at any time I wanted too.” A frown settling across his face slowly.

“You can and you do. You know I never ask questions. I never press you for anything you never wanna tell me, but you’re a fucking teenage. You should be going to school and studying. I have a program you can join. I can get you a fake identity. No one will be any the wiser.” Except the bats, but he would do anything to make sure Dis stayed far far under their radar. He’d been managing it for months, and he could continue doing it as long as necessary.

“But I should be here to help you. Keep an eye out for you. To-to look out for the entire reason I can’t leave!”

“You can leave Dis. You can leave anytime you want to.”

“I don’t- I can’t!”The kid exclaimed. Now Jason was confused. The kid couldn’t leave despite just saying he could. Maybe he knew he could leave Jason, but when where couldn’t he leave from?

“I would much prefer you stay close Dis.. if I’m being honest.” A quiet moment of realness. It wasn’t that much of a surprise that Jason had gotten attached. It seemed to trigger something in Distortion that night though.

“I don’t have a choice in that matter, Hood!” He had exclaimed back and looking back on that night two and a half years ago maybe Dis had been revealing so much to him but he couldn’t see it. He was trying to help Dis and all Dis was giving him was attitude.

“I can’t just leave Gotham like you! I can’t just go off and do research in this city. All my answers lie in this cursed city, her streets winding and painful and blood soaked and never giving me anything useful!”

“She gave you me..” Jason had admitted whole heartedly maybe more sentimental than he had meant for it too. ‘She gave you this friendship we share. Our connection. Only we can relate to each other. If we separate, where does that leave us, alone? Again?”

“I’ve been operating alone, Hood, for longer than you know.”

“And so have I?! I enjoy your company. Is that too much to ask that I want to make sure you’re cared for and have all the options for success? I’ve always treated you as a fucking equal, yet now I see you’re nothing more than a child.”

“And you’re nothing more than a fool who can’t see the obvious in front of him.”

“Fine. You don’t want to take up my offer of school, you don’t want to talk to me? Like an adult? I want to help you Dis. You know I do. I want to see you succeed and find whatever it is you’re looking for. Whatever it is you’re patiently waiting for it to happen, but if you’re not going to treat me as an equal back then we have nothing more to say to each other Dis.” Hood had gone too far and even he had realized that. He had been a mentor to this kid. He had let the kid look up to him and now that kid was seeing his mentor betray him. A feeling far too reminiscent of his own past for his liking.

It re-awoke the pit lingering in his soul again. That anger was back.

“Good bye, Hood.”

“Dis… I’m sorry.”

“No. You’re right. I’m a child.” Dis looked up at Hood. For a second the man thought he could see piercing angry and broken blue eyes behind his goggles. A familiar look. And he left the building the door slamming behind him. He cared far more for that kid than he cared to admit.

Even the bats had noticed his anger return. They had questioned him about it but he had explained he had it handled and not to worry. Dick had confronted him about away from everyone too asking if he had been in a relationship but even he couldn’t hide everything from his eldest brother. Dick could see through him. Even if he saw it the wrong way. Jason moved on. He had no choice.

But the thing with Dis was that he had shitty timing. Shitty and meaningly timing lined up with stupid puns that made you snort and sarcasm that left you unable to breath from laughter. So as Jason stepped into one of his safehouses mask off completely having just gotten out from a fight that for sure broke one of his ribs and even had the bats called. He called them and then bolted. Let the batman and the demon handle that one. Not under his supervision. They didn’t have to know he had even been there at all.

He had realized he was not alone. Met with the heart wrenching scene of a much more worn Dis. The man was pale. Paler than last time which he hadn’t even known was possible. The man leaned against the wall with a tray in front of him a bullet sitting neatly in it. Hands shaking pretty badly blood pooling around him.

“Shit,”he whispers out with a smile across his face. “Hiya Hood.”

And Jason’s heart shatters. He goes on autopilot running to his bathroom and grabbing the rest of his emergency first aid kneeling next to Dis. The man pulls his goggles off of his head and throws them to the side and Jason could feel his heart drop. He was so tired. Deep circles sat under Dis’ eyes. An all too familiar blue staring back at Jason.

“What, you had your mask off it’s only fair.” If Dis hadn’t had that stupid ability to calm the Pit inside of him he would already be wanting to go off and kill whatever or whoever it was that decided to fuck with one of his own. His Dis. His bro--

“Have I ever told you about my past at all?”A nervous chuckle escapes from his lips.

“Dis, I swear to fucking god you’re not dying today.”He hisses getting the others familair branded jacket off of him and lifting the black shirt up a bit to see the extent of the damage. This was not good. 4 bullet holes. He leaned him forwards. Only one exit wound. Dis had managed to get one out by himself but that left two more inside of him.

“I know… maybe. I don’t even know if I can die, right?” A slow deep breath from the kid as he seemed to debate on taking another. On if he wanted to take another or if he wanted to just give up then and there.

“Trust me your pulse says otherwise kid,”Jason hisses and moved to lay Dis on the floor grabbing a pillow from his couch to put under his couch. “Talk to me. What about your past did you want to tell me?”

“I died by electrocution, you know? I have the lichtenberg scars and everything. It was a lab accident.”

“Sounds not much more pleasant than mine. I was beaten to death with a crowbar,”Jason admits just trying to keep him talking. His shirt rolled up, he poured the disinfectant alcohol over a pair of tweezers. “Keep talking Distortion.”

“I was 13 about to turn 14 when my parents-- their experiment failed and fuck I was so dumb and my friends convinced me to go inside of it, and it turned on with me inside,”A sob escaped his lips as Jason forced the tweezers in his abdomen and Danny grit his teeth letting out a cry. “And now I can’t even go home to tell them how much I was sorry I was gone for so long.”

“You never left Gotham.”

“I can’t.”

“Dis…”

“If I’m going to die someone needs to know my name. The ancients will come for me eventually right? I’ll be a ghost… i'm in their hands at that point.”

“You’re not going to die Dis--”

“My name is Danny.”

Jason found the bullet pulling it out and setting it in the tray. The kid was crying. Jason moved to get the other one out. Talking. Wait yes. Talking. Keep the kid talking.

“Nice to meet you Danny… I’m Jason.”

He went to the other bullet causing the other to cry out in pain again ice spreading around them catching him off guard. He barely had time to get the bullet out before things wanted to ice over. The temperature in the room plummeted. Even for a meta Danny’s pain tolerance was high. It showed just how much he had grown accustomed to the streets.

“You’re a meta?” Jason asks softly making sure there was no malice in his voice. A weak laugh escaped Danny’s lips panting in pain. A tear slipping down his cheek.

“Yeah, sorry. Forgot to mention that, I got cold feet you know?”

Jason snorted. There he was. There was his kid. He was bad at puns ,but… Danny needed something to cling too. He continued to talk, and the more he did, the more his heart broke. Danny apparently had had two friends named Sam and Tucker. They were his ride or die. He told Jason of his sister who protected him and practically raised him amongst their household of neglectful and abusive parents who barely fed or paid them any mind. Jason was glad he had gotten away. When Jason had asked about that Danny had gone quiet. He stitched Danny up and had him drink water and have a snack. He treated Danny’s smaller wounds. A broken rid or two and his arm had been fractured from what Jason could tell.

Their relationship had gotten much better…

Jason had nursed his own broken ribs as he spent the next few weeks taking care of the kid. The man being in and out of consciousness for the next week and a half. A few times Jason wasn’t sure he was going to make it.

Even as he healed though Jason realized just how sickly he looked. Those dark circles never went away. His skin remained pale. He remained looking sickly. Jason had asked him about that too but he brushed it off like it was nothing. He wouldn’t find out the truth for another few months.

The two lived separately as the next year passed. Jason privately funding Danny’s college at Gotham U. The man acting on his own and doing what he wanted.

“You’re getting too close Danny.”

“You’re being overbearing again Jason,”Danny stuck his tongue out at the older man reading a text book while laying on the couch. The laptop playing a podcast going on about something from space. Jason threw his phone on top of the book. The texts between his brother and the bats on the screen showing the texts from Tim.

“Okay so I got seen I got caught! They didn’t track me. They’re not going to find me. I won’t let them.”

Jason tried not to notice how sickly he had grown. Lessened appetite. Sunken in cheeks. Dark circles, always tired. Always just exhausted. The young adult was pushing himself and he was getting sicker. Prone to getting fevers that were especially dangerous for the ice meta. One time Jason had to throw Danny in the river to get him to cool down enough in the middle of winter because he couldn’t get ice to the apartment much faster. It was what worked, he guessed.

“You’re my underling to them Danny! I’ve kept you under their radar for 3 fucking years!” Jason poked fun at him as he moved to make food for them both. They had a habit of forgetting but Jason and Danny had dinner once a month at the very least. More common than Jason would go see his actual family. They tended to stop by unannounced which was why Jason and Danny always had their dinners at Danny’s place which was right past Crime Alley. Leaving was the main thing he normally had to keep an eye out for. “Do you want to stay hidden or not?!”

Jason’s eyes scanned across Danny’s apartment. College textbooks scattered around the area. The TV didn’t work so he had gotten rid of it ages ago replacing it with a desk with his laptop on top. Maps of the stars were painted on the walls haphazardly. A topic Danny seemed to enjoy and he enjoyed listening to him talk about in the first place. It was like watching the kid light up. A sharp cough and Danny rubbing his chest told Jason one thing was for sure.

“Taking your medicine?”Jason asked despite knowing the answer as he opened the medicine cabinet where the mostly filled container sat.

“Uhhh… yeah. I did.”

“Liar.”

“Nosey bitch.”

“Says you.”

Danny flipped him off as he caught the container that was thrown at him giving him a final sticking out of his tongue. Danny opened the container pulling out the pill making eye contact with Jason before popping it into his mouth and swallowing.

“You’re like trying to get a child to take their vitamins I swear to god,”Jason rolled his eyes as Danny threw the container back at him. Jason had convinced the man to take some sort of medicine for his shitty body. Danny refused a doctor and all of those tests so they had to make due. Danny took a lot of medicine overall. Some anti-anxiety medication, depression meds(that jason may or may not have been supposed to be taking), as well as some medicine to help with his heart. His heart acted up a lot and it gave Danny a lot of issues in school. Jason swore it wasn’t just his meta powers affecting the man. His heart also didn’t help his already naturally cold body.

“Nah this is easier than you trying to get me to read a classic novel.”

“They’re good Danny.”

“They’re old Jason,”Danny replied snapping his own textbook shut. Jason catching glimpse of the cover.

“Reading up on the transdimensional portal theory?”he chuckles.

“It’s interesting, okay! Didn’t that one dude, what’s his name apart of the super hero girl scout club thingy? He runs really fast?” God did Jason love this kid.

“You mean Flash.”

“YEAH HIM! Didn’t he manage to do it once?” Maybe one day Jason could introduce Danny to his family. One day when Danny wasn’t investigating a very serious murder. One day when he wasn’t so sickly. He also just wanted Danny to look the justice league in the face and mis-name them all. The kid recognized no one. Even now he’d never been out of the city and rather didn’t care for anything outside of it anyways. Jason tried to take him to Bludhaven once and still, to no avail.

“I think so,”Jason grabbed a pan and began to cook the impossible meat for their tacos. He moved to cut some tacos and other vegetables. Was that a fucking batarang?

“Did you get attacked by one of the Bats when you ran into them?!?!” Jason exclaimed looking over at Danny.

“Uhhhhh… no?”

“Danny!”

“I’m fine just hit me in the leg!”

“Let me see it you dumb fuck.”

“Bitch.”

“I’m the one taking care of you!”

“Ancients your worse than Jazz,”he groaned moving to set his hand on the table rolling up his pants to show a neatly wrapped wound that was bleeding through. Cue a groan from Jason as he walked over sitting on the coffee table and moving Danny’s leg into his lap as he unwrapped it to double check the wound. He knew Danny could take care of himself. That was an unspoken rule with how injured he constantly got. Like he was used to fighting a different way than he currently did.

The wound was a clean cut and Danny had already seemed to clean around it at some point. It helped that all of the bats kept their batarangs sharp so he was thankfully for that. “This needs stitches Danny…”

“It’s not that bad,”Danny tried to move to rewrap the wound but Jason stopped him giving him a dangerous look and Danny’s hands went up.

“Okay fine.” He leaned back arms crossed. Jason could tell he was a little upset. He got up being gentle with his leg setting it off to the side going for Danny’s first aid kit and moving to get to work on sewing the wound shut. Danny flinched and occasionally made a small noise of discomfort but he handled it well.

“Wanna talk about that case of yours since I’m going to be covering your ass until forever if you don’t lay the fuck, low.” A mild threat.

“15 bodies! 15! The oldest dating back to when we first met in Gotham. They were slow at first you know? Only 2 murders the first year, each one more gruesome than the last. 5 the second year and now on year 3 and we have 8 within the first 6 months. These numbers? They’re only going to grow.”

“Each one with the same traits. Missing heart. Tortured victims. Ghost Speak on the walls.” A defining indifference between when. Danny constantly joked he was far closer to being dead than alive with Jason. He just a ‘hop skip and a jump’ away or really Danny’s favorite line he just had to jump 2 times ‘till he was among the dead and maybe do a little cha cha real smooth on his way over. Danny knew ghost speak. Was fluent in reading, writing, and speaking it but he wasn’t far enough over to the dead side to automatically know it. Danny’d been teaching him though.

“And an occasional missing kidney that someone wanted for a snack,” Jason clarified having heard the details of this case 20 times over.

“The ghost speak is the same every time,”he groaned as Jason hit a particularly harsh part of the stitching. “Belong, to live, to die, again, trust not the living friend.”

“That’s so cryptic.”

“You’re telling me I’ve been staring at it in my notes for 3 years.”

“You can’t leave the city until you solve the case?”

“I refuse to leave the city until I solve this case,”Danny clarified.

“Then you’ll continue to work on college, besides I like our monthly dinners.”

“You’re acting like I wouldn’t come back?”

“Wouldn’t you? You’ve known this place and only this place for a while. I wouldn’t shame you for not wanting to spend a second more here.”

“I don’t think I could stay away from Gotham even if I tired,”Danny shrugged. “She has a way of drawing people who need to be here back.”

“So any hints on who’s doing these murders?”

“Someone who knows Ghost Speech?”

“Wow, what a lead. I know you have more than that, come on.”

“They’re leaving trace amounts of ectoplasm around so they’re either a revenant like you and I,”a lie. He had known the kid had been lying saying he was a revenant. He was something more really. Even Jason could pick that up, but if the kid didn’t wanna tell him he sure as hell wasn’t going to pry.

“And your final theory?”

“It’s a ghost. A powerful one that’s making Gotham it’s haunt, but Gotham only has so much ectoplasm to go around you know? And I mean I—“he cut himself off.

“And you?”

“And I know that getting the pure shit is hard as fuck. This shit is pure,”he reaches across to grab a vile on the table. Uncorking it and giving it a swirl. “Hard to find in this area especially. So he must have either a portal or something to keep himself together, he’ll need something to sustain himself with especially with how powerful he is if he’s showing up and doing this much damage.”

“Can you take care of it alone?”

“In this state? No.”

“Danny you have been saying you haven’t been on your full power for years. You need help, more than just I alone can offer. Do you want to take a risk?”

“… what is it.” Jason finished wrapping his leg going to to check on the food taking a deep breath.

“What if we finally make you known to the bats. It’ll drive Red Robin insane he hadn’t noticed you sneaking around for such a long time and on top of that you knowing more about his case than he does. Just Nightwing and Red Robin and then we can reveal to B and Robin and the rest of them at a later date.”

“You just want to see my entire existence fuck with the bats don’t you?”

“Maybe, besides.. they have resources maybe we can talk to them about your condition Danny. On top of all their resources and meta resources available. They even have connections to those in the mystic field if it is a Ghost.”

“No. I’ll work with them. They do not get to know about my heart. It isn’t a problem in the field, and we’re not bringing in JL Dark.” Weird. Jason never mentioned the groups name. How did he know about Dark?

“Admit it, your heart is dying you fucking need surgery Danny!”

“I’m fine,” a low growl escaped Danny’s throat.

“No you’re not! We are just praying this medicine is working and the more you use your abilities the more strain it puts on you as a whole let alone on your heart! You keep using them and you’ll be dead.”The cold green eyes glare caught his attention and Jason knew to back off as he finished their food. Push Danny too far and it would trigger his abilities even more and while Jason wouldn’t be affected who knows how thick the ice would be across the apartment. He set tacos in front of him to distract them as they put on some cheesy book movie, Pride and prejudice. Well Jason didn’t have think it was cheesy, Danny on the other hand? Thought it was dumb as all hell. He put up with it because Jason asked him too. A sign He wasn’t that mad at the elder.

The night was quiet after that. Maybe Jason had pushed a little too far. He opened his phone after Danny had passed out on his shoulder shooting a text to the group chat between him, Dick and Tim.

Little Wing is Online🟢

Little Wing: I have a friend who says he’s willing to finally meet you guys

Tim’s reply was almost instantaneous.

Baby Bird is Online 🟢

Baby Bird: Is it distortion?

Little Wing: The one and only.

Big Bird: Who is that?

Baby Bird: Do you ever go offline Greyson?

Big Bird: Bold of you to assume I sleep

Baby Bird: And you think I do?

Big Bird: Touchè; anyways who are we meeting?

Baby Bird: A new vigilante

Big Bird: ohhhh, when and where Little Wing!

Little Wing: Friday. Midnight, my warehouse. Bats doesn’t find out yet. He’s hesitant about even meeting you.

Big Bird: Wait who is Distortion exactly and why are we meeting him?

Baby Bird: How were you ever a Robin?

Big Bird: My charms 💅💅💅💅

Little Wing has gone Offline 🔴

Big Bird: NOOOOOOO BABY BRO COME BACK I NEED TO GET A GOOD A ROAST IN BEFORE YOU LEAVE

Baby Bird: You’ll get him next time old man.

Big Bird: YOU LITTLE

Baby Bird has gone Offline 🔴

Big Bird: ALL ALONEEEEEEEEEE

Chapter 1

[sweetarethediscords]

You're the meaning in my life, you're the inspiration...

The Maiden of the Barren of the Rime wouldn't exist if it weren't for Critical Role, Liam O'brien, and most importantly Caleb Widogast.

I'm sure every Critter out there has asked themself the question: 'What character would I play if I ever got to play at the table?' My answer was Mina.

Mina, originally, was a ranger/bard eladrin cursed to stay forever in the winter season. Specifically made with Campaign 2 in mind, I wanted to design a PC that would create a good juxtaposition to those already at the table. A literal iceblock that the Mighty Nein could chip away at as they often did with too-serious NPCs, and someone who could be mirror to Caleb, my favorite PC from Campaign 2.

As Campaign 2 steered it paths towards Aeor and the Eyes of Nine however, Mina didn't fit in the campaign any more (as most fandom OCs will do as canon goes along) but I couldn't abandon her. Couldn't throw her into my constantly growing pile of character sheets.

And she wouldn't let me forget her. In fact, her and her eventual counterpart, Sebastian, are some of the first characters of mine in recent memory to invade my dreams.

There was something in her I had to explore. Her rage echoed my rage. Her want to overcome her trauma, but fear that she would always be chained by it, mirrored my own healing journey.

Other characteristics of myself and themes I wanted to explore became the other characters. Sebastian became the other side of Mina's coin, someone who met inconveniences with relentless optimism instead of rage. A self-sacrificing people-pleaser against a self-preserving misanthrope, whose flaws both came from coping with past hardships.

A dirty little fire wizard sparked a rich story exploring the societal expectations of womanhood, the nature of generational trauma, and the complex journey of learning how to love one's self through others (among many other themes)...

...and a incredible talented singer/songwriter from Ireland helped hone them.

When I first started writing The Maiden of the Barren Rime in 2021, Hozier's music played an important, but minimal roll in providing emotional clarity for the characters. "Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene" helped to color the more ethereal and deadly nature of Mina, the fae part of her that lures people in, while "Nina Cried Power" grounded her fury, and helped to shape the larger world of Mina's story that will be revealed in later books.

As the core of the novel was written and finished in January 2023, the editing and refining process became my next great beast to slay. A huge slab of marble that with my fantastic editor and outside readers I was able to carve away at, but Hozier's Unreal Unearth steadied my hands.

It was already a wild enough coincidence that 'Blood Upon the Snow', a song meant to capture the brutality of winter in God of War: Ragnorak, released during writing MBR; eerily capturing exactly how I pictured Mina's upbringing. Hearing Unreal Unearth, a beautiful album about heartbreak, healing, death, and grief among other things, while I was writing an novel about heartbreak, healing, death, and grief among other things was surreal. And wonderful.

It helped to inspire the words I was missing, helped me carve out more cutting prose to capture the depth of my characters' emotions, and most importantly gave me the reassurance that the themes and emotions I was exploring were not singular, but shared. In different shades and presentations, but all coming from a same source of universal human truth.

I can not thank these two enough for the inspiration they've given me, and I can not thank you enough if you've read this much of my ramblings (and suffered my cheesy use of a Chicago lyric.)

[cantsomeoneelsedoit]

Ch 61: Interest

Shen's desperate to bring down Feng even if he has to sacrifice himself to do it. Since Feng only responds to strength (and certainly not logic!) there's only one way to keep him in check!

And what's up with that bag at Shen's feet? Are those senzu beans? Shen is going to need a powerup if he's gonna defeat Feng!

Feng doesn't have a scratch on him after Andy's attack! He's gonna be trouble for our team of fighters. They'll either have to collaborate to chip away at him and wear him down or take him out in one catastrophic attack, because fighting him in a traditional sense is going to be a mistake.

Before I get too far into the chapter, I want to look at what I *believe* are *some* of the influences for the character of Feng. I certainly don't know Tozuka's mind, and I'm not trying to say that these are 100% intentional, but these are some other characters who remind me of Feng in interesting ways.

1. Tao Pai Pai

Tao Pai Pai (Mercenary Tao) debuted in Dragon Ball chapter 85 as a notorious assassin hired by the Red Ribbon Army to take out Goku. He's ruthless, greedy, arrogant, selfish, uses his braid as a weapon, and even kills someone with his tongue. He's also 291 years old, despite his middle-aged appearance. I don't think there's ever an explanation for how he lived so long. He's just a sage that way, I guess.

There's an anime filler scene where Tao Pai Pai even gets a black cloud like Feng's, though it doesn't last very long.

Tao Pai Pai was visually based on the villain from the Jackie Chan kung-fu movie Snake in the Eagle's Shadow. Take off the mustache, and you'd have someone who looks a bit like Feng (though Feng smiles a lot more than this guy).

But in the end, Tao Pai Pai proves to be a coward and doesn't have anywhere close to the grit, determination, and near-invincibility of Feng. He fights dirty, pretends to surrender, and generally acts like an arrogant dingus. Our Feng would run circles around this scrub. Still, there are parallels between them that I'll point out during his scenes.

2. Feng from The Iceman Cometh

The Iceman Cometh is a 1989 Hong Kong film that's kind of an isekai of its day. It has a villain named Feng who uses a time-travel device. The hero and the villain travel through time to 1989 Kowloon, where the bulk of the film takes place. Spoiler: Kowloon is Feng's last name in UU.

Though both the Feng in the movie and our Feng are excellent fighters, hate-sink villains and snarkers, the "Iceman" Feng is a much, MUCH, more evil character than the UU Feng, and that's saying a lot. You can see how bad he is because of his evil mustache.

3. Feng Wei from Tekken

I haven't played a fighting game in...decades, but I hear that Feng Wei is a hot-tempered Blood Knight who's obsessed with becoming the greatest fighter in the world. He fights in a different style than Feng's Bajiquan, though. As much as Tozuka loves referencing fighting games, I wouldn't be surprised if Feng Wei was an influence.

Honorable mentions:

Akuma/Gouki from Street Fighter, who's obsessed with fighting Ryu at his peak

Younger Toguro from YYH, who would go to great lengths to preserve his strength and youth

Anyway, the character of Feng is heavily based in the Arrogant Kung-Fu Guy who's always looking for a Worthy Opponent, and if he can't find one, he'll create one. He's neglected almost every other aspect of life in pursuit of power and satisfaction, and it seems he'll never be satisfied until he's killed by someone he deems worthy.

Shen and Feng are two different sides to the same coin-- a life dedicated to martial arts can take a dark or light path depending on the motivations of the user, which is a common theme in works about martial arts.

OK, with all that out of the way, let's continue the chapter!

Yeah, you can't just introduce a character like Feng and then not have Andy fight him! Slow down, Fuuko! We've gotta see Feng slug it out with Andy!

Well, that's certainly a strategy!

Feng's staff can transform into nunchucks to adapt to different kinds of fighting situations, just like a good martial artist. It's a versatile weapon that's well-suited to a quick-thinking fighter like Feng.

Being adaptable and able to shift styles and weapons is a major theme in a lot of Bruce Lee flicks, so it's no surprise to see Feng strike Lee's famous taunting pose on the next page.

Andy accepts the invitation so quickly that he steps out of his panel! He attacks with supercharged punches while Fuuko holds on for dear life! But Feng is still just standing there barely moving...

Despite the frenzy of his attack, Andy's thinking strategically about how to bring Feng down. He's not interested in prolonging the battle the way Feng is.

Feng fights with his hands behind his back the way Tao Pai Pai does.

His foot stomp is so powerful that it cracks the UMA's body, like the Earthquake Foot in Kengan Ashura or this scene from Kung Fu Hustle:

Andy is incapacitated by it, too! Shen is way too powerful!

Pretty rich for Feng to be calling someone else arrogant!

Ouch! Poor Andy! Using his wrist and elbow, Feng dislocates both of Andy's shoulders at once.

Feng's figured out Andy's rules before Andy had a chance to test Feng. Andy's strategy was to "keep dying" until he discovered the rules, but if Feng is only going to incapacitate him, then Andy won't be fighting at his full strength.

But but but it could cause osteoarthritis? Or ligament damage? And that could be deadly because... bone spurs? IDK, I'm grasping at straws here. I don't WANT Andy's power to have a loophole! But I suppose if someone has to discover a loophole, it should be Feng. I wonder if Juiz knows about this detail...

Andy attacks again, but Feng blocks with his forearm. Why can't Andy damage him???

Feng attacks with a double-palm strike:

Oh damn, Feng isn't depending on an ability! Everything we've seen has just been his natural fighting power! He looks genuinely surprised that Andy's still standing. Perhaps Andy is a worthy opponent?

Finally, we learn the name of Feng's style! By the way, if you're wondering about the Japanese names of Feng's moves, the UU English translator David Evelyn explained them here!

I would also like to mention Andy's sad shoulders. Utterly heartbreaking. I don't think we've ever seen him slouch like that before! He really looks incapacitated that way, and from Fuuko's expression, it's concerning her, too!

This page, though! I love this simple layout and how much it shows about the battle. Feng's lost his smile, but Andy's grinning now!

Andy's disinterest in being the strongest is curious. If he DID have that ambition, I'd imagine we'd see a lot more conflict between him and Victor. To Feng though, anyone who lacks that ambition is a coward.

Feng punches clean through Andy, likely attempting to take out Fuuko since he knows Andy can heal from something that catastrophic.

Feng taunts Andy for caring about something more than just his own strength and threatens to kill Fuuko in order to make Andy power up. Jeeze, this guy really has only one strategy to motivate people...

WHAT IF I KILL YOUR LOVED ONES?!? THEN WILL YOU BE STRONG?! THEN WILL I BE STRONGER THAN STRONG YOU?!

Best zombie.

"While I've got you here, let me tell you something..."

Feng, of course, has ignored the advantages of working in a team and fighting altruistically.

Shen's been missing for a minute! He comes back in style to stab Feng through Andy, much to Andy's surprise. Feng is delighted to see that Shen's emotion-powered attack was so strong! He's willing to do anything to fuel their rage. Can the Union work together to beat him without losing their cool?

Masterpost

[ran-orimoto]

If you could give the frontier kids a different spirit what would it be and if you could change the designs how would they be

Among the asks I’ve received in a month ,this feels so connected to my mood and I’m happy it gave me a kick-start for a new asks row!

Takuya: THUNDER⚡️. Face it: Junpei and Takuya are two sides of the same coin and have been given the most explosive elements matching that bursting bomb of personality they have got. There’s no other element I can see for someone as impulsive as Takuya ahahah. He also ends up in the Thunder circle when they land in Sephirotmon. HHHHH MY THUNDER-FIRE WISH CONNECTION. Due to ATLA, it works so perfectly to me, idk HHHHHHHH. And also imagine an Agnimon with electric hair… He already has got a mane similar to mine when my freaking hair gets messy.

Kouji: Wind🍃. Besides the fact he also ends up in the sphere of the Wind in the Sephirotmon, I think he has always had some sort of connection with the wind? Like, in ep 2 he comments about Digiworld’s wind, he is often represented with his long hair in this wind and he’s a free spirit. Wolfmon couldn’t be absolutely called such any more ahahhahah. But tbh he could also be a sort of ninja moving as fast as the gusts of wind? Kouji can use things such as steel bars (again, ep 2) and climbs mountains, can hide pretty well (the tickle scene episode), can survive to falls. He should take on kendo imo.

Izumi: Fire🔥. The concept of the phoenix, I beg? Imagine the arc of the stolen spirit being handled much better with not only Junpei caring about her own well-being, but also with her coming to terms with a little depression about being the weakest and going through a symbolic rebirth? I’m so obsessed with Izumi’s stolen spirit arc and how dirty it has made her because it barely focused on how she felt FROM HER PERSPECTIVE It’s not right Junpei had to be the vehicle of her emotions? And do things for her while she sat there?????? Izumi???? Moreover, if she got Fire, she would be the mc and I would love it; we would, wouldn’t we?

Junpei: Water💦. To be honest, Junpei would fit Wind as well and it would be hilarious because he wouldn’t go along with his element at all, a bit what I can see Izumi x Water to be, since she always drowns in lakes and seas. Junpei has got a little funny scene featuring him wanting to understand how to orientate through the wind and failing miserably (ep 2). Then, you also have got the EXHILARATING, well-known moment from ep 4, where he tries getting Izumi’s spirit and Fairymon just surpasses him at high speed🤣 (even if Junpei being attacked and Izumi yelling his name is what wakes Fairymon up). EHM, yeah, I could joke about that and also about someone heavy getting an element making him feel as light as a feather yet still retaining his weight. Again, funny, I’d be into it, I have got my hcs about a bond between Fairymon and Junpei, but I prefer imagining Thunder and Wind bonding with each other.

So I’m giving Junpei Water because he sings like a merman tempestous boy can get an element making it rain, generating storms but in another kind of form, in a more active fashion. No, I don’t want Junpei to completely part from his element because that’s an amazing part of his writing, despite how little attention it has got: his fear of thunders, which in a similar rewrite could become fear of storms in general. I don’t think Junpei has got that great relationship with rain, either, if I have to be sincere. That day he forgot the umbrella mustn’t have been that nice on his body. Moreover , do not forget his Beast spirit was found in the sea like Ranamon’s and Fairymon’s and I have always found it so fascinating. Wind x Thunder x Water, my beloved *cough* *cough*. Idk his spirit could be based on a whale and its chants. Kill me.

And now the same suffering point to overcome: Kouichi and Tomoki, whom I don’t think about that much and I always show it. I’m sorry, guys. I’m sorry. Junpei gets two paragraphs and he balances this miserable last part.

Tomoki🪨: Earth. And don’t ask me why Train of Hope has given me this idea of Tomoki ending up being so strict and determined and kinda “I’m a person with my feet firmly pressed against Earth”. In truth, in the anime he kinda was peetty determined and down to Earth (lmao), despite being such a baby? He had his values and held onto it during the Asuramon episode, showing how much he cared about them. Idk? This is my half-assed idea and I hate it, thank you. He could still be a bear, if you ask me. Something similar to Ursaluna.

Kouichi❄️: Because Kouichi can’t be parted from his near-to-death experience in any rewrite, if you ask me, and the only thing I can connect with death is ice and cold. Do I need to explain it…? No idea how he would look like. Something closer to Duskmon than Loweemon.

Thank you for the ask~💕

[trendywaifus]

🔥 anon here! thank you for the suggestion!

yess absolutely, i was thinking she'd be a bit competitive during sex too. it makes everything so much hotter 😌 i can imagine being out of commission for the rest of the day bc it would get really intense but she would be even more energized lol.

i think alhaitham and wriothesley will probably be the buffest models we'll get... but i think there is the possibility capitano could be buffer under his clothes like the other anon said!

i wasn't expecting that either but i think it's pretty cool tbh sghdgf reminds me of yang from rwby... i've always been a fan of hair/eye color changing from emotions or powers. RIGHT... how am i supposed to not think dirty thoughts about her... it's kind of funny bc when i saw her design for the first time i didn't like it bc of how different it is from every genshin character we've had so far but now i am absolutely obsessed and think she's the hottest character in the game i guess i just needed to get over the initial shock of the designs going in a brand new direction 🤔

will you be playing 5.0? :o

yeah I’d need like EIGHT bottles of water after fucking mavuika. feixiao and mavuika are like two sides of the same coin😭

alham and wrio aren’t even that buff imo but hoyo at least gotta make cap a taller model 😭 lets pray this man has a sleeper build.

I haven’t watched rwby like that but she totally reminds me of yang! the hair changing is cool but it kinda looks awkward in some angles I’ve noticed during her fight with cap😭 regardless, I love her design, but some of her redesigns I’ve seen from other artists fit SO much better on her. the design direction they’re taking for natlan is interesting but overall could of been better. similar situation like sumeru. I love you mavuika but ei and miko will always be my #1 and #2.

will I be playing 5.0….hahaa prob not. I’m not even done with sumeru, fontaine, or the CHASM quest. so im behindddddddddd. I don’t really have any motivation to ply genshin like that 😇