#I mean he's a guard and it's a highly guarded prison

[yurislava]

did u watch bsd ep 7 and was wondering who the Briareus guy was? bc I got the answer for you 😌

(IDs in alt)

in greek mythology Briareus is one of the hundred-handers who helped Zeus and the oympians to overthrow the titans.

but! a character called Briareus also appears in Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy. there are many similarities between that version of him and bsd:

in bsd he calls himself the strongest. in divine comedy his sin is pride (so I guess saying you're the most powerful at the verge of death. when it's your only line in the series too)

in bsd he's carved into a wall by Chuuya. in divine comedy he's carved into the ground as a form of punishment

both things happen at the first floor of the place he's in

(if u wanna know more abt bsd and divine comedy you can read this post of mine <3)

[starqueensthings]

We need to talk about Echo (and by talk I mean screm). S3 E13 + 14 Spoilers!

FRIENDS, I'M GOING TO EXPLODE. I need to talk about Echo for a minute. We need to talk about Echo for a minute,  because he has spent the last two episodes in the absolute thralls of complete and total danger, and I personally don't feel like there's been enough of a celebratory uproar for me to be satisfied with the level of appreciation and love that man deserves. (Remember when Hunter ran face first into a colossal exhaust pipe and we all collectively lost our minds because it was so impressive and so sexy? Remember when Tech drove a speeder really fast through a tunnel and we all fainted? I'M A TECH GIRLY. IT WAS ME! I FAINTED!!) but, Y'ALL, Echo deserves that right now!! And for all eternity!!! Because he is wholly submurged in the harrowing potential of torture and execution, and he didn't even bat an eye to put himself there. My awe of him is all-consuming, so please forgive me if this rant reads as nothing but incoherent screaming. 

Echo haters (first of all, we can't be friends....) come on this journey with me! Let's back pedal to the beginning of the last episode (13). He stole an imperial shuttle. Let me repeat, he stole an imperial shuttle. And not just an attack shuttle. Not just a lil one-pilot transport. Bro somehow stole a Rho-class medical transport, which is very large, obscenely conspicuous, and very easily tracked. And, to use his own words, it was "the best he could do on short notice." The man stole a shuttle on short notice. ON SHORT NOTICE? HELLO, HOW DID HE DO THAT. WHY AIN'T WE LOSING OUR COOL ABOUT IT. 

Next stop on this I-love-Echo journey through my mind: not only did he provide his brothers transportation in the complete void of their own (RIP havoc bb), but he also came equipped with intel and clearance codes, and, as Rampart stated, those things change DAILY. Echo somehow procured top secret imperial clearance codes, and a fkn SHIP, within hours of the Batch requesting his help. Not to mention, the ship had yet to be reported missing (which means it was only-freshly commandeered), and the clearance codes worked. Of course they did. Echo never fails. Never doubt Echo. "Echo's on it."  

Choochoo, next stop! Once they arrived on that station orbiting Coruscant, and made their way to the control room (lookin sexy as heck in his armour-au-noir), he broke imperial encryption, hacked into the Imperial database, almost instantly found them the location of a ship departing for the prison that holds their daughter Tantiss, AND THEN DIDN'T EVEN HESITATE TO CLIMB ABOARD AND STOW AWAY.  

He didn't even remotely have a plan, or have time to make a plan. He didn't know who or what else would be on board that mysterious vessel. He didn't know where it was going other than the name of the fkn mountain (which has proven to be nothing but unhelpful thus far). He just ARC-troopered his way through that crowded hangar, dodging aggressive astromech's and inconsiderate loader droids, shirking from the perspective eyes of highly trained commandos, and snuck his way onto a heavily guarded, extremely unknown science vessel. Then, of course, he wasted no time, hacking into the ships control system (may I gently remind- there were at least three pilots and an officer prepping the ship for jump and closely watching all aspects of its controls), disabling the proximity sensors without being detected, and then seamlessly covered the troopers absence by pretending to be him (which we all know is what should have happened on Serenno but... hindsight is 20/20.)  

So... SO.... now we're at Episode 14. Here we at fkn terrified station because HULLO ECHO IS ALONE ON A SCIENCE DIVISION TRANSPORT; we have literally seen them carry around Zilo beasts in that shit. What the heck else could be on there that they don't know about? Literally anything. Because THEY KNEW NOTHING before attaching themselves to it. Echo knew NOTHING before sneaking onto that thing and creepin' around. Thank heck he didnt come across a fkn fresh wave of slither vines ok?  

NEXT, Echo shoots (not stuns- lol) a sassy fkn droid (they had it coming, not sorry), then another trooper. AND THEN discovered his only option for departing the ship once it enters atmosphere is going completely undercover, because (in true "we improvise everything" CF99 fashion that gives me heart burn just thinking about it), they had zero fkn plan to get off the ship. I will repeat: completely undercover. On Tantiss. COMPLETELY UNDERCOVER ON TANTISS. NO COMMS, NO BACK UP, NO RECON, NO PLAN, BARELY ANY GEAR, and I would just like to stress... no neuro brace. He left his neurobrace on that ship. Left it. LEFT IT AND TOOK A HAND INSTEAD. PLEASE FKN SEDATE ME.  

We can't leave this station yet... This I-love-Echo train needs to linger at this point for a sec because I think it's lost on some people how wild this is. Echo without his neurobrace is huge. It's a bigger deal than Echo without his armour. Armour is, in the grand scheme of things, inconsequential (one can find more- see Howzer). Echo's neurobrace is not armour, it's a computer and it's so so so crucial to how his mind processes information and events. Don't forget, the Technounion HIJACKED HIS BRAIN. They took every memory from him and manipulated it for their gain. Pruned it, tweaked it, blanched it, poached it, turned it into scrambled eggs, and then fkn ate it up and used it to defeat their enemies (Echo's family- I'm sobbing). They implanted him with an unfathomable amount of information; they changed the way the neurons in his brain fire in relation to stimuli. That neurobrace is so so critical for him. Now, we know he can operate well enough without it, we saw it in the last episode of the TBB arc in season 7 of Clone Wars, but... please.... to what extent? We don't know what an extended time without that neurobrace looks like for him... especially when all other aspects compliing his surroundings foreign, unknown, and dangerous, and that scares me.

AND NOW HE'S ABOUT TO RUN AMOK IN TANTISS with Emerie who, (I'm sorry) is wishy-washy as heck (who are you loyal to!!!!! What is your history!!! Are you trustworthy and what are you looking to gain!!!), trying to adopt a collection of Jedi children whove spent maker-knows how long playing space tetris, WHILST ALSO ATTEMPTING TO LOCATE AND ESCAPE WITH HIS BROTHERS UNDER THE EYE OF THE GALAXY'S SECOND MOST DANGEROUS MAN. 

So yes, short of d-d-d-di... can't say it... short of THE WORST CASE, Echo has made the ultimate sacrifice to save not only Omega who is literally the only person we've seen able to make him truly laugh, but all the clone brothers that he's been desperately trying to locate and rescue. His bravery and determination are literally unrivalled, and he did it while feasting on nothing but humble pie because that man wouldn't know arrogance if it danced naked under his perfect nose.  

Okay so welcome, we've finally pulled into I-Love-Echo station. Before departing the ride, please stand and do a hip hip hurray for the miracle that is Echo, including but not limited to, everything he's done, is doing, and is willing to do for other people. 

[ohbo-ohno]

lamb to the slaughter

summary: Recently injured, discharged, and desperate for money, Johnny manages to find a job at a local prison by calling in a favor. What seems like just the blessing he needs to get himself back on his feet quickly becomes his worst nightmare when one of the prisoners fixates on him in the worst way possible. (or: dark ghoap prison au. mind the tags!)

word count: 26.3k

cw: GRAPHIC NONCON SEX, trans soap, victim blaming, transphobia, watersports, forced feminization, drugged sex, use of the word "faggot" during sex, prisoner ghost/prison guard soap

author's note: many many endless thanks to ceilidh, who served this plot on a silver platter to me when i was complaining pathetcially about being incapable of thinking. also lumi for listening to me scream ily <3 two quick disclaimers: (1) i do not know how prisons work, and i did not google anything about them for this fic bc i knew i’d get bogged down in research lmaoo. this fic goes by my rules, which means everything that happens works for plot convenience and not by any real world logic. (2) this plot is held together by duct tape and sex scenes, pls do not come here looking for a rich story

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

The man in front of Johnny is familiar. Not because they’ve met before, but because he’d spent nearly a decade surrounded by men just like Herschel Shepherd - tall, broad, commanding assholes like him had been his least favorite part of being enlisted.

Johnny spent his entire military career being doubted and underestimated by mirror images of the man in front of him. He sees the doubt now in the way Shepherd looks at him, the way his eyes linger on Johnny’s middle and the quick expression of shock when he’d walked in the door and stood eye-level with the ex-General. 

It makes him want to let his lip curl, to bite out something insulting, but this is his only worthwhile job prospect so he holds his tongue and shifts in the uncomfortable chair set in front of the dark wood desk.

“Well,” Shepherd sighs, folding his hands over his stomach and leaning back in his seat. His shirt is tugged tight over his abdomen, almost pulled out from where it’s tucked in his pants. Johnny wonders if he’ll try and get in shape again when he realizes, or if he’ll fully let himself go and embrace the beer-belly he’s halfway to. “I’ll be honest with you, MacTavish - if you didn’t come highly recommended, I wouldn’t consider you for a second.”

Johnny barely keeps from snorting. That’s certainly an interesting way to say if I didn’t owe John Price a near unrepayable favor I’d laugh you out of the building .

“I know, sir.”

“We’ve never hired someone with your…” Shepherd pauses, bites his tongue like he’s tasting something nasty. “ Condition .”

Johnny resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I know, sir.”

Shepherd looks like he wants to say something about Johnny’s tone, and he probably would have were they still in the military. But in the concrete walls of his office, he only sighs and sits forward, forehead creasing. “I suppose you’re lucky you’re so tall. The inmates might not even notice.”

Johnny wants to say obviously, you wanker, I’ve been injecting hormones into myself for over a decade and I’m taller than you are .But he can’t say that, or anything like it. The fact of the matter is that it doesn’t matter how tall he is, or how long he’s been on testosterone, or how muscular he is - because Shepherd already knows what he was born as, and nothing else will matter to a man stuck so firmly in the past.

That had been one of the only things Johnny was looking forward to outside of the military - the chance to meet people who didn’t know he was transgender before he could even introduce himself. In the service, every superior he’d ever served under knew he had transitioned before they knew anything else about him. It had never mattered that he could hardly look less like a woman, they were going to treat him differently because of something he never could have controlled. The thought of his first boss as a civilian only seeing the M on his ID, of not dealing with the shock and confusion and inevitable prejudice that come with being trans, was one of the sole bright spots he’d thought of after being discharged.

He grits his teeth now, sitting in a shitty chair with cracking vinyl in a superior officer’s barren office. Somehow, thousands of miles away from any military base he was ever stationed at, Johnny feels like he never fucking left the service. His knee twinges in pain and he barely manages to keep from shifting to try and ease it. 

“Folks usually cannae tell,” he finally replies. “Not unless someone tells them.”

Shepherd catches the implication in his tone and nods to himself, letting his head roll to the side. “You’re a surprise hire, so the other guards won’t know of course. It’s probably for the best if you keep it that way.”

“Probably,” Johnny agrees, just barely keeping the sarcasm from his voice. He tacks on a, “Sir,” for good measure. 

Shepherd eyes him again, scanning him head to toe like he can see all of Johnny’s weak spots. It takes effort not to shift in place and stretch his stiffening knee. The damn thing hasn’t stopped aching since he was let out of the hospital, even with the painkillers he takes daily. He worries about how much worse it’ll be when he runs out.

Finally, Shepherd grunts and stands, leaning his weight against palms laid flat on the desk. “You’re dismissed, MacTavish. Officer Garrick will be waiting for you just down the hall. He’ll give you a tour and help you get settled”

Johnny nods and stands, finding himself grateful when Shepherd doesn’t offer a hand to shake. Neither of them are under any illusions that the other wants them there, and Johnny’s glad he’s not expected to pretend this is anything but his final resort. There’s no coming up with a lie about how he wants this job, no pretending his strengths and weaknesses fit into this career - just a silent acknowledgment of an owed favor and a contract with his name signed on the dotted line. 

He lets Shepherd’s office door close behind him and takes a deep, stabilizing breath, a modicum of tension melting from his shoulders. 

The air in the prison is warm and stale, and Johnny feels like he can’t quite get a full breath in because of it. The halls are suspiciously silent, and if he were still a betting man he’d say the air conditioning has gone out and left the whole building just past the point of comfortably warm. 

His steps are near silent as he walks back the way he came, his old training keeping the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. It’s a conscious effort to keep from limping at all, and his right knee screams at him for it.

Johnny’s determined not to show any weakness, though. He can sit on his ass as much as wants to give his bum knee a break - after work. But here in this building, he knows he can’t can’t show such an obvious weak point.

The man waiting for him at the end of the hall strikes the same chord in Johnny’s mind as Shepherd had - they both look like men straight out of the military. Garrick is a few inches taller than Johnny, with buzzed black hair and a dark complexion. 

“Hey,” the man smiles, standing from his relaxed position against the wall once Johnny gets within a few feet of him. “Officer MacTavish, right?”

“That’s me,” Johnny confirms, holding a hand out for a quick but firm shake. “You’re Garrick, then?”

“Call me Gaz.” Garrick smiles, wide and easy, showing off teeth just slightly crooked in his mouth. Johnny smiles back, almost surprising himself with how easy it comes. “It’s my callsign, from when I was enlisted. Nothing else ever quite feels as natural, least not when I’m armed like this.” He laughs, open and light, and Johnny finds more of his tension easing away.

“You can call me Soap, then,” he says, falling into step beside Gaz as the man leads him down the hall. 

“Alright, Soap, I’ll be showing you around and giving you a quick rundown of everything you’ll be expected to do. You ready?”

“Course. Lead the way, Officer.”

———————————————————————

The job ends up being easier than Johnny expected. He almost wants to turn to Gaz and say that’s it? You just want me to babysit these killers all day? Is that really all you do? But even Johnny’s rusty - and that’s being kind - social skills tell him that would be a step too far on his first day.

Gaz tells him that the first few weeks will be easy, that Johnny will mostly just be expected to travel with a pack of other guards and act as an extra set of eyes. He’s to go where his CO tells him to go, watch who his CO tells him to watch, and do what his CO tells him to do. Really, it’s nothing too different than he’s been doing for the last decade - except here there are no targets , only prisoners, and his objective is to keep them alive instead of killing them. 

Quite frankly, it all sounds boring to him. The thought of standing around for hours on end and watching prisoners just go about their day-to-day lives sounds like hell on both his bad knee and his attention span, and Johnny’s far from eager to start his new job.

But it’s the only place he’s found that’ll pay him nearly enough. Anywhere else, and he’d have to stop sending money to Nan, and it’s not like any of his cousins would be decent enough to pick up the slack - they’ve long since proved that they’ll smoke or gamble any spare change away before taking care of anyone else. So if he wants to keep the lights on for his family, he’s not getting out of here before any of the prisoners.

“We really don’t have much of a behavior issue here,” Gaz says on their way out, the sun just beginning to set as they stop just outside the door. “The prisoners have their own hierarchy, and they tend to keep themselves in line. But when they don’t-” Here he smirks, sending a conspiratorial look Johnny’s way. “Well, that’s what the baton and taser are for. Don’t be afraid to use them if you need to, alright?”

“I’m not worried,” Johnny says, waving the other man off. “Plenty of the men I was deployed with probably shoulda been locked up, same as these blokes. If I can’t handle them, I’m worse off than I could’ve thought.” 

They share a laugh, and Johnny can physically feel some of the weight lifting off his shoulders when he realizes he doesn’t have to force it. Maybe the new job won’t be so bad if he can make some real friends.

The thought tugs him to a stop, stalling his laughter. Friends. It’s been nearly a decade since he’d had a friend. His fellow soldiers were brothers in arms at best, despised acquaintances at worst. The prospect of having a coworker he’s truly amicable with, someone he’d maybe go out for drinks with, gives him more hope for life as a civilian than any mandated therapy session ever had.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gaz says, once they’ve both stopped laughing. “Where you parked?”

“Oh, uh- I’m takin’ the bus for a bit. Car’s in the shop,” Johnny explains, wincing internally at the lie. He’ll have to come up with something a little more permanent before long, but the explanation is satisfactory enough for now.

“You sure?” Gaz’s brows furrow a bit, in what reads to Johnny as genuine concern. “I don’t mind giving you a ride, the bus is quite a walk.”

“I’ll be fine, mate,” he reassures, clapping Gaz on the shoulder and turning away, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Tomorrow, yeah? See you then.”

He doesn’t wait for the other man’s response, just wraps his jacket tight around himself and tucks his hands beneath his arms. It’s just cool enough for him to shiver, and to wish he’d worn boots instead of runners.

The prison yard is full of inmates as Johnny walks by it - a good distance away from the fence, but still easily visible. He knows they’ll be out for another ten minutes or so after he’s officially off the clock, which means they’ll be locked back in their cells before long.

As soon as one of them catches sight of Johnny - and his ugly khaki uniform - they start howling and shouting through the fence.

“‘Ey, where you goin’ Officer? Headin’ home to your nice mansion?”

“Goin’ back to fuckin’ suburbia, pig?”

“Don’t you come back, damn polis! I see you tomorrow, I’ll make you my bitch!”

Johnny’s lip curls at the insults, and he has to force himself not to shout something back. His pride chafes against his silence, but he knows instigating will only make things worse. Still, he’s tense as he walks, jaw clenched tight enough to give himself a headache when he hears a wolf-whistle as he turns the corner.

Jackasses, all of ‘em, he thinks, only relaxing when he knows he’s no longer within their sight. He can see the bus stop now, even though it’s a few blocks away.

His knee twinges just as the first drop of rain hits his nose and Johnny sighs, hustling as much as his aching leg will allow.

He’s soaked to the bone by the time he finally makes it to the bench. 

———————————————————————

The next day, Johnny finds himself in surprisingly high spirits. The bus had been right on time that morning, instead of ten minutes late like it had been the day before, and it’s started to sink in that he’s finally got consistent work - and more importantly, a consistent paycheck. His walk to the bus, and then the prison, is clear and pleasant, not a cloud in the sky.

By the time he finally clocks in, he’s almost walking with a pep in his step. The only thing that clouds his mood is the pain in his right knee - he hadn’t walked as much as he had yesterday since finishing off his physical therapy, and he hasn’t been doing the best at keeping up with his exercises. The joint is stiff and tense today, and it’s harder to mask his limp. Not impossible, but something he has to focus on.

Still, the dull pain isn’t enough to fully cloud his spirits. He picks up his baton and taser from the staff room, clipping them to his belt and smiling at Officer Garrick when the other man steps in.

“Mornin’,” he calls, glad to see the other man step to a cubby right near his to start getting ready for their shift. He counts the keys on his keychain, making sure that they haven’t impossibly disappeared, and hooks it through a belt loop, tugging to check that it’s secure.

“Morning, Soap. I’m glad to see you’re in high spirits.”

“Aye. Got a good night’s sleep, got me ready to take on the day.” It’s a lie - Johnny hasn’t truly gotten a good night’s sleep since he came home. He’d heard similar things from other soldiers, something about a real bed being too comfortable, but he had managed to sleep decently the night before.

“I’m glad. You’re working under Officer Graves today, and… well, he’s not particularly popular with most of the guards.”

Johnny cocks an eyebrow at Gaz, leaning his hip against the counter as the other man readies himself. “Really? I figured I’d still be with you a few more days.”

“Neither of us are that lucky, I’m afraid.” Gaz smiles at him sardonically, then steps back and holds a hand toward the door. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The walk to the lobby of the prison - a large room right before the entrance into the actual prison, but with thick windows to see in - together, both lingering at the back of the small crowd of guards.

Johnny’s boss - Graves, a man he hadn’t met yet but already had a sour opinion of, thanks to Gaz‘s description of him during their tour - stands at the front of the room, reading off job assignments from memory and sending guards into the prison to get ready for the day.

“Garrick, I want you in the yard today. Keep an eye on Vargas - he’s been gettin’ too cocky recently. And then… ah, our new guy.” Graves smiles at Johnny as he stands from his place against the wall. Gaz pats his back heavily as he heads off, and Johnny moves towards his new CO when the shorter man gestures him forward.

“I want you to take food to our guy in solitary,” Graves says, clapping a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. He’s got to reach up, since he’s several inches shorter than Johnny, and something about that difference makes his spine straighten. “He’s a mean bastard, but he shouldn’t cause you too much trouble. You won’t get the easy assignments everyday though, rook, so don’t get used to it.”

Johnny just barely keeps from rolling his eyes. “Aye, I’ll manage. Where’s solitary?”

Graves claps him twice more, then steps away. “Read the maps on the wall, MacTavish, it’s not my job to hold your hand,” he says, turning away. “Parra! What’d I say about gettin’ close to the cells like that?”

Johnny grumbles under his breath as he turns to the faded map pinned to the wall. It’s not the easiest thing to read - one corner is unstuck from the wall, and the creases across the whole paper are so deep that certain words are unreadable. But Johnny’s read more confusing under worse circumstances, and it doesn’t take him long to find himself and the cafeteria on the map.

There are a few guards already in the large room when he arrives, most of them paired off among each other and lingering around the edges of the room. He doesn’t bother talking to any of them, and instead heads straight for the assembly-lines of cooks, eager to get his first task done and hopefully get assigned to something he can stand still for.

“Excuse me,” he calls, waving down the first woman to look towards him. “I’m supposed to be taking breakfast to a prisoner in solitary. Have you got that for me?”

The woman he’s speaking to - Rhonda, her name tag says - looks entirely unamused by Johnny’s presence, but she slides a tray of food across to him.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling at her. He’d always enjoyed getting the tougher soldiers to crack when he’d been assigned to their teams. Seeing a burly sniper’s lips finally twitch after days of joking around felt nearly as good as praise from a CO, and something about Rhonda makes Johnny think she’ll be ten times harder to amuse than even the most hardened soldier. “Should I just bring the tray back to you, then?”

She gives him a long look, scanning him head to toe. “You new, then? He’ll give the tray back to you when he’s finished, then you drop it off with the busboy.” She points over to an older man leaned against the counter, cigarette hanging loose from his lips despite the strict ‘no smoking’ policy Johnny had been warned of. He only notices a moment later that the fag is unlit, and the man seems more interested in rolling it between his teeth than smoking it.

“You’re a doll,” he says, winking at Rhonda as he picks up the tray and only grinning more fully when she rolls her eyes and turns away. “Back in a jiffy!”

He’s almost positive he can hear her curse at him under her breath, and that only makes his smile feel more real.

The walk from the cafeteria to solitary isn’t a long one, but it is lonely. Johnny occasionally passes or spots another employee making the rounds, but none of them bother to even acknowledge his presence. After such an open greeting from Gaz, he’d expected most of the guards to be somewhat like him, but he’s quickly finding that it seems to be the opposite. He can’t bring himself to be too disappointed, though - he’s content enough with just one friend for now. He tells himself that he never would have been able to keep up with more than that - he barely keeps contact with family, these days - and pretends he doesn’t feel just the slightest bit disappointed.

The solitary confinement hall has ten cells, five on each side, though only one of them is closed and locked. There’s a guard waiting at one end of the corridor, half-asleep and leaning most of his weight against the wall, but he jerks straight when Johnny clears his throat.

The man has to blink for a minute to clear the sleep from his eyes, and Johnny cocks a brow as he waits.

“Oh, are you here to take over? Good, good, my shift’s already run long and Shepherd’s been a bitch recently about overtime.” The man’s already straightened and several steps away by the time what he’s said clicks in Johnny’s brain.

“I’m not here to take over your shift, mate, I’m just here to give the inmate his…” he trails off as the man doesn’t turn around, fully disappearing around the corner before Johnny can finish his sentence. “...food.”

With a sigh, Johnny turns toward the cells. The doors are all nearly identical, the only thing differentiating them being their signs of wear and the light above their frame - one green, nine red.

Not fully sure what he’s meant to do, Johnny bends to slide the long and thin slot near the ground open, nudging the tray through and wincing when it clatters to the floor. After a moment of silence he stands back up, lingering unsurely.

When the silence stretches a full two minutes, he pulls open the small window at his eye-level, squinting to see into the dark room.

It’s empty.

For a moment, Johnny can do nothing but stare. But no matter how many times he runs his eyes over the same details of the room, they don’t change. Nothing moves, not even a shadow against the wall, and the room appears entirely empty.

“Anybody in there?” He calls, wincing internally at the choice in wording. He sounds like he’s asking if a bathrooms empty, not making sure a likely violent criminal hasn’t fucking escaped.

Unsurprisingly, there’s no response from the empty room.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Had something like this happened in the military, had someone else fucked up so massively that every person even tangentially involved was at risk for punishment, he’d have helped the idiot cover it up and then told everything to Price and let him worry about whether or not it needed to be taken any further.

But here, Johnny can’t put himself at risk. He doesn’t have Price’s reputation to fall back on, doesn’t have tenure or medals or broken records to cushion his fall. If he’s caught in any sort of crossfire here, he’ll lose everything.

He worries his tongue between his teeth, shifting to ease weight off his bad knee. He can’t make any decisions without knowing all the information, so he cautiously unhooks his keyring from his pants and finds the right key, unlocking the cell door.

The hinges are loud as the door eases open, and Johnny only just barely manages to keep from jumping at the broken silence. His palms are beginning to sweat just a bit, but his hands are steady as he just barely cracks the door and steps inside.

He’s hardly a full step into the cell when a hand grabs him by the collar, tugging him into a fist to his eye. Before he can do more than grunt at the burst of pain, he’s shoved face first into the rough cinder block wall, his arms yanked behind him and twisted painfully.

“Fuck!” Johnny hisses, tension lining his every muscle.

The man behind him is silent, but Johnny can feel the long line of him pressed against his spine. He’s a big fucker, not a bit of Johnny’s back isn’t being touched, and he can feel breath ghosting over his mohawk.

“You’re new,” the prisoner says after a long few beats of silence. Johnny bares his teeth against the wall, jerking in the man’s hold. “Ah, ah,” he scolds, tugging Johnny’s wrists back and pushing his shoulders forward with his free hand, tugging his arms uncomfortably in their sockets. “Stay still.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Johnny sneers, dropping his head a bit and allowing his face to twist in discomfort since he knows the prisoner can’t see him. “You’re gonna stay in this hellhole twice as long once Shepherd hears about this, I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again, ye bastard.”

“You a snitch?” There’s an amused tinge to the man’s voice, one that has Johnny growling and jerking in his hold again, damp forehead pressed to the wall. “You gonna go tattle on me, Officer? Tell them the big bad prisoner roughed you up a bit?”

“Get the fuck off of me,” Johnny hisses, kicking his good leg back to the prisoner’s knee. He doesn’t manage to hit him, but the man has to spread his legs a little further to dodge the blow. Before he can force Johnny into an even harsher hold, he kicks his leg back again with even more force. The prisoner makes a rough sound low in his throat when the heel of Johnny’s combat boot digs into his balls, his hold on Johnny’s wrists slackening immediately.

Had Johnny had any less experience in hand-to-hand combat, he wouldn’t have been able to jerk free before the prisoner got his bearings back. He can feel the man’s hold tightening just before her jerks away, turning quickly and landing a solid blow to the center of his chest.

The prisoner stumbles back just half a step, more out of surprise than anything he’d guess, but it creates more than enough space for Johnny to slide away from him and quickly throw himself out of the cell. Just before the door can slam closed, pale fingers lock around the corner.

It’s only Johnny’s momentum and his adrenaline that gives him enough strength to force the door closed anyway - were he not throwing his entire body weight backwards, he knows the prisoner would’ve been able to keep it open.

There’s a barely muffled curse as the man’s fingers are crushed in the door frame, and only Johnny pounding them with a closed fist gets him to fully let go. It only occurs to him a moment later that he has a baton on his hip for this exact moment, but he’s too busy trying to breathe through the adrenaline rush to care about his idiotic mistake. 

He swallows thickly, working saliva back into his mouth, and takes another step further away from the door. He takes a long breath to make sure his voice is steady, then speaks loud enough for the prisoner to hear him. 

“You know the routine. Eat your fuckin’ food, then slide the tray back out.” He tacks on a “Bastard,” his head already starting to pound. He’s not actually sure if that’s what the routine is, but he can’t imagine it’s anything else. 

When the prisoner doesn’t respond, he takes another few steps away and leans where the other guard had been. He presses his fingers around his throbbing eye socket, hissing at the dull but growing pain. He’ll have a nice shiner, for sure, but as best he can tell there’s no further damage.

It only takes a few minutes for the prisoner to toss the tray back out, the plastic clattering loudly in the silent hall. It’s completely clean, just crumbs and a residual grease left smeared on the plate.

He crouches down to grab the tray and nearly jumps out of his skin when he glances up and sees the top half of a face glaring at him from the small opening.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he hisses, jerking back and away before he can really manage a good look at the man. He sees pale skin and shadowed, deep-set eye sockets, but not much else.

Johnny curses as he slides the little door shut, scolding himself for having such a visceral reaction to a man. A man who can’t possibly be the worst thing he’s ever faced, a man who’s literally locked in a cage. It’s a blow to the ego to have gotten so worked up over an unarmed prisoner when Johnny has multiple weapons on him, easily within reach.

It’s pathetic, is what it is. Pathetic, and a sharp reminder that he’s not the same man as he was even a year ago. Sergeant Soap MacTavish and Officer John MacTavish aren’t the same, no matter how much he tries to tell himself nothing’s changed since he was before being discharged. Everything’s changed, and this is just salt rubbed in the wound of it all.

He’s just turning around to head back to the cafeteria when he hears a new voice call out. “Hey, what’re you doing here? Smith is supposed to be on duty right now.”

The man heading towards Johnny is around his height, with brown skin and dark hair. He wears a uniform identical to Johnny’s, except the nametag over his heart says PARRA instead of MACTAVISH.

“Brought breakfast for ‘im,” Johnny explains, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and unable to keep a scowl from twisting his lips. “The other officer - Smith, I guess - left before I could tell that to him.”

Parra rolls his eyes, stepping fully forward and glancing over at the locked cell door, checking for something Johnny can’t think to look for. “Sounds like him. He’s always trying to get off early, doesn’t care who he dumps his shift onto.” He gives Johnny a considering look and a small smile. “Thanks for waiting for someone else to show up. A lot of new guys would just leave the job to someone else.”

Johnny doesn’t bother to correct him, figuring it can’t hurt for Parra not to know he’d been about to leave. 

“I’m Officer Parra,” the other man says, offering a hand. “But you can call me Rudy.”

“Officer MacTavish,” Johnny returns, shaking the man’s hand. “Johnny.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Rudy smiles. “You can head off now. Graves’ll want you assigned to something else soon, best not to keep him waiting on your first day.”

There’s something odd in Rudy’s tone that makes Johnny unsure of the man, something almost judgmental. He gives the other guard a stiff smile, and turns to leave with a, “Thanks, mate. I’ll be seeing you,” sent over his shoulder.

He only gets turned around once on his way back to the cafeteria, and it’s only because he can’t quite shake the feeling that someone’s watching him. There’s something keeping his arms covered in goosebumps despite the warm air, some instinct making him fight the urge to glance over his shoulder no less than five times.

It’s through sheer force of will that he doesn’t. He knows with absolute certainty that no one’s following him, because the hallway is dead silent besides his quick footsteps. But that feeling still doesn’t dissipate, and that puts Johnny on edge.

The cafeteria is packed full of prisoners when he finally arrives, but none of them pay him any attention as he skirts around the edges of the room to drop the empty tray on top of a pile of other dishes. The busboy doesn’t give him any attention, so Johnny turns to scan the room for Graves.

He’s standing near the main entrance to the cafeteria, not the side door Johnny had come through, and leans against the wall just a foot or two away from a group of guards. They’re laughing just loudly enough to be obnoxious and Graves taps his baton against his palm, somehow making a show of the simple motion.

Johnny tries not to feel too irritated before even speaking to the man again, but it’s difficult.

“Graves,” he calls as he steps to the man’s side. “Got the prisoner in solitary fed, what’d you-”

“It’s Officer Graves, MacTavish,” Graves corrects, his tone snappish but lips quirked in a grin. “I’m your boss, not your equal.”

Johnny expects him to barrel on and say something else, but Graves only raises a brow and waits for a response.

“Right,” he forces out, trying not to grind his teeth. “Officer Graves. I fed the bloke in solitary, where do you want me now?”

Graves gives him a long look, something sharpening in his gaze. “You can shadow Garrick for the rest of the day, learn the ropes a bit more.”

Johnny’s nodding and already turning away when Graves says, “Hey, what happened there?”

“What?”

Graves uses his baton to point to his own right eye, head tilting. “Got some swelling going on there, MacTavish. Anything we should know about?”

Johnny turns back, considering for a moment before deciding he’s got nothing to lose since the prisoner didn’t actually manage to escape.

“The cell looked empty when I shoved the tray through. Thought the prisoner must’ve escaped somehow, but I double checked before reporting anything. The bastard must’ve been hiding somewhere, he got a good blow in before I got him off me and locked him in.” 

Graves laughs at that, a sharp and loud sound that makes Johnny’s shoulders inch towards his ears.

“Yeah, that’s Ghost for you. Seems like he hazed you for us, rook.”

Johnny cocks his head. “Ghost?”

Graves hums, nodding. “Sure. His real name is Simon Riley, but everyone here just calls him Ghost. Big bastard, mean too. He’s in solitary more often than not these days, but that’s perfectly fine with me. The men get real testy when he’s in genpop with the rest of ‘em, always trying to take his place.”

“Why’d they call him Ghost?”

Graves scoffs, and one of the men next to him snickers. “You joking? You met the man this morning - they call him Ghost because of the way he disappears. Then fools like you go looking, and he takes you out before you even realize he’s there.”

A part of Johnny wants to bite out something about how he wasn’t taken out, and he actually got the best of this Ghost, but he locks the words behind his teeth and lets Graves’ dig roll off his shoulders. He nods, and takes another step away. “Well, he won’t be gettin’ the drop on me like that again, I know that.”

Graves laughs again, like Johnny’s a fool, and it takes everything in him to turn and walk away instead of knocking him out.

———————————————————————

The rest of the day goes as he had expected. He and Gaz follow the prisoners from room to room like shepherds, watching them try to find anything to fill the time.

Gaz talks while they watch. He tells Johnny about certain inmates’ personalities, tells him who’s someone else’s bitch, tells him how to spot a conflict they actually need to step in and de-escelate. Johnny listens intently, even if his mind wanders during some of the more boring explanations.

Eventually, when Gaz’s voice has gone flat and Johnny has stopped asking clarifying questions, the conversation moves into stories about their military days.

Johnny learns that he and Gaz had just barely missed each other several times. He learns that the other man knows Price too - and that they’re closer than Soap had been to his captain - and that Gaz had left instead of being discharged, that he has a sick mother at home to take care of.

When Garrick asks why Johnny left, he hesitates. It would be nothing to explain that his knee has been blown to smithereens, that he’d been discharged because he could hardly walk for weeks, let alone be of any use in combat. Gaz has surely seen worse injuries, just like Johnny has, but there’s still something that makes him pause before explaining.

When he fumbles around an explanation involving his elderly Nan and deadbeat cousins, Gaz only tuts and gives him a sympathetic look, and the conversation moves on. But Johnny’s lie lingers at the back of his mind, like an itch he can’t quite reach between his shoulders.

The day passes… well, not quickly, but not necessarily slowly either, with Gaz by his side. Six-thirty rolls around, and Johnny feels satisfied with his first day. 

He’s walking towards the staff room with Garrick and another officer, Keller, when Graves stops him.

“MacTavish, c’mere for a second.”

Johnny glances at Gaz to see if the man has any idea what their CO could want from him and receives an entirely useless shrug in return. With only a small amount of trepidation, Johnny turns towards Graves and steps into the adjoining hall the other man gestures him towards.

“I need you to stay a bit late,” Graves starts, his expression far from mocking like it had been this morning. “I’ve got an assignment for you. You’ll be paid overtime.”

“Alright,” Johnny says slowly, shifting his weight onto his good foot. He’s more than willing to stay for a little bit of extra money, but there’s something in Graves’ expression that makes him feel like he’s missing something. “What’s the assignment then?”

Graves runs his tongue over his top teeth, then sighs. “Ghost showers on his own - some deal he made with the warden, don’t ask. He can’t be in there with other prisoners, but someone has to watch him to make sure he’s not sharpening another knife from his toothbrush. He’s requested it be you.”

Johnny’s still stuck on toothbrush knife when Graves’ look goes from reluctant to expectant. Then, what he’s said clicks.

“He… requested me?”

“That’s what I said.”

Johnny can’t help but let the skepticism bleed into his expression. “So he gets to request whatever he wants? And he gets it?”

Graves sighs impatiently, like Johnny’s asked him the stupidest question possible. “Ghost makes requests like this for the same reason he showers alone. He’s got some sort of deal with Shepherd that gets whatever he wants, and today what he wants is you. God only knows why, but quite frankly, I have no interest in questioning the man. If you’re so curious, ask him yourself.”

Johnny scowls, not bothering to disguise his expression at all. Graves only manages to get more irritating everytime they speak, and Johnny’s got no patience for dealing with him. “Fine. Where are the showers, then?”

Graves gives him quick directions. “Oh, and you’ll have to stand in the showers with him. You stand just outside, he’ll get the best of you. We’ve lost enough guards that way, and I don’t want to deal with training another newbie.”

“Wait,” Johnny says, stopping Graves before he can walk away. “Did you say in the shower with him?”

Graves scowls at Johnny like he’s something rotten. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of the man already, rook?”

“You just said he’s taken out multiple guards!” Johnny defends.

Graves rolls his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Keep your baton and your taser on you, and don’t drop the soap. Simple.” He smirks, giving Johnny a patronizing look. “Don’t work yourself up about it.”

Graves walks away before Johnny can say something insulting back, which - as annoying as it is to not have the last word - is probably for the best. Johnny’s hands are already clenched into fists at his side, and even with his very limited job experience he knows punching your boss on your first day would be a mistake.

Still, the sight of Graves swaggering away before Johnny can say something equally rude to him is bitter, the implication that Johnny is a coward is even more so. He can’t wipe the scowl from his face as he heads to solitary confinement, the tension in his spine only growing. 

Rudy is still on duty when he arrives, not looking any different than he had that morning, and not moved an inch from where Johnny had last seen him.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ back in this wing?” Parra asks, his lips lifting in a smile as he stands from the wall to greet Johnny. 

“Graves sent me to take Riley to the shower,” Johnny explains, rolling his eyes in what he hopes comes off as more I-hate-extra-work than I-hate-our-boss. 

“He’s got you on that now?” Rudy lifts his brows, glancing over at the cell door like he’s looking at Ghost. “Well, better you than me - truth be told, he always creeped me out a bit. You got your cuffs?”

Johnny dangles them from his pointer finger and Rudy nods, moving forward to unlock the cell door.

“Alright, you know the deal, Ghost. Back of the cell, facing the wall,” Rudy calls out, his tone not changed at all from the way he had spoken to Johnny. He watches through the eye-level window for a few long moments, then grunts, satisfied, and swings open the door. 

Part of Johnny is still expecting to see an empty cell, even knowing that Parra had just watched Riley. But sure enough, there Simon Riley stands at the back, facing the wall.

The cell is smaller with him in it. Ghost is all filthy jumpsuit and broad back, nothing but a pale neck and buzzed blond hair from what Johnny can see. There’s hardly a foot between the top of his head and the ceiling, and if he were to lift both his arms he’d be able to touch each wall with the palms of his hands.

He holds perfectly still, hands tucked behind his back, and he’s still one of the most threatening people Johnny’s ever seen. The air around him feels rotted, like the very atoms of oxygen are saying stay away, this one’s dangerous.

Unfortunately, Johnny doesn’t have the luxury of listening to his instincts. He steps forward with feigned confidence and snaps the suddenly pathetic looking cuffs around wide wrists with as little hesitation as he can manage. When Johnny steps back, Ghost turns with him and takes a step forward.

If he was intimidating from the back, he’s terrifying from the front.

He’s got a wide jaw and a heavy brow, with a crooked nose and thin lips. He’s got stripes of nearly white skin across his cheeks and neck, little scars that are at all different stages of fading. His eyes are brown, and the dark lighting in the room combined with his deep-set eye sockets make him almost look like he doesn’t have any at all. 

His face is flat, still, and unexpresive. Something about the complete lack of expression is more intimidating than the half a foot and hundred extra pounds of muscle he’s got compared to Johnny. 

But Johnny’s far from inexperienced in putting on a brave front when facing something dangerous, and he doesn’t let Ghost see how shaken he is. He fixes a scowl on his face and steps out of the cell, unclipping his baton and using it to point down the hall. “You know the way.”

Riley’s head tilts, like he’s considering whether or not he should listen, and he gives Johnny’s body a long, invasive look. It takes every ounce of training he’s had not to flinch or try to adjust his stance.

A long, silent moment later, Ghost steps out of the cell and begins the walk to the showers. Johnny is close behind him, baton in his palm and muscles locked, ready for anything the prisoner might try.

Once he’s sure they’re far enough away that Parra won’t hear, Johnny says, “You pull some shit like you did this morning ever again and I’ll break your fuckin’ knees.”

Ghost is silent, his steps unfaltering. Johnny scowls behind his back, frustration quickly building. “Ye hear me? It won’t be your buddy Shepherd you deal with next time, it’ll be me. Whatever deal you’ve cut with him won’t matter then.”

Again, silence. Johnny scoffs when he realizes he’s not getting a response, poking the butt of his baton into the small of Ghost’s back to urge him on a little faster.

Johnny’s lip curls as he swings the door open, turning his body enough to allow Riley plenty of room through. The man still brushes his arm along Johnny’s chest, and it’s a conscious effort to keep his breath from hitching.

When Johnny follows Ghost into the showers, letting the door slam shut behind him, Ghost looks back at him and raises a brow. The look is distinctly unamused, and Johnny glares as he leans against the wall, trying to make himself seem confident and assured.

“I’m here to make sure you don’t kill yourself or plan to kill someone else. That means I’m not leavin’ this room while you’re in it,” he gripes, undoing Ghost’s cuffs with just a bit more roughness than strictly necessary. When Ghost’s look doesn’t change from that who the fuck do you think you are expression, Johnny smiles rudely up at him. “Get over it. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Ghost blows a sharp breath through his nose, maintaining his silence as he takes a step further into the room and begins to undress.

Somehow, Riley almost seems bigger without clothes. Every pale bit of skin exposed only serves to reassure the voice in the back of Johnny’s head screaming danger!. He’s muscular, but his entire body is covered in a layer of fat that only serves to make him seem bigger, stronger. 

When he turns towards Johnny, every single part of the officer’s mind is screaming at him to run .

Ghost sets off Johnny’s flight reaction like nothing in life ever has before. He’d never once thought to run from a terrorist, or a bomb, or any sort of combat situation. Now, standing with a baton in hand in front of an unarmed man, he feels the distinct urge to fucking flee .

It only makes him more determined to plant his feet and stand strong. If he can face down crazed terrorists, he can sure as hell face one convict. 

Johnny’s careful to avoid looking between his legs when he kicks his pants off. He very intentionally keeps his eyes locked on Ghost’s chest, unwilling to look away but equally unwilling to examine the larger man any more intently than he already has. 

Ghost stands completely still, naked as the day he was born, for a few long seconds. Then he smirks, blows another sharp breath through his nose, and turns away. 

Johnny doesn’t move from his spot by the entrance. He’s still firmly in the showers like Graves told him to be, but across the room from Ghost as he chooses the shower head furthest away from him. He faces the wall and because he’s so far away, Johnny gets a full view of his body. His back is as scarred as his face had been, but instead of clean and thin scars there are burns and gnarled marks he recognizes as gunshot wounds.

To Johnny’s relief, Ghost doesn’t take his time. He’s quick to cover his body in soap and rinse it off, hardly taking any time to scrub himself clean at all. Somehow it doesn’t surprise Johnny that this man doesn’t care much about his own hygiene.

He’s turning the old faucet off hardly five minutes after turning it on. When he turns around, Johnny quite can’t look away before he sees that his cock is half-hard, thick between his legs and almost curving upwards, but it’s almost like he’s too heavy for it to fully lift.

Ghost’s face is still set in that flat, deadpan expression as he begins to stride towards Johnny, completely ignoring his pile of clothes. Johnny scowls, standing up from the wall and straightening. “What do you think you’re-?”

Ghost’s hand is around his throat before he can finish, slamming him back into the tile wall. Johnny’s head cracks against it and his scalp presses into the grout..

“Why do you talk so fucking much?” Riley hisses, nose to nose. His body presses against Johnny’s, soaking the front of his uniform. “Didn’t anybody ever shut you up?”

Johnny can’t help but be offended as he raises the baton and slams it into Riley’s side - he hasn’t rambled nearly as much as he had on missions, here he’s downright quiet - but the bigger man just eats the blow. Johnny feels like he’s hit a punching bag, like Ghost won't be hurt no matter how hard he hits.

When Johnny slams the baton into his side again, Ghost’s free hand rips the taser from his belt. He can’t help but make an aborted growl, but one flex of Riley’s hand silences him completely.

Ghost holds the taser between them, letting it hover just a few inches from Johnny’s neck, and presses the trigger to let the electricity dance. Johnny doesn’t flinch, only struggles and glares. When Riley smiles, Johnny swings for his head.

It’s nothing short of humiliating, how quickly Riley has him fully trapped. It seems to take the same amount of effort for the prisoner to throw Johnny’s taser to the side and rip his baton from his hand as it had for him to shower - almost none. 

“You gonna be good, or am I gonna have to get mean?” The larger man growls, tapping the baton against Johnny’s hip and bearing down on him. Like this, with the way Ghost towers over him, Johnny feels completely covered by the man. The overhead lights are blocked out by his body, and Johnny is completely in his shadow.

He strains back towards the wall, manages to get just enough pressure off of his throat to gasp, “Fuhck- yew-”.

Riley’s answering smile is sharp, cruel. “Beg me properly and you might just get what you want.”

Johnny’s face twists in rage, but before he can do anything in retaliation, Ghost slams the baton into his right knee and releases his throat.

Johnny’s vision whites out as he falls to the floor, the tile unforgiving against his knees. His ears are ringing when he can see again, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s from the echo of his own shout in the room. 

He only manages to get one foot beneath him when Riley locks a hand in his mohawk, tightening his fingers and twisting until Johnny’s pulling away with a wince. He forces the smaller man’s head to the wall then steps closer, so his feet bracket either one of his knees. His neck is wrenched at an uncomfortable angle, Ghost pushing him down so he’s bent backwards with a sharp arch in his spine.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Johnny hisses, face still screwed up in pain as Ghost presses his hips forward, his damp and quickly hardening cock sliding against Johnny’s cheek.

There’s a low chuckle from above him, and Johnny twists his head to the side, baring his teeth to bite-

The baton presses against his throat, just below his Adam's apple. 

“Keep your teeth covered or I’ll knock ‘em out,” Ghost growls, pressing hard enough for Johnny to choke on his next breath of air. He closes his mouth tight, grimacing as he feels a few strands of hair pulled out of his scalp. “Good.”

The praise chafes against his skin and Johnny opens his eyes just enough to glare up at Ghost, hands pressed against his thighs.

Ghost grins down at him, all sharp teeth and malice. “You gonna put up a little fight? I got no problem knocking you out and using you when you’re all limp and quiet. That how you want your friends to find you? Want them to see you fuckin’ ruined?”

Johnny’s fingers flex around the muscle of Ghost’s thigh, but he doesn’t push him away. There’s no doubt which one of them is stronger, especially with Johnny’s knee screaming in pain beneath him. 

If the military taught him anything, it taught him to endure. As much as it frustrates him to lean into the wall behind him, to not rip Riley’s balls right off his body and bite his dick off, Johnny knows that isn’t the right choice here. 

“Good,” Ghost rumbles, the hand in Johnny’s hair loosening fractionally. Not enough to really relieve any pain, but enough to be noticeable. “Might keep you around. Fuck this pretty mouth whenever I want.”

“Just get it over with,” Johnny hisses, swallowing and wincing when the baton presses against his throat more harshly for a moment.

“Eager,” Ghost hums. 

Luckily he doesn’t say anything else, just tugs Johnny’s head back a little more and presses the tip of his cock against his lips. Johnny can’t help the way he winces when Ghost pushes into his face. He can’t bring himself to let his lips part, can’t give even another inch when it already feels like Ghost has taken a mile.

There’s an annoyed huff from above him, and Ghost’s hand leaves his hair to pinch Johnny’s nose shut harshly. His eyes fly wide open, staring up at the man in shock, and his shoulders curve in an effort to let him pull away from the unexpected pain. 

“Open up, c’mon.” Ghost’s hips move leisurely back and forth, sliding the ruddy head of his cock along Johnny’s lips and over his cheeks, covering him in sticky pre-cum. No matter how much he thrashes and tries to pull away, Ghost’s fingers only squeeze tighter and follow him.

Johnny holds out for as long as he can, but eventually the burning in his lungs gets to be too much and his lips part - hardly an inch - to let him breathe deeply. As soon as he hears the inhale, Ghost’s hand flies from Johnny’s nose back to his head, shoving his face forward until his mouth is stuffed.

He chokes immediately, eyes flying wide open. It’s not that Johnny’s unfamiliar with something in his mouth, it’s that Riley’s cock is so large he can barely open his jaw wide enough to let him in. He feels like a snake, except instead of swallowing his prey, his jaw is forced to unhinge for another man’s pleasure.

“That’s it,” Riley hisses, ignoring the sick gluck-gluck sounds as he pulls back and pushes his way in farther. “Fuckin’ take it.”

Johnny nearly chokes on bile, lungs heaving as he tries to breathe around the intrusion inside his throat. Ghost has no sympathy for his struggle, doesn’t give him any time to adjust as he lodges himself firmly inside the channel of Johnny’s throat.

Tears stream from Johnny’s eyes, from both humiliation and the strain of being face-fucked. Every time he tries to close his eyes, to let himself drift away even a bit, the hand in his hair tightens far past the point of pain. Ghost doesn’t speak to him again, but the heat in his eyes and the angry snarl of his lips tells Johnny exactly what he wants - eye contact and Johnny’s pain. 

The only mercy is that Ghost doesn’t last long. Johnny isn’t fully cognizant enough to try and keep track of how long the violation lasts, but it can’t be more than a few minutes. Johnny can see the way Riley’s chest heaves as he gets closer, the way his shoulders hunch and the way his hips work in faster, shorter thrusts to get himself off.

He comes in long, thick spurts straight down Johnny’s throat. Another mercy - he doesn’t have to taste it, doesn’t have to do anything more than let his throat work in instinctive swallows to keep the foreign liquid from choking him.

Ghost isn’t quite panting when he finishes, but it’s a close thing. He’s leaning over Johnnt enough that every time he breathes in, the curve of his stomach covers the bottom part of his face from Johnny’s view.

Once he’s drained himself dry, he pulls his cock back enough that just the head of it rests behind Johnny’s teeth, the whole length of him softening.

Just as Johnny begins to wonder what the fuck he’s doing, why this nightmare hasn’t ended, Ghost sighs and rolls his head back on his neck, looking up at the ceiling. Another breath later, a sour taste begins to flood Johnny’s mouth.

He’s tearing away and sputtering as soon as he realizes what’s happening, throwing his head back against the tile so the warm stream of piss hits his neck instead, pouring down his chest instead of his mouth. He can’t throw himself to the side, only succeeding in hurting his neck when he tries because of the iron grip Ghost has on his mohawk.

“What-” he gasps, teary eyes wide as he stares up at Ghost. “What the fu- what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Riley scowls down at him like he’s done something completely unreasonable, jerking his soft cock slowly as he continues to piss. The hand on Johnny’s head tries to force him down again, but he fights back this time and manages to only catch a few drops on his chin instead of having his mouth forced back onto the man’s dick.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Ghost scowls, pointing himself straight at the bit of chest exposed by Johnny’s shirt as he finishes. The rancid stench is heavy in the warm air, choking Johnny. “Figured you’d need a reminder of your place. Clearly I was right.”

Johnny’s seething, every muscle made tense from his anger as he flushes dark. “You evil fuckin’ bastard,” he hisses.

There’s a single, sharp laugh above him as Ghost finally - finally - steps away, beginning to pull his jumpsuit back on as if absolutely nothing is amiss. Johnny doesn’t shift from his spot on the floor but to move as much weight as possible off his right knee, wincing at the horrible pain of it.

Before he can work himself up to standing, Ghost is stepping closer to him and turning the faucet above his head. Immediately, a shower of cold water pours onto Johnny’s form.

His gasp is loud as he rockets up, stumbling back into the wall when his bad leg won’t take his weight. The water is freezing cold as it drenches him, and his fingertips go numb in seconds. His mohawk goes limp from the water, the gel he usually uses to keep it neat melting away and leaving his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

He’s panting when he finally lifts his head, body adjusting to the cold. He pushes his hair back and away from his face, cringing at the wet thud of it against the shaved sides of his head as he slams his other hand into the wall, desperately looking for the faucet.

When he finally finds it, he jerks it to off, nearly heaving as he shivers against the tile.

“What the hell,” he whispers, staring wide-eyed across the room. He can’t tell what’s real and not anymore, can’t tell if this is just one of his bad nightmares, or if an inmate really skull-fucked him, pissed in his mouth, then dumped water on his head.

He blinks slowly, dumbly, before he drags his eyes over to where Ghost stands a few steps away, arms crossed and handcuffs held loosely in one hand. When Johnny only stares at him silently, Ghost lifts an eyebrow. “Well?”

Johnny’s jaw drops, leaving him gaping like a fish. “What?”

“You want to see Parra still stinkin’ of piss? You’re fuckin’ welcome.”

Johnny can’t do anything but stare.

———————————————————————

The walk to the bus stop is long and miserable. Even though it’s not raining, Johnny is soaked to the bone just like the day before, and he limps down the cracked sidewalk at nearly a snail’s pace. 

His leg hasn’t hurt this badly since he first got out of the hospital, and although his eyes won’t focus and he still feels off-kilter, he can’t help but be glad he’s late enough for all the prisoners to have left the rec yard. There’s no one to see his walk of shame.

His mind wanders from thought to thought, willing to land on anything that doesn’t make him think of what happened less than an hour ago. He flinches physically every time his thoughts shift in that direction, the reality of it too raw to examine.

His knee burns and feels like it must have tripled in size, his pant leg tight from the swelling. The sound of his shoe scraping on the concrete is like nails against a chalkboard.

He can still taste the piss in his mouth.

On the bus, the driver seems to go out of his way to hit every pothole and speed bump as roughly as he can. Every jerk of Johnny’s knee against the wall brings him a little closer to tears.

He hasn’t felt so out of control in a long time. He can’t control his pain, can’t control his body (his hands shake, his breath shakes, it feels like his goddamn heart shakes), and he can’t stop remembering how Ghost had blocked out all the light in the room, how he’d forced Johnny down and taken the reins, how he’d-

He’s not sure he’ll make it home without losing his lunch.

In the end, he only barely manages it. He stumbles near his trailer, nearly loses his balance and only keeps it because the idea of falling to his knees sounds worse than death, and retches into the overgrown grass.

He brushes his teeth more times than he can count. The last time he vomits, there’s nothing left to come up but stomach acid and spit.

——————————————————————— 

Gaz does a double take when he sees Johnny the next morning, eyes widening in what would be comical shock if Johnny felt any less like a dead man walking.

“Shit, what happened to you, mate?” Gaz attempts a smile as he stands at his cubby, but can’t quite keep the concern off his face. “Rough night out?”

Johnny’s cheek is almost bloody from how hard he’s biting it. “Something like that,” he manages to mutter, his voice gravelly and hoarse. 

Gaz gives him a look, like he wants to push for more, but luckily he drops it. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re with me today. We’ll keep you in some quieter areas until that hangover goes, yeah?”

Johnny just grunts and follows Gaz out of the staff room, not bothering to correct his assumption.

———————————————————————

“MacTavish!” Graves calls, stepping between Gaz and Johnny while they’re both locking up their weapons for the night. “You’re on overtime again tonight,” he says, slapping Johnny’s shoulder with a forced familiarity before turning away, already moving on.

“No,” Johnny spits, the word flying from his mouth before he can even fully register what Graves has just told him. His lip curls at just the thought, and he feels the saliva in his mouth thickening.

Graves stops in his tracks, throwing a look of confusion and annoyance over his shoulder. “No? C’mon, Officer, I know you want to go home, but just suck up the extra hour-”

“No,” Johnny repeats, his voice a little too loud and a little too harsh in the otherwise silent room. “I’m clocking out. Find someone else.”

Graves turns fully towards them now, eyes narrowing when he sees Johnny’s resolve. He picks up on Gaz’s confusion beside him, but the other man shifts closer and Johnny knows he’s on his side.

“You don’t get to say no to something like this, MacTavish.” Graves’ voice has taken on a harsher edge, and it’s the most authoritative Johnny’s heard the man since he got the job. Still, it’s not anywhere near intimidating enough to convince him.

Johnny hikes his chin in the air a bit, glaring down his nose at his CO. “Overtime is optional, right? I’m not taking it. My shift ended ten minutes ago. I’m going home.”

Graves shakes his head before turning and stepping away. “I’ll have to tell the warden. Not a good impression to make in your first week, rook. You hated looking at Ghost’s ugly ass that much, huh?” He scoffs like Johnny’s a fool, and lets the door slam shut behind him.

Johnny ducks away from Gaz before they can walk out to the parking lot together and hugs the grimey toilet bowl in the staff bathroom, losing what little lunch he’d been able to stomach. The sky is dark with rain clouds when he steps outside.

———————————————————————

The next day, Johnny is stopped by the warden himself before he can even clock in. 

“MacTavish,” Shepherd grunts, barely leaning out of his office. “Come see me.”

“I need to clock in, sir,” Johnny says, gesturing to the nearly broken machine set on an old folding table.

“See me first,” Shepherd says, ducking into his office without any other explanation.

Johnny’s knee is miles better than it had been the day before, but it’s still more difficult than it should be to cover his limp as he heads to Shepherd’s office. The brace he’s worn the last few days helps somewhat, but really only helps keep him from getting stiff or overextending.

“Close the door behind you, son,” Shepherd says when Johnny joins him, already settled behind his desk. He mimics the same position he had when Johnny had first sat in front of him - leaned back, hands folded over his stomach, chin tilted towards his chest.

“Am I in trouble, sir?” Johnny asks after shutting the door, lowering himself slowly into the uncomfortable chair. He can’t help but wonder if it would’ve been smarter to stay standing, if this is a we won’t need you here again sort of meeting that he’ll want to get out quickly.

“Not yet,” Shepherd says after a heavy silence, tilting his head to the side. “Graves tells me you refused overtime last night.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And why is that?”

He manages not to flinch, but just barely. “I was tired, sir. Just wanted to get home and get some rest.”

Shepherd’s expression stays flat, but there’s an unimpressed spark in his eye. “And it’s got absolutely nothing to do with what your overtime task was, then?”

Johnny wants to bristle, wants to bite back, but he keeps himself under control. “I find inmate Riley… unpleasant to be around. To put it lightly. Sir.”

Shepherd scoffs, rolling his eyes and leaning forward. “Every damn person in this prison is unpleasant to be around, boy. That doesn’t mean you blow off orders and come and go whenever you please.”

Now Johnny does sit a little straighter in his chair, insulted. “I’ve stayed for my entire shift every day I’ve worked for you.”

“That’s not much to brag about, MacTavish, you haven’t even been here half a week.”

Johnny takes a deep breath, reminding himself just how badly he needs this job. “I’m not required to take overtime, sir, and I believe my job performance has been satisfactory otherwise. Is that all?”

Shepherd’s eyes narrow, and Johnny knows they’re both thinking the same thing - were they still in the military, that kind of talk from a subordinate wouldn’t fly. But despite their shared past, they’re not in that environment any more - Johnny’s behavior isn’t insuboridnate here, and they both know it.

Shepherd takes a long moment to respond, setting his still-linked hands on his desk and leaning his weight onto them.  “No. You’re right in saying that overtime isn’t required. But I’m looking for employees who show dedication to their job and an ambition to grow in this career. So far, I’m not getting either of those things from you. I need guards who are willing to go the extra mile, not guards who can’t stay an hour after their shift to watch one goddamn man shower.”

Johnny takes a deep, stabilizing breath. Shepherd's tone is harsh, mean, and damn near identical to every CO Johnny had in the service. Before he can argue his case, the warden speaks again.

“Listen, I understand that you’re still adjusting to civilian life. I’m not cruel.” He spreads his hads in front of him, open and inviting. “I’ll give you grace. But I need men who are willing to listen when I give them an order. If that’s not you, then I think it’s best you start looking for another job.”

Johnny’s eyes shut for a moment against his will, and the breath that’s punched out of him has a distinctly defeated air to it. “Alright. Alright, I understand what you’re saying, sir.” He swallows thickly, working the words past his throat. “It won’t happen again.”

Shepherd nods, something vaguely understanding in his expression. “Good. Overtime is time and a half pay, so you’ll be well-compensated.”

Well-compensated. The words sound vile in Johnny’s mind, and he wants to kick and scream and say nothing could compensate for what that man did to me .

“Is that all, sir?”

“Yes. Dismissed, Officer.”

Johnny nods, standing and taking quick steps to the door.

“MacTavish?” Shepherd calls out, just before his hand lands on the doorknob.

Johnny doesn’t turn before responding. “Yes, sir?”

“It’ll get easier, son.”

Now Johnny turns, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Shepherd is leaning back in his chair again, but now there’s something almost pitying in his expression. Something vaguely sympathetic.

Johnny leaves the office without responding. He worries if he opens his mouth, he’ll just start screaming.

———————————————————————

Overtime doesn’t get any easier. In fact, every day Johnny’s forced to watch Ghost shower it gets more and more difficult to ignore the voice inside his head screaming to run, regardless of all the arguments he’s made that tell him he has to stay.

The first day back, he’d tried to tase Ghost when the other man came toward him. He’d had his baton in one hand, the taser in the other, but he’d quickly learned that Ghost’s sheer size made him an almost impossible opponent to fight - the taser was knocked out of his hand before he could’ve even reached Ghost with it, and the baton went just as quickly. 

Johnny had thrown a sloppy punch towards Ghost’s face and had only gotten a mean laugh in return. 

“Got a little more fight in you today, huh?” Riley had hissed, their faces pressed so close together that Johnny could feel his breath. “You can kick and scream all you want, boy, but this still ends the same way.”

The second day, he’d thought about not going into the shower and instead standing in the hallway and getting the drop on Ghost. But he’d glanced up and seen a little blinking red light, a camera, in the corner between the wall and the ceiling and knew that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself were he to lose, and Ghost assaulted him on camera. So he followed the priosner into the showers, feeling like a man sent to the gallows.

He’d tried to bite Riley’s dick before he could choke on it that day. At the first scrape of teeth, Ghost had shoved his thumbs into Johnny’s mouth and hooked them between his molars, holding his head still like that instead of by the hair. Johnny had nearly choked on his own vomit, and his lips were numb for what felt like hours after.

The third day, Johnny kneels before Riley can knock him down. He’s already worried something is seriously wrong with his bad knee, and Ghost hadn’t spared it at all. Gaz had asked if he was alright that morning after seeing him limp, and had offered to bring a knee brace he kept at home - Johnny hadn’t bothered to tell him he was already weaing one. He can’t afford to take a day off because he can’t walk, so he kneels and pretends the small submission doesn’t choke him.

Defeat is bitter on his tongue as Johnny watches surprise mingle with satisfaction when Ghost watches him lower himself. He only stays on one knee, unwilling to put any weight whatsoever on his right knee, and Ghost - miraculously - allows it. 

When he stands in front of Johnny and strokes himself to full hardness, he mutters quietly, “Knew you were a fuckin’ faggot.”

Johnny’s flinch is hidden by his reaction to Ghost’s cock being unceremoniously stuffed into his mouth. This time once he’s finished himself off and made sure to let every drop of his come drip down Johnny’s throat, he steps to the side to relieve himself instead of using him as a urinal. Johnny’s almost ashamed of how grateful he finds himself feeling.

On Sunday, his first day off, Johnny leaves his bed exactly once. He gets up, pisses, and lays right back down with a pillow elevating his leg. He sleeps fitfully for nearly 12 hours and wakes up nauseous, only just choking back bile before ruining his floors. His Nan calls twice and leaves two voicemails when he doesn’t answer.

On Monday, Ghost is let out of solitary confinement.

———————————————————————

A full day of rest has done Johnny’s knee a world full of good.

While still not fully recovered, he doesn’t feel sick when he tries to walk without a limp anymore. The brace helps him with that, and with Riley coming out of solitary Johnny can’t help but hope that he’ll have a chance to truly recover a bit.

He tells himself that he can put his hellish first week in the past now. Ghost is out of solitary, which means Johnny will have a better shot at avoiding him and sticking with the other guards.

Monday morning, Graves reassigns him from genpop to protective custody. It’s the first time he’ll be separated from Gaz for any length of time, but Johnny’s too high on his sudden distance from Ghost to care too much. If anything, this gives him a better chance to bond with other guards.

His hopes don’t quite come true - all the guards working in protective custody are quiet, with no interest in talking to each other, let alone a new guy. The silence isn’t unbearable for the first few hours, but Johnny already knows that multiple days spent with people so unwilling to respond to anything he says would drive him crazy.

It’s after lunch, when he leads ten prisoners from the cafeteria back to their cells with another guard tailing them, that everything goes wrong.

While Johnny almost has the layout for the prison memorized, there are still moments he gets turned around or confused. And having only been to the section of the prison with PC cells once - that same morning - Johnny’s not the most confident on how to get them back. He takes a left turn instead of a right, and for some godforsaken reason, the other guard doesn’t correct him.

Instead of turning into the large protective custody dayroom where prisoners spend their time when they’re not locked in their cells, Johnny turns into the general population dayroom.

He hardly has time to realize what a monumental mistake he’s made before he and every person following behind him is swarmed by prisoners. 

Johnny’s knocked to the ground by one of the largest men as he dives for someone behind him, and his wrist is nearly crushed beneath a filthy white shoe when he reaches for his taser. The prisoners all but stampede him in an effort to swarm the men from protective custody, and Johnny can hardly see through the sea of legs.

Someone trips over his good knee and falls to the ground beside him. On instinct, Johnny lunges for him, trying to push himself up off the floor in the space the other man has created. But before he can get more than one foot under him, that same prisoner tackles him back to the ground and wraps a hand around his throat.

This time, when Johnny swings his baton at the man’s side full force, he falls to the ground and curls into a ball. The commotion around him is nearly deafening, and only growing louder and louder as guards get involved to try and pull the prisoners off of one another. He can see several men fall to the ground, shouting from the pain of being tased.

Johnny’s just barely managed to get to his feet when the prisoner in front of him throws himself to the side, and he only has a split second to register that the black blur swinging towards his head is a baton before everything goes black.

———————————————————————

Johnny wakes, hours later, to a dull pain in his head and a parched throat. 

He groans as he rolls his head, tongue darting out to try and wet his lips as he squeezes his eyes tight against the pain. His mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his tongue feels swollen. While his head feels like there’s a person trying to crack him open down the middle, there’s something soft around the edges of his consciousness, something that makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud instead of laying on a thin mattress.

As more of his senses start coming back, he realizes where he recognizes the soft feeling from - his last stay in the hospital. The fuzzy feeling in his head, the total lack of any emotion that isn’t contentedness, the steady beeping to his side, and the way his bad knee feels completely normal all tell Johnny that he’s higher than a kite on pain meds.

His nose scrunches when he tries to open his eyes for the first time, some uncomfortable crust making them itchy and heavy. He lifts one hand to clumsily paw at his face, only making him itch more as he rubs the crust into his own skin.

Somewhere in the room, he hears a door open and close quietly. He blinks quickly to try and clear his vision, but can only recognize the man when he steps right to Johnny’s bedside.

“Ghost…?” He murmurs, his voice cracking. 

The man above him hums quietly. He sets one hand on the railing of Johnny’s bed and leans in close, bringing his face into full focus as he hovers less than a foot above Johnny’s face. One of his big hands comes up to Johnny’s face, swiping roughly over his eyes and clearing the gunk from them.

“Well, look’it you,” he says, voice low and quiet. “High as a kite. Got yourself in some trouble, huh Officer?”

Johnny scowls - or well, he means too, but he can’t quite feel his face move into the expression - and clumsily bats Ghost away. The older man stands back up with a quiet laugh, reaching to the side and above Johnny for something.

“Not m’fault,” he slurs, trying to twist and follow Ghost’s arm. “Should’a… shouldn’ta… mmph.” His voice trails off, whatever defense he’d been about to use floating away from him. “‘S not m’fault.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Ghost says. Johnny can see now that he’s holding a clipboard, scanning over the information and flipping between the top page and the one beneath it. “John MacTavish, hm? Johnny. Fits you.”

“Tha’s me,” Johnny says, and now he can really feel the way his lips tug up. “Only Nan calls me tha’ though.”

“What, Johnny?”

“Hmm.” 

Ghost is silent for a long moment, and Johnny’s eyes begin to droop again. He feels obscenely comfortable, more comfortable than he even does in his own home these days. Even with Riley looming over him, he can’t bring himself to feel much more than tired .

He can hear Ghost rummaging around beside him, but doesn’t bother to look and see what’s going on. His eyelids flutter when a moment later the bed sinks with Ghost’s weight, but even that is hardly enough for Johnny to bother moving. 

“Hey,” Ghost says, his voice a tad louder than it had been before. Johnny moans low in his throat, tossing his head on the pillow in a distinctly whiney way. 

“Hey,” Ghost repeats again, and a moment later there’s a sharp tapping at the side of his face, a calloused palm clearly trying to get his attention.

“Whaaat?” Johnny groans, tilting his head away from the hand and only opening his eyes enough to glare at Ghost. He bats at the hand and manages to grip it loosely, tugging it away from his face. He hardly notices when it shifts to rest over his pec, fingertips resting high on his side.

“Don't pass out on me, now,” Ghost commands. “I think this’ll be more fun if you’re awake.”

“What’re ya…” Johnny slurs, trailing off when Ghost turns closer towards him and sets both hands on his hips. “What’re you… doin’?”

“Quiet.”

Johnny makes a pouty sound, but he doesn’t move to stop Riley as he hooks his hands in Johnny’s pants, tugging harshly a few times until they rest around his knees. He leaves his boxers on, takes a second to snap the elastic band against Johnny’s sensitive stomach and huff a laugh when Johnny squirms.

Ghost makes a small sound that Johnny doesn’t put any effort into identifying, and then suddenly cups his cunt with a large hand. The way Johnny squeaks would be embarrassing, if he still had the capacity to be embarrassed. Instead he only squirms in place, trying to wriggle up and getting nowhere.

“Don’t tell me…” Ghost trails off, his fingers burrowing between Johnny’s lips and feeling him up thoroughly. “No kiddin’. You’re not even a real faggot, Johnny?”

The sound that slips from Johnny’s lips is pathetic, and he shoots Ghost the best glare he can manage while the machine beside them slowly beeps more and more quickly. “D’nt call me tha’...”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, shifting up and to the side so he’s between Johnny’s legs. “You’re not a fag then? Got a nice fat cunt here, MacTavish, you tellin’ me you’re a woman?”

“Nooooo,” he moans, trying to shut his knees but only squeezing Ghost closer. “‘M not… ‘m not either….”

The sound that comes from Ghost is distinctly mocking, and Johnny’s chest tightens. “Really? I can feel you gettin’ all wet even through the boxers, you’re one of them.”

Johnny hums a negative, digging his head back into the pillow. Ghost ignores him completely, and tugs his hand away for only a second before stuffing it fully down the front of his boxers. “C’mon then, Johnny, you answer me - you a faggot, or a woman?”

Johnny’s breath grows heavier as Ghost grinds his palm against his t-cock, hips working in small motions as his body takes over. He moans a little, one hand lifting to grip Ghost’s forearm.

There’s another, sharper sensation in his face, the other cheek this time. It hardly registers as painful - more as rude - but it’s enough for Johnny to blink up at Ghost. 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he growls, flipping his hand to pinch Johnny’s cock between two of his knuckles, squeezing until Johnny wheezes.

“F-fag! A fag,” He gasps, just barely remembering what Ghost had asked. “Not-not a woman, y’can’t… can’t call me tha’...”

Ghost coos, lessening the pressure between his two fingers. “Cute, Johnny, but I’ll call you whatever I please.”

Before Johnny can gather enough focus to reply, Ghost twists his hand again and stuffs two of his thick fingers inside of Johnny’s leaking hole with no warning.

Johnny keens, just barely louder than the suddenly racing beep-beep-beep echoing in the room. When he tries to close his legs again, tries to hide from Ghost’s assault, the older man tugs one of his knees higher on his side, leaning forward and forcing Johnny to stay spread.

There’s no real discomfort or pain - either because he’s slick with his body’s betrayal or because of the painkillers, Johnny’s not sure - and when Ghost angles his palm the right way, fingers stroking just so inside of him, Johnny melts into the pillows with a whorish moan.

“Oh, is that it? That the spot?”

Johnny feels like there’s something he should be upset about, something in Ghost’s tone that scrapes at his mind, but he can’t think past the warmth slowly spreading through his abdomen. The best he manages is a quiet sound of agreement, hips working in lazy thrusts to try and get more more more. He hardly notices when Ghost slips a third finger inside him.

“Open your eyes, Johnny, c’mon.”

It’s only the sudden fourth finger, the slight hint of a burn at his center, that has Johnny blearily blinking up at Ghost. His fingers tighten only painfully in the sheets as he tries desperately to grind himself to orgasm. Riley hooks Johnny’s leg a little higher on his hip, pressing his hips to the back of his thighs.

“There y’are,” he grunts, leaning close so his face is all Johnny can see. “Fuck, you’re gone, aren’t ya? Bet you can’t even tell I’m stretchin’ you. Waste of my fuckin’ time then, huh?”

“N-” Johnny hiccups, his back arching as Ghost’s fingers slip from his hole, moving instead to undo his own belt. “No, please, y’can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Ghost asks sharply, snapping his belt off and pulling his fat cock out. “Y’don’t even know what you’re beggin’ for, little cock dumb slut. Not good for much else than bein’ my hole, huh?”

“Stop,” Johnny gasps, trying to coordinate his limbs enough to at least try and shove Ghost off, only really succeeding in resting his hands on the larger man’s biceps. “Tha’s… tha’s fuckin’ mean, y’can’t say that…”

Ghost laughs as he shoves himself inside of Johnny, no mercy and no sympathy. Johnny’s back arches high off the bed, his head thrown back and his eyes screwed shut as Ghost’s hips press flush with Johnny’s thighs in just seconds.

He can’t feel anything but warmth and pressure. He’s reduced into nothing more than a writhing body and his fucked full cunt. His breaths shudder out of him in sharp bursts as his body reckons with something he can’t fully feel.

“Fuck,” Ghost hisses from above him. “Tight little bitch.”

Johnny keens high in his throat, tears springing to his eyes at the terrible mix of degradation pleasure. He feels like he’s drowning in sensation, like he’s desperately trying to keep his head above the water during a hurricane.

He fully stops breathing when Ghost pulls out the first time, struggles to get any air into his lungs when he’s slowly filled again. The tears drip down his temples, mixing with the sweat already dampening his skin.

“Bet you hate this, huh?” Riley pants, hips beginning to truly work against him now, the slap of it loud in the dark room. “You love your little fights, love hissin’ and spittin’ and tellin’ me how much you don’t want it.”

Johnny tries to lick his own lips and wet them, but doesn't manage to tuck his tongue back into his mouth. He’s left panting like a dog, drool dripping down his chin. Ghost nearly growl when he sees, his thumb landing solidly on Johnny’s tongue and holding it down.

“Almost had me convinced,” he says quietly, like a secret shared between just them. “Never saw you get hard. Thought you really might not be a fag, thought a little fuckin’ brat like you havin’ lips like this was just another cruel joke.”

He huffs, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “But that wasn’t it, huh? Nah, whatever bastard made you just knew a whore like you would need three holes. Two wouldn’t have been enough, huh? No, whiney little sluts can’t have any less than three.”

Ghost’s words float in and out of Johnny’s head, dripping into his ears and his mouth and immediately melting away. He’s consumed with the burning pleasure in his center, able to think of nothing but reaching the crest of sensation he can practically see.

“Pleathe-!”

“Please what?” Ghost growls, shifting forward. His elbows rest on either side of Johnny’s neck, the smaller man’s knees hiked high on his side, and he starts to really drill into Johnny. “Need it harder, huh Johnny? Want me to get you off, when you’re all pretty and drugged and can’t do shit to stop me?

Johnny whines, trying to draw his tongue out from under Ghost’s thumb. The bigger man only grunts, leaning forward and spitting a wad of saliva onto his tongue. Then he lets Johnny close his mouth, letting him swallow.

“Yeah, there you go,” he breathes, staring between Johnny’s lips and the column of his throat with an intentness Johnny can’t even begin to understand, not with the way his pace doesn’t stutter at all. “Gonna fill you up from both ends, make sure you fuckin’ feel this tomorrow. Might fuck your mouth when you pass out, make sure you’ll fuckin’ breathe me.”

Johnny’s got no idea what’s being said to him, too lost in the way Ghost’s stomach rubs against his cock, the way his body is covered completely, the way his thighs clench around Ghost as tightly as possible and yet the man doesn’t slow at all. Even with his mouth closed, he still drools, can’t stop moaning and panting as Riley forces a space for himself.

“Yeah, just like that, tighten up for me. C’mon, c’mon-”

Johnny’s wail nearly drowns out the way Ghost eggs him on, his body bursting into flames as he’s finally shoved off that edge. He feels everything and nothing, raw and numb, comfortable and wound so tight he’s sure he’s about to snap in half. His throat aches from his volume, but he can do nothing but grab on tight to Ghost’s shoulders and try to ride out his orgasm.

He can’t even tell when Ghost finally comes, only really registers a loud grunt in his ear and the way his hips slow to a stop inside of him. 

Johnny’s already fading when Riley pulls out, would hardly have noticed if he hadn’t seen Ghost standing fully from the bed. He can’t move from where Ghost has left him, his knees splayed wide and leaving his cunt bared to the room. 

He’s too tired to open his eyes, too high on painkillers and ecstasy to care that he can’t. Before long, he’s falling asleep to the obnoxious sound of his heart rate monitor slowing. 

———————————————————————

When Johnny wakes up the next morning, he’s sore and confused.

“Wha’...” he breathes, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing a hand over his face. His head throbs, but that’s far from his biggest concern as he takes stock of his body.

“Oh good, you’re up,” a familiar voice says, and once he clears the sleep dust from his eyes Johnny can see Gaz lounging casually in a chair next to his bed. “Good timing, too, Graves just left.

“Graves?” Johnny asks, clearing his throat when he hears how raspy he sounds. “What the hell happened?”

Gaz raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to grab a watter bottle from the small table beside the hospital bed and offer it to Johnny. There’s a terrible taste in his mouth, and Johnny gratefully takes the bottle and sips from it. “You really don’t remember?”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow, and he thinks back to the day before.

It all comes back to him quickly once he can work past the pain in his head - his new assignment, the unfriendly other guards, his stupid mistake, and the ensuing brawl. What’s harder to remember is what happened after, what happened when he woke up to a dark room and a guest who’s face he can’t quite see.

There are vague impressions of a man - a large man, a heavy man, he can remember what he felt like on top of Johnny - and the dull ache between Johnny’s legs gives him a good idea of what the man did to him.

It’s hard to keep his breathing even.

Gaz doesn’t seem to notice, rambling on. “Graves is sayin’ you did it intentionally, said some real dumb shit about you, mate. You’re damn lucky you’ve somehow got the warden’s favor - I’ve been here a few years now, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone make a mistake like this and keep their job.”

Johnny groans, throwing himself back onto the mattress. “Thanks, Gaz. Very comforting, you are.”

Gaz laughs, patting Johnny heavily on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, they don’t pay me for my bedside manner. C’mon, they’re kicking you out.”

Johnny lifts his head enough to look at the other man. “Kickin’ me out? Really?”

Gaz gives him a don’t start look, standing and gathering a bag Johnny hadn’t noticed before. “They already let you stay overnight, mate. You’re lucky they gave you a bed at all. Plus, warden gave you the rest of the week off for recovery. You’ve got no room to complain, my friend”

It takes a bit for Johnny to feel steady enough to leave, longer for he and Gaz to make it outside of the prison. He gets nasty looks from several of their coworkers, but he lets their clear irritation slide off his back. As long as he’s got a job, he couldn’t care less what the others think of him.

It’s difficult to get Gaz to let Johnny go home on his own, but once he promises to take it easy for the next few days - and overplays his own exhaustion just a bit - the other officer lets him go after exchanging numbers and making him promise to text if anything changed.

Johnny can’t quite work up the nerve to check between his thighs until he’s in the privacy of his tiny shower. 

He probes at his sore hole with tentative fingers, wincing at the slight sting of pain and resting his forehead against the tile. He only opens his eyes for long enough to recognize the liquid coating his fingers before he lurches out of the shower and kneels above his toilet.

He’s not sure what it says about him that he doesn’t actually vomit - is he just getting used to the constant violation, or is there too much else wrong with him to feel overwhelmed by this?

He doesn’t think about it for long, just lets his stomach settle, quickly cleans himself in the shower, and then buries himself beneath his thin blanket and throws himself into the oblivion of sleep.

———————————————————————

The first day Johnny goes back to work, he decides he has nothing left to do but resign.

It’s a choice he agonizes over every single day he spends cooper up in his small mobile home. This job had come as a blessing, and had only come in the first place because he’d been owed a favor by John Price who’d called in a favor of his own. For all intents and purposes, he should’ve never been lucky enough to get here.

And he’s about to throw it all away.

It’s hard not to feel disappointed in himself, to not say suck it up and get over it . But Johnny’s nightmares have shifted from explosions and gunfire to a weight over his chest and a cock down his throat. He wakes up soaked in sweat and panting, slick between the thighs but shaking with fear. He gets flashes of that night in the med wing sometimes, images of Ghost hovering above him, the feeling of something on his tongue and something else in his cunt.

He can’t handle another violation. 

So walking to the bus stop, the whole ride over, and the walk in, Johnny is thinking about how he’ll manage to quit without offering to serve his two weeks. If worse comes to worst, he figures there’s nothing anybody can do if he just stops showing up.

When he stops by Shepherd’s office and asks for a meeting, he’s confident he won’t even spend an hour in the building. That confidence is crushed the moment Shepherd looks at him with pity instead of frustration.

“MacTavish…” he sighs. “I know what you’re trying to get out of.”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow. “Sir?”

Shepherd sighs, and leans forward to bring something up on his computer. “The only places without cameras are the shower and the cells. Everything else in this building, I see.”

There’s a pit forming in Johnny’s chest, but he can’t do anything but say, “I’m not sure what you’re implying, sir.”

The look Shepherd sends him says yes you are, and the man turns the screen of his computer around to face Johnny.

It’s… it’s him, in a hospital bed, with Ghost over him. Johnny’s jaw drops open as he watches his legs get hiked up higher on the other man’s chest, the bulk of him covering Johnny’s cunt, but the spread of his legs doing nothing to hide the slick dripping from him.

The video is silent but horrifying. Here’s what Johnny has forgotten, what’s slowly been coming back to him in his dreams, and it’s being played for him by his boss. 

“Sir…” he says, unsure of what he’ll say but knowing it has to be something. “I don’t…”

“You can’t quit,” Shepherd says, straightforward and with no bend.

Johnny can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “I have to.”

Shepherd lays his hand flat on the desk, making just enough noise to startle Johnny. “No, son. You’ll be staying here. If you don’t, I’ll take that video right to the police myself and have them charge you with assault.

Johnny’s eyes fly to Shepherd’s, his brows arched high on his head. “Assault? Me? But- look at the video! I was injured and high off my ass!”

“You’re also an officer, with power over the prisoners.”

“Power? Look at what the bastard did to me!” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, wants to break the computer screen so no one ever sees that clip again instead of bringing more attention back to it. 

Shepherd winces, very intentionally not looking at the screen. “An argument could be made that you… encouraged him. You’re in the position of power, and that makes you at fault.” 

Johnny grits his teeth, glaring. “I was drugged and-and… well, if anyone was assaulted it certainly wasn’t him.”

Shepherd leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “You can’t have it both ways, MacTavish.”

“I- What?”

“Either you’re a man or not. Look at the size of you, son. You think anyone will believe that you couldn’t have fought him off?”

Johnny’s speechless, unable to do anything but stare at Shepherd, mouth gaping.

“Or you’re a woman, and no one would be shocked to hear a tragic story about a female officer being overtaken and assaulted by her male prisoner. Is that you? That the story you want to tell?”

“I’m not a fuckin’ woman.”

Shepherd’s eyes narrow. “Watch your language with me. Those are the only two stories you could sell in court.”

“They’re not -”

“Yes, they are,” Shepherd hisses, suddenly more incensed as he leans forward and lowers his voice. “You don’t have a goddamn choice here, MacTavish. You keep this job, nobody else needs to know you fucked Riley. You leave, I’ll make sure every person you’ve ever looked at sees the goddamn video of it.”

Johnny reels back in his seat, hands shaking and mouth bone dry. He can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, can’t believe that this is the point his life has brought him to. “Why? ”

Shepherd sinks back in his seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose and suddenly looking ten years older. “Because he doesn’t want you to quit. Riley and I have a deal, and it’s a damn fragile one. He’s fixated on you for whatever reason - I let you walk, all my hardwork with him goes down the drain.”

Johnny’s teeth grind in the back of his mouth. “Sounds more like your problem than mine.”

Shepherd glares. “It became your problem when you let him fuck you.”

“I didn’t let -”

“Video, MacTavish. I can see exactly what happened.”

Johnny’s face flames, and he squirms in his seat. “It wasn’t… I didn’t want to…”

Shepherd’s voice is almost mean when he says, “Didn’t seem to fight that hard.”

Johnny nearly flinches, and doesn’t say another word. 

“Listen,” Shepherd sighs, turning the computer around and finally running off that horrible video while seemingly doing his best to look at as little of it as possible. “The job pays well. You’re good at it - well… you could be good at it, if you tried a little harder.”

There’s a part of Johnny that’s offended, but the rest of him is too baffled by this entire meeting to do anything but listen.

“If Riley wants to…” Shepherd winces, the tiniest flush coloring his cheeks. “If he wants to be in a relationship with you, let him.”

“Relationship,” Johnny hisses, lip curled in disgust at the word. “Is that what you think-?”

“I don’t give a damn what he wants from you, MacTavish,” Shepherd cuts him off, glaring. “You’ll put up with it, and if necessary, you’ll do it with a smile. Either that, or I make your life much, much more difficult going forward. Do we have an understanding?”

Shepherd’s tone makes Johnny want to leap forward and claw the skin from his face. Not quite mocking, not quite pitying, not quite frustrated, but all authoritative and pissy. Again, Johnny is reminded of how much he hated men like this in the military.

After a long moment of silence, Shepherd sighs and holds out a hand. “C’mon, son. We both know you’re staying. This can be as easy or as hard as you make it.” He pushes his hand a little further out, like he’s expecting a handshake.

Johnny ignores him completely, storms from the office, and slams the door on his way out.

———————————————————————

The next weeks pass in a blur.

Whatever hope Johnny had of having a normal life post-military, of getting closer to Gaz and maybe even other officers, is well and truly crushed after Graves informs him he’ll be permanently assigned to Ghost from then on. 

Johnny refuses to look at Gaz long enough to see the man’s expression of sympathy, but he hears it in the quick gasp and the little rumble of sound.

Ghost doesn’t quite smirk or smile when Johnny walks up to him on that first day back, but there’s a smugness radiating off him that makes Johnny scowl.

It’s lunch when Riley calls him over for the first time. He doesn’t make a show of it, only flicks his gaze over to Johnny long enough to make eye contact and raises a hand to beckon him.

Johnny pretends he doesn’t see at first, shifts and stares at a wall. Ghost doesn’t let it go, and shouts, “MacTavish!” across the room after a moment of silence. 

Graves glares at him and jerks his head over with a sort of what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you look.

He can’t help but feel a little like a kid when he storms toward Ghost, unable to keep the frustration hidden when he feels like he’s drowning in it. “What?”

Ghost gives him an unimpressed look. “Watch it. You’ll come when I call you.”

Johnny grits his teeth. “Course, sir,” he bites sarcastically.

Riley’s lip twitch, at that only pisses him off more. Ghost shifts back in his seat, the tray in front of him already wiped clean - the food looks disgusting to Johnny, but Ghost had eaten so quickly you’d think it was the best thing he’d ever had. 

“You think that’s as embarrassing as I can make things for you?” He asks quietly, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “I could do anything I wanted to you right now, and not a man in this room would stop me.”

Johnny’s lip curls. “What do you want?”

“I want you to mind your manners when you speak to me,” Ghost snaps, his voice rising just a bit. Johnny’s sure he’s not loud enough for anyone else to have heard, but he shifts uneasily anyway. 

“Fine,” he hisses. “Now what do you want?”

Riley doesn’t quite look satisfied, but he drops it. “I’m doin’ you a favor here, Johnny. You rather I not tell you the rules, let you stumble all blind into a punishment in front of anyone lucky enough to be nearby?”

Johnny’s head jerks down a bit in instinctual frustration. “Okay. Alright, fine. Just get it over with.”

Ghost hums low in his throat. “You’ll look at me when I’m speaking to you. Start now.”

Johnny bites his tongue as he raises his eyes, glaring into Ghost’s with all the anger he can muster. The man only smirks, murmuring a “Good boy,” in that tone that Johnny still hears in his dreams sometimes.

“I want you by my side unless I’m in my cell - then, you’ll stand outside when you’re still on duty. If you need to be somewhere else for some reason, you’ll come immediately when I call.”

“I’m not a fuckin’ dog,” Johnny can’t help but argue.

“You’re whatever I tell you to be. I ask you to crawl behind me on fours, and you’ll do it - happily . Or are you so eager for that little video to make it’s way to good ol’ Graves’ pocket?”

Johnny’s face flushes, and he inches closer, ducking down as if they haven’t already been speaking quietly enough for no one else to hear. “You can’t- you can’t show that to anyone. I don’t know what you have on the warden, but-”

“Exactly,” Ghost cuts him off, glaring. “You don’t know. And you won’t, because it’s not information for you. All you need to do is fuckin’ listen, and you aren’t doing a good job of it so far.”

Johnny grits his teeth, straightening. “What’s your next rule, then?”

Riley considers him for a second, then leans back on the metal bench. “Next rule is you’ll speak to me with respect. I outranked you in the military, and I outrank you here. You’ll watch your-”

“Wait,” Johnny interrupts, brow furrowed. “You were in the military?”

“Don’t interrupt,” Ghost scolds, glaring. “But yes. Not with you, but I was. Made it up to Lieutenant before I got out.”

It shouldn’t change anything for Johnny, the revelation that he and Ghost have a common background. And it doesn’t - not really - but there’s something in his mind that just… shifts, a bit, after learning that he and Ghost have similar roots, that they were maybe even in the same place at different times. Somehow the idea doesn’t quite fit with everything else he knows about Ghost. 

“But regardless, I won’t tolerate a brat. You’ll behave and watch your mouth when you’re with me. Understood?”

“Fine.”

“Fine…?”

Johnny’s lip curls and his hands tighten into fists at his side. “Fine, sir.”

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles with a smirk. “You won’t touch yourself without permission. That’s your third rule.”

Johnny can feel his face flaming, and he ducks his chin close to his chest, shoulders hunching in an attempt to hide himself. “What? ”

Ghost’s smile is ugly on his face, wide and showing off crooked teeth behind thin lips. “That pretty pussy belongs to me now, and I don’t want your grubby hands on my property.”

“I’m not- my hands aren’t-” Johnny huffs, shaking his head a bit until a strand of loose hair falls into his eyeline, then pushing it away with a small sound of frustration. “I’m not your property.”

“Oh, yes you are. But there’s no point in arguin’ with you, you’ll understand soon enough. That’s it for now - we’ll start you off with the simple stuff so you don’t fuck up too soon.”

“Oh, thank you,” Johnny rolls his eyes sarcastically, back to glaring at the table.

Ghost grunts, smacking a hand beside his tray with just enough force for Johnny to jump. “What the hell did I just say about the attitude?”

Johnny stares at him wide-eyed for a second, but quickly relaxes into his frustration. He swallows his pride and says, “Sorry.”

Ghost narrows his eyes, glaring up at Johnny. “You’ll make it up to me later,” he decides. He stands from his seat with little warning, nudging the tray closer to Johnny. “Drop the tray off, then follow me to the rec room.”

He can feel every single pair of eyes on him as he walks to the busboy, and Johnny can’t help but think that he’s never once in his life felt this much scrutiny before. But he ignores every one of them, his eyes carefully forward and just slightly unfocused so he doesn’t have to see the way their heads turn.

He follows Ghost to the rec room, his pride in tatters. 

And that’s where it begins. The indignities only get worse.

Ghost informs him slowly of more rules. Johnny’s never to sit near Ghost, only to stand (sitting is a reward, and one he finds quickly is very rare). He’s only to look Ghost in the eye when responding to him, and never to look anyone else in the eye when he’s shadowing Ghost (“You’re on my time, you won’t give a spec of your attention to anyone that’s not me.”). 

And the sexual favors… Johnny is just glad they’re kept private. Ghost only ever touches him when they’re alone, and they’re only truly alone during Ghost’s solo showers and when he tugs Johnny into his cell for the last hour of his shift.

The taste of Ghost’s cum becomes unfortunately very familiar, and the bruises on Johnny’s knees never quite get enough time to fade before new ones appear. The only small blessing he can see is that Ghost never pisses on him anymore. 

He still fucks Johnny’s mouth in the shower, but he’ll take any amount of skull-fucking over the humiliation of being treated as nothing more than a urinal. Even after weeks of nothing but blowjobs being forced on him, he still tenses for that sour stench after every once.

Johnny also learns that Ghost is - predictably - as mean in bed as he is out of it. Half the time, the bastard isn’t even decent enough to give Johnny a pity orgasm when he assaults him.

He’s also incredibly creative with his dirty talk, and infuriatingly that’s usually what gets Johnny off - when he’s allowed to get off, that is.

Pretty fuckin’ cunt, made to take my cock, huh?

Should keep you tied to the bed, use you as my own goddamn mattress so I can fuck you whenever I want

You’re awful loud today, baby, you want the others to hear you? Hm? Want them to come knockin’ and ask for a turn riding this tight ass?

Nothin’ else in the world compares to a hot hole like this, shit, I’d kill a man to have fucked you when you were a virgin.”

Sometimes Johnny thinks about rubbing himself to completion at home, on the nights when Ghost edged and denied him time and time again and his boxers were sticky with his slick when he took them off. He never quite works up the nerve, though, sure that Ghost would somehow know what he had done and unwilling to face any more severe of a punishment from the prisoner. 

His service to Ghost extends outside of the purely sexual, though. That comes as more of a surprise than it probably should, and there’s something about it that’s more difficult for Johnny to bear.

When Ghost fucks him, it’s a fight. Ghost likes it like that, and Johnny gets to tell himself he tried the best he could to keep the other man’s hands off of him. It’s as close to a win as he can get in this situation, and he forces himself to be okay with that.

But all the little things Ghost expects him to do - serve his food, clean his cell, bring him any book he asks for, give him a damn massage once - they feel more… willing. Like Johnny is choosing to do these things for Ghost. And he knows that he is, technically, but only because he’s terrified of what would happen were he to disobey.

And still, that’s not enough of an excuse to calm his psyche. He goes home to his trailer and feels filthy, showers for so long every night that his water bill has become egregiously high. He picks at his nails constantly now, never quite feels like he gets them fully clean. The thought that his service to Ghost is willing, is consensual, haunts him.

He thinks that’s what Riley enjoys the most - the inner turmoil. Sometimes when he asks Johnny to do something particularly embarrassing, he’ll watch the way his face twists with an expression that can’t be described as anything but gleeful greed. He comes fastest when he threatens to fuck Johnny in front of his coworkers, or when they can hear other voices. Nothing seems to get him off quite like Johnny’s anger and humiliation.

So it should come as no shock that one of his favorite things to make Johnny do is work out with him.

Ghost works out while all the prisoners are in the rec yard, usually monopolizing one machine and scaring off anyone else who comes too close. But because of his deal with the warden (and Johnny curses that man more and more every day), he gets an extra hour outside that no one else does.

Outside of the context of their dynamic, Riley is one of the best trainers Johnny’s ever had. He certainly pushes him harder than anyone else has, and he makes sure they’re both working out all parts of their body.

Unfortunately, he’s more than a little unfair to Johnny. 

He always uses whatever maching he’s picked for that day first, and he never lets Johnny adjust the weight down to his own level. Johnny’s big, stronger undoubtedly than most of his coworkers, and damn proud of it. But he’s not Ghost big, not able to do many reps with the shitton of weight Riley uses.

But that doesn’t matter - Riley tells him to do it, so he does. He’s usually little more than a noodle when he’s done, but he can usually force himself to do at least half of the workout that Riley did.

He always spots Ghost - and does it correctly, no matter how much he wants to strangle the man. It’s probably his favorite act of service Ghost forces onto him, because he sees prisoners helping out other prisoners across the yard every day. Granted no guard is stepping in to spot them, but it’s better than being the only person waiting at the beck and call of another.

So he spots Ghost without complaint, even though the older man never once needs his help. It’s unfortunate, too, because Johnny’s pretty sure he could just pretend to not be strong enough to help the other man if he were to get stuck, but unfortunately he’s not that lucky.

While he spots Ghost, he finds that the favor is almost never returned - not unless Johnny is so weak from the previous day's workout that he can barely do a full rep. 

When they’re doing bench presses, Ghost stands above Johnny’s head, damn near blocking out the sun, and smirks when all he can do is try his absolute hardest to keep the bar from choking him. 

On most days he can manage a pathetic few reps, but there was one day where he really, truly couldn’t do it. He’d been lucky and nobody else had been in the rec yard, but he still remembers it in his dreams sometimes.

Ghost had known before Johnny even sat down that he wouldn’t manage, he could see it in the prisoner’s face. The last few days - their first days working out together - had been hell on his body, and he could barely raise his hand enough to wave, let alone bench press several hundred pounds.

“Ghost…” he had muttered, laying on his back and looking uneasily at the bar above him. “I really don’t think I can-”

“Quiet,” Ghost said, stepping so close that Johnny could see his bulge right above his head. “You’ll be fine. I’m spotting you.”

Johnny can’t help but scowl. “That is not spotting.”

“Well, it’s all your gettin’. Hurry up, the more time you waste here, the longer I’ll keep you after your shift.”

“Shit, okay, okay, I get it,” he said, wrapping his hands around the bar and taking a deep breath. “You swear you’ll-?”

“Johnny.”

“Fine, fine.”

He’d managed a single rep - which was impressive enough for him, quite honestly. But it wasn’t enough for Riley, who grunted a negative and a “Keep going.” when Johnny tried to put the bar back in its place.

“Ghost,” he had panted, on the verge of whining.

“Johnny,” he’d mimicked, voice pitched insultingly high. 

He doesn’t get a full second rep in, only just barely manages to hold the bar above his throat with shaking limbs. His whole body is shaking, and he’s drenched in sweat.

“Riley…” he gasps, teeth clenched so tight he’d be worried about cracking one if he wasn’t so focused on not dying.

“Need some help, Johnny?”

He can’t do much more than grunt an affirmative sound, but for once Ghost doesn’t make him beg. Instead he wraps both hands around the metal bar, and sort of pushes it forward a bit.

“Wha-?” Johnny manages, before he realizes what Ghost has done. He’s trapped him securely beneath the weight - Johnny’s not strong enough to push it away from his chest, and if he moves too much he risks rolling it forward and onto his neck. It’s an incredibly dangerous position to be in, and the fear only makes Johnny shake more.

“There we go,” Ghost says quietly, patting Johnny on the head once before stepping away.

“Ghost?” He gasps, rolling his head to the side as he desperately tracks the other man. “C-c’mon, ye can’t-”

“Don’t waste your breath, Johnny, you’re already panting like a dog,” Ghost scolds, tapping him lightly on the stomach as he passes. He tugs the weight a little further down, and to Johnny’s relief it allows the slightest bit of strain to fade.

Ghost grips him roughly by the knees, forcing them to spread wide on either side of the bench. 

“We’re gonna play a little game, Johnny,” he rumbles, yanking down Johnny’s pants and boxers in two quick tugs. “You finish that rep before Graves calls us in, I’ll let you come. You don’t, I fuck you in front of him.”

“N-no!” Johnny gasps, one leg jerking up as he squirms. His pants are tugged off one ankle, left loose around the other, and he feels sweat dripping from his navel down to his center already. “Y-you can’t.”

Ghost hums, and a thumb parts Johnny’s folds. “Then you better get that bar up, boy.”

Johnny’s sobbing before he even registers Ghost’s mouth on him.

The experience is the very definition of overwhelming. He can hardly breathe with hundreds of pounds resting on his chest, and Ghost’s tongue feels like magic on his cunt. He licks Johnny’s engorged clit, knows just when to wrap his lips around the bundle of nerves and suck. When Johnny gets too close to the edge, when his whimpers turn to whines and his moans pitch up, Ghost ducks to Johnny’s hole and spends time drinking all of his slick.

He has absolutely no idea how long it will be until Graves shows up, and the thought drives Johnny insane. At any moment the other man could walk out and see them, see Johnny pinned and Ghost eating his cunt like he’s starving.

With a gasp at a particularly rough edge, Johnny gets the bar a few inches off his chest. He feels like he’s suffocating when it drops back down.

“Good,” Ghost purrs, one hand lifting from where he’d been holding Johnny’s lips open to stroke his stomach beneath his shirt. “Almost there. Go on, try again f’r me." He sounds drunk on Johnny, his words slurred and muffled. Johnny doesn’t sound any better, sobbing and moaning in equal turns as he’s driven to the edge again and again.

In the end, he only barely manages it. He’s just able to time his breathing, erratic as it is, with his effort in pushing the bar away. His muscles scream at him as he gets it higher and higher in the air, and every single part of him goes completely limp the moment he stops gripping the bar.

“There ya go,” Ghost growls, and Johnny groans as the vibrations sink into him. “Tha’s my fuckin’ boy.”

Johnny whines, manages to muster up just enough energy to lift one hand and drop it onto Ghost’s buzzed head. He can’t do anything but keep it there, but it helps him feel less lost in the pleasure. He doesn’t even have enough strength to grind against Ghost’s hand, but the other man doesn’t need the help in getting him off. 

By the time he’d gotten re-dressed (by the time Ghost had re-dressed him), Graves had been walking in the door. He’d only given the two of them a nasty look, and Johnny’s face had burned bright at the realization that they’d been caught.

“Inside, you two. Now.” Was all Graves had said, but Johnny had trouble even glancing at the man for days. 

Ghost had never been that hard on him during a workout again, but the threat of it was always there, and it was more than enough to keep Johnny from complaining again.

That’s how most of their dynamic worked - the second Johnny pushed back against Ghost’s control even minutely, he was met with swift and firm punishment. Unwilling to experience whatever degradation Ghost chose again, he’d be sure not to repeat the same mistakes.

And Johnny finds that when he listens, when he doesn’t question Ghost and doesn’t let the humiliation get to him, the man verges on kind. In his own sick and twisted way.

(At night, alone under his sheets, Johnny wonders if Riley is really soft, or if he’s too used to the man’s cruelty and simply thinks anything less than that is kind.)

———————————————————————

Two months into their “deal”, Johnny’s world is brought to a sudden stop again. 

He’s in the staffroom - an hour early, because Ghost expects him to be there when he takes his showers, which happen to be first thing in the morning - when Gaz walks in, a small paper bag in his hand.

“Hey, mate,” he beams, quickly walking towards Johnny. “Glad I got here early enough to catch you, feel like we’ve hardly talked in ages.”

Johnny gives his best sympathetic smile, checking the bullets in his gun. “Sorry, mate. Job’s been wearin’ on me more than I thought it would.”

Gaz quickly looks away, nodding rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” There’s an almost-awkward moment of silence before Gaz holds out the bag he’d brought. “Oh, I brought donuts. Y’know, to celebrate the good news.” He shakes the bag enticingly. “Want one?”

Johnny grins, quickly snagging the bag and tugging out a maple log. “Thanks, I love these. What’s the good news?”

He’s taking his first bite of the treat, savoring the taste of it on his tongue, when Gaz makes a shocked noise “You don’t know?”

He’s still chewing, so the only response Johnny can give is a shake of the head and a raised brow.

“Huh, I’d figured he’d have…” Gaz trails off a bit, his own brows furrowing as he takes the bag back. “Well, I guess I get the pleasure then - Ghost was up for bail, and he got approved.”

Johnny chokes on his next bite of donut instantly, bending in half and coughing desperately.

“Shit, mate!” Gaz exclaims, whacking him hard enough on the back to dislodge the little bite of food and allow him to suck in gasps of air. 

“He’s-” Johnny gasps again, then straightens. “He’s what?”

Gaz looks completely surprised, leaving his hand on Johnny’s back just long enough to make sure he’s stable before letting it drop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. I figured with your… relationship, he would’ve been the one to tell you.”

Johnny nearly chokes again, spluttering in shock and leaning his entire weight against the counter. “Relationship? We’re not in a-a relationship!”

The look Gaz gives him is a mix between pitying and disbelieving. “Come on, mate, you don’t have to lie to me. Everyone knows already.”

Johnny gapes and can feel the blood draining from his face. “Everyone?”

“Well you weren’t exactly subtle,” Gaz counters, his own brows furrowing now. “You really didn’t know? About either thing?”

“No!” Johnny exclaims, turning so he can lean his back on the counter and bury his face in his hands. “I don’t even-” he huffs, shaking his head. “You’ve given me too much to deal with here, mate.”

“Well to be fair, I didn’t think I’d be revealing anything to you this morning.”

Johnny spreads his fingers just enough that he can see through them, shaking his head at the linoleum floor. He can’t bring himself to look over at Gaz, not knowing… not knowing that the other man has known, and known this whole time. 

“Nobody judges you for it, by the way,” Gaz says quietly, a few moments later. 

Johnny raises his head, glances at the other officer once before looking away again. “What?”

“For your relationship,” he explains. “Love is love, and all that. Most of these men are in here for life, you’re not the first one to start a relationship with one of them, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

Johnny only groans again, throwing his head back and staring blankly at the ceiling.

As humiliating as it is to know that all of the guards have known about his thing with Ghost, he can’t help but think back to the first thing Gaz had mentioned. 

His brows furrow as he turns to fully look at Gaz again, trying to ignore his blush. “Did you say he’s out on parole?”

Now Gaz smiles again. “Yeah, I can’t believe you hadn’t heard! I mean granted, I only saw it in the paper this morning, but still. Can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”

Johnny can only stare at the other man with his mouth agape. “Do you still have the paper?”

Gaz frowns a minute, then swings his bag off his shoulders and digs through it for a moment before pulling out a rolled up newspaper. He flips it open, turning past the first few pages and then pointing to a smaller box in the bottom left hand corner.

“Here it is,” he says, then begins to read it out loud. “Infamous illegal weapons seller Simon “Ghost” Riley released on parole today - mistake or mercy? Not their best work, admittedly, but I suppose no one usually reads this far- hey!”

“Gimme that,” Johnny mutters, snatching the paper and ducking close to read it more closely.

There isn’t much more information - the small article only lists the day Ghost was arrested, all his charges, and the accomplices arrested with him but sent to a smaller prison.

“Holy shit,” Johnny breathes, dropping the paper and leaning back. “Holy shit.”

Gaz snatches the paper back, looking at Johnny like he’s lost his mind. “Is that a good holy shit, or a bad one? Because I figured you’d be happy about this, honestly-”

“I have to go,” Johnny interrupts, quickly tearing all of the gear he’d already put on off and striding out of the room. 

“You’re welcome!” Gaz calls, just as the door closes behind him. 

The warden’s office is only a few doors down, and Johnny’s just barely restraining a smile as he throws the door open without knocking.

“I quit.”

Shepherd looks up from his computer, blinking dumbly at Johnny. “Excuse me?”

“I quit,” he repeats, stepping into the officer and glaring at the warden, still unable to fully control his smile. “Your buddy Ghost is out of here, so you’ve got no reason to keep me either. I’m quitting.”

It seems to take a moment for Shepherd to process the words, but once he has he sits back with a sigh, tugging open one of the drawers.

“I supposed I should’ve expected this,” he says, pulling something out and then shutting the drawer. “You know, you’re welcome to stay on if you’d-”

“No,” Johnny says quickly, fully glaring at the man now. “You and I both know there’s no reason for me to be here anymore with him gone.”

Shepherd thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “Fair enough. You’ll want these, then.”

He holds his hand out palm up, with two small flashdrives resting there 

Johnny grabs them before the ex-general can take them away, then frowns in confusion. “What’s on them?”

“Every time you and Ghost were… intimate where a camera could see you. I figured you’d want to have them.”

Johnny’s face flames again, but he nods jerkily and stuffs the drives into his pocket. He’ll burn them the second he’s home. 

“Well,” Shepherd sighs, heaving himself out of his chair and holding out a hand. ”You did me a favor keeping that brute in line. I have to thank you for that.”

Johnny can only stare incredulously at the man. A thousand angry tirades run through his mind, righteous words he could spit at the man, accusations to lay at his feet and hopefully dig at whatever conscious he’s got left.

But Johnny doesn’t have room for any of them right now. All he can think about is how he’ll never have to see Simon “Ghost” Riley again.

“You’re a piece of shit,” he says with a slowly growing smile. “And I have no respect for you. Goodbye.”

And with that, Johnny turns and leaves the office. He’s all but whistling his whole walk home, hardly even noticing the twinge in his knee.

———————————————————————

Johnny’s place isn’t anything close to nice, but Ghost doesn’t mind. 

He stands on the gross outside the trailer, smoking a cigarette and appreciating the cool air. Even though he’d had any privilege he could’ve asked for while locked up, he can still feel the difference in the air knowing that he’s free now.

It hadn’t been difficult to find Johnny’s address. He’d demanded the man’s full file from Shepherd before leaving, and the old bastard had been more than willing to hand it over.

Simon will go back and kill him someday. No one who allowed Johnny to be hurt like that should live. 

He hadn’t thought much about where the officer lived, but he’d thought plenty about how he behaved in that home. He’s far less interested in the fact that Johnny lives in a trailer with peeling paint and old tires, and far more interested in what’s inside the tin can that can tell him all about who Johnny is when he’s alone.

And he’s… messy. Very, very messy.

A part of Ghost likes to think it’s because of him, that Johnny is too exhausted after a long day meeting his standards and taking his cock that he comes home and doesn’t do anything but collapse into bed. Another part of him is disgusted by all the fast food containers and already plans how he’ll whip the boy into shape so he can actually see his countertops. No wonder he's struggled so much with their workouts.

The trailer is small, certainly meant for a bachelor or someone travelling with just a partner. The bed in the back is messy and unmaid, and it’s only two or three feet away from the small kitchen area. Between those, the couch, where a laptop is charging on one of the cushions.

Simon digs around while he waits for Johnny to come home. He figures it won’t be long - the second he learns that Ghost is out, he’ll realize that Shepherd has no reason to blackmail him anymore and run as fast as he can.

Ghost smirks at the thought of how surprised he’ll be when he gets home. He’s damn near giddy to see his boy, to see his face drop when he recognizes the man in his home. He wonders if the anger or despair will take over first - he desperately hopes it’s anger, though he wouldn’t mind seeing Johnny cry at the sight of him.

For now, he snoops. 

Johnny doesn’t have much of anything. He’s got a full sleeve of condoms next to his bed that Ghost snorts at before tossing in the trash, along with a few bottles of lube and a couple simple dildos. His clothes are all similair, and he’s only got a few pairs of jeans. 

The most interesting thing is the small gun kept in a cabinet over the sink - it’s an almost pathetcially small thing, but Ghost grabs it and tucks it into the back of his pants regardless. He’s well aware of Johnny’s skill with a gun - he’d been a sniper for a bit, according to his file - and has no intentions of dying before he can properly tame the little brat.

It takes about an hour for his boy to come home. Longer than Simon had expected, but he won’t hold it against him. 

He can’t help the spark of sadistic excitement in his chest when he sits himself on the edge of Johnny’s bed, forcing himself into a more casual position so Johnny doesn’t think he’s too eager.

His boy’s reaction is everything he’d hoped for.

Johnny’s face is lit up in excitement when he first opens the door, lips spread in a wide grin and shoulders rolled back. When he lays eyes on Ghost, it takes a second for that expression to drop.

(The sight of Johnny staring at him, beaming, makes something old and dead shift in Ghost’s chest. He’s not sure he or Johnny will like the things that feeling drives him to do.)

Ghost can see the exact moment Johnny realizes he’s not dreaming, realizes that Ghost has followed him home. It’s the way his smile drops slowly, the way his eyebrows pinch together and he blinks rapidly. His shoulders fall forward, like he’s trying to curl in on himself.

He doesn’t even close the door behind himself.

Simon cocks his head to the side, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs wide - he’s nearly the width of the damn trailer.

“Welcome home, Johnny.”

Just like he’d suspected, it’s his voice that shifts the ex-officer from shock to anger. In a heartbeat Johnny goes from gaping and blinking to snarling and tightening his hands into fists.

He takes a single step forward, then seems to realize how close just that small movement brings him. He points an angry finger at Ghost, nearly spitting angry. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“Language,” he corrects automatically, barely resisting the urge to smirk at the angry sound that bursts from Johnny’s chest. “You didn’t think we were finished, did you?”

Johnny’s face is going red from anger. Briefly, Ghost wonders if he’s going to pop a blood vessel.

“Get out!” He shouts, hands shaking in anger. “You’re not- you’re not supposed to be here! I’ll call the police, get you arrested for breaking and entering!”

Now Ghost really can’t help the way his lips curl. “No, you won’t.”

Johnny’s lip curls into a nasty snarl at the challenge. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?”

Ghost lets his head tilt leisurely to the side. “Because you want to be a good boy for me too badly.” He lets on hand shift to his pocket, lips twitching further up when Johnny flinches at the movement, and pulls out two small hardrives. “And because I have these, and I’ll spread them as far as I need to to keep you well-behaved.”

He knows Johnny’s got a pair of his own, knows that Shepherd just wanted to get rid of them, but that doesn’t dampen his reaction to the small drives. Johnny’s staring at his hand like he’s holding a nuclear weapon, like his world ends with those harddrives.

When Ghost closes his fist over them again, Johnny lurches forward before stopping himself. Ghost tuts, then sits forward. “Now, I think we’ll go over the new rules. Since we’ll live together now.”

That’s what finally makes Johnny snap. A sound of pure rage tears from his throat as he dives for the cabinet above the sink. In the second that he’s not facing Ghost head on, Simon quickly follows and presses himself along Johnny’s back.

He cocks the gun, holding the barrel of it to Johnny’s temple. It’s not loaded, of course, but the boy in front of him has no way of knowing that.

“Looking for this?” Ghost says in his unblocked ear, nose running along the shell of it. “Tsk, very naughty, Johnny,” he teases.

Johnny’s shivery in front of him, his system no doubt overloaded with all sorts of feelings. Ghost pushes his nose just behind Johnny’s ear, inhaling deeply and sighing at the pure scent of him. He can’t wait until he knows each and every thought passing through that brain, can’t wait until he can predict Johnny better than Johnny can predict himself. He’s already halfway there.

“Are you gonna be good, or am I gonna have to shoot you?” He asks quietly.

“Don’t-” Johnny gasps when Ghost presses the gun a little harder, trying his best to move away from the pressure but pinned too tightly. “Don’t. Please.”

It’s the crack in his voice that makes Ghost soften, just the tiniest bit. 

“On your stomach, on the bed.”

He moves back just enough for Johnny to pull away, watching intently as he starts to pull away from the cabinet. 

Johnny’s moving slowly, one step only half the length it was before, but Ghost doesn’t rush him. He relishes in the sight of Johnny curled in on himself, afraid and obediant.

Then, without warning, Johnny whirls around and punches him square in the chest.

It’s the same damn move that got him the first time they met, and he’s just as unprepared for it this time. He only stumbles back a step or two, but for a man as highly trained as Johnny that’s more than enough room to do damage.

Before he can regain his balance, Johnny’s burying his shoulder into his chest and shoving him to the side. Ghost falls flat on his ass, stumbling out of the open door and the few rickety old steps into the dirt below. 

Johnny flies down after him, landing with his knees on either side of Ghost’s ribs and wrapping his hands around the larger man’s throat.

Ghost chokes when he squeezes, reaching up to try and yank Johnny’s hands off of him. But the younger man has adrenaline and fear on his side, and he hangs on like his life depends on it.

A moment later he leans back, still firmly choking Ghost but letting his eyes run over the man and the ground beside him. It takes a moment for Simon to realize what he’s looking for.

“Dropped… it…” he chokes out, his lips tilting up into the slightest of smirks despite his delicate situation. The gun had flown from his hand as soon as Johnny knocked him off his feet, but he can’t see around the other man to know if it had landed outside.

Johnny’s hands flex against his throat, strangling him with just enough strength that black spots begin to dance across his vision. Still, he’s hardly weakened, and he throws a rough punch at Johnny’s face with his quickly fading strength.

The boy dodges it, but just barely since Simon’s reach is longer than his. He can see that the other man is considering something, and his hands squeeze harder again as he leans closer to Ghost’s face.

Oh, he thinks a moment later. I see. Smart boy.

Ghost lets his hands smack at Johnny’s face and arms a few more times, then slowly pretends they’ve gone limp in the dirt next to him. A few seconds later, his eyes flutter shut.

For a long moment Johnny doesn’t remove his hands, and Ghost worries he’s miscalculated. But then there’s a relieved sigh above him, and the hands disappear. Had he any background other than his own, Ghost would have sucked in heaving breaths and given himself away.

As it is, he doesn’t move until he feels Johnny’s knees leave his ribs.

He’s up and behind the smaller man almost immediately. It takes a second to catch his balance, his brain still deprived of oxygen and only half-awake, but he’s got enough coordination to grab Johnny by the ankle before he can get fully inside the trailer.

Ghost laughs at the way Johnny shrieks in rage, free hand clawing at the dirt as he pulls himself forward and Johnny back. When he raises his eyes, he finds himself staring down the barrel of the gun.

His breathing is still harsh and uneven, and his grip on Johnny’s ankle is secure. He glares at the boy, not the gun, and growls, “Go ahead. Do it.”

Johnny’s hands are both on the gun, both shaking, and his eyes are wide with adrenlinea and fear. With only a moment’s hesitation, he pulls the trigger.

It clicks, empty.

Ghost gives himself just enough time to appreciate the shock in Johnny’s eyes before launching himself forward, forcing them both up a step and grabbing Johnny roughly by the jaw. With one hand on his ankle and the other on his face, Johnny’s tucked into a small ball beneath him.

“You want me dead, Johnny, is that it?” He growls, heaving hot breaths across the boy’s face. “Gonna shoot me then bury my body in this dump?”

Johnny’s expression of shock quickly twists to one of anger, and he spits into Ghost’s face. “Go to hell, ye bastard.”

Ghost bares his teeth, forcing himself even closer into the smaller man’s space. “You’ll pay for that.”

It’s all too easy to force Johnny up, to shift his hold from jaw to neck and to throw him inside the trailer. This time he makes sure the door is closed and locked, then turns back to his unruly pet.

He easily swipes the laptop away when Johnny tries to bash it over his head, storming towards the smaller man and grinning when the other man stumbles backward.

“Wait- don’t-” Johnny tries as he falls back on the bed, Ghost quickly following him. He drops the empty gun beside them, locking his hand back around the front of Johnny’s throat and holding him down on the bed.

“Wait, don’t,” he mocks, spitting on Johnny’s face. He laughs loudly at the way the younger man winces, eyes scrunching up at the action. “You know your beggin’ only makes me harder, baby, it’s like you want this.”

Johnny’s sneer is ugly, but his anger is beautiful as he glares up at Ghost. “I don’t want anything from you except your pain, bastard. I’ll fuckin’ kill you, first chance I get.”

“Which is why you’ll never get a chance,” Ghost taunts, leaning close enough that he can press their noses together. “You’re too fun for me to let go of you any time soon, Johnny, so fight all you want - it only makes your submission sweeter.”

He forces his lips to Johnny’s in a rough, but passionate kiss. The smaller man doesn’t reciprocate, but Ghost is perfectly content to nip and lick at his lips anyway. He’ll have the boy slobbering for it soon enough.

“On your stomach,” he says against Johnny’s mouth, moving his hand to the man’s shoulder to urge him over. 

“Riley,” Johnny gasps, trying to stay on his back. “Don’t.”

Ghost shoves him over anyway, pressing his face to the side of Johnny’s once he’s flipped and wrapping his arms around the man, relishing in their size difference. Even with Ghost’s workout regiment, he’s still so much smaller.

“Simon,” he says lowly. “You call me Simon. Or Ghost.”

It takes almost no effort to tug Johnny’s pants and boxers down. He kicks them both to the side, then pushes Johnny’s chest up and shirt off while he considers what the first color of panties he’ll put the man in will be.

He forces Johnny’s feet wide with his own, smirking when he whines at the stretch. Then he grabs both of Johnny’s hands where they’re clawing at his sheets and folds his arms behind his back, locking one hand around both forearms so he can hold the boy down.

“Let’s see you now,” he mutters, leaning back and using his free hand to spread Johnny’s ass cheeks. “Oh baby, you’re so soaked for me.” He makes his voice intentionally mocking, feels himself twitch in his pants when Johnny shivers at the sound of it.

He quickly yanks down his own pants and boxers, letting them fall to his ankles carelessly. He indulges in a few strokes to get himself to full hardness, then passes his thumb over Johnny’s cocklet a few times.

The younger man jolts at the sensation, head thrashing against the sheets as his back arches further into the touch. Ghost can’t quite make out what he’s trying to say, but he gives him a rewarding rub anyway.

“Did well gettin’ yourself read for me,” he praises, dragging his hand up to prod at the tight hole dripping slick. He carelessly tucks two fingers inside Johnny, only using them to pull out more slick and watch the way it coats his clit. “Too bad none of it’s gonna matter. Tsk, such a waste.”

Johnny raises his head enough to turn to the side and look at Ghost, confusion marring his pretty face. His eyes are glassy with tears, but none have fallen yet. Ghost knows that’ll change soon.

“What?” Johnny asks quietly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

Ghost smiles, moving his two soaked fingers up a little further and tapping a few times at the tight hole he’s yet to use. “You were very bad, Johnny. Only good boys get their cunts used. Bad boys need to learn a lesson.”

Johnny whimpers, burying his face in the pillows again. When Ghost sticks the tip of one finger into the tight furl of his ass, he rockets up like he’s been shocked.

“L-lube!” He gasps, already writhing in place with just the smallest amount of penetration. “In-in the table.”

Ghost sighs, wiggling the tip of his finger inside of Johnny and smiling at the wince he gets in return. “No lube for you today, Johnny. Since you liked spit so much earlier, I figured we’d use that.”

He watches Johnny’s eyes go wide as he spits a large glob directly where his finger is, laughs when Johnny’s “Wait-” is choked off as he shoves his finger the rest of the way in.

He quickly begins thrusting the digit in and out, using his hold on Johnny’s arms to keep him pinned. He stretches the boy as much as he can with one finger, but quickly adds a second with just a bit more spit.

Johnny whines high and loud, like he’s in all sorts of pain, and Ghost moans, grinding himself against the boy’s thigh.

“That hurt, Johnny?” He asks, his cock throbbing. “Your little asshole sting?”

Johnny hisses through his teeth when Ghost folds his finger and tugs. “You know it does!”

Ghost laughs, pulling out just long enough to slap his cunt playfully. “Course. That’s the whole point.”

He drags his fingers through the slick, doing his boy the kindness of bringing some of it back up to his ass to give him a little more lubricant.

Three fingers, it turns out, makes Johnny squeal like he’s being shot. His feet stamp against the ground angrily, and he throws his head back and forth like he’s looking for something to bite. Ghost can’t help but chuckle at how stupid he looks, only encouraging him by spreading his fingers.

“You feeling a little dry, Johnny?” He asks, pulling out to stroke over the hole and see how it’s stretching so far. He’s moving faster than he should, so it only just barely winks at him, but there’s little resistance when he slips all three fingers back in.

“Yes,” Johnny hisses through visibly gritted teeth, cheek laid flat on the bed so he can glare balefully at Ghost.

“Hmm. Want some more of my spit?”

Johnny splutters, trying to rear up again before Ghost muscles him back down. “You fuckin’- I need lube, Riley!”

Ghost frowns down at Johnny’s sex, fucking him roughly a few times in retalliation. “That’s not what you call me, stupid boy.”

Johnny hisses angrily, stomping once. “I’m not fuckin’ stupid!”

Ghost rumbles a disagreeing noise, tugging Johnny’s arms a little tighter. “Then how come you’re so bad with simple instructions? Can’t mind your manners, can’t call me the right name… can’t even ask for what you need from me properly.”

“I don’t need you to spit on me!”

Ghost sighs, like he’s dealing with a misbehaving puppy instead of an enraged man. “I won’t give you what you don’t ask for,” he warns, pulling his fingers out. “But if you’ve got all the lube you think you need…”

He lines the tip of his uncut cock up with the small, understretched hole. Johnny’s complaints rocket in volume when he realizes what Ghost’s doing, and the larger man slips his cock a little lower and rocks his hips back and forth to soak himself in Johnny’s slick while he listens to the younger man beg.

“Wait, wait-! No, no, no, nonono, please, please, don’t! Ghost!” He cries, head thrown back and thrashing as wildly as he can. Ghost’s cock only drips more precum as he’s forced to wrestle Johnny down, leaning most of his body weight onto the man beneath him. “Ghost, Ghost, Simon, please, please don’t fuck me there! Not- not without-!”

He breaks off into only pants, so Ghost grinds a little harder and leans close to spit, “Without what?”

“Spit! Without spit, please, please spit on me again Ghost!” Johnny cries, face streaked with tears and eyes screwed shut. 

Ghost hums as he shifts a bit, making sure that his cockhead drags from asshole to clit to fully soak himself and Johnny. “That what you want? Want me to spit on you, sweet boy?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Johnny sobs, blinking slowly up at him.

Ghost smiles, leans close, and spits directly onto the apple of Johnny’s cheek. The flabbergasted expression on his boy’s face is more than worth any fighting he needed to get here.

“There you go,” he purrs, grinding himself a little more slowly and making sure the head of his cock rubs against Johnny’s clit. “What do we say?”

“You- you said you’d… on-on my…”

Ghost tilts his head, his smile sharp. “I said I’d give you my spit, baby, nobody said anything about where. Why don’t you stick your pretty tongue out and taste it for me.”

Johnny doesn’t listen, but Ghost lets it slide because his little confused expression is making him ache.

“But I’m too dry,” he says quietly, staring up at Ghost. “I’m gonna- I’ll tear.”

Ghost coos, pulling back just enough to line his cockhead up properly with Johnny’s ass. “Not if you relax for me.”

Then, he pushes himself in. 

He knows he’s risking Johnny injury, so he dips his free hand down to rub his clit so he stays as relaxed as possible. As much as Ghost loves seeing Johnny cry, he knows he’ll be able to fuck him more if the boy isn’t torn.

He cries big, fat tears as Ghost pushes himself into the hilt. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t give Johnny time to panic and tighten up, only forces himself in and keeps his fingers moving quickly on the clit beneath him.

“There we go,” he breathes once his hips are flush with Johnny’s ass. His eyes flutter shut, rolling his head back on his neck and luxuriating the tight heat of his boy beneath him. “Feel so good for me, Johnny.”

The man beneath him is only animal noises and sniffles. Ghost can tell that he wants to tense, that he wants to fight, but the mix of Simon’s hand on his cock and his instincts keep him loose enough that he doesn’t tear.

“Look’it that,” Ghost whispers, dragging his finger from clit to hole and tracing around the stretched rim of it. “And you thought you couldn’t take it. Like I said - stupid thing.”

Johnny’s keen is high-pitched and wounded as Ghost slowly pulls out, watching the place where they meet intently.

When he slams back inside, Johnny screams.

His pace doesn’t let up from there. Once he’s assured Johnny won’t tear, he fucks him with all the strength and roughness he always does. He pays almost no mind to Johnny’s pleasure, using him only as a fleshlight for him to get off in.

“So fucking tight,” he hisses, using his hold on Johnny’s arms to balance himself and really start to fuck him. “Made for my goddamn cock, shaped to my will exactly, I’m never fucking letting you go.”

He’s panting over Johnny, back hunched as he works himself up. “Never felt anything like this. No man, no woman, just you, Johnny. My perfect, tight boy, huh? Cunt or ass, you squeeze me like you never want me to fuckin’ go. Proper fuckin’ cocksleeve.”

Johnny’s sounds are caught between pleasure and pain as Ghost slowly wears him down, tears streaming down his face but hips twisting back for more. 

“Too bad you were bad, huh?” Ghost pants, putting his mouth right beside Johnny’s ear. “Coulda been fucking you in that pretty cunt. Could’ve stuffed you full of my cum, given you a nice little creampie. You want that? You want me stuffed deep in your guts?”

Johnny’s nowhere near coherent enough to speak, but Ghost is more than capable of talking for the both of them. “Coulda bred you, baby. Coulda given you a pretty little thing in your tummy, coulda filled you up and made you mine. Might still, if you can learn to be good.”

Ghost’s hips begin to work erratically as he reaches the edge, uncaring for any sort of rhythm or consistent pace as he focuses purely on getting himself off.

When he finally does reach his climax, he swears he sees stars.

It takes a long time for his cock to soften fully, for Johnny’s ass to stop milking more and more come out of him. He doesn’t mind, of course, only half-heartedly humps Johnny to finish himself off.

As he begins to relax on top of Johnny, the younger man only tenses.

“Ghost,” he whines, wriggly desperately. “Ghost, c’mon, it’s my turn.”

Simon huffs a laugh against Johnny’s nape, free hand coming up to run through his mohawk. “Your turn? For what?”

Johnny whines liked a kicked dog. “To come. C’mon, I’m so close, just need a little-”

Ghost quickly pulls out and angles his hips away, so Johnny’s cunt is left with only the cold air. The little brat cries like he’s been shot, hips working fruitlessly against the bed.

“Told you you’ve been bad,” Ghost mutters, quickly crashing from his high but keeping Johnny firmly stuck beneath him. “You don’t get to come tonight.”

Johnny wails, and Ghost can’t help but laugh as he finally stands.

Johnny’s all squirming and begging beneath him as he digs through his pants pockets.

“No, no, Ghost, please, I need to come! I can’t- I can’t do this, c’mon, I’m so close, you got me so close, you have to-! Please, Simon, come on!”

“Settle,” Ghost rumbles, giving his forearms a tight squeeze as he pulls the handcuffs out of his pocket. It had been all too easy to take them from the staff room before leaving, and he sets them on the bed as he finally lets go of Johnny’s wrists.

Like he suspected, he’s too desperate to do much but beg. The most he manages is flipping onto his back, but Ghost is lifting him by the hips and forcing him further up the bed before he can try anything.

“I can’t settle, Ghost, you’re fuckin’ blue ballin’ me!”

Ghost gives him a sardonic look as he knee-walks further up the bed, grabbing Johnny’s left wrist in one hand and using the other to quickly handcuff him to the small curtain rod above his bed. “What balls? All you’ve got is a cunt.”

Johnny’s too distracted by his new predicament to care about Ghost’s comment, staring at his hand with wide eyes. Simon steps back just long enough to fully strip, throw the gun to the ground, and toss a blanket onto the bed.

“What-? Where the hell did you get these?!” Johnny spits, yanking his wrist on instinct and curling away from Simon.

“Where the hell do you think?” Simon grouses, throwing himself to the bed next to Johnny and tugging the other man down. “Get down here. We’re sleeping now.”

“We’re-?” Johnny jerks in Simon’s hold, but he can’t do more than squirm. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Uncuff me! Now!”

“No,” Ghost grunts, pulling Johnny even tighter to him and squeezing to quiet him down. “You’re not runnin’ away from me. Sleep.”

“How the hell can you expect me to sleep with one goddamn hand in the air?!”

Ghost groans, quickly covering Johnny’s mouth with one hand. “Quiet. Sleep.”

He doesn’t even flinch when he feels Johnny bite his hand. He does consider investing in some smaller ball gags for Johnny to wear to bed, if he’s going to kick up such a fuss every night.

After a few minutes of stillness and silence, Johnny relaxes in Ghost’s arms. He knows it’s purely instinctual, knows that he’ll probably wake up to Johnny’s best murder attempt in the morning, but for now he feels content.

He’s confident he’ll be able to break Johnny down into the perfect little pet. He’ll never get rid of all the boy’s fire - that’s half his fun - but he’ll make sure Johnny understands the proper power hierarchy, understands when to fight and when to listen.

For now, he falls asleep with his boy safe and secure in his arms.

[plus-i-miss-you]

I LOVED THE OREKOTO AND MIKOTO HEADCANONS AUUAU!!! If it's not a bother, could you pls write a prisoner gn!reader comforting mahiru, fuuta, mikoto and amane after t2? Sorry if this is too vague !!

Seeing them all tired and beat up made me miserable... they deserve a kiss on the forehead or smth

▷ listening to:

"but i still forgive you" (gn!reader)

⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılıㅤ

♪ note: HI HI ELI so sorry this request has been gathering dust in my inbox for more than a month.. i really wanted to write this but life be life-ing.. i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoy reading this too! (also so sorry if i sound weird but i'm assuming you meant comforting them after t1? ^^'')

♪ summary: es may have done some.. pretty strange decisions and now not only the guard and the guilty prisoners, but everyone has to deal with it, including you. you can't help but feel bad for the guilty ones, and hopefully, you can offer them at least some kind of support.

♪ warnings: description of fuuta and mahiru being in pain because of their injuries, the reader character doesn't know about mikoto and john being a system, but still treats them as respectfully as possible, mentions of cults and religious trauma in amane's section. fuuta, mahiru and mikoto parts can be seen as both romantic and platonic, meanwhile amane's part is strictly platonic.

fuuta kajiyama.

♪ fuuta was.. in terrible condition, to say the least. his personality was so different from the fuuta you knew, too. sure, you've met him not so long ago, but seeing him act like this felt.. weird. you actually kinda missed the old fuuta, yes, he was kinda rude, loud and said things without thinking, but you'd prefer that than seeing fuuta in pain and not being able to say a word. you wish you could help him somehow, but.. what could you do? you doubt that convincing es to forgive him is possible..

♪ you tried to support him at least in an emotional way, even though you knew that might not work. it's highly possible he won't be able to see with his right eye ever again, of course, that's extremely traumatizing. he also got beat up by kotoko out of all prisoners, who actually seemed to be similar to him in a way. but you told him that if fuuta wanted to talk to you about anything, like complain about something or vent, he could always do that. fuuta found your kindness weird and even suspicious at first, but.. fine, he could use a friend in a situation like this. or at least a person who could hear him out.

♪ fuuta finds himself coming to you more often than he thought he would. it's not like he has that many people to talk to here anyway. he's grateful to kazui (even though he doesn't want to admit it), but.. he's not sure if there is anything he can talk to him about. haruka and muu are really close now, it honestly feels like haruka has forgotten about everyone else. oh, but surprisingly, fuuta's been getting along with amane lately- what do you mean, you "have a bad feeling about this", y/n?.. 

♪ you will never actually hear this from him, but you can feel that fuuta is glad to have someone like you here. he looks calmer with you around and if he can't open up to anyone else about something, at least he can open up to you. it's easier for him to fall asleep when you're next to him, so you may find him suddenly doing so with his head on your shoulder or your lap. just, uh.. be prepared for him to be really flustered when he wakes up and sees you.

mahiru shiina.

♪ she's honestly surprised that you want to spend time with her and help her feel better despite her being voted guilty. she immediately starts joking (or maybe half-joking?..) about falling in love with you because of your kindness and you just roll your eyes and ask if she's okay and if she's in any pain. you remind her to take her medications, you ask shidou for help if her condition gets worse and you help her move around with her wheelchair, so that she doesn't feel isolated from the rest of the prisoners. being in milgram is already isolating enough.

♪ you try to help her feel better by doing things that are small and simple to you, but very meaningful to her. you brush her hair, you paint her nails (even if you can only do so on one hand for now..), you tell her that she still looks beautiful, and every time you do that, it makes her smile. it's still different from that usual smile of hers, but it's a smile that shows even though she's still suffering, she appreciates you being around. 

♪ mahiru doesn't understand why you're still helping her. is this because you love her?.. ah, please forgive her, that's just her being her usual silly self. but still.. she wasn't forgiven, right? that means she was in the wrong.. but she doesn't understand what made es vote her guilty. all she did was love her boyfriend a lot, right? does that mean that her love itself is a sin?.. is she not allowed to love at all?.. you gently interrupt mahiru and say that you don't know why es refused to forgive her, but you personally don't think mahiru's love is a sin at all. in fact, it's a blessing.

♪ mahiru feels like the sun itself personified to you and you hope that she gets better soon, but you're also grateful for the opportunity to take care of her like this. she always gives so much love to everyone, you wonder how much she gets back. you softly pat her head while making sure it's not painful considering her injury and ask what she wants to do today, but it takes a while for mahiru to answer because of your words still ringing in her head, but in a good way.

amane momose.

♪ .. so why exactly es decided to vote a child guilty? you know you probably shouldn't say anything about the guard's decisions, but.. this just doesn't make any sense to you. just what did es see in amane's video? or maybe something happened during the interrogation? amane's behavior has changed a lot, but you don't blame her for it. of course she would start acting differently. she's a 12 year old who was voted guilty and almost got beaten up by kotoko, kotoko ending up not doing anything to her was honestly a miracle. of course she would be mad. she should be.

♪ you try to talk to her and she kinda ignores you at first. however, you're not as bad as shidou, so.. fine, maybe she can hang out with you a little bit. it's hard not to feel sorry for her though, because of how messy her hair is and how empty her eyes are. you try to cheer her up somehow, like maybe you can do something really cute with her hair or maybe you can cook something for her (while still respecting her dietary restrictions and not forcing her to eat something she's not allowed to).. amane finds your attempts to become closer with her strange, but.. maybe she could use some company.

♪ every time she mentions her "god" around you though, you try to change the topic. you like amane and you genuinely want this kid to get better, but you're not really feeling like becoming a part of a cult.. amane just sighs and says you'll understand it someday. sometimes you catch her mumbling something about being forgiven this time and es needing to make the correct judgement. you can't really help her much when it happens and you can't do anything other than say that es will definitely forgive her, but amane manages to turn even something simple as that into rambles about her god. you can't help but wonder what amane's life used to be like.

♪ you can't convince amane that her family wasn't as kind as she thinks they were. you can't convince her that the way she was raised was too cruel. you know she won't believe you. and you know you're not a therapist. but at least you can be her friend. at least you can gently guide her, while still giving her a choice, so that she feels more free. more free than she possibly ever was in her life. and even though amane never talks about it, she does appreciate it. she feels strangely warm when you're around. she wonders if it's okay to feel this way and if god would ever forgive her for that. 

mikoto kayano.

♪ you didn't know why mikoto suddenly started to act like this. you tried to get at least some information from others, including es, but nobody gave you a proper answer, even though you had a feeling like kotoko and es know what's going on. for some reason, this mikoto just didn't.. feel like mikoto to you. it's like it was.. different mikoto? no, that doesn't sound right. it felt like it was a completely different person. you couldn't prove it and when you tried to say it out loud, it sounded weird, but.. it felt like a correct answer to you. 

♪ when it felt like it was the mikoto you knew, you always made sure to tell him what's going on, what happened, basically all the information he needed. he always looked so lost and confused, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him. you assumed that it was probably because of the trauma related to being voted guilty. you actually couldn't understand es's decision at all. just why would they vote someone like mikoto guilty? was his video really that bad? it didn't feel like mikoto was pretending to be less smarter than he is. why would he even have to do that? you all are murderers here, there's no reason for him to try and trick anyone.

♪ when it felt like it was someone else, you still tried to treat him with kindness. you couldn't understand why everyone started to avoid this person so suddenly. yes, this person was.. quite different from mikoto, but.. maybe at least they could try to accept him? you actually found it surprising how quickly he calmed down after you showed him that you don't intend to hurt him or mikoto. maybe this was the only thing he needed: someone telling him that he's safe and that he's not in danger. or maybe it was something they both needed.

♪ both mikoto and this person seem to actually like you a lot.. well, it's not like they have much of a choice here, considering that other prisoners don't really want to spend time with them. but it looks like they don't mind it that much. yes, mikoto is definitely still worried about it and he doesn't seem to remember what happens when the other person is here, but the other guy doesn't really care about the other prisoners and the only thing that bothers him is how possibly dangerous they can be. and even though he still has his suspicions.. you don't seem that dangerous to him.

[redphlox]

Now that you mentioned it in your last ask it is very strange that the Todoroki family didn't address or have any reaction about Touya slowly dying even after they left the room and walk outside none of them mentioned it.

Hopefully, that's a sign we don't need worry too much.

Yeah, because the man was muttering it to himself, not announcing it or telling the family anything about Touya's condition. He was a spectator, eavesdropping. His comment literally means nothing to me, lol. If anything, he might be a sitter or a guard because Touya might be in a prison hospital. I highly doubt the guy is a doctor or anything.

This is like when Ujiko commented in 350 that Dabi was born warped... was he, though?? No. The story has made it clear he was a lonely, neglected boy seeking his father's love and approval and a place within his family. That was just Ujiko's outside perspective on Touya. The guard person probably was a mouthpiece for what the public thinks is going to happen to Dabi. Horikoshi building suspense etc.

[topazy]

Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter: 3.09

While ducking behind a crate of wood, you use the scope on your rifle. You keep watch for any signs of an attack while waiting on your brothers, Daryl and Hershel, returning to the prison. Somehow Andrea had managed to arrange a sit-down between the governor and Rick, something you were highly against.

“Any sign of my brother yet?”

Hearing Merle’s voice, you roll your eyes and say, “No, not yet.”

“Hmm.” He leans against the fence, making himself an easy target. “Listen, girly, what happened before—kidnapping you and all—it was strictly business.”

“What’s done is done.”

“You’re a lot more snapper than Rick; anybody ever tell you that? I bet Shane did. Yeah, I remember that judgmental deputy well. I never would have pictured you two together. Oh well, at least we are all one big happy family now, right?”

You glance up at him, and it annoys you how amused he is. You got the impression that Merle thrived on chaos and was just trying to get under your skin. “You know, if my brother hadn’t gone back looking for you in Atlanta, I would never have found him again. I guess I’m lucky T-dog dropped the keys.”

“You really are something else.” Merle snorts out a laugh. “I noticed you’re the only one who didn’t protest about me staying. I guess that means all is forgiven.”

“No, I still think you’re an asshole, but Daryl wouldn’t leave you behind.” You go back to looking through the scope for any movements, “but for this to work, we all need to be singing from the same hymn sheet.”

“I’m on whatever side my baby brother is, and fortunately for you, it’s Rick’s side. You didn’t seem surprised when we swooped in and saved your brother's ass from walkers.”

“I knew Daryl would come back because he’s one of us.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

A few beats of silence pass before you speak again. Merle had already gotten into a few altercations with Glenn. “You do anything that hurts—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says sarcastically. “If I hurt your brother, son, or precious little friends, you’ll point that rifle right at me.”

“You do anything to hurt Daryl, and I’ll pull the trigger.”

“Well, ain’t I glad to know my brother has a guard dog?”

“Shh!” Seeing a vehicle approaching, you point your gun in its direction, ready to fire if it’s an enemy, but thankfully, it’s your people returning. “They’re back.”

—

Something was going on between Rick, Daryl, and Hershel; they were keeping a secret from the rest of you. Your issue wasn’t with being kept out of the loop per se, but you didn’t like the atmosphere it was causing. Both Daryl and Rick were avoiding you, and Hershel constantly looks like he’s about to start crying.

Rick told you the governor was gearing up for war, but you knew he was holding back.

“You want to go for a nap?” You kiss Jace’s cheek multiple times before placing him in the travel cot. Michonne, Carl, and Rick got on their last run. “Sleep tight, baby.”

Having a cot meant you got to sleep better during the night; instead of worrying, he’d somehow crawl out of the cell. They had also brought back a few toys and clothes for him and Judith to share. Knowing he had something other kids had before the world went to shit made you feel better, more hopeful that one day he would have a better chance.

You go to the cellblock where all the supplies are kept and start separating ammunition into different piles. Glenn has come up with the idea of hiding a few boxes of bullets outside, so if anyone got pinned down, they wouldn’t run low. You lift your head and smile when Daryl walks into the room and says, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

It gnaws on you that Daryl avoids making eye contact with him. “Did you do it?”

He looks almost alarmed by the question, “W-what?”

“Michonne’s idea? Putting down barbed wire will slow down any vehicle. I’ve got a few ideas I want to pick her brain about later.”

Daryl gulps it down nervously.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah… no.” He finally lifts his head to look up at you, and he seems to be torn. “I… fuck, I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Is this about the governor?"

Sighing, he sits down beside you and holds his head with his hand. “The governor offered to make a deal with Rick; we hand over Michonne, and he’ll leave us alone.”

“But my brother wouldn’t do that,” you say, looking over Daryl’s shoulder at the doorway at the same time Rick walks in. “Tell him you wouldn’t do that.”

“Y/n.”

Your stomach drops upon seeing the look on your brother's face; he had actually considered it. “Tell him, Rick, tell me you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t hand a woman over to that man!”

“Keep your voice down.”

“There is no difference between Merle snatching me and Glenn off the street and handing us over to the governor than there is you doing it. Is this what the three of you have been whispering about? Trying to figure out the best way to do it without the rest of us noticing? That man terrorized me and Glenn.”

You glare at your brother as he comes and sits down on the opposite side of you. “I’m not going to do it... I did consider it. But we can't, and I can’t. It’s not who we are.”

You shake your head in disgust. Rick knew exactly what the governor had done to you, and whatever he had planned for Michonne would be a thousand times worse. Tears of anger begin to form.

“Don’t, don’t do that,” Rick sighs. “I’m going to tell Michonne the truth. About the deal, about... how I thought about it.”

“How could you even think about it?” The difference between people like us and people like them is that we protect our own.”

“That’s exactly what I was trying to do. If I had to choose between saving a person I barely know and my family, I’d always choose my family.”

“Siblings, huh? I can’t live with them; I can’t live without them. But at the end of the day, you’d do anything for them.”

Daryl shakes his head when his brother sits at the table with a smug look on his face. “Shut up, Merle,” you say. “I’m going to check on Judith.”

—

Looking around the prison yard, panic starts to set in. You notice your brother and run to him. “Rick, Rick!”

Seeing you panicked, he runs over and meets you halfway. “What’s going on?”

“Somethings wrong; I can’t find Michonne or Daryl.”

“I know,” he says, looking down at the ground. “Merle went through with it; he took Michonne, and Daryl’s gone after him to bring her back.”

“He’s gone out there alone.”

He nods.

You rub at your face and say, “Damn it. If the governor finds them, he will kill all three of them.”

“Daryl is a survivor. He and Michonne will be coming back through those gates in no time.”

Tears start to build up. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely, both of them have better chances of surviving out there than either of us.” Rick was right; they would be fine. “I just want to say, before... I wasn’t thinking clearly. I would never have turned her over. I was just grasping at any chance I could to try and save the lives of my people, but you’re right, Michonne is one of us now.”

“I shouldn’t be so quick to judge when it’s not me in the position to make that choice. Hell, I’ve done a lot of questionable things.”

Rick hugs you tightly, and you squeal a little when you feel the pressure against the flesh that had been grazed by the bullet. “From now on, there is only one secret we keep: that night on the farm, and that’s it.”

“Agreed.”

When you start to walk back towards the prison, a hint of a smirk appears on Rick’s face. He puts his arm around your shoulder and says, “I need to ask you something, and I need a completely honest answer.”

“Okay?”

“For a while there, I was hearing things and seeing things that weren’t there. So I need you to tell me, did I really see you kissing Daryl with a dead possum at your feet, or did I imagine that?”

“Let’s go find the others.”

—

Your brother stands in front of the remaining members of your group in the courtyard while you sit around a picnic table. He looks stressed, scared of how the others will react. Admittedly, you were horrified when Daryl told you, but you don’t believe him; Rick or Hershel would have actually gone through with it.

“When I met with the governor, he offered me a deal. He said he would leave us alone if I gave him Michonne.” Rick’s jaw wobbles slightly as he talks; he was struggling to hold it together. “And I was going to do that... to keep us safe. I changed my mind. But now Merle took Michonne to fulfill the deal, and Daryl went to stop him, but I don’t know if it’s too late. I was wrong not to tell you. And I’m sorry. What I said last year—that first night after the farm—it can’t be like that. It can’t. What we do, what we’re willing to do, who we are—it’s not my call. It can’t be. I couldn’t sacrifice one of us for the greater good because we are the greater good. We’re the reason we’re still here—not me, all of us. How we live, how we die—it ain’t up to me. I ain’t your governor. We chose to go. We chose to stay. We stick together.”

Nobody knows what to say.

“We vote. We can stay or fight, or we pack up stuff and leave.”

“I’m proud of you, Rick.”

[phantomyre]

Analyzing Vincent's Chamber in Rebirth

Vincent's Chamber as seen in FF7 OG

Vincent's Chamber as seen in Crisis Core Reunion

Vincent's Chamber as seen in Dirge of Cerberus First off-- this is obviously highly speculative, and borderline obsessive, but anyone who knows Squeenix and has done any kind of deep-lore investigation with FF7, you'll know that they like to include a lot of details and symbolism. As such, I think we can glean a few things based on what we see within the 4 seconds of Vincent's reveal. For those who've played FF7 OG, you may immediately notice the 'dungeon' Vincent is meant to be locked in no longer resembles a prison-- but rather a study lounge. Cobwebs, skeletons, chains, etc are all absent. Not only that, it is furnished in such a way that implies someone still lives there. One of the first details we may notice is the ample books strewn about, both half-hazardly stacked around an antique luxury leather chair, and many more by a large bookshelf and others besides. One book in particular is laid open beside on a nearby coffee-table, indicating it was the most recent book of study. Notably, there is a porcelain mug beside the open book, presumably filled with alcohol as there are several liquor bottles nearby. The lantern placed in the center appears to belong to Cloud and Co as the room is already heavily lit by wall lights and candle-sticks. Likely Cloud and Cait ventured into the chamber on their own before the rest of them team showed up, Vincent being awakened by Cloud and Cait as they've fallen beside the coffin. And speaking of coffin...

Not only does Vincent have a Cerberus gun and phone, but now he has a custom Cerberus coffin as well. While we can speculate who might have decorated his coffin, Cerberus is symbolic for Vincent's mindset (Cerberus guards the gates of hell in Greek lore, meaning Vincent is associated to being the 'keeper of hell's gate' and how he has locked himself to his nightmares/past). The fact that now he has a custom coffin implies that it's no longer a temporary piece. Instead, it has become a part of him, if not permanently. Much like his Cerberus gun. Notice how it's also not dusty but very clean, plush on the inside, and even has a pillow of all things. Certainly doesn't look to be something a self-deprecating, self-loathing individual would sleep in. Moving on to the other parts of the room... One of the more interesting pieces of furniture in the room is the wood stove placed conveniently close to Vincent's coffin and the coffee table (no, that is not a TV). It looks as though Vincent has decided to forego suffering the chill of the damp cold basement, this time-- a stark contrast to the overall environment he had previously been placed in.

Once we get a better view of the other side of the room, the room is notably very warm in terms of color-tone, juxtaposed to the cold tones of the outside of the chambers. Might this be a type of metaphor for how Vincent appears cold on the outside yet is warm on the inside? What is also strange is that there appears to be yet another basement just outside of Vincent's chamber as it goes even deeper into the basement. This implies that Vincent is not locked in the deepest part of the basement as was once assumed. Once again, the room is clear of dust and otherwise looks fairly clean. Yet again implying someone has been active within the room. Looking towards the back, the doors are now double-doors as opposed to the single dungeon-style door. Last but not least-- Vincent himself is different. As seen in the image above, and as many have noted, Vincent's hair is no longer unkempt or barbed. As a matter of fact, it is similarly styled to Cloud's hair but more importantly, looks pretty soft for being asleep for almost 30 years. SE has progressively been adding barbs to Vincent's hair, but this time around, he is completely devoid of Chaos-aesthetics. His cloak is no longer torn in exaggerated forms, as well, though it still looks very worn on the hem. Some minor details are that his buckles have been rearranged as seen on his thigh and waist (thankgoodness they kept the tiny DoC waist and slutty hips). The buckles on his leather 'shirt' are all arranged on the front instead of off to the side. He also appears to have something on his left thigh, though it is extremely hard to tell. His gauntlet looks slightly altered and his sabatons look more functional in terms of movement, though keeping the overall iconic design. The biggest alteration of his attire are the grieves attached to his shins which look as though they will provide a lot more protection (and damage) while performing melee and close-range combat. Over-all, Vincent looks a lot more like a medieval knight than ever before.

CONCLUSION: What's all of this tell us, you might ask...? Of course it could all be merely over-analyzing. However, I think what is being presented to us is a visual representation of who this version of Vincent really is. It doesn't look like he has been merely sleeping in his coffin for the past 20-30 years and condemning himself to eternal torment. Unless the room is being regularly used by someone else, it appears as though Vincent actually been fairly active, albeit behind closed doors. Everything from the books, the wine, the layout, etc. all seems to indicate we may no longer be dealing with a Vincent who only wanted to seal himself away in his despair-- but rather someone who is actively searching for answers. The Vincent we meet in Rebirth may no longer be the ultra 'emo' character fans have always known him to be. Something has changed about Vincent. And with the way things are going in the Remake trilogy, I don't think anyone should be surprised at this point. Because if there's anyone outside of Sephiroth and Aerith (and now Red) who ought to have some knowledge of what's taking place-- it should be Vincent. Edit: One story-point I neglected to note--- if Vincent has indeed been delving into the archives of Shinra Manor, and by default the library, then we might expect him to have some working knowledge of Omega/Chaos, and the Protomateria already. This might be expected to an extent, given what we've already seen in Remake. And if anything else... it was just a fun silly fan-speculation.

[in-any-universe-ever]

cockwarming or breeding for lucemond 🎃 pretty please

Okay soooooo I HAVE been working on this, but it came out a lot differently than I expected. That being in that I never actually got to the warming/breeding part. If things settle down in my personal life I will write a part 2 actually fulfilling this prompt because I 100% know what it's going to be, I just haven't written it again. But that would require a lot of things to get really cool really fast.

In the meantime, here you go. MDNI it's sexy.

Lucerys expected this to turn out a lot differently. The Baratheons are kin, his mother had said. They would be honored to have a prince in their hall. The flight would take no time at all compared to the distance Jace would travel.

No one expected Aemond to be there, that Borros cared not for oaths made by his father. In retrospect, Luke should have left at first sight of Vhagar, but he never expected the situation to escalate how it did. Yes, Aemond would need to save face in front of the banner he wished to command, but there was no reason for a stormy chase over choppy waters. There was no reason for Vhagar to snatch Luke from Arrax's back, saddle and all, and to send Luke's beloved dragon to the sea in clumps of boiling blood and flesh.

Luke had no memory of the events after the scorching heat of Vhagar's breath hit him when she clamped her jaws around him, but he learned in the following days that he'd been tossed carelessly onto her vast back and knocked unconscious upon impact. When he awoke, he was lone in a dank, dark cell in the castle dungeon. The only mercy he'd been granted was his solitude; the cell was small, no bed, no windows. An empty bucket sat in the far corner, which he assumed was not for drinking water. The ground was hard and uneven — no matter the location, he was uncomfortable and brutally cold. The blood of the dragon made him naturally warm, and so even slight dips in temperature could leave him shivering. He'd been stripped of everything but his linen shirt and breeches, so he had no means to warm himself.

He had no sense of time without natural light and his shouts of inquiry got him nowhere. He could hear the groans, cries, and overall panic of the other prisoners, but the torch outside his cell provided light to only this end of the corridor, which included nothing but another cell across from him. He could not see fully into it, but it was unresponsive so he assumed it empty.

At some point, a guard who Luke did not recognize appeared. He said nothing and did not as much as look at Luke as he set down a cup and a hunk of bread. Luke pleaded relentlessly at him:

"Ser? Ser please, I'm Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Tell me th day. The time. How fares your king?"

No response.

Luke shouted himself hoarse when the guard walked away, but he eventually gave up. He was hungry, thirsty, in pain. His head had not stopped throbbing since he woke.

The water was horrid, unlikely clean, and the bread tore at the roof of his mouth. It mattered not — he ate and drank every morsel although the portion left him highly unsatisfied. The meal did not bode well for him. If they fed him, it meant they intended to keep him alive and in this cell for the unforeseeable future.

He fell asleep at some point, his knees pulled to his chest in an effort to stay warm. The stone wall jutted into his head and back in different spots, and the floor was both slanted and sharp. His lingering injury and exhaustion was the only reason he could sleep in these conditions. It was a light slumber, however; his body jolted awake at nearly every new sound and took increasingly longer to return to sleep after each disturbance.

He didn't move, however, until distant steps began to grow louder, like those of the guard who fed him. He didn't know how often he would be fed, nor how long it'd been since the last meal. Either way, his mouth craved water, so he stood eagerly.

The steps could not be far down the hall when multiple realizations came to light: there was no clank of metal upon metal that accompanied all guards regardless of rank; the steps were leisurely, casual. No guard would approach the secluded stall of an important prisoner with such casualness. This visitor was not a guard.

He stepped back from the bars, his heart beating hard in his chest as he began to guess who would come to see him so soon. It could be anyone, truly, but if he listened to instinct alone, there was no doubt.

Aemond appeared in the dull light, wearing his typical garb — black surcoat tied at the waist, black trousers and well crafted leather boots. His silver buckles glinted in the light but it was the only silver upon him. He was unarmed, although for a man like Aemond, he was just as dangerous without a weapon.

Aemond stopped outside the bars, his hands behind his back. Even with the torch close, Luke could only see half his face, but it was enough of a threat — a black leather patch covered his eye, the eye Luke had taken in their youth. Perhaps their interaction need not end the same way, but that missing eye, the jagged red scar reminded Luke exactly how this could go.

He did not dare speak first.

"Approach."

Everything in his body told him to refuse, but he took two steps forward, within arms reach of the bars. From here, he could make out the rest of Aemond's face, and could see Aemond's singular eye roaming Luke's body. His expression was tense, as if poised for an explosion.

"The guards say you have been shouting nonsense since you awoke. That you claim you are the Prince Lucerys."

Luke's heart dropped.

"Qȳbor?"

"I certainly hope you do not truly believe this fallacy. Lucerys Velaryon is loyal to the false queen, and thus a traitor to the crown. Traitors, as you may know, are to be executed for their crimes. The King Aegon has declared they be slaughtered on sight."

Aemond's eye flickered over Luke's face.

"If, however, you shut your mouth and cease your lies, you will continue to live. If, indeed, you are not Lucerys, you have committed no crime and have no reason to be locked in this cage."

"You would release me?" Luke asked, aghast. This did not sound like the Aemond Targaryen he knew.

"From these conditions, yes," said Aemond. "But I cannot in good faith allow a liar to walk the streets of King's Landing, potentially garnering support for the false queen and rallying the poorfolk against us."

"I wouldn't —"

"I cannot accept the word of a liar. You are fortunate, however. I am in need of an attendant — a personal member of my staff, loyal to me in every way."

Luke swallowed hard. He had no idea what use he could be to Aemond, especially since he couldn't disguise himself in any way, even if his hair was cut clean. Every servant, courtesan, highborn — everyone in the Red Keep knew his face.

"What would you have me do?" Luke asked.

"Your highness," Aemond corrected.

Luke knew the bow even if he never used it himself. He took a step back and bowed to his highness Prince Aemond before he replied, "What use would you make of me, your highness?"

"Since my return from Storm's End, and my betrothal to the Lady Floris Baratheon, I have commissioned a larger bed for my room. It was installed this afternoon and needs —"

Aemond's eye met Luke's, and Luke's blood suddenly burned hot. The change in direction, so sudden, made him lightheaded.

"— breaking in."

Luke might not have had experience in such matters, but since his recent betrothal to the Princess Rhaena, he'd begun an awkward yet thorough education with the Maester SOMEONE on how to perform his martial duties. It was the kind of thing Aegon would often joke about. Jace would sometimes also jest as long as his own betrothed was not brought into the conversation. Luke's eyes had been opened to a brand new world in recent months. It led to many late-night explorations alone in his bed, and while he'd often thought of Rhaena, he could not deny that there had been times — as depraved or unwelcome as they might have been — that he would touch himself and wonder how it would feel if he touched another man, or perhaps another man would touch him in return.

He'd firmly repressed all of these thoughts, because the man in his fantasy never changed, and never looked at him with more than one eye.

"I will," Luke whispered. "Your highness."

A flicker crossed through the shadowed features on Aemond's face, as if he truly thought Luke a liar. Luke did not tear his gaze away until movement distracted him; Aemond brought his hand to his waist — on a normal day, he would wear a dagger there, but on this day, he'd secured a ring of iron keys. Luke watched, breath held, as Aemond's nimble fingers released the ring from his belt and took hold of a key nearly identical to the others. Luke did not know which one opened his cell, but Aemond must have known, because he picked it with assurance and slid it neatly into the hole in the door.

Aemond turned his wrist and the door to the cell rattled loudly, louder than Luke's screams, and the door separating them opened outward. With key still in hand, Aemond took two slow steps forward, the light disappearing behind him. Luke watched as his features darkened but his hair, pulled half back as always, shone with the luster befitting a true Targaryen. He invaded Luke's space until they were but a breath away from touching. Luke could feel Aemond's heat, matching the fire that boiled within him as well. Aemond loomed, taller than Luke by nearly a full head, and in order to keep contact Luke had to crane his chin up. Aemond's long hair fell forward, brushing a thousand times, a thousand explosions against Luke's skin.

"You know what I ask of you, yes?"

Luke's breath strained in his throat, so he nodded his response.

"You will be loyal to me, and only me?"

Aemond's gaze was so intense Luke did not dare to look away.

"Yes," Luke breathed.

"It has been reported that Lucerys Velaryon died along with his dragon over the waters of Shipbreaker Bay. He no longer exists. If you agree to be mine — mine — I will never call you by that name."

"Yes, my Prince."

Everything about Aemond's expression changed in that moment; he was no longer predatory, dangerous. With all the speed of the saunter here, Aemond lifted the iron key and traced it over Luke's cheekbone. Luke's eyelids fluttered in response; they were two dragons on top of each other, and the cold dank of the dungeon had long made way to their boiling blood. The key was cool to the touch, a welcome reprieve.

Aemond's eyes followed the key, how it trailed over Luke's cheek, down his formidable jawline, and over his plush lower lip. Luke's mouth opened willingly, and he could taste the tang of the metal that dragged his lip down.

"You must be careful how you address me, boy," Aemond whispered, staring intently at the key against Luke's pink lip.

"No," Luke breathed.

Aemond dropped the key at once and seized Luke by the throat, crushing his airway with a strong hand. The danger was back in his eye.

"Already you say no to me?" he commanded.

"Not — not boy," Luke sputtered around the restriction of his breath. "Say it — say it right."

Aemond's hand did not loosen around Luke's throat; he felt lightheaded for certain this time. Aemond continued to squeeze until what little light Luke could see began to fade, and then he suddenly relaxed but did not let go and Luke gasped for breath, unable to double over due to Aemond's tight hold.

"Be careful how you speak to your Prince, taoba," Aemond said, his voice a snarl, deeper than Luke had ever heard it. The word — improper, dismissive, demeaning — caused Luke's skin to ignite. Every touch was another wave of fire, from the hand around his neck to the stands of silver caressing his face, and Luke was certain he would explode.

"Tell me again," Aemond demanded, his voice still low, like a wolf, like a bear. "If I free you from this dungeon and take you in my bed, you will be loyal to me?"

"Take me anywhere, and I will be yours."

The keys fell to the floor with a clatter, but not nearly as loud as the sound of the door when Aemond kicked it closed. Aemond's lips were upon his in an instant. Luke was betrothed to Rhaena — a match he found more than acceptable — but they had yet to speak alone, much less experiment with kisses or touches in the way Luke knew Jace had. Luke had yet to taste anyone, but Aemond tasted like flame itself. It should have burned, yet Luke could take it because they were the same. Aemond's mouth, wet, unrelenting, slotted comfortably against Luke's. They opened with each other, explored with each other, pushing so hard in both directions that they vied for balance and ended up crashing hard to the ground. Aemond's hands protected Luke's head from hitting the stony floor but gripped so hard the pain was just as intense.

Luke now had the knowledge to act as a husband to a wife, but he had no knowledge of how to act as a boy to a prince, but he knew something more than kissing would happen in the cell of the castle dungeon. He ached with this knowledge and ached for Aemond to touch him. He had never wanted anything more in is life — not a crown, not a lordship, not even a legitimate birth. He would be a bastard and a traitor a thousand times if Aemond Targaryen would touch him just once.

Aemond continued to pull at his hair, wordlessly demanding control while Luke continued to lose his own, but lowered his other hand to the knot of Luke's breeches. There was no hope of untying such a knot in this state, and so Aemond pulled hard, releasing Luke's aching cock to the heat between them. The desire for a touch — any touch — increased tenfold, even worse than it had been, and even while they kissed unendingly, Luke was certain he would die if he did not earn release soon.

Luke could hear more rustling but felt nothing until — there. Not a hand, but Aemond's own hard length now against him. Luke instinctively thrust his hips for friction, and the result was a cry so loud and so unlike himself that Luke was certain it was Aemond who had emitted it. Aemond had not; he had done it, and his lips ceased to function when Aemond thrust back.

"Louder," Aemond growled against his mouth. "Hold nothing back."

Luke would not have been able to control his volume if he'd tried. His moans echoed off the walls of the cell, bounced out and down the hallway so everyone on this side of the dungeon would know he felt his first true pleasure here in a place where others came to die.

"Taoba," Aemond growled back. "Taoba."

"Dārilaros," Luke begged, and that was it for Aemond. Luke felt the heat of his release upon his bare stomach. It was enough to free him as well from the burden of his desire, and he peaked hard.

It lasted but a moment but also forever, and when he could see again, Aemond into his eye, wearing a smirk Luke had never seen before.

"Be careful, taoba," Aemond said to him. "Servants do not speak Valyrian."

"I am sorry, my prince," Luke responded. "It seems in my pleasure I have transcended to the heavens and received the tongue of the old gods."

"You will receive no tongue but mine."

It had been mere seconds since his release, but Luke felt the flame ignite again.

TBC...

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Fate Of A Fae - Part 7

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Soulmate Match: You know on sight. Friends also know when they meet you if you're a match for one of their friends.

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Chapter Summary: Tony explains what he knows about your medication.

Chapter Warning: Mention of arsehole parents, past trauma and being medicated.

It’s an hour later when Bucky tucks you into bed. You��re exhausted and emotional drained so the fight you put up is minimal. He sits with you a moment, noticing how you’ve automatically laid in the middle of the bed. A spot he hopes you’ll soon take in his own bed. Steve one side and him the other. As you snuggle down into the sheets and let out a soft sigh, he fixes the sheets around you again and softly strokes your face, humming a Russian lullaby to you.

Natasha smiles when she hears it, remembering the sound of Winnie humming it to Bucky in the hospital after he’d been found. A tortured prisoner of war cannot be made comfortable by medication but by the soft hum and voice of his mother. She gravitated towards the screen that separated your bedroom from the rest of the studio apartment. A vintage store find that you and Clint had found when you could only leave the apartment with him, Nat or an appointed guard from Happy’s team. Peeking around it, she’s joined by Tony, who can’t help but feel his heart warm at the sight. He types on his phone that he needs to speak to Barnes and shows it Nat, she nods and knows this is probably about your medication and what it really is.

“Yasha.” She whispers. Bucky sighs and gets up from the bed, placing a kiss to your temple before meeting them at the screen.

“Can’t this wait?” He whispers back harshly. Tony walks back to the kitchen and flicks his head for Bucky to follow him. Natasha follows but positions herself so she can keep an eye on you through the gap between the screen and the wall.

Tony pushes your boxed medication towards him.

“Do you know what this is?” He asks him.

“No, she said it was a muscle relaxant.” Bucky replied.

“Well, it’s not. Do you remember the trouble at the shareholders meeting? A couple of them had ideas about a pharmaceutical company using our factories for production and I refused.”

“Well it didn’t make any sense. Plus you said the ethics didn’t line up so I backed you.”

Tony nodded.

“It’s because they make this. It’s not a muscle relaxant James. It’s a species suppressant. Those arseholes must have put her on them as a kid. Stop her wings and ears growing back.”

Bucky growled deep in his chest and clenched his fists.

You stirred in the bed and Natasha gestured at him to be quiet. He took some deep breaths and made his way to the screen to check on you.

“So what do we do?” He asked, eyes fixed on you.

“You get her off them as soon as possible before there’s any long term damage.”

“Long term? She said herself she’s been on them since she was a kid!!” He whispered harshly.

“But these are worse Yasha.” Natasha replied. “They’re highly addictive, she’s gonna have to detox.”

“You’ll need a plan from Banner and Cho. There on their way back from DC now. They’ll give her a full review tomorrow, results the following day. I’m going to warn you Barnes it won’t be pretty. The fact her ears look like they’re growing back could mean the her body is already fighting against them and the meds, well they’ll fight right back.”

“How are her ears growing back if she’s on them?”

“Wild guess?” Tony replied “And personally I’d even ask Shuri’s advice on this one, Cho’s too, it could be because of you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Excuse me?”

“How is it? Where the scales, skin and metal meet?”

Bucky huffed and moved away from the screen, dropping himself on a stool at the kitchen island in a huff.

“It’s better isn’t it?” Tony asked. Bucky nodded.

“There’s lots written about our kind, all of us, changing when we meet our soulmates. Wounds being healed, forced transfers switching back. It’s so we’re at our best for them. Your shoulders have gotten broader, your eyes are brighter gold when your dragon shows and your shoulder is improving. Her ears will likely be the first thing to right themselves. They’re smaller, less to grow back. Her wings will take longer and from what I remember her telling me, there’s a lot of scarring. This won’t be easy James.”

Bucky nodded.

“There was a lot written post war, as well as Shuri’s recent stuff, people recovering in their soulmates company. I’ll send you somethings over.”

Bucky nodded again.

“Romanoff walk me out?” Tony asked, Nat nodding and following him out to the hallway.

Bucky zoned out their whispering, as he thought of you and what your childhood could have been like. You were missing all the things that made you appear fae and for them to put you on those drugs? Why had nobody ever told you what they were? Were you willingly on them? He was brought back to himself as Natasha slid into the seat beside him.

“She didn’t know Yasha.”

Bucky shook his head.

“How’d you know that’s what I’m thinking?”

“Because I know you.”

“You’re sure?”

Natasha nodded.

“The first time I saw her scars we were in a dressing room, she refused to try on the dress I’d picked out for her, I pulled back the curtain as we were arguing and I saw them. She shutdown completely so I took her to a bar. Four drinks in she told me about her parents being arseholes. Six in and she’s telling me what they did. All she’s over wanted is to be a true fae again.”

“She is a fae!”

“That’s not how she sees it.”

Bucky leaned back on the stool and ran his hand over his face. Natasha moved from his side, returning with two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka, quickly pouring one for each of them. Bucky took the shot and without looking at Natasha asked a favour.

“Find out where her parents live.”

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@calwitch @animegirlgeeky @jenniferpendragon @sebastians-love

[agentnico]

The Count of Monte-Cristo (2024) review

Je suis Batman!!

Plot: Edmond Dantes becomes the target of a sinister plot and is arrested on his wedding day for a crime he did not commit. After 14 years in the island prison of Château d'If, he manages a daring escape. Now rich beyond his dreams, he assumes the identity of the Count of Monte-Cristo and exacts his revenge on the three men who betrayed him.

I’ve been really enjoying this recent wave of French blockbuster cinema creating these lavish big-budget adaptions of their nation’s classic literature, with the recent highly enjoyable duology romp of The Three Musketeers (D’Artagnan and Milady respectively) and now taking on The Count of Monte-Cristo. I was a major admirer of Alexander Dumas’ novels when I was a kid, and by admirer I mean my father used to force me to read those books which at the time I hated him for, as I much rather would have spent hours on end on my GameCube, but now am forever grateful that I have the knowledge of storytelling which I gained from reading those pieces of literature. So I’m eagerly hoping that now with these expensive modern movie takes we will also get some of Dumas’ other great works get the contemporary cinematic treatment, such as La Dame de Monsoreau and The Black Tulip (though the latter may be difficult as there is already an older film version starring Alain Delon, and would be hard to recast Delon, let’s not kid ourselves!). As for Monte-Cristo, I’m not even going to sugar-coat it - this is a fantastic modern adaptation of a classic!

The sets are great and really invoke the post-Napoleon era of France; the costumes are gorgeous; the music score is grandiose and epic, really engrossing you in this decade spanning saga of revenge; the classic story is reinterpreted so well with the themes and the emotion, and the acting across the board is superb. Oh and the cinematography is to die for - wonderful long shot landscape sequences, great use of lighting, gorgeous shots of interior palaces - you can tell this film has been given all the money in the world, only unlike Amazon’s Rings of Power TV series that looks expensive but lacks any narrative depth, this film is both great to look at but also has a great story with awesome performance. Look, I really really liked this movie, let me rave about it!! Of course if you’re not French, you have to deal with subtitles, however don’t let that sway you, as this move manages to tell so much using its visuals and powerful music score that at times you don’t even need to read the subtitles to understand the emotion the characters on screen are going through.

Pierre Niney is honestly superb as the titular Count. From how he showcases him in his younger years as the excited young sailor wanting to prove himself to years later being this highly intelligent and driven yet calm presence, as well as taking on the various alter-ego’s of the Count using his different masks (very reminiscent of Fantomas) such as the dastardly Lord Halifax - Niney does such a stellar job here. What I also loved is how this adaptation takes the “superhero origin” approach to Dumas’ classic, with the Count being showcased as this cool dark vigilante like Batman/Bruce Wayne or Zorro, and even his dark menacing suit (which is dapper as f*** by the way!!) emphasising that. All the props to Niney, he adds so many layers and nuance to his performance, that even when he is super reserved as the Count, you can tell in his eyes the disdain and pure hatred he has for the ones that wronged him, but at the same time being able to showcase his guard dropping slightly when he is in the presence of his beloved lost love Mercédès (played gracefully by Anaïs Demoustier).

As for negatives, as even though I absolutely adored this movie, the inner critic within me still can’t help himself. This is a 3-hour long movie, and granted that is a result of the weight of the original book, however you do feel the length of this thing, but at the same time certain parts feel a tad rushed (due to the writers attempting to cram so much story and character development into the 3-hour frame) that certain side-plots and narrative build ups aren’t given their proper space to breath. One does wonder if this would have worked better as a mini-series, however on the other hand they probably would not have had the budget to make this thing look as good as it does. Secondly, certain details/plot-holes frustrated me which I won’t spoil, but one example is when Edmond and Abbé Faria are digging the escape hole from their prison chambers all those years, where the hell did they keep getting all those candles from to light their workspace?? I highly doubt in mid-1800s France prisons had little kiosk shops to offer inmates various groceries and household items. Happy to be corrected here, but honestly seeing those candles reminded me of Deadpool proclaiming “that’s just lazy writing”. And final complaint (before we can get back to raving about how awesome this movie is) is the ageing, or lack of it more. The tale of Monte-Cristo spans from 1815 and ends in 1844, yet the movie makes zero effort in making the actors look older the further down the timeline we go. The Count does look aged but that is due to the mask he wears, so when that’s off he looks like his younger 20-something self again. One of the main baddies Prosecutor de Villefort (played in true dick-fashion by Laurent Lafitte) looks exactly the same at the beginning of the movie and then right to the end. You’re telling me the make-up artists and hairstylists couldn’t give him a single grey hair or a wrinkle?

Again though, that was me with my critical thinking hat on. With that off, I want to reiterate how I truly enjoyed this new version of a classic tale that has been done so many times before, however this one may be one of my favourites. Truly engaging and epic in scale, with a ridiculously cool Pierre Niney in the titular role. He is… the French Batman!

Overall score: 8/10

[murky-tannin]

Pac and Cellbit were together in Alcatraz for around a year and a half according to Pac. They totally kissed. Maybe (probably) more. Who's to say?

For real though, this serves well and makes sense timeline wise in comparison to the original. It would be highly doubtful Pac could have made that escape RIGHT after loosing his leg or at least sustaining heavy injuries on his leg. It would have been within a day or two and like.. no way he had the physical capabilities.

But also means that he had to be around Cell in the prison afterwards for who knows how long. A week? Month? I'm just imagining that dynamic during this time with Guaxi, Mike, Pac, Felps, and Cell. Plus the prisoners and guards around them witnessing this all. I hope someone writes a fic about this someday cause it would slap

[irellia]

516.

Snippets of Vi's life in prison as she grows from a girl into a woman. / word count: 4,182 / blood, death, violence cw

i.

She looks up when the cell door rattles. Despite the deep dark bruise she can feel blooming on her left cheek, the crack in her jaw that makes her whole face ache like it's being split in half every time she inhales, she musters every drop of bitterness in her blood to say, with an impeccable tone of cheery hostility, "back for more? can't get enough of me?"

She has been a Stillwater Bay prisoner for five years and eight months when the nameless soldier standing guard that is now leaning heavily against her cell door says, “I knew you... when you were a kid. I knew your father... Vander?”

Vi stares up at the ceiling, watching the lightbulb overhead ripple red, hating the lazily-amused tinge to his voice.

"congrats. so did I." she dead-pans, and does not look at him, her eyes are hard and on the ceiling, her hand curled into a fist at her side on the bed, and she can smell the salt tang of her unwashed sheets,  her knuckles (thin-skinned, still healing) cracked and bleeding all over them. She's got blood on her mouth, too, a tooth missing, and the old scar on her upper lip is throbbing. She does not mind it; she sinks her teeth in it and bites, listens to the slow rhythm of the guard's breath, the low chuckle that escapes his throat at her sneer.

"he was a good man. a decent man. You could count on him to make things right. He saw reason." the guard won't take a hint, won't go away, and Vi snorts, does not ask what reason means to people like him whose whole life has been a smooth trail, does not even wanna know. Her eyes are on the ceiling and her hand is bleeding on the bed and she digs her nails into her torn palm, blood gushing from the wound and sinks them deeper, her teeth snagging her lower lip.

She hears the fizz and flicker of the fluorescent lamp overhead, feels the sweat that is trickling down her back and soaking the waistband of her trousers; she can smell the hot blood spouting between her nails, the ripe heat of the air that's drenching her cell, the reek of her bed.

“What happened to you?” the enforcer asks, holds onto the bars of her cell door. “I mean—fuck, you were a cute kid, a good kid. Vander was proud of you.” and she can't stand the shape of her father's name in his mouth, she wants to tear it from his tongue, does not wanna hear it, not from someone like him, another asshole criminal in a fancy suit, biting off more than he can chew, thinking that he somehow knows anything about them, just because he didn't kill her people, didn't shoot them dead, didn't drag Vander away into a cell like they had done to her; he still came for them like the mouth of a gun held to their head, still pushed them deeper into the cold dark mouth of their death, stripped them off their freedom, their choice, him and his asshole friends, every last one of them.

How fucking pathetic, to think that she will give a fuck about what he has to say about her, or Vander or what he thinks be knows about them.

Vi opens her eyes, watches the ripple of the fluorescent light overhead, like the shimmer of heat, like water. Her hand curls into a fist, blood leaking through her fingers, hot and thick in her palm. Her sheets are crimson next to her thigh, they stick to her gloves. Under the top bunk, someone has scratched be well in tiny handwriting. She blinks at it.

She says, finally, “you've no idea what you're talking about.”

ii.

Perhaps she should have tattooed a chemical hazard label right across her mouth: this woman is highly reactive, warning; contents under pressure, will explode right into your face if pushed the wrong way.

She's got one ear scarred from where she launched herself at some asshole cutting in line in the chow hall, and got his teeth in her face. He had gotten her fist in his throat and her nails in his left eye, and she had been sent to solitary confinement for a month.

She's got a bruise twice the size of her hand on her left thigh, another sprawling black and purple across her lower back.

She doesn't remember the last time she's eaten more than soupy, green slop and dry bread.

She doesn’t remember what it is like to feel the sun;  all that she knows is the soreness of touch and the pain of every breath, blood on her hands and broken bones. Her fists fly when someone touches her food, shoves her out of their way, sneers at her; she picks fights with every last one of them, every last little bitch they haul off whatever little hole Silco's got them working in and stuff them in her block; she's got thunder in her blood and she is angry, she is furious, years of being shoved into cold, dark places have left her dark and cold herself, her body scarred and bruised; every bone, every surface of flesh, aches.

Her senses are simultaneously numbed as well as in overdrive; she's got a warning in her mouth and her eyes are sharp like the blunt edge of her knuckles, a fist through a drywall.

They throw her in solitary at the drop of a hat, for the slightest reason; it's like she's got eyes stuck on her back 24/7 and she can't throw them off, they are a hand around her throat, choking the air out of her: she breathes the wrong way, does not show up at work, stares at a guard a little too long, a little too hard, and it's over; they steal her meals, stall her in the maintenance room until she's missed dinner, or outdoors time, and the dark, deep anger inside of her flares up and explodes; she's always one step away from flying off the handle, but takes the taunting anyway, takes the beatings and the sneers and the laughter, because she's got to, won't bend for them, won't fold herself into something smaller. She gives as much and as violent as she gets; she's on her way to the chow hall, once, when a guard forcefully steps in her way and sneers, blows his cigarette smoke in her face, patting her down, a sudden inspection, but she's done nothing, she's worked all day at their maintenance room, and she's hungry, she's fucking starving, and he is in her way, his hands on her waist, on her thigh; her fist flies before her mind registers what it's doing, and it's her knuckles, hard and bloodied, smashing through his teeth, a feral, crippling blow to his throat, and he is howling in pain, reeling back in shocked agony, blood gushing down his chin; "fuck you!"  Her entire body heaves as long, shrill, dark screams pour out of her throat, "fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" and she now uses one hand to grab onto his shirt, her other hand curled into a hard fist that plunges into his face over and over again. She heaves forward once more and topples over him as they crash onto the floor with her on top of him, and her fist is a dark, black blur in his face. "fuck you!" her hand is numb and aching, scarlet with blood, "fuck you!" her eyes are blurry and heat consumes her. Her whole body is shaking, her other hand furiously clutching at his throat as she lands blow after blow into his face, and then, there are hands on her shoulders, grabbing at her, a foot in her side, kicking out viciously and she screams, like a wild, feral animal, she bucks against them, growling and shoving at them as they drag her down the halls and push her into some cold dark cell. Her cheek smacks the wet floor. She moans, feels the hard sharp edge of a boot in her side, and a dark rivulet, meaty and viscous, slips from her mouth. There are hands and boots all over her and her body is burning with the pain of them, her head is spinning and she cries out, a long, shrill, deafening wail of pure, hot rage, swimming on her elbows on the wet tiles, dragging herself to the corner. She hears the steel door be slammed shut with a clang.

She lays on the freezing floor curled up in a ball and screams, clutches at the tiles furtively, her throat raw and gutted, making clogged snorkeling noises.

She passes out.

It’s an image that she has replayed a thousand times in her mind — a glimpse into her safe haven, a recollection that invokes a cosmic sensation of solitude and mental quiet.  Though they seek to break her:  in mind, in body, and in spirit, when her mind is at its wit’s end, she thinks of her, of that moment just before dawn, Powder and herself sitting on that rooftop, watching the lights of the city blink like fireflies and laughing; her little sister's hand in hers; Vander, a warm, soft shadow at their backs, and she is well.

She can do anything.

Take care of Powder. Protect the family.

She gasps awake, her heartbeat shattered in her throat.

She sways on her feet and, groans, slapping her hand around in search of the bed. She can't find it, and she blinks furiously, eyes straining against the darkness that's swallowing her up. There's no bed in the cell, and she slumps against the wall, a pathetic, pained little whimper spilling from her lips.

She's no longer herself, she is anger trapped in tissue-paper skin, netted between bones like gunpowder— balanced on the precipice between death and the silent vastness of her guilt.

I can't. I can't... I couldn't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,

she answers him in her head, and passes out again.

This time, no one comes for her, the both of them dead and gone; even the ghosts that haunt her dreams abandon her, she's well and truly all alone.

iii.

She sits on the edge of her bed and peers at herself in the cracked mirror, her hands on her ear, needle piercing into the shell of it, splitting it open. Her cellmate stands at her back, looks down at her, says, "let me do it" and Vi shoves her hand away, says "I'll do it."

Blood trickles down her wrist and she can feel the sharp ache of the hole she is puncturing open. She can feel her cellmate's breath against the back of her neck, and when she feels her hands on her now, carefully sliding the earring through the fresh piercing, Vi does not flinch away. She pours alcohol over her ear and Vi hisses through her teeth and bangs her fist against the wall, and that earns her strange laughter from her, a flick in her cheek. "there. pretty." she says, and Vi snorts, meets her eyes in the mirror. "lets do your nose." she says and when she reaches for the needle, Vi lets her pry it from her hand.

iv.

Something about her feels wrong as she makes her way from her cell to the gym down at rec like she’s more storm than woman, a danger-zone high-risk disaster area, full of sharp bone slabs and a dark snarl on her lips, rough calloused hands swathed up in wraps soaked through with blood. Her lower lip is split but it’s healed over, congealed dark blood in the corner of it.

She takes her anger out to the walls and the punching bags; but she does not stop there; she takes it out to anyone bold enough to get on her bad side, give her a look she does not like, sound a little too condescending for her liking when answering a question she's asked or demanding that they return something they've taken or she believes they've taken from her; she takes it out on the assholes at chow hall that cut in line, to the prick that steals Zeri's smokes, and the guard that gets too handsy with Janna.

She doesn't mind the solitary anymore; if anything, she almost welcomes it. Whatever they throw at her, she takes and gives back twice as much.

The next time a guard gets all up in her face, she does not hesitate.

She swings at them with everything that she's got.

v.

The only time she finds herself actively pouring every last ounce of willpower she's got in her to behave and stay out of trouble is when she starts working on her tats. She doesn't wanna fuck this one up, doesn't wanna have to spend half a month in solitary, tattoos half finished, or worse, ruined in her hurry to get them done before they throw her equipment out.

She's been given a sketchbook and a pen at one of the art classes this Piltie (that Vi vehemently thinks fancies herself some sort of noble saviour) holds every week down at the rec, and although she does not actively participate, sometimes she'll sit and silently watch them work with a snarling smirk draped across her lips, chugging coffee (she's put too much milk in it and it's burnt but she chugs it all down anyway) and when Noble Lady who fancies herself a saviour of poor misguided souls looks her way, tries to catch her eye, Vi pretends she does not see it. She's been staying up at night in her bed, scribbling away in it until she passes out, pen in hand, sketchbook sprawled open next to her pillow. When she runs out of pages, she scowls and doesn't say anything, but she doesn't take her sketchbook down at the rec anymore. She shoves her hands into her pockets or chugs down black coffee, standing against the wall, pretending she's not there for the class.

Somehow, a brand new sketchbook shows up on her bed. She does not question it, won't look a horse in the mouth.

She's got so much art in her that she doodles on her hands until it spills up her wrists and on her kneecaps with their little goosebumps, ink splashing onto her neck and arms and even her back, the part of it that she can reach.

Something's snapping in her mind, synapses flashing, and for the first time in years, she feels alive, she's crackling with it, the fire, the want, the exhilaration.

She gets down to work: makes a tattoo machine from the motor of a portable record player she steals from rec. The barrel for the needle is made from a hollowed out pen. She scoops the plastic out and fills the tube with sooty, thick ink she's made out of burnt plastic, makes the outer case of the pen shorter by cutting it in half. A sharpened guitar string from Zeri's old guitar is what she uses as a needle, shoves it through the barrel and connects it to the motor.

She sets to work. For days, she sits in her little cell and plunges the needle through her skin, feels its sweet, sharp kiss as she moves it along her arms.

When Zeri silently comes to sit next to her on the floor and eyes her doodles in her sketchbook, Vi gives her a strange look. Zeri offers to do the parts of her back she cannot reach, and Vi tells her to fuck off.

Later, when their cell block's dark and quite and there's only an hour of light left before they're forced back into their cells to sleep, she slips into Zeri's cell and leans against the doorframe, watches her bury her nose deeper into her book, sprawled across her bed.

She says, "Sooo..." and strange, sly bashfulness pauses on her lips, frothing at the corners of her heart-shaped mouth, tugging gently at the seam of her lips. "You still wanna help, little one?"

She does.

vi.

She remembers this one time when she was 9. Powder had been sick, burning with a fever that had been refusing to abate for days, and she had helplessly sat on the floor by her bed and had sellotaped her entire hand for some unholy reason, probably because she had been going fucking stir crazy with worry and guilt that she could not make this right, she could not punch the hurt away and Pow had been whimpering in her sleep, calling for their mother and Vi, mother and Vi, and Vi could have never given her mother but she had sat there curled up close to her and whispered that she was there, she wasn't going anywhere, she was never going to leave her, it would be okay.

She had sat fuming in her helplessness, had sellotaped her hand from her elbow right down to her fingers, and then, she had just knelt there, at the side of Powder's bed, sobbing because she had been terrified that she would never get out of it, she couldn't move her hand, couldn't even lift her fingers enough to touch Powder, and she had sat there and sobbed into her little sister's sheets until Vander had come in to find her crying and had had to cut her out with scissors, and to this day she could still remember him patting her head, telling her that it was going to be okay. "Why'd you trap yourself?" he had laughed, ruffling her hair.

Vi hadn't given him an answer.

It comes back to her one morning as she stares at her ruined cell after a sudden inspection (she had been the only one in the whole cell block to be marked for it, then again, she had kind of been expecting it after beating those assholes up with the barbell and her fists down at the courtyard during mandatory exercise; she had come to know now it was common procedure after a malfeasance— huh, what a ridiculous fucking word to use to say that she's beaten some dick's face into a bloody pulp), her whole life scattered along the floor: her wraps, her pencils, the few clothes she's got, an empty can of beer that she has been using to spill the ink she makes out of burnt plastic cups she steals from the chow hall to draw.

She cries over her torn sketchbook with a laugh in her throat, alone in her cell.

vii.

Pink, they keep calling her.

Pink, they sneer it at her like it's her name.

Pink, and Kid, and 516, sometimes just "five one' six" or "five sixteen!" like she's some dusty file shelved away in their cabinet that they suddenly need to spread open and read through, nothing more than the color of her hair, a number, an age.

She's pretending to sweep the floor when it happens, a chore she's never willing to do. The constant flicker of the lightbulb overhead is pissing her off, and she lifts the broom and taps it hard, shaking it back and forth. The buzzing stops.

Someone howls into the silence, a bloodcurdling, dark shriek of terror.

The block is flooded with enforcers, and she stands in the hallway in numb confusion, and gasps when they drag a dead girl from a cell.

She can hear the wet, slick noises her body makes when they drag her out into the hallway, blood streaking the floor like a ribbon tied to her throat.

Someone tries to pump the life back into her heart, but she doesn't come back.

Vi watches the red ribbon of blood around her throat, blinking hard.

They ask for her name, and no one gives it to them, but they keep asking. The air ripples, filled with the metallic stench of death. A fly buzzes around her ear.

There's a rough, hard hand on her shoulder, and she's shoved back, spit splattering against her cheek, and she's shaken out of her daze. She growls out "I don't know." teeth snapping.

"two ninety." someone calls the girl on the floor. She's two ninety to them. "She's dead." She's two ninety to everyone. She doesn't know her name... She never asked.

"hey, grab her legs. Help me pick her up" one of the wardens says to the other.

"Hey! Hey! Five sixteen! clean up the mess!" They bark in her ear, and as she watches her broom swirl the last of the girl's blood on the floor, something inside of her snaps.

She's got a fucking name.

The next time she walks down that hallway, she stops to stare at the floor, the fading crimson stain that has soaked through the tiles, won't ever be completely scrubbed off as though some part of the world is refusing to forget her.

Her name had been Alys.

Vi's name's tattooed on her left cheek.

viii.

“you can be so nice when you want to.” her hands are on Vi's lap, they are sitting in her bed, in her cell, and Vi is painting her nails with delicate strokes of the brush. Her teeth have left bright marks on her lips from the searing tangibility of her concentration. Her patience astounds the other girl, she's never seen Vi hold still for more than ten seconds at a time, yet here she is, brush in hand, lips pinched; the detail is so miniscule and there are small red marks on her skin where Vi has pinched her for fidgeting. Vi's eyebrows have long since been furrowed into harsh lines, so drawn, she's cocooned herself with her thoughts. Her voice is absent when she responds, noticeably lacking in any interest.

"Hey! You gonna let me do this, Miss Chatty, or not?"  Vi taps her leg once. “Keep still.” Is all she says.

There’s a fleeting smile in her eyes. 

ix.

"hey" she smirks her way to where this massive dude is standing, broom in hand, sweeping the floor. He doesn't recognise her, that much she can immediately tell by the way his eyes (dark, cold eyes, eyes with teeth) sweep over her like she's something he needs to scrub clean too, and sudden, furious anger swells up like a flood in her throat. She swallows.

"I didn't know they locked up little kids."

Her cheek spasms.

"funny. They don't."

He just stares at her meaningfully, like she's some kind of a joke, and laughs. Sharklike, his missing teeth feel like they make the bark harsh.

"you gonna give me what I want, or we gonna have to add another missing tooth to your fucking collection?" Vi growls.

He blinks, his eyes empty and on her, like the barrel of a gun held to her teeth.

She's been his shadow, sleek, unassuming, watching him for days now; he's got answers and she will not walk away from him without them.

He pats his thigh, and Vi knows what he's got stashed away there, has watched him use it on another dude at mesh, unblinkingly chewing down her dry bread as her eyes trailed after his every little move like a hook, sinking into the prey.

"I know what you're in for. I know who you and your little friend work for. So." Easy way or hard way, goes unsaid, she cracks her fingers hard, violently rolls her left shoulder into a slow shrug. "Where's my fucking sister?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about." A shrug, more laughter. Rotten, yellow teeth.

"bet you fucking do."

"Don’t let ugly words touch those sweet lips baby, I’ll wipe your mouth clean."

Her fists clench, her mouth twitching spasmodically, "and I'll color you purple." she plunges forward, follows her anger like a fishing line. She cuts out safety and speeds towards the ocean of her fury.

When they drag her away from him, she's laughing, her hands are numb and aching, crimson with blood.

"I got all I wanted." She hisses in triumph, and they have to rip her off of him, but she doesn't struggle when they haul her off, clawing at her back, shove her back into her cell block. Her laughter spills like gasoline through the hallways, waking everyone up, even the air is thrumming with it, sharp and hot.

That night, before she sleeps, she adds the spiked knuckles she's stolen from him in the collection, under her bed.

"fifty-two..." she whispers, and tosses the t-shirt that she was wearing the day they had brought her here, back over the weapons, shielding them from view. They'll be fucking gone next time they toss her cell, but for now, no one's gonna get their hands on them.

Her head feels lighter when she lays her body down on her bed.

She stares at the tally marks on her wall until she falls asleep.

[cybiirz]

ೃ⁀➷ THE FACADE OF A PUPPETEER

Wriothesley x Fem!reader

Sypnosis : Many moons ago, you were sent to the Fortress Of Meropide for a number of crimes, ones that even criminals would name you evil for. However, even with your already busted up reputation upon entry, in a few short years, you had managed to become one of the most respected prisoners in the Fortress. Your ways were unquestioned by others, but not by the Warden himself. That is what caused you to be stuck having a tea party with the man. Although his attempt at fishing the information out of you seemed unsuccessful at first, it seems you were becoming excited to see where this would lead. But maybe there was also another operation happening, one where your true self would have to finally be revealed.

WC : 1.7K

WARNINGS : Mentions of murder, Wriothesley might be a little ooc idk, reader is manipulative, not rlly much else

A prison warden such as himself would typically be considered strict, would he not? Well, he went against those expectations, mostly. He was surprisingly a kind soul compared to many of the other guards considering the fact that he actually cared for the prisoners well being.

But there was one inmate who just constantly got under his skin. You. In all fairness, you were actually quite the intelligent woman. In the few years you had been pretty much living here, you had already managed to gain many others' trust.

That didn’t mean you were kind though, all inmates had a side of theirs with some evil intent, otherwise they wouldn’t be here. The way you had climbed the ranks seemed to be legit on the outside, but Wriothesley had become curious and did some digging of his own.

And lo and behold, the sweet lady who was too kind for her own good was one of the most deceitful people he’s ever heard of. Gaining coupons by simple pick pocketing wasn’t unheard of, but he had learnt that you were too advanced to participate in such a measly method.

No, instead you would manage to get your hands on other’s coupons through secret events. Small competitions were held that were supposedly led by different people each time. But there was always a mastermind behind the puppet. That mastermind was unknown to the public.

Every person who hosted said competitions seemed to have no links towards each other whatsoever. What no one else knew however was that they all led back to one person, and that person would be in charge of the coupons gained. It was almost like gambling, stupid people would bet their coupons and would either win or lose.

But you were not one to rig such games, goodness no. That would be diabolical. All you had was lady luck by your side. But Wriothesley didn’t buy it, for he had figured out that you practically ran the prison without people being aware. The amount of coupons had earned you respect and power, the two things that could easily become others' downfall.

Which is why he was surprised you hadn’t fallen just yet. The warden had become increasingly suspicious of your activities and would always be on the watch for you. But no matter how hard he tried, your facade of being this gentle soul was always up and about. He had to catch you some other way. Which is how you ended up here.

“Good evening, your Grace. Is this an urgent matter, because I highly doubt you would call someone into your office for a small debuckle,” You questioned the man as you finally stepped onto the floor of his office. Wriothesley sat there with one elbow propped on the arm of the chair and the other flat against the opposite arm.

“No no, nothing you need to be too worried about. Come, take a seat,” He gestured towards the chair in front of him as he stood up and made his way over to the shelf. “May I interest you in some tea?” He asked, his back facing you.

“I’ll pass unfortunately, I recently ate something from the cafeteria so i’m quite full up myself,” You politely declined his offer before taking a seat onto the cushioned stool. You crossed one leg over the other as you placed both hands into your lap.

“Suit yourself. Now, I don’t mean to waste your time here, but I would like to give you some…praise,” He commented as he began to heat up a kettle and grab a tea cup from the shelf. You raised an eyebrow.

“May I ask what for? I do not recall doing something explicitly amazing,” You replied in honest confusion. You heard him let out a chuckle as he poured the hot water into the cup and placed the bag into the liquid.

“Yes I suppose you’re right. What you have done isn’t explicit to anyone else. And it is rather impressive how fast you have managed to gain coupons here,” He took a seat, now sitting opposite you as he spread his legs to get comfier into the chair. Surprisingly, it was weirdly attractive.

“Ah yes, I consider myself astronomically lucky with the amount of coupons I have gained so far. Not to mention the friends I made along the way,” Your response was confident and bright. Just the behaviour he expected.

“Mhm, most people would call it luck as well. However, based on my observation, I would call it something different,” His eyes bore into yours as the two of you made direct eye contact.

“Oh? And what would you call it sir?” You asked in a low tone. The two of you were both aware that he was onto you, but playing along wouldn’t hurt you.

“Pure strategy. From the moment you stepped onto these grounds, you had a plan in mind. One that would immediately raise you to be a respected person which I admire. My only question is, what are the chances you could give me every step of that plan right here and now?” This caused you to become slightly bewildered. He wanted to know your plan?

“And what exactly would that gain you?” You replied. He let out another short laugh before leaning forward slightly.

“It doesn’t need to gain me anything. All I want to know about is the brain behind that beauty of yours,” His remark was shamelessly flirtatious.

“Do you believe that simple flattery will get you anywhere, warden? Do not forget, you are also a prisoner here, all you have earned is the privilege to this fortress’s budget and management. I do not think you deserve my plans. Now if you will excuse me, there is a sparring match in the Pankration Ring which I would rather not miss,” As you began to stand up and dust off your clothing, you made your way towards the steps.

But before you could even step foot onto the metal, a shadow came up behind you before a voice practically rumbled against the walls.

“I don’t believe we have finished this conversation yet,” Wriothesley’s voice was intimidating to say the least, but you immediately retracted your foot and turned your head over your shoulder before turning back to face him again.

You reached out and grabbed the loose tie of his. “Tell you what, how about you let me go and see that match that I have just been dying to experience,” You tightened the red material before patting the knot and felt part of his rough skin against your hands. “And then you can take me on a date and we continue this later under…different circumstances hm?”

Your eyes turned up to face him as you put on that innocent act. Archons, he didn’t expect your teasing to have this much effect on him. Nevertheless, he decided to go along with it.

“I’ll pick you up at 5:30 sharp. Dress pretty, I like girls who put in effort,” He brought his face closer to yours as you felt his breath just brushing your lips. The tension was so thick that you’d practically need a sword to cut through it.

“Count on it,” Your reply was short before you turned away again, making your way down the steps. Wriothesley eyed your figure down as you finally disappeared from his line of sight. Once you did, he went back to his table and picked up a document.

“(Name) (Last Name)

Convicted for first degree murder of *********, ********* and *******.

Danger : Extreme. Do not let her number of facades fool you. Lay low and do not interact, instead observe from a distance. She is evil and we sent her to the Fortress Of Meropide for you to straighten this demon out. Do not disappoint us warden.”

“So much for laying low…” Wriothesley mumbled to himself. How on earth was he going to change your ways…?

A/N : Yeahhh so it’s been about 2-3 weeks since I wrote smth so i’m very sorry for that. I don’t really know how to continue Gepard’s series but I definitely want to. If anyone wants to pitch any ideas, please do. But I am going to be occupied with a bunch of upcoming tests for the next week or two. Until then, i’ll most likely write headcannons, oneshots and maybe some short fics for whatever character you guys want. Apologies again for the long break.

[tinietaehyun]

Forsaken [XIV]

[Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader]

[Series] [Chapter Fourteen]

Pairing: Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader [Ft. Sorcerer!Yeonjun]

Genres: royal!au, fantasy, romance, enemies to lovers, supernatural, action, fluff, angst.

Contains: Profanity, mentions of injury and death, implications of mature/suggestive themes, arson. Actions demonstrated by character are not by any means reflective of the idol in real life.

Links: Forsaken Masterlist || Masterlist

Summary: With the two of you nestled in, wrapped in each other’s arms contently, you both begin to make plans for the next steps. You were back in Fortuna but needed to focus on your main goal. Getting your throne back.

As Taehyun and your feelings reach their brim, alongside hope mounting, it was only a matter of time before the universe had enough and rips away your moment of happiness.

“There’s no way to just charge into the palace and confront Sehun,” Taehyun murmurs deep in thought. Your brows furrow, “But you said we directly need to confront him?”

“Yes, but I highly doubt asking to meet the prince is going to work for you. I’m going to get imprisoned for treason and most likely be executed after you. You’ll go straight to him get ruthlessly insulted, he’ll toy with you and off you go to your demise,” he drawls out outstretching his legs on the decrepit sofa.

An appalled expression crosses your face as he snorts, “It’s a realistic outcome, no?” Glaring, you reply, “Well, yes. I was hoping to hear an alternative. A better one.”

A smirk laces his lips making you roll your eyes, “Take this seriously, come on, how long are we going to lounge around here in your cabin?”

He pouts, “Come now, lounge around?” His eyes sparkle mischievously as a sly smile appears, “Is that all we’ve been doing these last two-three days?” Taehyun’s gaze drops to your neck and you huff as your fingers instinctively go to brush over the large bruised mark. “I told you not to bite so hard,” you huff.

“You weren’t complaining when I did, rather I heard you make a quite different soun-“ He retorts before you interrupt him abruptly.

“Stop speaking immediately,” you glare, eyes burning into his as embarrassment floods your features. He was right, but that was beside the point!

A low chuckle escapes his lips as he runs his fingers through his soft blonde locks, “Just a bit of kissing here and there, lips and neck, had you so riled up, princess? It even surprised me.”

You glare in deathly silence with folded arms. He raises his hands in surrender, “Goodness, with that glare you could take down a dragon.”

A scoff leaves your lips at his sarcastic remark. Taehyun sighs laughing at your exasperation, “Okay, okay. Back to the topic at hand, what I was thinking is, we get intentionally caught.”

You deadpan, “You are joking.” “I am very much not, sweetheart,” he muses. What was he thinking? Doesn’t it lead to the same outcome as just charging in?

“Hear me out, we both enter Fortuna, cloaked, hidden as if we’re trying to buy, I don’t know, food or goods something along those lines, then by oh so pure chance, one of the guards on their patrol spots a glimpse of you. A chase ensues, we intentionally get caught. And then, we’re presented as prisoners of treason and you, a wanted bounty in front of Prince Sehun,” Taehyun explains.

You process his words, your brain churning and whirring its gears. Indeed large scale crimes were personally handled by the royal court in front of the monarch. You both had committed what he saw as treason and well, you were a wanted bounty. You’d both be presented to Sehun in the throne room as you had seen with other criminals whilst growing up.

Knowing your pitiful excuse of a brother, he’d miss absolutely no chance of rubbing his victory in your face.

“Mm…indeed, you are correct. We would be presented in front of Sehun. He’s an absolute imbecile, so he no doubt would gloat like a buffoon in front of us,” you murmur. Taehyun smirks, “So? Giving me time to work my skills, no?” You raise a brow, “Such as?”

“We are going to be bound by chains. Those I can whisk off easy with a little enchantment. Next I need to scatter the surrounding guards and leave Sehun alone. Easy pickings after that. Can he fight?” Taehyun questions.

“Remarkably well, he’s a great swordsman. He spent most of his time training after all,” you utter sighing. Taehyun hums unfazed, “No weapon has anything on sorcery. Even if he is the most skilled swordsman to ever exist.”

Biting your lip, you run back through the haphazard plan. Having the both of you caught so suddenly, would definitely lower Sehun’s guard, knowing how arrogant he is. This roughly put together plan may just work.

“Once he’s cornered. You can talk to him. Expose his crimes to the court, no?” Taehyun hums. “The court supports him,” you huff.

“Of course they do, fucking idiots,” Taehyun groans. You snicker at his frustration. It was natural he felt that way, he had a bad experience with them after all.

“Noble pieces of fucking shit; nothing in their skulls just money in their pockets,” he mutters irritated. “Can’t you bribe them or something?” He mutters. You nod slowly, “I suppose I could do that. I doubt they’d want to go against me when their present figurehead is cornered.”

“You could always have me threaten them, I could turn them into stone, into toads, into whatever you or I please, teach them a real nice lesson,” Taehyun muses bitterly.

“That’s…certainly an idea. I suppose we’ll handle that obstacle when we get to it,” you smile, “At the end of the day, they’re all spineless cowards who are unloyal. I’ll be firing numerous of them. Furthermore, I’m sure a little wave of your wand will have them quivering.”

He chuckles, “Oh I do look forward to a sight such as that. Those bastards have what’s coming to them for what they did to me and my father. Exiling the both of us.”

His harsh gaze softens as he peers at you, “You…you do permit me to have a little fun with them don’t you?” You smirk, “I suppose a little lesson is in order. Just don’t…do anything violent.” Taehyun sighs, “How unfortunate but I suppose I can do that for you.”

You both remain in a comfortable silence as Taehyun suddenly puts his arms around you from behind and leans his chin on your shoulder. “What are you thinking about? Haven't I told you numerous times not to worry. You’ve got me. We’ve got each other. We can do this.”

Placing your hands atop his, you murmur, “Yeonjun is there. You’ll have to see him. He’s in a powerful position too; royal sorcerer and Sehun’s advisor, what are you going to do if he tries to stop us?”

A moment of silence passes. The mere mention of Yeonjun makes him stiffen. The air around the both of you becomes gloomy. “I’m sorry I-“ you begin.

He releases a breathy laugh, “No, no. You’re right, sweetheart. If we are destined to cross paths again…well, then I do not plan to back down so easily.” Taehyun clears his throat, “If we must fight whether that be verbally, physically or through our sorcery, so be it. He means nothing to me anymore.”

“He does, you’re lying,” you frown, twisting yourself to face him and notice his dull expression. “It will hurt to see him, won’t it? After all these years,” you frown.

He becomes quiet for a second before answering, “I suppose you can see through me, hm? It just…reminds me of that painful time. The feelings I felt when I saw my father getting dragged away. The…condescending smile he gave me when I called to him for help - like, like he enjoyed it. Twisted bastard.”

You cup his cheek, thumb caressing it lightly. His gaze meets yours. The mention of Yeonjun left a bitter taste in his mouth. You lean forward, “If he sets foot in front of you, show him. Show him who deserves to be the true Royal Sorcerer. Him or you?”

A bitter laugh escapes his lips. “Show him, despite your exile, you’ve only continued to improve. That you’ll always surpass him in every way possible. Not just sorcery. You are a better person. You know why?”

Curiosity gleams in his dull eyes as he watches you speak so determinedly. “Because, unlike him who’s hurt you, your father, to get where he is today. Through betrayal. You still surpass him. You have your father’s ability and affinity for magic. To manipulate mana with ease.”

You shakily breathe, “You could have rampaged, exacted vengeance, lunged at Yeonjun back then. All these years in the Woods of Mors, you could have meticulously planned revenge, yet you didn’t. You held yourself back. You’re more mature, you know your boundaries. You are wise, Taehyun. You are merciful.”

His voice cracks momentarily, “No, I was…I was a coward. I knew it would land me in more trouble.”

“You knew it would land your father in more trouble, possibly even execution,” you firmly state. “…yes. I-“ he murmurs lowly, “Yes, exactly. My father said not to. Even after he’d passed away, that I should never risk myself by going after the foolish notion of revenge, that we- we were better than that.”

A small smile forms on your lips. You notice his eyes glazing over. “Your father was a good man, you, you are a good man.”

“I’m not half the man he was, but thanks, sweetheart,” he solemnly smiles. Shaking your head, you grip his chin tilting it down to make him meet your gaze, “Where’s that arrogance and self-confidence I’m so used to, sorcerer?”

He remains quiet merely peering into your gorgeous eyes. You had a heart of gold; something he didn’t find himself deserving of. Why did you have to settle for less? When you could have any noble man you wanted? Yet you treated him so fondly. With such care, like a lover. You loved him right? Then why did he feel so terrified of reciprocating?

Was he afraid that as soon as you gain your throne back, that you’d toss him aside? Was he afraid that you, too, would betray him in the future? To place his cracked and beaten heart into your soft and sweet palms.

“Taehyun?” You call out; a flash of worry on your features. He gives you a subtle smile, “Sweetheart?”

“If you meet him, I want you to show him who you are. You’ve not once taken the step toward revenge. Well? If revenge presents itself to you, why not take the opportunity that the universe above has presented you with? If revenge walks to you with his wand pointed at you and an arrogant smile, will you let this opportunity slide too?” You ask with a stern expression.

“Being the better person. Yes, as good as it may be. Some people are not deserving of our kindness, of our mercy. That goes for Sehun. That also goes for Yeonjun.” You speak with a melancholy tone. Your gaze hardens, “So…”

Taking his hands and intertwining your fingers with yours, you squeeze them reassuringly, “So, let’s close all our unresolved regrets and close that chapter on our lives and move forward towards a future where no one can bring us down and we only experience prosperity and happiness.”

You hold yourself back from speaking further as you notice him staring at you wordlessly. Did you cross the line? Goodness, you must have talked his ears off. The last thing he probably wanted was an entire speech. Though you couldn’t help it, you despised seeing him hurt, so down.

“Sorry, I-“ you start before your eyes widen, feeling his arms suddenly wrap around you tightly; his head laying on your chest. Your heart palpitates rapidly. Your fingers run through his hair, caressing it tenderly. Taehyun parts from you, his gaze intense, almost restrained in a manner.

“Everytime, every fucking time,” he breathlessly laughs. Confusion appears on your face, how adorable he thinks.

“You continue to do it again and again, no matter how anxious I feel, how dreadful this feeling makes me feel. To think I shouldn’t, that I can’t get too attached, to not raise my hopes, to not think of a future together. To not kiss you again, not to lead you on, to not lead myself on, I can’t help it. I just can’t fucking help how I feel, you continue to make me feel worse,” he utters almost frustrated.

With an uneasy expression you murmur, “T-Taehyun?”

“You make me go insane, in the most addicting and best way possible. Whenever I have the slightest doubt you pull me right back in,” he laughs strained.

His gaze meets yours taking your hand and placing it on his chest; you feel his heart pounding like his life depended on it. Your eyes widen in surprise, realising your heart was doing the same.

“Do you feel it? Do you feel what you do to me? I hear yours too. I see the way you look at me. Do you see the way I look at you, sweetheart?” He speaks yearningly. You find yourself feeling breathless.

Running his hand through his hair once more, he inhales deeply, seemingly gathering courage. You await in anticipation at his next words.

“I love you.”

“I love you y/n. It’s driving me fucking insane at this point,” he utters with almost a light edge of desperation. Your lips part; you wish you could be surprised. But, you knew this was coming, it was only a matter of time of who would put their high walls down and crumble first.

You didn’t expect Taehyun to do it. That much more he made himself vulnerable, to think that he thought of you so highly. You regard him with the sweetest gaze and a subtle smile on your lips.

Suddenly, you lean forward pressing your lips against his, moving your lips against his with a ferocity that took Taehyun off-guard. His arm slides around your waist as his other hand takes your hand placing it on his shoulder. The intense kiss lasts a few seconds before you part breathless; an imbecilic smile on your face.

“Princess, you-?” His eyes glimmer unsurely.

“I love you too, Taehyun,” you murmur letting your fingers caress his cheek, “Let me repeat it once more, I love you too.”

“But-“ he begins in initial surprise, you shush him, “No, I reciprocate your feelings. I’ve felt this way for a while. Don’t doubt it. You have too, haven’t you?” He remains quiet before a chuckle escapes his lips, “It was a matter of time, wasn’t it?”

“Who was willing to become the most vulnerable, first,” you resume. “I suppose you’ve allowed me to be more comfortable with expressing myself,” he murmurs with a genuine smile. “I’m glad, Taehyun,” you hum, joy filling you.

“What does that make us then, hm?” He muses as his hand once again takes yours. “What do you think, Taehyun?” You hum back.

“Lovers? A princess falling for a sorcerer rather than a prince or her knight?” He murmurs smirking. You muse, “Why must the story always be the same? Who said the princess must always go for those two?”

“The court won’t approve,” he states. “They won’t,” you nod, “But that doesn’t stop me from loving you. Perhaps, perhaps if my parents were around, this wouldn’t occur. But,” you shakily sigh, “They’re not. My word, as the heir to the throne, is final. If they disapprove, so be it, it is a hardship I am willing to handle.”

Taehyun gazes at you so longingly that it leaves you quiet. “As you wish, your highness,” he coyly hums. Rolling your eyes, “Oh hush with that nonsense.”

“Do not think for a second, I’ll ever leave your side, sweetheart,” he murmurs seriously. With a smile, you murmur, “I never thought that for a single moment, Taehyun.”

He gives you a smile, a rather endearing one, in fact making you release a laugh. “What?” Taehyun questions. Shaking your head, you wrap your arms around him and hug him, “Nothing.”

You feel rather content for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety, security and being cherished. You felt unstoppable with him by your side, perhaps it was naive, no, foolish to think that way but he truly did give you a newfound confidence.

After lounging around more and discussing a few more things related to confronting Sehun, Taehyun gets up, beginning to slide his cloak over his shoulders and hoisting his boots on.

“Mm, I need to restock on some herbs otherwise the food we make will taste shit. Perhaps, I can also hunt while I’m out there. Pick some berries too, I’m overdue.”

He slings his satchel over his shoulder and grabs two wicker baskets. “I’ll be out for a few hours, don’t panic if I run late after the sunset.” You nod with a frown, “Try to come back quickly.”

Taehyun grins, “Why? Scared the Bloodmoths are going to get you?” You scoff, “No, I’m just worried that you have only just healed and you’re already putting yourself in danger.”

“I do not plan to eat different variations of soup for another day longer, sweetheart. So, off I go,” he hums.

“Don’t open the door if you hear anything. Creatures here are rather different due to the magic phenomena here. Keep all the window curtains closed and always keep the candles lit alright. I’ll be back quick,” he smiles.

You nod, slightly at unease. He had done this several times even before you knew each other. It was his way of life here, why were you so paranoid? Perhaps, because you were both so happy for once. Afraid that he wouldn’t come back.

He bids you adieu and you’re left to your own company in the dimly lit cabin. It felt empty without him. You spend the next half an hour getting comfortable on the sofa, finding the drafty cabin to make your eyelids feel heavier and heavier. A nap, would perhaps suffice to allow the time to pass and prevent your mind from wandering. Yes, a nap indeed - you close your eyes content.

A pair of sharp eyes peer as he finally ascertains that Taehyun is far enough away. A smirk lines his lips, “My, my, you really have made yourself at home here, haven’t you?” His gaze darkens as he stands up from his crouching. Of course he did, not like he’d die out so easily; a scoff leaves Yeonjun’s lips. Of course he’d be a thorn in his side all these years later.

The palace in Fortuna was oddly in pindrop silence. A malicious smile appears on Yeonjun’s lips thinking about the events that had transpired these last few days. Sehun’s death came as an apparent shock rattling the Royal Court and the citizens of Fortuna who considered this to be a terrible omen. Now, there was no Royal Family to head the country.

“Oh poor Sehun, the poor boy. To think suicide would be his cause of death.” Well, if only the public and court knew. Everything was transitioning smoothly.

He still remembers when some of the members of the Royal Court naturally approached him. His eyes riddled with fake tears; and sniffling as though Sehun actually meant something to him. It was laughable to Yeonjun, really. He knew damn well why the members of the court approached him.

After all, he’d be the most apt choice to be placed at Fortuna’s figurehead. “Yeonjun, think about it, alright? We know it’s a lot to ask and we’re not pressuring you. If not, we can arrange for someone else.”

Bastards, he knew everyone in that damn hall wanted the position he was now set up for. These empty words and fake reassurances. Ha! These lords, chancellors and barons, all of them, they were just as filthy, just as happy as Yeonjun was about Sehun’s death.

It left the ruling spot empty, that’s why. Not for long. Currently, Yeonjun was the figurehead, temporary monarch, per se. Well, he’d make it permanent.

His mind drifts back to two days ago; when he found himself sitting on the Royal Throne. The servants all grimacing with disgust or appallment. The chancellor and treasurer were infuriated.“What is the meaning of this insolence?” “How dare you sit on the throne, as though you were King?”

“Because I will be.” The words had left his mouth sharper than any blade sending shivers into the two men. He had summoned his wand pointing it at the two as the guards in the room held their weapons up. “I will be King. The beginning of a new era. The Kim Dynasty is over.”

“Guards, stop this. This is treason,” the chancellor had yelled but to no avail. The guards held still. They were ordered to do so, after all.

The treasurer had been horrified at this stumbling back. Perhaps the recent deaths had some meaning after all. A purpose.

The foolish chancellor had rushed forward in his fury, making Yeonjun smirk. Well he had supposed, it was about time he taught these sorry fools a lesson, albeit, he didn’t think it would be so soon.

Thus, he had turned the chancellor into stone, in front of the guards and the treasurer’s very eyes. He still enjoyed the terrified expression on the treasurer's face as he fell to his knees, mortified.

Oh how good it felt to finally hear, “Your highness,” fall from his lips. He would stop at nothing, not even a rebellion to lose this position. Not with his sorcery. He’d make the people love him.

Yeonjun shakes his head; shattering his memories. Well now, he’d take matters into his own hands. There was still one glaring problem. The two of you. Not even you, rather insignificant as you were. It was mainly Taehyun that he was after.

Yeonjun mutters walking out from the shrubbery and brushing himself off, “Fucking nuisance, always has to get involved.” A breathless laugh leaves his lips, poor you. Because Taehyun had gotten involved, now you’d be an extra casualty. He may have even left you alone, if you’d been just a good little princess and ran off and started afresh.

Not many could traverse the Woods of Mors, rather difficult terrain, strange creatures and illusions. Any ordinary human would go insane in here, but of course, any magic user would be safe. Yeonjun had not expected much when he stepped foot in here. Though when he cast a spell; he was shocked to find an intense mana source resonating from within the woods.

Who would have thought it would be Taehyun's lovely little decrepit abode? Yeonjun chuckles, stepping forward towards the cabin. His eyes widen as feels a light buzz and he notices a subtly glowing dome around the cabin.

How very clever, of course he wouldn’t leave you so vulnerable. A force field, just enough to stop the dim-witted creatures here - but not him. He reaches his hand through it and grunts in pain as he utters an enchantment. Within seconds, the force field dissipates.

Smirking, he strides ahead reaching the door and gives it a knock. Hm, how would your pretty little face look upon seeing him and not your beloved companion?

You’re woken up by a sudden knocking. Yawning, you peer at the door. Was Taehyun back already? Abruptly, you stand and walk over, but before you could open the door. You hesitate. A nervousness permeates your lower stomach and swirls uneasily. Why were your instincts acting up?

Who else would be here? No creature would knock like a human would, could they?

You halt; you were smarter than this. Perhaps, peeking through the curtains would be better first. Thus, you do. You delicately peek through the curtains and immediate nausea fills your senses. No. No. No.

No way. Had Sehun sent Yeonjun to come find you? How could they have possibly known? You were all alone, against a formidable sorcerer? Your hands tremble as your lips quiver. Perhaps he’ll leave when he realises no one is home. Maybe he’ll think you’ve gone out with Taehyun.

You slink down onto the floor shakily, your breaths tumbling out of you as panic sets in. This wasn’t good. This came out of nowhere! You really hope Taehyun will come back soon!

Another knock resounds out, harsher this time. Another one. Fear consumes you as you find your legs unable to get up. This couldn’t be happening.

It goes eerily silent all of a sudden. Your breath hitches and muscles stiffen. Did he leave?

Just as your shoulders begin to ease, the door creaks. You hear a small sound reminiscent of chimes and the muffled murmur of his voice. Instantaneously, the front door flies off its hinges crashing into the wall and what little furniture there was with a humongous clatter. A scream rips out of your lips as you cover your head and curl up onto the floor.

Of course! Of course he uses his sorcery! Tears drip down your face as you clamp your eyes shut. The floor creaks as footsteps walk towards you accompanied by an incredibly demeaning chuckle.

“Goodness me, princess. Did I scare you?” Yeonjun muses. He coos, “If only you had opened the door, the first time I knocked. Too bad you’re a cautious little thing aren’t you? Did Taehyun teach you that? To not open the door for anyone, hm?” A breathy chuckle escapes his lips, almost as if he’s restraining his excitement.

You shiver, pitiful whimpers leaving your lips as you sit up peering back at the broken door. “Oh, I'm sure he can replace it. Just a little wood and his wand, hm? He won’t be too mad will he?” Yeonjun grins. The light from outside gleams in around him, making his tall figure that looms even more menacing.

He takes a step forward; his gaze trailing your frightened form as you scoot back. “Oh? Do you not recognise me, princess? Or was I so insignificant in your eyes? I suppose your brother was more keen.”

You steel yourself and speak with hatred in your tone, “Did Sehun send you here?”

For a moment he ponders your question before throwing his head back laughing. “How funny! Oh princess, princess, no. I came here of my own volition.” You stiffen. What? Did he come for Taehyun, not you?

“Did…did you come for Taehyun?” You stammer shakily. Yeonjun walks forward with a sinister smile, “Oh? Why do you ask that? Did he tell you about our little history?”

You go quiet. “Oh so he did,” Yeonjun darkly hums. “Oh, you must hate me, no? Despise me for my betrayal. I could sit here and plead for your approval, beg you to hear my side of the story princess, but you know what? I won’t.”

You tremble; the look in his eyes. It scares you; it’s deranged. The look of a predator who had finally locked in on its prey, knowing it would succeed with its kill.

“To think that pitiful waste of space got tangled up in your mess. What? Did you bat your pretty lashes up at him, beg at his feet and cry your little heart out, princess? He’s not easy to sway or get to open up, y’know?” Yeonjun muses looking down at you. Tears drip down your face.

He crouches down right in front of you with a dark smile. “Hm, just how much has he told you? Everything about me?” You seethe shakily, “You’re despicable, being partly responsible for their exile. You could have spoken up against your father.”

Yeonjun chuckles running his fingers through his blonde strands of hair, “Against my father? My, he really went into the gritty details, huh? You two have gotten real close, hm?”

Yeonjun’s eyes gaze at your nervous visage before dropping to your neck, his eyes catch a glimpse of a dark, almost bruised patch and a mockingly amused gleam lights up his eyes. “My, my… I’ve got my answer. Very close it seems. Huh, didn’t think he was that type. No…I didnt think he was your type.”

He laughs as you feel disgusted; your hand flies up to hide the love bite. “Oh, then I’m sure he won’t like me taking you away from him then.” You stiffen. “What?”

“You’re coming back to the palace, princess,” Yeonjun utters nonchalantly. “No-“ you yelp, scooting back and he sighs almost in a frustrated tone, “Oh don’t make this difficult.”

“You plan to hand me over to Sehun. He’ll- he’ll imprison me, no- execute me!”

Yeonjun stands up, looming over you with a malicious laugh leaving his lips, “Oh? I suppose I should break the news, eventually, though I suppose you’ll be happy.” He leans down slightly as his voice deepens, “He’s dead. Sehun is dead, princess.” His words seems to send whiplash throughout your body, “W-What?”

“He took his own life, tragic, hm?” Yeonjun muses. You quiver, “No, no. I don’t believe you. Surely, he wouldn’t after all he’s done…” Your eyes flicker panicked, “Who’s running the kingdom? The people?”

Yeonjun smiles and hums, “Look at you, getting worried for your beloved people, how noble. No need to fret,” he reaches his hand out grabbing your wrist, “I’m in charge.”

Writhing your wrist in his vice-like grasp, you grit out, “What? Temporarily, you mean.”

“Oh no; I plan to make it quite permanent princess,” Yeonjun tugs harshly and you stumble forward, your face inches from his. “And the last thing I want is the two of you ruining everything at the last minute,” he darkly whispers; his breath caressing your face. He almost says with sudden hushed glee, “So, come with me. Or I’ll make you. Who knows, maybe taking a walk with me may be good for both of us?”

You snarl, shoving him away and getting up, “You disgraceful man, all you care about is yourself. The nation is hanging on by a thread, thousands of lives are dependent and here you are. You selfish bastard!” You rage. Yeonjun’s jaw tightens, “Don’t piss me off, princess. It will not be pretty, I really am trying to be gentle with you.”

You bitterly scoff, “You are just a pitiful excuse of a man. No matter how much power you wish to have, nothing will change the weakness that lies inside of you. The pitiable jealousy you have. The urge to show others that you are superior.” His gaze becomes malevolent as he summons his wand in his right hand.

“Mm, aren’t you quite the talker? Reminds me of your brother, he was always quite foolish in these situations. Never really knew when to keep his mouth shut,” he sends a shot of mana aimed at you and you duck with yelp; it barely misses you.

He steps forward, his wand prickling with intense mana energy. The air was heating up, he was infuriated. “You have no idea what I’ll do to get what I want. How far I’m willing to go. And what I want now is you back in the palace.” You snarl, “You are insane!”

Yeonjun marches forward, grasping your forearm and you scream with all your might. You stretch your arm, leaning over to the kitchen counter and grabbing the knife and swinging it towards him. He lets go with a breathless laugh, “Now that was dirty move, princess.”

You really hope Taehyun heard you, or at least comes back by instinct. Your eyes peer at the opening where the door was. You were trapped here within these walls, you had to get out. Yeonjun catches your gaze and he menacingly murmurs, “Don’t even think about it.”

Immediately, you bolt, shoving past him and make your way to the exit. Before you can even make it one step outside, you feel your body suddenly buzz; a similar feeling when mana has entered your body. You feel electrified before a sharp pain pierces you. Your knees buckle and within moments; your vision blacks out.

Yeonjun sighs as he hears the thud of your body fall against the cobbled path. How unfortunate, he wanted to kindly escort you back, but no, you just had to take the hard route, as most people did. Well, he supposes it will do you some good to get some shut eye for the next few hours.

He can’t help but smirk as he sees your unconscious face, brushing the hair out of the way. Huh, no wonder Taehyun didn’t say no. Who could deny such a pretty face? Perhaps, if he’d waited a bit longer when he was younger, he’d have manipulated you, instead of Sehun. It would have been far more enjoyable for so many years. Having you as a lover, would have made it much easier to get the crown, no, you’d have probably handed it over to him, yourself.

Yeonjun muses, “Mm, if only you’d have been a little more cooperative.”

Wherever you were.

He was bound to follow.

Yeonjun’s eyes peer at the cabin and the messy interior, scattered books and broken furniture. Hm, surely he couldn’t leave without leaving a little gift for his dearest old friend. He snaps his fingers murmuring a few words as a spark escapes his fingers landing at the doorframe. Not like he’d need this place for much longer anyway.

Immediately flames begin travelling up the rickety wood and the house groans as if in pain. A twisted expression of admiration appears on Yeonjun’s face. His years of hard work, burning down. Perhaps, it was a touch too cruel, but he had to be humbled. After all, he shouldn’t have gotten involved. He needs to learn his lesson again.

With a prompt grunt, he scoops you up into his arms, beginning to walk. He smiles malevolently peering down at you.

“See you soon, old friend,” he hums, taking one final glance at the now blazing cabin before walking off with you in his arms.

Smoke rises from atop the forest canopy, though this time, not from a chimney, but from the burning remains of one’s desire to hope and dream.

Taglist: [open]

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[noctusfury]

Who Ruled the Berserker Tribe in Dagur's Absence During His Subsequent Imprisonment and Outlawry? (DreamWorks Dragons)

Hello, everyone! Welcome to another HTTYD article! Once again, we'll dive into another Berserker article/theory/question.

So I'm not sure about you guys, but I've always wondered who was managing the Berserker Tribe while Dagur was enjoying a 3-year vacation in Alvin's dungeons. Granted, different production companies made Defenders of Berk and Race to the Edge. And since the Dreamworks Dragons series usually doesn't get into details of external family and stuff, we can only speculate.

But hey, that's why you guys are here, right? lol 😂😉

But anyway, while Dagur was sipping the ale of losers in Alvin's dungeons, just who was leading the Berserkers? We know Captain Vorg was in prison with Dagur and the others. One possibility is Savage, since he was able to escape; and this could explain why he was able to rally a coup d’état against Dagur when he turned traitor and became soft for dragons and Berk in particular. However, with Savage the way he is, I doubt it. Also, we see that after Dagur's absorption into Viggo's camp, and then eventual desertion, Savage wasn't anywhere to be found.

Eventually, we see him in "Darkest Night" when he captures Hiccup, now as a mercenary/bounty hunter/still-Outcast. So it's likely that's what he was doing before he broke Dagur free. Of course, we don't know why or how he ended up returning to Outcast Island to free Dagur. Due to the unfortunately added "Traitor Johann Arc" (I can't STAND that arc!), it could be assumed that Johann had led him there or even hired him and a team to free Dagur. After all, I highly doubt that Savage would've bothered doing it by himself if he hadn't tried to free Dagur sooner. Three years is a long time, you know.

Again, though, we can't know for certain. It could be that Savage had tried several times but couldn't get past the defenses; or maybe he wanted to wait for the right moment when the Pro-Alvin Outcasts had their guards down; or maybe there's another reason we're not aware of.

And we know that, with Osvald dead, Heather living peacefully with her adopted Tribe, Great Uncle Haggard long dead as well (probably), there wasn't any other family member that we know of who could've taken over the Berserker Tribe after Dagur's defeat. That we KNOW OF, at any rate.

It's also possible that some subordinates were ruling as de facto, temporary substitutes until either Dagur came back or somebody else took over. But that's also very unlikely.

However, there's an important clue that Seasons 1 and 2 give us: After Dagur is freed, he doesn't return to Berserk! Why? Besides the fact that he's deranged, he should know better than to fight the Dragon Riders without the support of his Tribe, right? What's interesting to note is that his ships and men are significantly less than during his war against Berk 3 years before! Also, he had to "P-A-Y" for new ships after being released, since he only had the one ship that he stole after escaping imprisonment.

Again, why? Why would he do that? Was he that desperate for revenge against Hiccup? I mean, yes, but there's more to it than just that. Why would he not return to his Tribe and reclaim his authority and rally his fleets and warriors to attack Berk again? Why did he have to buy ships, only have his men that escaped with him and some outcasts/mercenaries, and had to turn to the Dragon Hunter power in order to defeat Hiccup? Did he realize he couldn't win by himself or by his Tribe's strength? No, because Dagur is stubborn and is a Berserker supremacist.

Don't forget this important detail: Dagur is an OUTLAW. A CRIMINAL. A WANTED MAN. As such, several Tribes will want his head and won't stop until they do. Even if he was able to return to his Tribe, they won't have the strength. As such, when he couldn't defeat Hiccup by himself, he turned to the Dragon Hunters for sanctuary and to help him defeat Hiccup and the Riders.

Also don't forget that Dagur is a LOSER. He was DEFEATED. In Viking society, no matter if you're the leader, if you are known to lose a lot of battles, no one's gonna want to follow you. Vikings want to follow leaders who are generous, charismatic, ambitious, and, most of all, VICTORIOUS. Nobody wants to join a loser. Berserkers most of all. That's just not the done thing. It's not common sense. Remember that they lost to Berk over 50 years prior and had to have a non-aggression treaty with Berk for that long due to Osvald's passive stance and preference for peace. For Berserkers, there's no greater shame or weakness than losing battles or refusing to take part in them. Raiding, after all, is in a Viking's nature. Dagur was popular because he promised to bring back the Berserker traditions and to go back to raiding. He was aggressive and pro-war. And he had many victories. However, once he started losing to Berk repeatedly until his eventual complete defeat at the hands of the Berk-Loyalist Outcast Alliance, he lost his popularity and his support after that. Even if they ignored his outlaw status, just the fact that he had failed his people and had too many defeats under his belt was enough to justify not reinstating him as Chieftain.

But there's also one other important and possible clue: there's a possibility that someone who's plausibly a family member of the Berserker Royal Family has taken control of the Throne — like, say, a cousin or uncle or whoever. It makes sense since a Tribe without a legitimate leader wouldn't be very good. And a subordinate can't do as good a job as a proper leader would, usually.

Of course, you might wonder why would that supposed family member then relinquish his rule for Dagur to take over again? Good question! I haven't a clue either! That family member would have to be as agreeable as Osvald to let a deranged person like Dagur to take control again. Even if he is "reformed" or "enlightened", there's no way in helheim that I would've let him back into the fold. In fact, I would've killed them then and there. But blame that on Netflix scriptwriting. Realistically, Dagur reforming, when he is a deranged being, is impossible (unless he was an excellent actor and pretended to be deranged). And he was rather great as a villain, but then to just... "reform" him like this is just lame.

So in my headcanon, Dagur is still Dagur, and thus, if he had a family member ruling the Tribe in his stead, and since he's still an Outlaw and a Wanted Man, it stands to reason that he wouldn't be able to have the strength to survive let alone defeat the Dragon Riders, and couldn't return to his Tribe and resume being their leader; thus, Dagur had to turn to the aid of the Grimb(j)orn Tribe led by Viggo and Ryker, as seen in the first 2 seasons of RTTE.

A new leader, like said unknown relative, could've risen up to lead the Berserkers if Dagur had died in "Twinsanity", had Stoick gone through with his assassination plot as I detail in my article (here).

Another possible death scene was when Dagur lost the battle against Alvin, and after the war, Alvin ends up executing him with his head put on a spike in quite the treacherous fashion. 💀

Personally, I think it would've been cooler if, after Dagur's death, Heather traveled to Berserk Island to become its new ruler. "High Chieftess Heather" just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? 😏😉😂

Hail Heather Iron-maiden, High Chieftess of the Berserker Tribe! O Hear Her Name and Tremble, Ugh, Ugh! Long may she reign! 🤣

What do you guys think? Is it a plausible theory?

Long Live the Night!

— Noctus Fury

[fncreature]

Comprehensive theory post

So, now that the main stuff from the April Fool’s collab is out (as far as we know), I want to get all my thoughts and theories out into one main post. All the videos are linked in my timeline playlist here, and this will summarize my comprehensive theory with everything we’ve discovered so far, but I’ll link back to other posts as necessary.

For simplicity’s sake, this is my list of characters (and what I’m calling them):

Kenadian - No explanation needed

Wato - Wato, in her normal skin (suit with the pink flowers and ears)

Wifies - The clone of Wifies from the main two videos

Evilfies - Evil Wifies, from the main two videos

Maskfies - Also known as Masked Wato, or Omz Mask Wifies - Wato’s face in Wifies’ clothes (with and without the mask)

Voidfies - The entirely black character with the Mask (Void Wifies, I called him the Omz Entity in one post)

Omz - No explanation needed (hopefully. Go watch the first two videos in the playlist if you need context)

So, let’s start at the beginning. And I mean the very beginning. 

Kenadian begins to debunk Omz. The events of the debunks don’t need much explanation until you get to the finale and the hopper prison. After killing Omz in the Hopper Prison, Kenadian gets the mask. It’s easy to piece together what comes next from his flashbacks- he goes on a hopper rampage, ruining a city. But, when he wakes up in a cell, the mask is gone, and after a brief stint in a city cell, he’s being put on a train for transport.  

As we can see in the final battle between Omz and Wifies in the finale and from Kenadian’s flashbacks, we can see that the mask holds immense power. It messes with their memories. And it can twist someone’s mind- Kenadian would never go on a hopper rampage- he hates hoppers. His method of choice could have been much more sophisticated, for an escapist like him. But it’s hoppers. Why? I propose that the mask not only makes a person more violent, it strips them of their good decision making skills, and gives them the memories or characteristics of the previous wearer, as I mentioned in this post. Kenadian wouldn’t go on a hopper rampage, but Omz- Hoppers are the source of his power, we see him go on a hopper rampage. Omz would. 

But, couldn’t it just be a hopper thing? No. See, we know that Kenadian gets the mask by killing Omz, and when Kenadian comes to in Death is the Cure, he’s not wearing the mask. And while we can’t tell who the guards are in that video, we can see the ones in the next, and one of them, is Wato. Now, how far-fetched would it be to assume that, as Kenadian caused havoc across the city, a talented guard- Wato- killed him, and helped transport him, unknowingly getting the mask in the process?

Now, I will admit, Wato doesn’t wear the mask in the Train Escape. I personally believe this to be an oversight, as I highly doubt that they even imagined the lore to go this far, but feel free to disagree. 

Now, Wato doesn’t go on a hopper rampage. Wato lies in wait, making escape rooms, playing the long game. Why? Because that’s what Kenadian would do. She’d plan her scheme out, and wait for her opportunity to strike. 

And, while Wato is planning and waiting, he and Evilfies meet, and strike some sort of agreement, so Wato makes escape rooms for him, likely in exchange for Evilfies’ support or power. This deal goes on fine for a while- Until Evilfies discovers how to make clones, and he gets a bit too power hungry. He wants the Mask’s power for himself- but he’s seen Wato, and all the harms that come with wearing the mask. This all occurs during the construction of the escape room used in the main map, a bit before the prologue. So, he meets with Wato, whose decision-making skills are lackluster due to the mask, and strikes some sort of agreement. He and Wato combine their power to make a clone with the mask.

And the first one turns out wrong. The first one, is Voidfies.

Something in the code, something with the cloning process, whatever it may be, it goes horribly wrong. It almost worked, it got so, so close- it has Wifies’ textures, but not Wato’s ears- But the mask lingers on them. We don’t know how Voidfies escapes or leaves, what their motives are, we barely know a thing about them. But no matter what, they want revenge on their creators, or they want revenge on Wato- we don’t have enough evidence to make a solid conclusion. 

But the second one turns out fine. Wato is rid of the mask, and Maskfies is created, completely under Evilfies’ thumb. Maskfies finishes the rest of the escape room. Wato, now, is free. 

Well- Almost.

Wato tries to move on with her life. He teaches others to make escape rooms. But their creation comes to hurt them. When Wato falls into the bedrock in the prologue, Voidfies is waiting. They’ve placed a trap, and they want to hurt Wato. 

The powdered snow is nothing more than to give them a technical advantage- blind her, slow her down, maybe cause her to loose a couple hearts in the process. Likely, Wato is killed in this room, leaving blood splattered on the floor. Where they respawn, where they go after this- we don’t know. Voidfies, likely, leaves through the door, to a place we don’t know of yet.

Now, the main two videos happen- Kenadian plans to debunk Wifies, he joins his sever- you know how this goes.

After Evilfies’ death in trivia, he sends Maskfies into the escape room. And they escape. (Now, @enlighten3d pointed out that you can see Wato’s normal skin on Maskfies on the Dynamic camera angle. While I do really like their explanation for it here, I do personally believe it to be a replay mod glitch or oversight.). They make their way back to the factory, because it’s their home- it’s where their creator lives, it’s all they know- escape rooms, and the factory. Maskfies is in denial. They’ve been a puppet their entire existence, and their puppeteer is dead. Their strings are cut. They sit in Evilfies chair, as if that can somehow but his world back together, before they decide to run.

Now, after the trivia, unaware of Maskfies existence, Wifies and Wato interrogate Wato about anything she knows. And the mask has ruined his memories of that period- she can’t remember a thing. But, outside the window, Voidfies is watching them. Watching him. (Thank you to @crowskulls for pointing this out, by the way.)

After this, before but there was more, Maskfies is killed- by who, we can’t be sure- but he doesn’t have the mask on in but there was more. Voidfies, maybe. Evilfies, to take control of the mask in a last ditch effort for power- hell, it could have been Kenadian- we see him at the last place we see Maskfies.

But after interrogating Wato, Kenadian goes out exploring. And he finds a labyrinth of escape rooms. At some point after his death, Maskfies finds it too- looking over it, unmasked for the first time in his entire life. Likely, he or Wato created it. They might’ve done it together- we don’t know. 

And then Wato goes back to the mansion- he cleans it up, he makes it his home. 

This is all we know for now.

This is the simplified timeline:

Kenadian kills Omz for the mask

Kenadian goes on a hopper rampage and is killed by Wato, who obtains the mask

Wato and Evilfies start working together

During the creation of the escape map used in the main two videos, while trying to make a clone with the mask, Voidfies is created

Maskfies is created as the clone that actually works

The short happens, Voidfies traps Wato and kills him in the white blob room

The main two videos happen

Maskfies is sent into and escapes the escape room, heading back to the factory one last time before jumping out of the window, and is killed at some point afterwards

Wato is interrogated by Wifies and Kenadian, Voidfies watches

(Likely) independent of each other, Kenadian and Maskfies discover the large escape room in the void.

Wato goes back to the mansion.

Now, what this doesn’t answer: Why Wato mentions remembering the sunrise, how the clones are created, what Voidfies wants, who kills Maskfies, where the door in the white blob room goes. (And probably more, that I can’t remember)

This is all probably insane speculation, and most of this will likely be disproven in the future! But it’s all fun and games. I’m still very confused, but this is what I’ve managed to piece together so far.

Credit is more than due to everyone who made any sort of discovery in this, and to everyone in the discord groupchat!

(@brain-empty)(@viv-imus-illogic)

Oh, and Hi Wato!